Full Circle

With the Bubble broken, the allies rushed the traitors in the encampment. Chaos ensued. Sauron leapt to his feet and looked to Buffy for instructions. She stood there with her eyes closed, seemingly unfazed by the commotion that erupted around them. A faint tinkling sound briefly diverted the Maia’s attention from her motionless form. That’s when he noticed the belt of Morgoth slithering out of the confines of Úrion’s cloak pocket. It crept along the ground, up the Slayer’s leg until it found its home around her waist. He looked bemusedly at her knowing that something extraordinary was about to happen. The Necromancer could feel the power radiating from her essence like never before.

As Buffy stood there, images of death and destruction flashed in her mind, scenes that she had witnessed long ago while sitting atop her throne in Folkvang. Things started to make sense to her. It was as if she had an epiphany and knew that the time had arrived for her to realize her true purpose in that war. It was time to carry out the will of Eru Ilúvatar.

The Slayer’s eyes popped open; they were still cold and black. She raised her opened hand; a second later, the Trident of Ulmo materialized within her grasp. She clutched the weapon tightly before shouting, “ENOUGH!” in a booming voice that resonated across the hilltop. Her tone was so intense that all stopped what they were doing in an instant. In an even louder voice that traveled across the lands, she yelled, “FALL BACK!” to the allies that surrounded the cities of Numeira and Bâb-edh-Dhrâ.

In the next moment, she rammed the Trident into the ground. A bright, bluish-white light emitted from the weapon as the earth began to shake and tremble, frightening those on the mount. Buffy’s hands remained firmly clasped on the mystical weapon as her gaze shifted to the north.

“Party’s over, perverts!” she said under her breath.

Suddenly, a deep fissure opened outside the gates of Numeira. The allies stationed there fled in all directions as the earth continued to split open around the entire city. Screams and cries from the inhabitants rang out in the night. Before any could escape, the gases released from the crack ignited, causing a massive explosion that illuminated the entire region. Huge chunks of flaming rock shot hundreds of feet into the air before plummeting back down upon the city. A chorus of whistling sounds, reminiscent of fireworks or missiles, sounded as the city fell to ruins. So intense was the fire, that the city was utterly destroyed in a matter of minutes, leaving nothing but smoldering ash and a lingering stench of sulfur in its wake.

With her hands still on the Trident, Buffy shifted her eyes to the south and the city of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. Once again, a deep fissure opened up outside its walls, gradually encircling it. The two rivers that went through the city changed their course before the allies’ very eyes. As she continued to watch the ground split open, someone blindsided the Slayer, which sent her crashing to the ground. Looking up, she saw the monstrous form of Illyria standing over her, brandishing two long, razor sharp blades.

Before Buffy could shout commands to her people, her firstborn froze time. The loud, cracking sound and the rumblings from beneath the earth stopped abruptly as did all the people in that area. Only the Slayer and her eldest daughter were not affected by the spell.

“How dare you seek to destroy what is rightfully mine!” declared Illyria in a menacing voice. She swung her weapons, not at Buffy, but at the tents and pavilions erected in her vicinity. The blades cut through the generals’ dwellings like butter, littering the ground with parchment, clothing and furnishings. While the blue demoness preoccupied herself with destroying the encampment, the Slayer, with a wave of her hand, transplanted all of her ‘petrified’ people on the mount to its base, and out of harm’s way. She then nimbly leapt to her feet and pulled the Trident from the ground.

“Enough of the Destructo-girl behavior already,” chided Buffy to her daughter. Despite the traumatizing events that had occurred only minutes prior to Illyria’s arrival, the Slayer couldn’t help but be amused by her firstborn’s temper tantrum. “You’re not too old to turn over my knee, young lady.”

The King of the East stopped her demolition and looked down upon the small form of her mother. She laughed as she pointed one of her weapons at Buffy. “Who are you to insult me in my lands? You are nothing but a cockroach. I can kill you where you stand.” Illyria swiftly lifted one of her taloned feet in an attempt to impale her mother with it, but the Slayer merely jumped out of the way. Her claw made a furrow in the earth.

