Full Circle

The rush of adrenaline encompassed every fiber of the Slayer’s being as she, alongside her numerous hosts, rushed toward the minions of Illyria. Her first encounter was with an enormous warg, frothing at the mouth. When only a few yards separated them, she stopped and braced herself for the beast’s inevitable leap. Sure enough, the wolf jumped at her, its mouth twisted in a distorted snarl, revealing long yellowish fangs.

“Come on, Cujo,” said Buffy, as she raised her blade to a forty-five degree angle, both hands tightly clutching the hilt. The animal couldn’t stop the momentum; it impaled itself on her sword. It let out a loud yelp as it attempted to wrench itself free. She lowered the struggling beast to the ground, using her foot to subdue it as she went for the kill. The Slayer moved her blade in one swift motion, nearly slicing the warg in two. “One down,” she added as she looked for her next target, “legions to go.”

Buffy didn’t have to look far for additional foes; that’s all she could see. Yrch were everywhere. Two of them decided to charge her at the same time. Her lips curled into a small smile before she ran at them, her hands still firmly gripping her sword. The beasts’ scimitars were at their ready. As they swung their weapons at her small frame, the Slayer dropped to the ground, did a forward roll and snapped her blade at both of their unprotected knees. The yrch fell forward onto the grass as the Slayer rose to her feet. She rammed her blade in the back of the neck of one orch as the other got unsteadily to its feet. After twisting the blade in a circular motion, she speedily pulled it out and decapitated the other before he could deliver any type of blow.

The Slayer savored the rush from the kill as she turned her attention to her next quarry. That’s when she spotted a giant about a hundred yards away. Buffy began hacking her way towards the monstrous figure. It took her nearly thirty minutes to fight her way to the mammoth creature; she had met many obstacles along the way, namely yrch and wargs.

The giant wore armor wrought of iron on its enormous legs, which resembled thick tree trunks. It didn’t appear to be worried about protecting its flesh from the waist up as it had on no mail whatsoever. Only thick, matted, brown hair covered its massive head, not a helm. It was no wonder. No mortal had the ability to extend his or her weapon to such heights. However, there were not only mere mortals fighting here, and although Buffy resembled one, her powers outstripped any of her or Morgoth’s creations.

The elves continued shooting many projectiles at the face and chest of the creature as it attempted to stomp on those closest to its feet. In its right hand, it carried a huge black club, which it swung at a group of elves, catching one in the process. A loud popping sound rang out around them as the elf went flying thirty feet, landing amidst a group of yrch. The goblins cruelly tore him limb from limb, sucking the blood from the appendages that they had won. It was a revolting sight.

Buffy turned her attention back to the task at hand. As she prepared to leap upon the giant, she noticed his hands flailing around its face and neck. Deep gashes appeared out of nowhere, sending a waterfall of blood upon the Slayer. She took a few steps backwards, freeing herself from the stream as she noticed her Valkyrie guard attacking the beast. Its head lolled about on it shoulders as it stumbled haphazardly around the area. The earth shook beneath everyone’s feet as those nearest to the giant scrambled to get out of its way, Buffy included. As she hastily wiped the blood from her eyes, she watched as the monster fell to the ground with a heavy thud; the earth moaned beneath its weight.

Already, the early stages of fatigue were setting in. Buffy needed a break. Instead of teleporting herself back to the confines of the city, she fought her way through the throng of yrch. She decided that it would be best to take out as many of the enemy along the way as she could.

By the time she entered the gates of Bela, a couple of hours had passed, and the Slayer was exhausted. The blood from the giant had already dried and she felt sticky all over. Soaking in a hot tub was not an option available to her at the moment. An acceptable alternative was washing her face with hot, soapy water. Buffy would have to contend with having blood-streaked hair throughout most of the battle.

Once inside her pavilion, she immediately undid the lock on her copper trunk. She pulled out two Gloves and placed them on her bed. With her mind, she summoned Kit and Kat. Even though the Slayer was tired, she could continue the attack from the air. Her lions did not arrive, indicating that they were busy at the moment with the assignment that she had given them. Their job was to retrieve the injured from the battlefield and bring them to the safety of the Healing Tents that had been set up along the northern fences of the city.

While she waited, she instructed her servants to load vats of Greek Fire onto her chariot. When they finished, she tucked the two Gloves into the leather bags that she had installed inside of the vehicle. Fifteen minutes later, the kitties appeared. Buffy rubbed their heads lovingly as she examined the mithril coats that each wore. She could find no injuries on either one. Her servants then harnessed them to the chariot as the Slayer climbed aboard. The lions started running and soon they were airborne.

Since Buffy hadn’t sent any scouts out prior to the second wave, she decided that now was the perfect time to do a little recon of her own. From the air, she could determine how great her daughter’s forces actually were. Her gut told her that Illyria wasn’t joking when she boasted that she had any army over a million and a half strong. That soon proved to be all too true. The strength that her firstborn possessed dumbfounded the Slayer. Even Melkor didn’t use that kind of might during Dagor Aglareb!

Yet something wasn’t right with the way Illyria had stationed her monsters. Over ninety percent of her forces were yrch, and they all formed the frontlines of her troops. Her most powerful acolytes, which consisted of Balrogs and a variety of demons that Middle-earth had not yet encountered, milled around at the rear of the group. That didn’t make any sense to Buffy. The Slayer had stationed her most potent warriors (Maiar, Elves, Dwarves and Offspring) at her vanguard. Why wasn’t Illyria doing the same?

