Full Circle

Úrion wasted no time. With the Slayer incapacitated and his accomplices in position, the time had come for him to put his lord’s plan into action. He cast a backwards glance at Buffy’s still form on the floor before leaving the chamber. The dark-haired elf was confident that she wouldn’t be going anywhere after consuming his drug-laced wine. He stationed several of his men outside her pavilion to prevent any from entering her sanctuary.

“Don’t hesitate to kill any that approach this tent, including Sauron,” ordered Úrion. He then went to find Umdir, one of his most powerful cohorts.

Only minutes later, six members of Buffy’s elvish guard approached the pavilion anxious to deliver the news that the allies had broken through the gates of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. It was a monumental moment in the war and they knew that the she would be thrilled to hear their message. The unexpected attack by their own kindred outside the tent left the guard with no time to react. They were so shocked that they never got the chance to unsheathe their weapons. The traitorous Green-elves viciously slaughtered their own people before the Slayer’s doors. Úrion’s men then quickly dragged the dead into the tent, relieved that none of the ‘loyalists’ had seen their sudden act of betrayal.

Umdir stood within the confines of Úrion’s tent as he uttered the incantation to place a very special kind of Bubble around the hilltop. It was similar to the one placed by Ollok around Numeira except those that followed Buffy would be thrust from its boundaries. The generals and messengers stationed upon the mount were greatly dismayed when they were abruptly ousted from their positions by what seemed to be an invisible hand. Like a powerful slap, it sent them flying through the air over one hundred feet before they crashed painfully to the earth. The dazed and confused generals attempted to return to their original posts but the invisible barrier prevented them from doing so. Those that tried to beat on the force field experienced a painful electrical jolt, which sent them flying backwards several feet.

Horn blasts rang out in alarm under the pitch-black sky. The sound reverberated across the plains, alerting those on the battlefield some two leagues away to the south. The notes indicated that the Slayer was in danger.

By the time that the sounds of warning reached the gates of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ, Olofin had already found himself in a perilous situation. Only minutes before, a demonic guard had materialized out of thin air catching the half-elf by surprise. The minions of Illyria quickly formed a shield around Acathla. It was imperative that the evil guard protect that fell beast, for its powers had not yet been activated, leaving it vulnerable to attack. The Slayer’s firstborn wanted to make sure that none hindered her mighty foe from sucking all of Arda into Hell.

Olofin had just summoned others from Buffy’s Household to aid in battling the newcomers when the call alarm reached his ears, chilling his heart. Knowing that his mother was in harm’s way caused him much distress. He had to go to her. Since the Noldo was busy fighting his own demons, he yelled for Gúrchim to take several troops back to the mount in order to render aid to the Slayer. The monsters defending Acathla became distracted when they heard the numerous horn blasts that echoed outside the wall of the city. The withdrawal of numerous hosts of Men, Elves, Dwarves and Maiar from the region diverted their attention further. Amazingly, the hasty departure of the allies struck fear into the malevolent hearts of Illyria’s guard. They believed that it did not portend well for them. That gave Olofin the break he was looking for.

“For Bellaseth Dagnir,” he shouted as he and his companions attacked the confused creatures with renewed vigor. As the elves fought the wretched demons, a small band of dwarves crept, hunched down, through the gap in the fence. The much taller minions of Illyria did not see the short children of Mahal enter their domain. The Naugrim immediately spread out amongst the combatants, swinging their axes at the knees of the evildoers. The unsuspecting monsters came crashing down like towering trees, thus allowing the dwarves the opportunity to deliver their fatal blows.

The armies of Angband started flooding through the breach eager to keep the enemy from joining the fray around Acathla. They slew the traitors of Morgoth with such cruelty that many of the wicked foes fled from the fight. One by one, the guard that had surrounded the monstrous demon fell.

When all had perished, Olofin found himself standing face-to-face with Acathla. The demon’s appearance may have resembled a statue, but that was far from the truth. Suddenly, the evil within its eyes came alive; they started glowing bright orange. A second flash of light emanated from its mouth as its lower jaw began to drop. Without hesitation, the half-elf plunged his blade deep into the heart of the beast before it drew its first breath. The Noldo’s blade became embedded in the creature as a gust of wind and a flickering of white light momentarily whirled around the monster. All then fell quiet. Acathla had turned to stone much like Morgoth’s trolls when exposed to sunlight.