“For your information, I’ve already died today,” shot back Buffy, who was now in fighting stance. “I’m really not in the mood for a repeat performance. I can assure you that there’s no way that I’m gonna let that happen again.” Her eyes bore into her firstborn’s. “Your reign is over. For far too long you’ve oppressed those that dwell in the East. I will no longer allow them to endure your hatred and suffering; it ends now.”

Illyria’s eyes blazed with fury at her mother’s words. “Your meager attempts at flustering me have been in vain… mother! The outcome of this fight has been foretold many years ago: you cannot defeat me!” She then swung one of her mammoth blades at Buffy. The Slayer lifted the Trident with both hands, catching Illyria’s weapon between the prongs; sparks issued forth upon contact. While she held that blade at bay, her firstborn swung the other one, which hit Buffy’s side, sending her flying through the air until she careened into one of the wooden beams that formed the frame of another shelter. The blow left her winded, but her hardened skin prevented the sharp edge of the blade from slicing the Slayer in two.

“Okay, now I’m pissed,” grumbled Buffy as she got to her feet.

“You are puny and weak,” taunted Illyria, who now stood towering over her mother.

“Well then, let’s see what we can do about that!” The Slayer and the Trident of Ulmo then began to grow before her daughter’s eyes. In only a matter of seconds, the Vala of Love matched her daughter in height. That display of magic greatly dismayed Illyria. Buffy pulled a mystical charm from her belt; it enlarged to match her mammoth form.

Both were momentarily unaware that the spell that had kept the others frozen had broken. Neither noticed the rumbling and cracking sounds that started up once again. To the south, the fissure continued to wind its way around the entire city of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. When the crevice had completely encircled Illyria’s realm, the cracking noise ceased. The allies waited expectantly for the explosion, yet it never came. In fact, no sound was heard from within the city, not even a horn blast. But still the rumblings continued deep beneath the earth, sounding much like a painful groan.

Hordes of allies started climbing the trails leading to the summit of the mount as mother and daughter began battling one another.

Buffy swung her sword with full force at her daughter. As Illyria went to block it with both of her blades, her mother brought the Trident down upon the two tentacles that her firstborn had attempted to wrap around her. The blue demoness let out a painful shriek when the prongs pierced her flesh. From those wounds came a torrent of blood that pooled on the surface of the mount, resembling a scarlet mere.

Despite all the ill doings of her firstborn, Buffy felt a pang in her heart when she heard Illyria’s tormented cry. That moment of hesitation allowed her daughter to gain the upper hand.

The tentacles of Illyria moved in a whirlwind of motion, distracting the Slayer. There was no way Buffy could keep track of them all at the same time. The blue demoness had won the advantage in that respect. The Slayer attempted to counter the move by slowing time down to a near standstill, which her firstborn would re-counter by speeding up time. It seemed a strange thing to do as the spells did not affect their conjurors, only the spectators. However, things are not always as they seem. It was later learned that Buffy was well aware that her loyal followers were climbing up the hillside. She used that spell in an attempt to keep them at bay until Illyria was defeated. All the while, her firstborn was most anxious to have the allies scale the mount, for their deaths would torment her mother greatly.

While her daughter was unable to deliver any type of fatal blow, she did manage to knock the Slayer around like a rag doll. For a bit.