She guesstimated that there were over seventy-five thousand Balrogs. From the lineup, it appeared that they would be the first part of the third wave. She also discovered the whereabouts of the other three giants, including Goliath, the lord of them all, who stood much taller then his brethren. At least another hundred thousand were mystical creatures that had powers so great that Buffy was dismayed by their presence alone. They seemed to be relaxing around the many fires in their encampment.

Buffy had seen enough. She directed the lions to go where she was most needed. The ominous feeling that had crept over her being days ago suddenly kicked into overdrive. And she couldn’t but help hear the foreboding words of the good Illyria in her head:

“You cannot defeat the evil Illyria, mommy. She has too many men and they will overpower you… Your love for the mortals will bring about your downfall.”

The Slayer had pondered those words repeatedly in her mind, still oblivious to their meaning.

The kitty cats steered the chariot towards the second giant on the frontline. Olofin’s cavalry had formed a ring around the massive creature in an attempt to keep it contained to that area. As they constantly rode around the beast, the elven archers shot flaming arrows at the giant’s head, hoping to set its hair ablaze. All the while, the towering figure lunged at those on horseback with its massive mace. Each time it missed, the earth became rented by the blow. The man-like demon let out a roar in frustration as its head started smoldering from the ever-growing fires in its hair (both on its head and on its face.)

Kit and Kat then whizzed by the giant, attempting to divert its attention to the Slayer. The whooshing motion of the chariot fanned the flames on the monster causing it to stomp its feet angrily. As one of its mammoth hands tried to extinguish the fires, the other swung its weapon wildly at Buffy and the lions. The elves continued to hurl spears and flaming arrows at the beast; they protruded all over its head and torso, both front and back.

Buffy’s eyes widened when she saw the shiny, metal spikes of the mace coming straight at her. Immediately, she and her lion-drawn chariot vanished, only to reappear a little distance away. The giant’s anger grew. It knew that its last swing should have hit the Slayer. It searched for its prey and noticed that she had somehow moved further to the south. The giant took several strides towards her until both she and the lions were once again within striking distance. As the creature swung at her again, she repeated the same stratagem, luring her foe even further south. Buffy had managed to entice the monstrous being away from her allies. When she and the giant reached the heart of enemy territory, she made her move.

Several flashes of lightning suddenly lit up the darkness followed by the rolling sound of thunder. The Slayer held the two Gloves aloft as the electrical charges ‘juiced’ up the weapons that she was eager to fire. She only needed one of the mystical weapons at the moment, so she placed the other back into the leather pouch for later use. She had the lions soar above the giant as she readied one of the vats of Greek Fire. As soon as she flung it over the side of the vehicle, she aimed her weapon, uttered the incantation and released a bolt of lightning at the fuse. The giant looked up as the container burst into flames, showering the monster’s face with both fragments of metal and hot burning liquid. It let out an ear-piercing scream that shattered the night. Many of Illyria’s minions stopped what they were doing, searching for the cause of the commotion.

The giant grabbed its face, howling in pain. In its madness, it trampled many yrch beneath its feet. Buffy dropped another flaming vat atop the wailing beast’s head. The stench of burning flesh and hair filled the air as the bubbling liquid ran down the creature’s neck. She aimed her weapon and sent a blast of lightning straight between the giant’s eyes. It stopped dead in its tracks before falling to the ground, crushing those beneath its heavy weight.

In the end, Buffy’s ploy with the giant had killed a couple hundred yrch aside from the monster itself. She cheered his demise from the air.

Amidst her celebration, the Slayer felt the unexpected jerk of her chariot. She clung desperately to the sides of the cart as she noticed the burning whip from one of the Balrogs wrapped tightly around the straps that connected her vehicle to the lions. She cursed herself for not paying closer attention to her surroundings. The Balrogs had apparently deemed that the time was now ripe for them to make their move.

The Balrog that had Buffy caught began pulling down on the whip. Kit and Kat struggled against the force of the creature of fire, trying in vain to ascend higher into the jet-black sky. Instead, they were pulled lower. A second whip hit the back of the chariot causing the cart to dip to a ninety-degree angle. Buffy lost her footing from the shock of the blow. Her grip on the front of the vehicle was the only thing saving her from falling. The last pot of Greek Fire slid along the floor before plummeting out of the opened end. The screeching sound of metal pierced the night as her Gloved hand began to slide from the chariot’s wall. The Slayer attempted to use magic to get her and the lions out of that situation, but no matter how hard she ‘willed’ it, they didn’t vanish.

Buffy’s weaponless hand had a death grip on the wall of the chariot. Two Balrogs were now pulling her down. She wondered where her Valkyrie guard was. Now would have been the most appropriate time for her invisible warriors to make an appearance. What Buffy didn’t know was that they were dealing with hordes of Balrogs that were charging their hosts. The Slayer was left to her own devices.

She began to panic, fearing that she would fall and land amongst the minions of Illyria. Buffy didn’t even want to think about what those creatures might do if they got a hold of her. A third Balrog then lashed its whip at her cats. Kat let out a terrible cry of pain. Something clicked inside the Slayer when she heard that shriek from her beloved kitty. The words of the good Illyria rushed to her mind:

“Remember these words, mommy: fight fire with fire.”