The allies’ roared with delight; they had thwarted yet another one of Illyria’s most potent fiends. Olofin then ordered his brigade to take the stone figure of Acathla back north. He was no longer interested in invading his half sister’s city, but was anxious to return to the hill where he knew that something sinister was taking place. The half-elf mounted his horse before he and his men galloped away from Bâb-edh-Dhrâ.

Many of Morgoth’s minions took flight after Olofin when they discovered that the call meant that Buffy was in trouble. They knew that their master would want them to see to it that no harm came to his beloved. Others deemed that it was in their best interest to contend with the armies of Illyria.



Úrion viciously backhanded the Slayer. “Wake up, whore!” A soft moan escaped her lips as she groggily started to regain consciousness. The dark-haired elf delivered another blow. The sting from the slap was nothing when compared to the intense searing pain that she felt emanating from her wrists and ankles. She groaned again as Úrion grabbed a fistful of Buffy’s hair, yanking her head back until it collided with something solid. “Come now, Dagnir, I’ve waited a long time for this moment. I want you wide-awake for this most auspicious of occasions.” He released his grip, her head lolled about on her shoulders. Úrion’s voice seemed distant to her, almost dream-like. Buffy’s senses were gradually becoming more alert. Even with her eyes closed, she could perceive that she was upright and bound, her arms stretched out from her sides, her legs crossed. Any attempt at moving caused her greater suffering. She didn’t have to open her eyes to realize that she was being crucified.

Buffy blinked her eyes repeatedly until her vision became less hazy. After several minutes, she was able to focus on Úrion. He stood before her, a smirk on his face; in his right hand, he clutched a long metal spear. The Slayer’s gaze shifted from the elf to her agonizing feet; one naked ankle crossed the other, a large metal spike pierced through them both. Blood dripped from the tips of her toes, splattering onto the woodpile that had been neatly arranged around the bottom of the post on which she was affixed. Two other crimson streams cascaded from the wounds to her wrists. The loss of so much blood had caused her body to become fatigued, especially her arms. Buffy couldn’t believe what was happening to her.

“The look on your face makes this all worthwhile,” said Úrion with such loathing. Buffy’s numerous attempts to free herself proved futile. No matter how much she ‘willed’ it, she remained attached to the cross. Her face distorted into a grimace when she attempted to jerk her arm free, but to no avail. The pain caused her to whimper. The Slayer was powerless. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” taunted the elf. “You can’t escape, Bella, I’ve seen to that.”

“Why… why are you doing this?” she managed to ask, holding back the tears that had already filled her eyes.

“Why?” he asked mockingly, pointing the spear at her chest. “Hmm, I would think that it’s quite obvious: I despise you! You are the embodiment of everything… evil.”

Úrion wasn’t about to reveal his ulterior motive. There was no way that he was going to mention that he longed to be with her, that he had fallen in love with her years ago. Buffy was his ideal woman. She was beautiful, powerful, resourceful, and proved to be a mighty warrior in any combative situation. In the end, her unpredictable nature led him astray, that, and Angwen. The witch had entered his life again when Buffy had left him in charge of governing the affairs of Ossir. She pleaded with Úrion to join forces with her lord to expel the Slayer from Middle-earth. The elf was reluctant to turn against Melkor, but since Angwen still wore the form of Buffy, he was easily seduced.

“So, what do you think of your symbol now, Dagnir?” he queried in a cold, sadistic voice. “I think it’s rather becoming that you should suffer while affixed to your most esteemed icon. It is most appropriate, don’t you agree?” He withdrew his weapon and took a few steps backwards, admiring the terrible spectacle. “I take it that you’re not pleased,” he continued in the same contemptuous tone. “This means of torture is meant to kill one slowly; perhaps I’ll show you mercy and end your suffering soon.” He thrust the spear into the ground.

From beneath his cloak, Úrion pulled out a small bundle that contained a single red rose. “Here we have another one of your symbols: the meril.” He carefully picked up the flower and deeply inhaled the sweet scent. His facial expression momentarily softened as did the tone of his voice. The fragrance brought to mind the numerous times that he had stealthily crept into Buffy’s private quarters, only to watch or touch her while she slept. “Of all your symbols, this most exemplifies your qualities. It’s beautiful, alluring, and its scent is most intoxicating.” The elf held the blossom to his nose, sniffing the flower once again. “Yet if one wishes to claim it for his own, he must exercise caution, or he’ll end up being pricked by the many thorns that protrude from the stem.” Úrion shifted his gaze from the rose to the Slayer. “That is what you are, my dear. You are a temptress, you lure in the innocent, only to draw blood. No, this flower is meant to be longed for, not taken. Just like its creator.”