“I cannot believe that I sprang from your loins. And they call you the Slayer,” said Illyria mockingly as she stood over her dazed mother, who lay flat on her back, again. “I have yet to witness the martial prowess that you’re rumored to possess.” Four tentacles then wound their way around Buffy, pulling her to her feet. The blue demoness tightened her grip. She eyed her mother reproachfully. “You have demonstrated only your feebleness, both of mind and body. Perhaps my Qwa'ha Xahn is right: your body is more suited for carnal endeavors. At least, that is how I perceive it. Your past deeds should earn you the title of Vala of Fornication, or worse, Vala of Depravity.” Illyria glared at her mother before hissing, “Who are you to pass judgment on those that dwell in my kingdom? How dare you come into my lands condemning my people to death when you yourself have committed similar acts! You are a God, yet you’ve lain with the lower beings, bringing forth spawn not worthy of breathing the same air as I.” Buffy’s firstborn then spat in her face. “You are a disgrace to our race! You are an abomination! You are… ”

Illyria didn’t finish that last sentence. Buffy was so angry that she delivered a heat-butt to her daughter with all her might, leaving the blue demoness stunned by the blow. The Slayer then drove her sword and Trident into the ground before digging her nails into the open wounds on Illyria’s tentacles, causing her daughter to cry out in pain. The tide had finally turned.

Buffy then squeezed the tentacles that held the razor sharp weapons until the blades fell from Illyria’s grasp. “Let’s change things up a bit,” said the panting Slayer. While subduing her firstborn, she uttered the spell that caused them both to shrink to mortal size. Illyria looked very much like her mother save for the blue streaks in her hair and on her skin. “My turn,” declared a snickering Buffy. She threw a right hook at the King of the East, which sent her flying through the air before she landed with a splash in her own pool of blood. The Slayer waded into the mere and grabbed her firstborn by the hair, dragging her out kicking and screaming. She straddled her crimson-covered daughter before delivering blow after blow. “Honor.” Wham! “Thy.” Wham! “Father.” Wham! “And.” Wham! “Mother!” Wham!

As Buffy continued to pummel the face of her daughter, many of her loyal followers finally reached the hilltop. Many froze in fear, not at the spectacle before them, but at the luminous black cloud that was quickly approaching from the north. Only Olofin, Thranduil, Luthor and Orchal remained undaunted by Melkor’s presence. They ran towards the battling women.

“… How dare you compare me to those fuckin’ sickos!” seethed the Slayer as she continued to beat her daughter’s badly bruised face. “You need to learn to show some respect to your elders, especially me!” Illyria attempted to undo her mother’s spell, being anxious to return to her monstrous form, but she was unable to override Buffy’s magics. Once she determined that she was powerless, her body went limp. She surrendered. “You’re a creature of wickedness. You should never have been born!”

Buffy stopped her attack. Illyria looked at her mother with such loathing. If looks could kill, Buffy most certainly would’ve died on the spot.

“You… you cannot… defeat… me,” whispered her firstborn.

“Let’s just see about that!”

The Slayer raised her hand and summoned the Trident, the one object that could clearly penetrate the hide of her daughter. As the weapon sailed through the air, it shrunk back to its normal size, before finding its way to Buffy’s hand.

As she placed the prongs to Illyria’s throat, phantom Melkor materialized in his beautiful form by her side and screamed, “NOOOO! Don’t do it, Melisse! Please!” Buffy was startled by the sudden arrival of the horrified Vala. She shifted her gaze to Morgoth yet did not move the Trident a millimeter. “She’s my only child… Our child. There’s got to be another way!” pleaded Bauglir.

Buffy turned her glance back to Illyria, who now lay trembling beneath her weight. For the first time, she saw something different in her daughter’s eyes. She saw the innocent and loving girl of her dreams, the one that should’ve been born into the world, not the evil monster. The Slayer was shaken by that. If she truly believed in redemption, shouldn’t Illyria be given a second chance? Or was she rotten to the core, nothing more than an instigator of malice?

“Please, Melisse,” continued Morgoth in a frantic voice. He placed a phantom hand on her shoulder. Although he was in fey form, she felt his warmth, his love for both her and their child. “There’s another way.” The Dark Foe squatted beside his lover and daughter. “We can thrust her from this world, never to enter it again! But do not harm her more than you’ve already done. I beg of you. Please, Melisse, do this for me.”