As sweat ran down her face and neck, the Slayer prayed that those words were meant to be taken literally not figuratively. She released her Gloved hand from the wall of the chariot and pointed it at one of the Balrogs.

“Be free!” she shouted. A bolt of lightning shot out of the weapon hitting the Balrog in the head. It wavered on the spot, its grip loosened on the whip. Again, she sent out another blast that hit the same demonic creature. Its fires snuffed out as it released its grip on the whip. It fell dead to the ground. “Thank you, darling Illyria,” she mumbled under her breath.

The lions rose a little higher, allowing the chariot to correct its position. Buffy was able to get back on her feet. She pointed the Glove at the other Balrog that still had her within its grasp. After two more blasts, that demon fell dead too.

Once free, the lions soared high above the battlefield. The Slayer nearly freaked when she saw that some of the Balrogs had wings and had taken to the air after her. “HOLY SHIT!” she exclaimed. Buffy was unsure of how badly Kat was injured, if at all. She was anxious to get out of the mess that she now found herself in, but didn’t want to leave the others to contend with the flying beasts of flame and shadow. They could cause too much damage. She had to stay and fight whether the lions were hurt or not.

There were too many Balrogs for Buffy to deal with alone. No matter how many she shot down, it seemed like more took their place. Thankfully, the Valkyries noticed her dire situation and came dashing to her aid. As soon as they arrived, the Slayer and her lion-drawn chariot vanished, only to reappear outside her pavilion within the walls of Bela.

Immediately, she pulled off the Glove, jumped off the cart, and ran to Kat’s side. A deep gash had cut her kitty from the back of her ear to the side of her mouth. Buffy quickly undid the harness as one of her servants did the same for Kit. Even though Kat was still standing, the Slayer scooped the lioness into her arms and carried her into her sleeping chamber. Carefully, she placed her on the soft mattress. Kit jumped up on the bed and began licking the blood that streamed from the open wound.

Fulla then came in carrying the items that Buffy had requested. She watched as the Slayer talked soothingly to the beast as she bathed the laceration with hot, clean water. Buffy was applying some of Nestor’s salve on strips of clean linen when the lioness started convulsing. Kit let out a roar as he leapt off the bed.

“Shit!” exclaimed Buffy as she laid her arms across the cat to prevent her from falling off the bed. A strong pungent odor then filled the chamber. “She’s been poisoned,” she said, the distress in her voice evident.

“What can I do?” asked her servant.

“Hold her head still,” instructed Buffy as she pulled a dagger charm from her belt. Fulla did as she was told. Kit sat rigidly beside the bed, his yellow eyes remained fixed on his mate. “Can you keep her mouth open?” asked the Slayer. Her chambermaid pried the animal’s jaws apart. Buffy lay across the still convulsing body of Kat as she slit her wrist with the blade. She held the bleeding appendage over the lioness’ mouth. “Drink it, baby… That’s my good girl.” The Slayer used her other hand to squeeze out as much blood as she could. When then convulsions stopped, she withdrew her arm from over Kat’s mouth and placed it over the wound. Once the cut was saturated with blood, Buffy licked her wrist, healing it instantly. She then packed the wound with the medicine soaked bandages.

“I want Nestor to have a look at her,” said a concerned Buffy as she stroked her kitty tenderly. Fulla hurriedly left the bedchamber. The Slayer stretched out beside Kat as Kit propped his front paws on the bed. He licked his mate’s nose affectionately. “C’mon up, Kit. There’s enough room for all of us.” The lion gracefully leapt up on to the soft mattress and lay down on the other side of Kat.

Buffy had fallen asleep by the time Nestor arrived. He let her sleep as he tended to Kat. She would be alright.

When the Slayer woke, she noticed that both lions were gone. Fulla informed her that Kat had already recovered and that both she and Kit had returned to the battlefield. Buffy was amazed to hear that news. It brought her great joy to know that her kitties were still able to do their part in the battle.

Some of the captains walked with her as she headed towards the southern gates of the city. They updated her on their allies’ progress, it appeared that the forces of Light were holding their own against those of Darkness. Already several Maiar were dismantling buildings along the dusty roads; the slabs of stone and clusters of brick would be used to arm the many war machines.

Buffy then sent word to those nine who possessed Gloves, telling them of their effectiveness against the mightier foes of Illyria. She then rejoined the fray, using her mystical weapon against the towering beasts of flame and shadow.

Time seemed to come to a standstill. The Slayer didn’t know whether hours, days or weeks had passed, as one could not differentiate night from day. So dark was the sky that not even the stars of Varda could pierce the thick blanket of clouds that Illyria had sent out. All birds and beasts had fled that region prior to the onslaught. All, except the doves of Maranwë Luinil.

A series of strange drumming sounds echoed in the chilly night air, first from the east, then from the west. Buffy was fighting beside Úrion and the people of her Household south of the city when they heard the rhythmic notes.

“I wonder what that means,” she shouted over the din to her friend as they used their Gloves to shoot down the Balrogs.

“Nothing good, I deem,” answered the elf as he pushed Buffy aside just as a flaming whip came crashing to the earth. “You’re welcome,” he said without being thanked. He pointed his Glove at the beast and nailed him between the eyes a second time. “Watch out!” he shouted to the others as the creature collapsed to the ground.