His countenance became wistful, before he resumed speaking. “That is Melkor’s folly, you see. He is so smitten by you that he no longer cares that your barbs pierce his flesh or those loyal to him… even his own daughter. He is blinded by love, which makes him weak, and will lead to his downfall in the end. I see that now.”

“Don’t do this, Úrion,” she pleaded softly with a shake of her head.

“You’re in no position to make any demands of me, Dagnir,” he retorted as he tossed the flower onto the woodpile. “I’m not here to talk about Melkor. This is your big day, not his. Forgive me. It wasn’t my intention to bring your… lover into this.” He snapped his fingers and immediately one of the evil elves came carrying a square wooden box. Buffy’s eyes traveled to the silver-haired elf. She couldn’t believe that Aelon had turned against her too; he was one of her chief councilors. Her heart broke all the more when she noticed all the familiar faces of her Household that had been corrupted by the lies of Úrion. The dark-headed elf opened the box in Aelon’s hands and removed a crown of thorns. With a devilish grin on his face, he climbed atop the stacked wood beneath the cross.

“Since you are by all rights a Queen, you should have a crown to signify your worth on this momentous day. I’ve taken the liberty of removing the beautiful bulbs from the flowers. It seems truly befitting that your circlet is made only from the thorny stems of the flower.” Úrion rammed the crown of thorns on top of her head. The Slayer winced as the barbs pierced through the skin on her forehead. “Perfect,” he whispered before climbing back down off the pile of wood. “Aelon!” he called out. “Bring me the spear.” The elf hastily came to his side; weapon in hand. “Thank you, my good elf.” Úrion turned his attention back to Buffy. “Any last words? Your loyal following might want to hear some words of comfort in these most trying of times.”

The Slayer couldn’t believe that Úrion was able to pull off such a despicable deed in the company of so many people. Her people, no less. As her eyes scanned the encampment, she saw many of her loyal allies attempting to beat on the invisible barrier with both their weapons and fists. Unfortunately, blasts from the Gloves and hurling pots of Greek Fire proved to be fruitless. More and more individuals mounted the knoll, their cries of despair shattered the night. Buffy’s most noble and valiant warriors didn’t bother to conceal the look of terror on their faces. Some were so grief-stricken that they fell to their knees sobbing. Shock had consumed others, who stood there paralyzed by fear; tears streamed down their frightened pale faces.

Úrion’s words and actions left Buffy flummoxed. The reality of the situation was finally sinking in, horrifying her all the more. She had never imagined that a day would come when Úrion would turn on her; the thought never crossed her mind in all their years of friendship. She trusted him. She loved him. Buffy couldn’t understand what would drive him to torture her in such a brutal and inhumane manner. What did she ever do to the elf to justify that type of punishment?

The Slayer’s emotional anguish was far greater than the physical torments that the elf was subjecting her to, his betrayal was worse than death itself.

“You can’t kill me?” she finally whispered, her eyes locked on the betrayer.

“My objective is not to kill you, my dear Bellaseth,” he cackled. His evil laughter gave her goose bumps. He then reached into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out an Orb of Thezula. The Slayer’s eyes widened. Seeing the mystical spirit vault in Úrion’s hand alarmed her more than being crucified. She shuddered, which sent shock waves of pain throughout her body. “Ah, just the reaction I was going for. It seems just that you should be imprisoned in the device wrought by the dwarves.” His lips curled into a wicked grin as he slid the sphere back into his pocket. “I thank you for teaching me the incantation to summon a fey. I take it as an honor to be the one to trap you for all of eternity,” he said with a slight nod of his head. “But now, my dear, the time has come for all of us to find out the answer to this question: can I make you scream?”

Úrion then charged the Slayer, his weapon at the ready. To Buffy, it looked like he was moving in slow motion, but in reality only a couple of seconds had passed before he drove the spear into her flesh. She took a deep intake of breath as the sharpened point quickly passed through her organs embedding into the wooden beam behind her. Instantly, she went numb from the waist down; the elf had severed her spinal cord. The tears spilled from her eyes, her breathing came in rapid gasps. Buffy felt a tightening in her chest, she couldn’t catch her breath.