Surprisingly, Buffy took pity on the both of them. Melkor’s desperate plea had softened her heart in regards to the fate of their daughter. Things became clearer and clearer. It was that whole epiphany thing again. The visions she experienced in Folkvang were now coming to fruition. She could see that now. No, Buffy couldn’t defeat Illyria. Her love for her oldest child prevented her from doing so. She turned her gaze to the south, knowing that Bâb-edh-Dhrâ was the city she saw being sucked beneath the earth over a century ago. It all made sense to her now. Images of what was about to transpire flashed through her mind.

Buffy couldn’t slay her firstborn, no matter how evil she may be. If she killed her daughter, she would be killing a part of herself. That left only one other option: she and Melkor would have to send both Illyria and the city of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ into another plane of existence via the Hellmouth. It was no mere coincidence that Illyria’s capital city was built on that exact location - it was predestined to be. It was the will of Eru Ilúvatar yet it was up to Buffy and Melkor to carry out His will.

“Alright, I’ll show you mercy,” relented the Slayer as she withdrew her weapon and rose to her feet. She then pulled her daughter to hers as well. “I’m gonna send you back to Vahla ha'nesh.” Illyria looked at her mother with shock-filled eyes. “Your reign of terror is over.” Buffy glanced at Melkor before turning her gaze back to their daughter. “We’ll send your kingdom into another realm where you can continue to rule your own people. Mankind’s off limits. Nor can you subjugate the Elves, Dwarves or any other creature of goodliness. Do it and you’ll die! I’ll do it myself if I have to. You are forbidden from ever returning to this plane unless it’s my will. I’ll determine when you come back, if at all. Do you agree with these conditions?”

Illyria stared at her mother for a few moments before looking to her father. Melkor nodded. “I accept your conditions,” she answered in a defeated tone.

“Good!” Without saying another word, Illyria vanished in a blink of an eye. Buffy had sent her back to her fortress.

“You did not give me time to bid farewell to my daughter,” grumbled Melkor.

“Let’s just get this over and done with,” she countered with a roll of her eyes. Buffy knew that Melkor was in a weakened state since he was in his spirit form. The only way that they could accomplish the task ahead of them was by his fey merging with hers while in her body. Together, they could channel the powers of the Trident to remove Bâb-edh-Dhrâ and its occupants, unharmed, into another world through the interconnecting ‘roads’ deep within the Hellmouth. “Merge with me.”

A mischievous grin crept over Melkor’s face. “With pleasure!”

Olofin and Luthor shouted, “NO!” in unison as they neared the powerful duo’s position. But it was too late. The dark essence of Melkor entered Buffy’s body, giving her a rush that she had never experienced before. It was beyond euphoria. At that moment, she was the most powerful Vala to ever set foot on Arda. With Morgoth’s fey inside of her, her powers increased three-fold. The Slayer had literally become invincible. None in Arda had the power to defeat her. Not Tulkas. Not Oromë. Not any. Her powers were so great that the Trident was not necessary to carry out their mission. All it took was her willing it.

Only a moment later, the city began to sink beneath the earth, amazing all that witnessed it. As it sank, the dirt from below was forced to the surface, so that no large crater was left in its place. The only indication that a city had once been there was a circular ridge where the walls of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ had previously stood. As soon as the city disappeared from this plane, the rumblings deep beneath the earth stopped.

Melkor then vacated Buffy’s body. The aftereffects of the merge caused her to become somewhat weaker, she collapsed to the ground. She was delighted that the ecstatic feeling still lingered on; it left her giddy.

“Mother!” shouted Olofin as he and Thranduil finally reached her side. Buffy giggled as the two men pulled her to her feet. “It’s over, nana, it’s actually over,” he said as he pulled her into a tight embrace.

“We kicked some ass!” she said proudly as she wrapped her arms around her son.

Thranduil glared at Morgoth. He never expected to see the Dark Foe face-to-face, whether in bodily form or spirit. Melkor turned his gaze to the young elf and then changed his appearance to that of the intimidating beast. That sudden metamorphosis caused the Green-elf to take a few startled steps backwards.