It wasn’t long after when they heard a series of horn blasts from their allies. Buffy listened intently to the sound of the notes. The encoded messages stated that the enemy had flanked them on the east and west. Already, numerous messengers had been dispatched to the Slayer; their eyes scanned the battlefield searching for the banner with the Red Cross, knowing that they’d find her nearby.

The elves on horseback were the first ones to reach her.

“My Lady,” said an out of breath Gúrchim. “Great evil has been unleashed on the eastern fronts. Evil that none had ever witnessed until this very day! Beings with great magicks are wreaking havoc and there’s naught a thing we can do to resist their might.”

“How many?” she asked.

“I cannot rightly say. Numerous hosts sprang out of nowhere. We’re overwhelmed and our people are being slaughtered with ease.”

“Okay, okay,” answered the worried Slayer. She used her telepathic abilities to inform the Valkyries to move from the southern front to the eastern one. But then more messengers arrived, reporting that the same thing was happening on the western flank as well. Buffy then called back half of her invisible warriors (ten thousand), instructing them to go to the western flank.

Buffy withdrew from the battle. She desperately wanted to find out how many of the potent demons her people had to contend with in the east and west. These creatures surpassed the Balrogs in power threefold. They were the most dangerous lot that they’d have to contend with throughout the duration of the war. With Illyria’s forces closing in on three sides, Buffy knew it was only a matter of time before the enemy completely encircled the city.

She called for her lions and had them harnessed to the chariot before she took to the air. Flashes of light in a variety of colors flickered in the regions the enemy had invaded. The Slayer was mystified that their foes were able to approach their flanks without her people being aware of it. She wasn’t sure if they had teleported or used a portal. Both were possibilities.

Another series of horn blasts rang out in the night. Only a few moments later, all the engines along the western and eastern sides simultaneously sent out a volley of Greek Fire. The Slayer was horrified when she saw the flaming balls stop mid-air before they flew back landing on the engines and their operators. The loss of those war machines was devastating to their defense.

Buffy then summoned all the Maiar off the frontline and had them join forces with the Valkyries. Only they would be strong enough to fight that new menace. That left Men, Dwarves and Elves to deal with the hordes of Balrogs, yrch, trolls, wargs and the three giants that were now amongst them.

The Slayer decided that she would join her hosts on the eastern flank. Deeming that it was too hazardous for her kitties, she set them free in order for them to continue retrieving the wounded from the battlefield. Buffy gave the two Gloves in her possession to her youngest son. It would be his responsibility to find two people worthy of handling such a powerful weapon. Since Olofin already had his own Glove, he gave the last two to Durin and Dvalin, father and son. Both were honored beyond words to have received a weapon wrought from the hands of their beloved Freya. Olofin gave them a quick demonstration before returning to the fight.

As soon as Buffy unhitched the lions from the harness, they disappeared. She was about to vanish when something caught her eye. She immediately teleported herself to the top of the southern wall. The Slayer scrutinized the air above the battlefield and was greatly dismayed by what she saw. The spirits of those that had just been slain were being sucked away to the southwest. That freaked Buffy out. The Valkyries were too busy fighting to tend to their sacred duty. In her heart, she knew that Námo chose that moment to lay claim to the warriors that should dwell in Folkvang. She wasn’t about to let her dear brother renege on the deal that had been made well over a century ago; she got first dibs on the mortals that died in battle, not he.

Without giving it a second thought, the Slayer pulled all of her Valkyries out of the battle. They were instructed to escort every last fey back to the Halls of Waiting in Sussrúmnir. There was no way Buffy was going to break the vow that she had made to mankind before the war started. Many were frightened at the prospect of death and Buffy wanted to alleviate their fears with words of comfort.

“Any that should happen to fall during the war will be given the gift of immortality in my heavenly realm, Folkvang. There you will live in peace and bliss for all eternity by my grace,” she had said to them.

Satisfied with her decision, Buffy pulled a sword charm from her belt, immediately it turned into a full size weapon. She vanished and reappeared on the eastern line where she joined the others in battling the wicked creatures of Illyria.



Thranduil valiantly fought the yrch beside the race of Man. They were stationed along the front line, south of the city. He and the mortals mostly had to deal with the goblins as opposed to the Balrogs, which their allies were busily assailing a little further to the south.

The elf had just managed to behead two yrch with one swing. The goblins heads flew a few feet away as their lifeless forms crumbled to the ground into a pool of thick, black blood. As Thranduil went to attack another demon, he was violently pushed aside causing his blade to fly from his grasp. His body collided with one of the large boulders that had been shot from a catapult earlier in the battle. He stumbled and fell to the ground. Unbeknownst to him, the Orb in the pocket of his cloak cracked ever so slightly upon impact. “NO!” he shouted. Everything happened so fast that the elf had no time to react.

Cahal, his mortal friend, was the one who had pushed him out of the way. The young man spared the elf’s life as the giant mace of Goliath, the lord of giants, came crashing down on the boy, impaling him on that mighty club. Goliath lifted his weapon in triumph; Cahal’s mangled body had been pierced by the many teeth of the mace. The giant let out a hearty laugh as he pulled the boy’s remains from the spikes and tossed it to the ground.