“Scream! Damn it! Scream!” yelled an angry Úrion, his face contorted to one of an enraged maniac. He grabbed the spear, and twisted it causing Buffy to moan. Her mouth was agape as the metal object shifted about in her body. “Do you only scream in intimate situations? Should I have shoved the spear somewhere else?” The Slayer attempted to speak but only made a series of gurgling sounds. She coughed and gasped for air as a mixture of blood and mucus spewed from her mouth. The pain was unbearable. She prayed for death knowing that that was the only way that her fey would be able to escape her hrör.

“Mother!” cried out Olofin when he witnessed the heart-wrenching scene. He had arrived with reinforcements only a moment before. Many of Buffy’s closest friends surrounded her distraught son. After they failed to break through the barrier, they fell to their knees weeping uncontrollably. Soon, all the people on the mount followed suit. They began to pray for divine intervention.

The Slayer’s eyes searched the crowd desperately looking for her youngest child.

“Well, well, well,” said a sneering Úrion when he heard the traumatized voice of Olofin. “It looks like the Valar are smiling down upon me, and rightly so. After you’re locked away, my dear, I shall delight in torturing your half-breed son.” He cast a glance over his shoulder before he continued. “Oh, how it disgusts me that you’ve lowered yourself by procreating with one of the lower beings. It’s immoral! But don’t worry; Olofinwë’s fate is not unlike your own. I have something special in store for him.”

Buffy’s head fell forward as the blood poured from both her mouth and nostrils. Her vision was becoming fuzzy, as was her mind. Úrion leapt off the woodpile, shouting instructions to his cohorts, but she was unable to decipher his words. Shortly thereafter, something wet rained down upon her head, drenching her whole body, it smelled like oil. The Slayer kept her eyes tightly closed but the liquid managed to get into her eyes, burning them horribly.

“Light the pyre!” ordered the dark-haired elf. Only moments later, a whoosh of flame and heat sprang up from the woodpile, engulfing the Slayer. Úrion and his fellow conspirators howled with glee at the sight of Buffy’s body being consumed by the flames. The scent of burning hair and flesh filled the compound. The wailing cries from the loyalists deafened the cheers from the traitorous elves.

No words could describe the pain that Buffy was experiencing; it was beyond excruciating. Finally, she gave Úrion what he longed for; she let out an ear-splitting scream that literally shook the ground. Bolts of lightning flashed over the hilltop as a loud crack of thunder answered her bemoaning cry.

Now, it must be told that Buffy’s cry set off a series of events that soon followed. Her bloodcurdling shriek traveled far and wide, more so than any there had originally thought. The sound must have carried on the wind to the west, for it was heard by none other than Morgoth himself. Melkor was sitting atop his throne in his subterranean fortress when he heard the anguished cry of his beloved. “Melisse!” he exclaimed. His dismay swiftly turned to wrath. Only moments later, his fey shot out of its house like a rocket until it cleared the mountain peaks of Angband. The ground shook violently, alerting the elves that dwelt in that region that something was amiss in the north. Many of the Noldor saw the fey of Morgoth when it cleared the heights of Thangorodrim. It resembled a mammoth black cloud that flickered with lightning. A loud rumbling sound emanated from the ominous-looking ‘cloud’ as it zoomed off to the east, quickly fading from the elves view as it passed over Ered Luin. A furious Melkor was on his way to save Buffy from whatever torments she was being subjected to; there would be hell to pay for the one inflicting such pain on his lover.

Before the Slayer’s spirit left her body, Úrion, with the Orb in his outstretched hand, started uttering the spell to summon her fey. With her hrör ravaged, the magicks that kept her confined to it now released her. Buffy’s essence rose above the pyre; she could now see the shimmering electrical impulses that formed the force field. She perceived the pain and sorrow of the thousands that had gathered around the edge of the Bubble. The thought that she was the one responsible for their heartache grieved her all the more. So much death. Betrayal. It was too much for her to bear. Her body was utterly destroyed, giving her the freedom that she longed for. The darkness called to her, beckoned her. There she could hide from the world and its inhabitants, leaving the Valar as the guardians of their destinies, not her. This was the opportunity that she had been waiting for. She wanted it. Buffy’s yearning for the darkness overwhelmed her. Her fey soared up until it collided with the Bubble causing a massive explosion above the mount. The impact produced a turbulent wind that threw many people off their feet. A blinding white light shot upwards thousands of feet. The black clouds of Illyria began to dissipate and for the first time in three and a half years, the stars of Varda shone down upon the eastern plains of Middle-earth. The bright white light blinded the numerous people on the ground; in its center was Buffy in all her glory and splendor. She resembled a bright blue flame, both splendid and terrible. The Maiar and Olofin were the only ones that did not have to turn their eyes away from that bedazzling light. The others shielded their eyes; yet found comfort, joy and love in the radiance of her being.