Buffy grabbed Thranduil and hugged him tightly. “You did great, little man. I’m so proud of you.” She pulled out of the embrace and looked at both elves. “I’m so proud of both of you.”

“Enough with the sweet sentiments, Melisse,” said Morgoth dryly. Buffy linked her arms with the two young men before turning her attention to the phantom image of the Dark Lord. He eyed the elves on either side of her. “Surely, this is the descendent of Fëanáro,” he continued in a contemptuous tone as he fixed his gaze on Buffy’s son. “You resemble your father. How unfortunate for you, Olofin Tirnon. You are like all from the line of Finwë: weak and worthless. I see your mind, boy. The doom that follows your kinfolk will get you ere the end. Neither you nor your people can defeat me, for I am the King of Arda.”

Olofin scowled at Morgoth. “I foresee myself thriving longer than you, Master of Lies. Long will the House of Finwë stand. I will see to that myself.”

Melkor laughed. “You are as overly proud as your forefathers, Olofinwë! With that attitude, I deem that you will soon join them in the Houses of the Dead.”

“You will fall and I’ll be there when it happens.”

“Of course you will,” laughed the Black Hand. “Perhaps you will have a front row seat in one of my torture chambers. I always delight in inflicting my greatest torments on the Noldor, especially those from the line of Finwë.” He smiled wickedly before adding, “Do let Maedhros know that Carcharoth has developed a… hungering for his flesh.”

An enraged Olofin swung his blade through the ghostly form of Morgoth.

“Enough,” said Buffy with an air of finality to her tone. “Touch my son, Illyria dies!”

Morgoth looked at his beloved for several minutes. He knew that she spoke the truth. “I have no interest in the boy,” he answered dismissively with a wave of his hand. “I have fulfilled my end of the bargain, Melisse. The time has come for you to fulfill yours.”

“What is he talking about?” asked a still scowling Olofin.

“Nothing,” said Buffy quickly. “It’s between me and him.”

The wicked grin returned to Melkor’s face. “Oh, my dear Noldo, if you only knew!”

“Shut up, Melkor!” threatened the Slayer.

“Your mother may have pledged her heart to your father, but only I can sate her desires of the flesh.”

“What?” queried Olofin in an alarmed voice. He shifted his eyes to his mother. “What is he saying?”

Buffy cast a desperate glance at Thranduil.

“Don’t listen to him, Fin,” said Thranduil as he grabbed the Noldo’s arm. “The Dark Lord only seeks to sully Bella’s good name. Curse him! Curse him and all his cronies!”

It was then that Buffy’s attention turned to the red sun that started to rise in the east. Her heart started racing as she recalled the words that she had spoken to Brokk months ago before leaving for Angband:

“… Wait for my sign,” she had said.

“And what is that sign?” asked the Dwarf Lord.

“The red sun. Look for the red sun to rise in the east.”

“But, my dear Lady, we haven’t seen the sun in three years!”

“I know, but that’ll change. I will vanquish the darkness, my good dwarf. Wait for the red sun to rise in the sky, then make your move. Kill all those who bear the Red Cross.”

The dwarf had laughed. “If you accomplish that, my dear Freya, then you will truly be known as the Lady of Light, forevermore.”

Buffy then noticed that Sauron had finally scaled the hillside. She had to act fast. She positioned herself in front of the two young men. “I am a woman of my word,” she said to Melkor. With her mind, she asked Thranduil to slip his orb into her hand; she had felt it earlier when she embraced the elf. “But this war isn’t over just yet,” she continued as she nonchalantly reached her hand behind her back. Thranduil placed his orb into her palm.

“Illyria is gone,” replied Melkor. “Her dominion on Arda is over.”

“True,” she answered as her lips curled into a smile, “But yours isn’t… yet.” She held the orb aloft and started the incantation. Morgoth did not understand what she was doing and looked at her curiously.