“You’re next, elf!” bellowed the beast as he took a step forward, stomping Thranduil’s sword to smithereens.

The elf was in shock; he was weaponless. As he frantically looked for a fallen warrior’s weapon, his hand brushed against the strap of leather that hung from his belt. He snatched it off and rolled to the side as Goliath’s mace came crashing down upon the boulder, shattering it to small pieces. Thranduil picked up one of the fragments of stone and placed it in the center of the sling. As he twirled the weapon over his head, the giant laughed. The sound caused the hair on the back of Thranduil’s neck to stand on end.

“You think that you can harm me with a stone, boy! I will break you to pieces like the others,” taunted Goliath.

Thranduil’s furrowed eyes remained fixed on the giant. He didn’t have time to get to his feet. The young man hoped and prayed that his aim would be true. “This is for Cahal, you walking, talking piece of shit,” said the elf through gritted teeth as he let the rock fly. It zoomed through the air, hitting the giant straight between the eyes. A look of utter and complete shock came upon the massive face of Goliath. The mace slipped from its hand, landing on the elf’s leg. Thranduil heard the bone crack before he felt the sting of the blow. He grunted from the pain, but did not scream. He glared at the monstrous form that stood before him as he pried his wounded leg free. The giant momentarily swayed on the spot before falling backwards, it landed on top of three trolls and a dozen yrch. Thranduil Greenleaf had killed the lord of giants with only a small stone and a sling. Cahal was right, that weapon did come in handy during the battle.

The elf’s leg throbbed horribly as he crawled along the ground towards the body of his mortal friend. He found the young sixteen-year-old face down in a pool of his own blood. Thranduil turned him over; many huge spikes had pierced Cahal’s mail covered body. His face was disfigured so badly that if the elf had not seen him killed, he wouldn’t have recognized his young friend.

He pulled the mortal’s battered body into his arms, weeping uncontrollably. “I’ve avenged your death, my friend. The giant has fallen,” he sobbed. Sixteen was much too young to die. He was in awe that his friend had sacrificed himself in order to save the elf from death. “Bella will remake your flesh anew, my dear Cahal. You will be made whole again… and you’ll know such bliss… the like that I have yet to experience. We’ll be reunited one day. I promise,” he whispered as the tears continued to spill from his eyes.

Kit then appeared beside Thranduil’s grieving form. He let out a roar in mourning before licking the face of the elf. “He’s gone, Kit,” he sniveled. “I know Cahal wasn’t a great captain or general, but I deem that he too should be taken to Hírilost with the other mighty warriors that have fallen… You see, he died saving me. If that doesn’t make one a hero, then I don’t know what does.”

The lion grabbed Thranduil by the scruff of the neck. The elf refused to leave Cahal’s body behind. A moment later, they vanished, and reappeared outside the Healing Tents. The healers were hurriedly going to and fro. Kit let out a loud roar, and a few moments later, Nestor came running up. He gasped when he saw the mangled body in Thranduil’s arms. The young elf removed the damaged chain mail from his friend before Kit grabbed the boy by the scruff of his tunic and disappeared. The lion would carry out Thranduil’s wishes by delivering Cahal’s body to Hírilost, the resting place of all the mighty warriors who would perish in the battle.

Thranduil would not allow Nestor to carry him into one of the tents. Instead, he hobbled inside, using the healer as a crutch. Once the young man lay on the table, Nestor busily went to work. All the while, Thranduil fingered the strap of leather in his hand.



Buffy’s decision to withdraw the Valkyries from battle proved disastrous, although she did not know it, as of yet. They had been her most effective defense, more so than the war machines and the other Maiar combined. The men and elves could not withstand the heat and magicks of the Balrogs; they withered before them. However, that was not the case with the dwarves. Not only were they a hardy race, but they were used to the scorching fires from their furnaces and could withstand flames like no other. It was for that reason that the dwarves were rotated to the front line, they could defend it better than the children of Eru.

The dwarves swung their axes with such ferocity that the Balrogs backed away at the initial confrontation. The Naugrim, who resembled miniature knights in all their armor, remained steadfast, and cut down the Balrogs by attacking in groups. Even though their chosen method of combat was effective, they were still greatly outnumbered. There were only ninety-seven hundred dwarves at the start of the war. At this point in the battle, their number had dwindled to eighty-eight hundred, while the Balrogs were still going strong at sixty-eight thousand. The creatures of Morgoth outnumbered the children of Mahal by eight to one.

Only three Gloves were utilized in that war zone; they were in the possession of Olofin, Durin and Dvalin. Buffy’s son fought southeast of the city while the father and son team battled due south. Unlike the rest of their kinfolk, the two Dwarf Lords used their Gloves to slaughter the Balrogs. They still carried their axes with them, but they primarily used them to protect themselves from the flaming whips and swords of the creatures of Morgoth.

Despite Durin’s age, he handled himself well during the clash. Of course, being armed with a weapon that could kill a Balrog with two shots proved quite advantageous under the circumstances. At all times, Durin kept an eye on his youngest son. He didn’t allow him to leave his line of vision. The Lord of Khazâd Dûm was still astonished that Dvalin had retained his youthfulness after all the long years that had passed. He saw in him a rare beauty that could only be appreciated by one from that race. And naturally, his youngest had inherited the skill of his father. Durin was dumbfounded not only by his son’s ability to create objects of wonder, but also his prowess in battle.