“…let this orb be the vess-… Ugh!” Úrion stopped mid-sentence. He let out a gasp of both surprise and pain as his eyes shifted down, a glistening blade stuck out of his gut. Suddenly, an arm wrapped tightly around his neck. The elf had been attacked at unawares. He frantically tried to fend off the perpetrator but with no success; the Orb slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground. He tried to force his fey to leave its hrör, but that too failed. Someone was using dark magicks against him!

“Come back!” shouted Sauron to Buffy’s fey. He clutched Úrion’s fidgeting form firmly as his eyes remained fixed on the Slayer’s brilliant essence. “Don’t leave, Inanna,” implored the servant of Melkor. “Let’s finish this… together!”

Sauron’s plea absolutely bewildered Buffy. He annoyed her more than anyone else in Arda, yet the look in his eyes caused her to stay put. She could see that he seemed to be genuinely concerned about her well-being and disturbed by the actions of Úrion; she no longer doubted his sincerity or intentions. And for the love of Eru, he had the bastard Úrion trapped within his clutches. That alone made Buffy reconsider fleeing to Ilmen, the heavens of Eä.

The pyre then caught her attention. Watching her hröa burn on her sacred symbol only increased her sorrow. Buffy had made that body, a perfect replica of her original, and now it was lost. While housed within it, she experienced her most horrific torments and greatest pleasures. So many thoughts came rushing to her. She felt foolish that she hadn’t seen any signs of Úrion’s deception before now. The more she thought about that and the bitterness of his words, the angrier she became. The Slayer was anxious to get to the bottom of things. It was time for her to discover the truth about Úrion and his lord.

The intensity of the light from her fey waned as she descended from the night sky. Her blue essence hovered inches above the ground in front of Úrion and Sauron. In that moment, those present saw for the first time ever, the true incarnation of Maranwë Luinil, which was quite different from the form that they were accustomed to seeing. She materialized naked, standing well over six feet tall. Her long, snow-white hair cascaded down her back, well past her knees; her eyes were the same intense blue as her elder children. She was breathtakingly beautiful and love emitted from her holiness like never before. Only a split second later, she changed back into Buffy, yet her eyes sparkled with a fury that none had yet witnessed - they were jet black. All of a sudden, magical raiment, red in color, slowly crept over her body, concealing her nudity; it fit like spandex yet was tougher than mithril.

Buffy stood before a trembling and whimpering Úrion. Sauron still had the elf in a chokehold, his sword protruded from the traitor’s stomach. The Slayer grabbed the tip of the blade and twisted it causing the elf to cry out in pain. She snickered as she licked the blood from her fingers. “I see that the magicks placed on this blade prevent ones fey from leaving its hrör.” Sauron nodded. “I take it that something similar was used on me… I couldn’t escape.” He nodded again. “Hmm, thought so. Must be the work of Morgoth. It’s so his style.” Her eyes bore into Úrion as she roughly grabbed his face. “Let’s see what you’ve been up to… my dear,” she added in the same mocking tone that he had used earlier.

The Slayer then rammed her balled up fist into Úrion’s chest. The elf let out a loud squeal. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” she continued in the same scornful tone. Sauron, holding the elf tightly, looked on in amazement as Buffy seized the heart of the traitor and yanked it from its cavity with her bare hand. She threw her head back before placing the bleeding organ over her opened mouth.

Drinking Úrion’s life force revealed the many secrets that he had been keeping from her. Buffy was shocked to discover all the various conspiracies against her. But what hurt her most was that her friendship with Úrion had been a farce from the very beginning. He was the mole. Morgoth had set her up from the start. The whole situation with the vampires in Brethil long ago had been a well-choreographed scheme to introduce Melkor’s plant into Buffy’s Household. Morgoth knew that she’d show mercy for his servant and give him a second chance. She felt like a fool.