He had just watched Dvalin splinter the sword of a Balrog with his ‘special’ axe before downing the beast with a couple of blasts from the mystical Glove. He could hear the dwarf’s grunting laughter carry on the wind. The eldest child of Aulë thought that he’d burst with pride.

A sudden shot of pain coursed through the old dwarf’s body. As he attempted to catch his breath, all he heard was a strange gurgling sound. His eyes glanced down at the protruding blade of flame that stuck out from his throat. He cast one last glance at his son, who seemed to be running towards him in slow motion. He could make out Dvalin mouthing the words, “Father!” and then he saw no more.

The rage within the son of Durin erupted to fevered heights when he saw his father’s severed head fall to the ground along with his armor covered body. As he slashed his way towards the downed dwarf, he watched as another Balrog smashed his sword repeatedly against the Glove on Durin’s right hand. Sparks emitted from the mystical weapon with each blow.

Dvalin fired his weapon at the creature that had slain his father. After two blasts, he extinguished the life force of the beast. The Balrog wavered on the spot before crashing down on top of Durin’s remains, infuriating the dwarf even more. The madness of grief overwhelmed Dvalin. Nothing survived that stood in his path, seventeen Balrogs he slew before he reached the spot where his father lay. So formidable was he that the demons of flame and shadow fled before him.

Unable to roll the massive creature off his father alone, Dvalin summoned many of his kinfolk that were now free from battling the enemy. It took sixty dwarves to free the Lord of Khazâd Dûm from beneath the weight of the Balrog. Great was the loss of Durin to the Naugrim. Many took off after the fleeing monsters; the intensity of their wrath now kindled to new levels. A few dwarves remained behind with Dvalin. They solemnly picked up Durin’s body and returned to the gates of the city. None of the enemy hindered their march.



To the west of the city, a deep ravine separated the allies of Buffy from the minions of Illyria. It was along that ridge that the evildoers hastened their pace in order to carry out their Lord’s wishes of surrounding the city of Bela. Bordering the plateau was a great stand of cedar trees, the like not to be found anywhere else in Middle-earth. As the demonic rearguard made their way north, they were dismayed to see so many bodies of their brethren littering the ground. Each corpse exhibited a large, gaping hole, about eight inches in diameter that appeared to have been burned into the flesh.

One of the evil general’s could feel a dark, ominous presence within the forest. Fearing some type of ambush, he instructed the creatures to descend the slopes to avoid walking alongside the wood. There was no doubt in his mind that some unknown terror dwelt there. He could feel its gaze observing them through the dense evergreen trees.

The Maiar and elves stationed along the western borders hurriedly moved down the opposing slope, eager to eradicate the forces of Illyria. Their losses had been great since the debacle with the war machines and they were determined not to let the enemy make it across the gully. It was time to take the fight to them. Amongst those good and noble people were the elves of Doriath. Both Beleg and Túreb each led separate companies into the fray.

Sador, the faithful companion of Túreb, fought side-by-side with his childhood friend. Not only did they encounter vampires, which they had a particular fondness for slaying, but also diabolical beings that possessed great magicks. Most of these creatures they had never encountered before; they found them to be strange and off-putting.

The fire of Ilúvatar burned fiercely in Túreb, for he was not one to pass up a tussle even when it could be avoided. Once angered, there was no stopping him. So when the demon he was fighting began to retreat up the slope, the elf gave chase. The monster stood nearly seven feet tall, its ‘skin’ was dark green, and its entire body was covered in sharp, pointy spines. Even though the creature had the ability to bombard its victim with poisonous flying projectiles, Túreb managed to avoid every single one.

The clash ensued when the elf caught up with the demon on the plateau that adjoined the forest of tall evergreen trees. The beast had snatched a scimitar from one of his fallen comrades in order to defend himself from the forceful strikes of Túreb. Closer and closer the beast edged towards the tree line.

“Túreb!” rang out the voice of Sador, who had just mounted the hillside. He stood hunched over, panting heavily, sweat dripped from his face like teardrops. He was having difficulty catching his breath.

“It’s nearly over, my friend,” shouted the elf, as he thrust his blade into the throat of the demon. He was careful not to touch any of the monsters toxic barbs. “Another one bites the dust!” he laughed as he withdrew his sword. The beast spluttered, blood poured from its many wounds and mouth, before it fell onto the ground. When it died, all the spines shot out of its body at once, hitting Túreb numerous times. The elf, turned before falling to his knees. Sador came running at full speed.

“Túreb!” he cried out as he helped his friend to his feet. Already the injured elf was pulling the spines out of his flesh. His armor had protected him except for his thighs and face. “Are you alright?” asked Sador, his voice full of concern.

“It stings,” replied the elf with flaming red hair.

“Let me help you,” offered his companion. When all quills were removed, Sador wrapped his arm around the back of his friend and they slowly started to walk off.

Suddenly, a loud roaring sound came from the wood. The sound was reminiscent to a tornado. Túreb glanced over his shoulder, his eyes widened with fear. Before he could shout in warning, a bright blue beam of light shot out of the woods, striking both Sador and Túreb. So great was the force that both were thrown hard to the ground.

Sador dazedly blinked his eyes several times in an attempt to regain his focus. His right arm was still wrapped protectively around his friend, who laid motionless, face first on the dirt. As the elf attempted to get up, he noticed that his right arm had been blown off below the elbow. The blood drained from his face as he inspected the stub that remained; he was in shock. The blast not only took off part of his arm, but had cauterized it as well. He looked down at Túreb and now saw a hole, big enough to put both fists in, through both the armor and flesh of his friend. The metal had melted inside the elf, and resembled a metal tube; Sador could actually see the earth under his body.

With trembling hands, Sador rolled Túreb over, his face was still warm, yet his eyes were vacant. The elf’s fey had left its hröa. A grieving Sador wept as he clutched the warrior’s lifeless body close to his. How could he possibly go on without his dearest and most trusted friend? So great was his anguish, that he didn’t notice the band of demons stealthily approaching from the southeast.

Out of nowhere, Buffy, accompanied by Úrion, appeared in the lion-drawn chariot. As they flew above the heads of their friends, Úrion blasted the approaching creatures with the Glove that he wielded masterfully. The Slayer leapt from the back of the cart, landing a few yards from the two elves. Sador still sat there holding Túreb in his arms, unaware of what was transpiring around him.

Úrion continued his assault from the air as Buffy ran to her friends. “Oh my God! What the hell happened?” asked the shocked Slayer after she had fallen to her knees beside the two Sindar. Her jaw hung open when her eyes fell upon the huge hole in the chest of the redheaded elf.

Sador’s sorrowful eyes glanced at Buffy, noticing her for the first time. “He’s gone. Túreb has gone to the Halls of Mandos,” he said somberly.

All of a sudden, a loud roaring sound came from the wood. Sador’s teary eyes widened as he threw his body over both Túreb’s remains and Buffy.

“What the hell… ” she started as she struggled to free herself from beneath the bereaved elf. Only a second later, a beam of blue light shot out of the wood and hit the side of the chariot, melting an enormous hole through both sides. The unexpected blast had just missed Úrion. “GO!” Buffy yelled to the lions. The elf aimed his weapon at the forest, but before he could fire it, Kit and Kat vanished with the chariot in tow.

Buffy had no idea what the hell happened, all she knew was that it was time to get out of there as quickly as possible. With her arms around both elves, they too disappeared just as the roaring sound began again.

They arrived outside the Healing Tents, a first for Buffy since the war had begun. It was now time for her to deal with her own grief. Her eyes welled with tears as she removed Túreb’s helm and began stroking his flaming red hair. She and Sador were still on bended knee when Istahiro approached with a sorrowful Orran. The healer gaped at the lethal wound that the elf had received. He fell to his knees beside Buffy and Sador as he examined the hole.

“What in the name of Eru Ilúvatar caused that?” asked the shaken Maia.

“I don’t know,” answered Buffy, her voice breaking. She took a deep breath, trying to pull it together. She was the commander-in-chief; she couldn’t break down. Not now. Not in front of so many people who looked at her with desperation in their eyes.

“There’s something in the wood that fires bolts of lightning,” said Sador dejectedly.

“The cedar wood?” queried Orran with raised eyebrows. Buffy and the elf nodded. The mortal looked at them with esteem. “You have been lucky enough to have survived an encounter with the demon that we call Humbaba, the Guardian of the Cedar Forest. That being wields such great powers that few ever survive that wander into its domain, and none has ever seen it. That is why we told you not to cross the gully. Death awaits those that dare tread the borders of the cedar forest.”

“That explains the high casualty rate of our foes,” said the Slayer.

“Look how the metal has melted into the flesh,” remarked Istahiro as he continued to examine the hole in Túreb’s lifeless body. “I cannot fathom any type of weapon inflicting this type of injury. Imagine how hot it must have been… ” the healer began muttering under his breath. He wanted to examine Túreb further, but didn’t have the time. His job was to tend to the living, not perform autopsies in the middle of a war.

Buffy tried to comfort Sador, not only did he lose his best friend (who was like a brother to him), but also his arm. She offered to send the Sinda back to Taurost, but he refused to leave. He wanted to stay and fight in honor of his ancient friendship with the late march warden of Doriath.

Not only did the Slayer lose an old friend in Túreb, but as her eyes scanned the encampment, she saw rows and rows of her fallen allies. Each covered in a blanket of canvas in the color of their rank. Thousands of them. Buffy then learned that all the dead had been alive when they arrived. There were not enough healers to tend to all the injured. The magnitude of their losses devastated the Slayer. And what made matters worse was that more lie dead on the battlefield.

Word of Buffy’s presence spread throughout the encampment like wildfire. Several messengers soon arrived and delivered even bleaker news; Illyria’s forces nearly had them surrounded. The allied forces were being overpowered by the might of her firstborn. Already there were whisperings amongst the mortals of surrender to the will of the blue demoness. They feared that their race would soon be exterminated.

The Slayer was informed that many generals and captains waited at her pavilion for further instructions. Before heading to her tent, she changed into falcon form and soared high above the battlefield. She had to see for herself how bad things had become. Buffy always knew that their chances for victory were slim, but they had to try, nevertheless. If she failed, then the plague of degeneracy would spread to the West, covering all of Middle-earth in darkness. No, she couldn’t allow that to happen.