Úrion was behind every major catastrophe in her life, from bewitching Mablung into demanding that Buffy become his wife to harboring the murderer of Orchal, Gúrchim, Drór and Ordon. Moreover, he was by no means an elf, but a Maia, a Maia with a sick, twisted fixation for the Slayer. In the beginning, he hated her so much that he relished every single torment that he was able to inflict on her. He wanted to be the one to break her, to destroy her. Not her body, but her spirit. Úrion’s task was to beat her down emotionally so that she would easily succumb to the charms of Morgoth. When that failed, he drugged and used magicks on her.

Over time, his hatred turned to jealousy and envy. That was when he became involved in the establishing of a government in Ossir. With his position and influence, he was able to copy the designs of the war machines and send them in secret to Morgoth, who then passed them on to his many disciples. He was also the one responsible for sabotaging the engines during Dagor Aglareb.

Úrion’s ‘lust’ for the Slayer began around the time that she and Maglor first got together. There was no way that she’d ever refer to his feelings for her as love. The traitor had no comprehension of the word. The things that Buffy ‘saw’ were quite creepy and disturbing. She would never say any more than that.

As the blood continued to run down her throat, she now knew that Úrion emptied her treasuries when she left him in charge after returning with Maglor to the Gap. Many great artifacts were now stowed in a fortress located in southern Beleriand, far south of Ossir. That was where the witch Angwen currently dwelt in hiding. Knowing that bitch’s whereabouts put a smile on her face. On top of that, she learned who the mastermind was behind her torments in the pyramid, who also happened to be Úrion’s ‘new’ lord. Those newfound revelations stifled her feelings of sorrow and disappointment. She would be better served by thwarting the enemy instead.

She tossed the heart onto the pyre before turning her attention back to Úrion. The Slayer grabbed his cloak and wiped the blood from her hands and face. A tingly sensation permeated her body. “What a tangled web you’ve weaved, my dear,” said a seething Buffy. “You can kill me, you can betray Melkor, I couldn’t give a shit. But plotting against my son… ”

“He has betrayed Melkor!” squeaked Sauron in surprise.

Her lips curled into a wicked grin. “He broke his allegiance with Melkor long ago,” revealed Buffy. “And he’s not the only one.” She grabbed the traitor by the face; her fingers sank deep into his flesh. “I find it rather ironic that your diatribe against Melkor applies to you. ‘Love’ has weakened you and led to your downfall. That bitch of yours will taste my wrath and guess what Úrion… I’m not a merciful God. I’m wrath. Vengeance will be mine, there’s no doubting that!” Buffy held out her opened palm in front of the traitor’s face. The orb on the ground then vanished and materialized on the palm of her hand. “I think it’s only appropriate that I send you back to Angband for a while. Eru only knows what Melkor will do to reward your treachery…”

“Nooo!” shouted the traitor, his eyes widened at the terrifying thought.

“It only seems just,” she said gloatingly. “Open wide,” she ordered. The Slayer squeezed his cheeks so hard that she forced his jaws apart. She slammed the crystal sphere into his mouth, smashing his teeth in the process. “Your suffering will end soon enough... Or should I say, ‘it has yet to begin?’” Her smile widened as blood gushed from his mouth. “Get ready, Sauron.” He gave a nod of his head as Buffy began the incantation to call forth the traitorous fey. The Necromancer then pulled out his blade and Úrion’s spirit left his body and entered the globe. The orb flashed with a blue light before becoming transparent once again; the Maia was trapped.

Sauron shoved the limp form of Úrion to the ground; he then fell to his knees. He grabbed Buffy’s free hand and kissed the top of it. “You are indeed the mightiest of the mighty,” he said effusively. “I humble myself before you, oh beloved Inanna Ishtar, greatest of the Valier. I now see why my Lord is so enamored of you. You are truly worthy of praise… ”

Buffy giggled upon hearing the Necromancer’s comments. “Your words of flattery don’t change my feelings towards you, Sauron. You’re still an asshole. But at least, I know that.” She tossed the orb to him. “Send my regards to Melkor. When I’ve prepared my punishment for Úrion, I want him back. But I think Melkor would like to have a little fun with him first.”

The Necromancer glared at the sphere. “Yes, indeed. My Master will delight in punishing the traitorous scum.” He lifted his gaze until it met hers. “Who has he aligned himself with?”

“Daehir.”