The enemy had indeed forced her armies back nearly a half a mile from their original positions. For the first time, she noticed the many banners of the evil ones. Of course, Illyria’s five-rayed star was the largest and most prominent of them all, but she recognized some of the symbols on others. Namely, a sun surrounded by three stars, a wolf, a ram and a hart.

A disheartened Buffy then descended from the pitch-black sky, landing in front of her pavilion. As soon as she changed into her mortal form, many people came running up to her telling her of the losses they had suffered. She entered the tent, immediately bypassing the throng of people for her sleeping chamber. She pulled off her armor before unlocking the copper trunk. The only thing that remained inside was a small blue satin bag that held one of her greatest treasures. The Slayer shoved the package into the pocket of her breeches. She then sat on the edge of the bed and cried for those that lost their lives fighting for her. Illyria’s forces had wiped out over thirty thousand people from her Household alone. So many of her dearest friends lay dead on the battlefield, including some of the Maiar. While they had the ability to remake their flesh, the energy that it required meant that they would not be returning to the battle. Buffy dried her eyes and tried to pull herself together before confronting the generals and captains who impatiently waited for her. She didn’t want them to see their commander acting like a blubbering fool.

Once she had convinced herself that she had to move on to Plan B, she removed the red jewel of Fëanor from around her neck. Carefully, she placed it in the bottom of her trunk along with her silver wedding band. Buffy loathed leaving the objects that represented her beloved Maglor behind, but she knew that if he saw them, then she’d be on her own. Her biggest test lay before her. Could see convince Morgoth to help her, and if so, at what price? She shuddered at the thought. If she failed, chaos would reign.

Only one other person knew of Plan B aside from the Slayer, and that was Brokk. Her paranoia had grown to the extent that she had misgivings about trusting anyone, including her own children. Since she had to put her faith into someone, she chose the dwarf, for a number of reasons.

As soon as a somber Buffy entered the adjoining chamber, she found herself surrounded by dozens of officers, each asking questions regarding strategy. While that was completely understandable, she couldn’t clearly hear anyone as they all spoke at the same time.

“Shut up!” she finally shouted over the clamor. When the room fell to only murmurings, she continued. “I understand our casualty rate is high, but that doesn’t mean we quit trying. I’ve been out there fighting, too… We’ve all lost loved ones, that’s why we need to keep going. Don’t let their deaths be in vain.” She paused before turning to Luthor. “You’re in charge, Luthor. There’s something that I’ve got to tend to and I’ll be gone a while.” Brokk pushed his way through the crowded room and stood next to the Slayer. The look on his face indicated that he knew what was going on. Luthor immediately noticed that. “Brokk is going with me,” she added.

The old man grabbed Buffy by the arm and pulled her into her sleeping chamber. Thranduil and Brokk followed close behind.

“Why do I have a suspicion that you’re about to do something foolish?” asked Luthor in a scathing tone. The Slayer refused to meet his gaze. The old man grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her. “Tell me you’re not about to do what I think you’re about to do!”

“Get your hands off her!” yelled Thranduil, as he and the dwarf forced the Maia to free the Slayer. “How dare you!”

“Stay out of this, Thranduil,” said an angry Luthor. “You have no idea what Bella is up to.”

“Perhaps not, but I trust her judgment. If she… ”

“She is going to Angband,” interrupted the old man. “Aren’t you?”

Thranduil’s jaw dropped when he heard that. When the Slayer glanced at him, he quickly shut his mouth.

“I have to do what I have to do,” she answered softly yet firmly. “If we don’t get help, everyone will die… or worse, become enslaved to Illyria. Morgoth’s our only hope.”

“That is madness!” exclaimed Luthor. “You’re playing a very dangerous game by getting Melkor involved.”

“Maybe, but I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, too.”

“Don’t underestimate Freya, Luthor,” chimed in Brokk. “She has told me her plan and I deem that it’s worthy of pursuit.”

The Maia scowled. “Let’s hear this plan of yours then.”

“I can’t… I can’t tell anyone… ” she stammered.

“Why not?” queried Luthor.

“Because I don’t know who I can trust.” The look on both Luthor and Thranduil’s faces nearly broke the Slayer’s heart. Her comment hurt them deeply.

“You don’t trust me?” said Thranduil as his eyes welled with tears.

The look in the elf’s eyes caused her to change her mind. She made both the elf and Maia swear to keep secret what she was about to tell them. If they told anyone, even a fly on the wall, the punishment would be most severe. Once they had pledged to keep her plan confidential, she told them everything. Not one detail did she leave out. They were both stunned at the brashness of her scheme but questioned whether she could pull it off. Buffy had to try; she had no other options left.

Only minutes later, she and Brokk said their farewells and vanished. When they reappeared, the Slayer put the blue satin pouch in the dwarf’s hand. “Good luck, Brokk.”

“I will await your signal, my Lady. I wish you luck as well.” They gave each other a peck on the cheek before Buffy disappeared.

When the Slayer arrived outside the second gate to Angband, (which was not located in Beleriand, where the elves could easily observe her), the light from the sun was blinding. She stood there for a few moments with her eyes shielded, savoring the warmth of the rays. It seemed like ages since she had last seen that glowing orb. Once her eyes became acclimated to the light, Buffy climbed up the rock wall to the door. The same door that she and Luthor had used to escape from Angband long ago.

The gate swung upon, and there stood a frustrated Sauron. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been waiting here for three years!”