“NO!” screamed the Necromancer upon witnessing the scene unfolding before his eyes. “Flee, Master, flee!”

As Morgoth turned his attention to his most trusted servant, he let out a cry of despair. A feeling of utter terror overwhelmed the Vala. He was unable to stop the Slayer from drawing his spirit into the mystical sphere. Once inside, Melkor’s black fey swirled around in panic. He desperately tried to free himself but to no avail.

Luthor and Orchal then joined them. The old man was ecstatic. He grabbed Buffy’s hand that held the orb and raised it high above her head. “The Lady has captured the Dark Lord, good people. The tyranny of Morgoth has ended!”

While Buffy’s followers cheered upon hearing that news, Morgoth’s minions felt confused and dismayed by the whole situation. They had assumed that the Slayer was on their side since she was their acting general. Now, they saw that that was not the case. Since they still greatly outnumbered her people, they started to attack.

But something happened that even they did not expect. A series of horn blasts echoed from the west as the sun rose above the horizon. Out of the foothills of the Orocarni came one million dwarves united under Buffy’s banner. At the forefront, was Brokk, who looked kingly indeed. For around his neck rested Brisingamen, the magical amber necklace wrought long ago in the Deeper Well. The Slayer had instructed Brokk to use the necklace to rally the four clans of Dwarves that dwelt under the Red Mountains. The final stage of Plan B was put into action.

The Naugrim, in chorus, shouted, “Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd aimênu! (Axes of the Dwarves! The Dwarves are upon you),” as they descended upon the minions of Morgoth.

The Slayer then spoke telepathically to all her loyal followers. “Slay all of Morgoth’s minions with the Red Cross. Leave Sauron for me.” Immediately, those that had fought beside each other for months turned on one another. The last battle in the war had begun.

Olofin and Thranduil were instructed to bring Sauron to Buffy. They hurriedly took off after the evil Maia.

As various conflicts broke out on the mount, Buffy examined the orb in her hand. “Oh, shit!” she exclaimed.

“What is it, Bella?” asked Luthor with concern.

“There’s a crack in the… ” Before she finished her sentence, Morgoth broke free from the orb; shards of glass rained down upon Buffy and Luthor. In his panicked state, the livid Vala fled back to Angband as quickly as he could. All the while, the sound of thunder and the flickering of lighting emanated from his essence.

“Damn it!” barked Luthor. “Should we try again?”

The Slayer watched Melkor’s fey as it zoomed towards the Iron Mountains in the north. “No, his capture wasn’t meant to be. Not yet, any way,” she mumbled faintly. Luthor looked at Buffy expecting her to elaborate further, but she didn’t. He sensed that something was amiss with her, but before he could ask what troubled her so, Olofin and Thranduil arrived with Sauron.

“Let him go,” she instructed the young men. “Now, go aid the others.” The elves eyed one another incredulously before doing as Buffy ordered. She was still the general, and the war was not yet over.

“You’re a traitor!” hissed Sauron venomously. “You have betrayed my Master!”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” replied Buffy straight-faced. “If Melkor’s stupid enough to fall for my… feminine wiles, then so be it. He’s the fool.” She folded her arms across her chest before continuing. “I made a promise to you long ago and I intend to keep it.” The Necromancer looked at her skeptically, his brows furrowed. “You’ve helped me escape Melkor’s clutches twice… I haven’t forgotten that.”

“What are you saying?” asked Luthor gravely. “Surely, you’re not going to set Sauron free!”

“You were there, Luthor. He helped you too.”

“That’s right, Luthor,” spat Sauron haughtily. “I helped you escape too! Just think what Melkor would do if he laid his hands on you.”

The old man lunged at the sniggering, evil Maia. Buffy let Luthor get one lick in before she intervened, separating the two like children.

“Get a grip, for Eru’s sake,” she chided. The Slayer restrained the old man by standing in front of him, holding his arms tightly around her waist. He’d be forced to go through her in order to reach Sauron. “Just go home, Sauron,” she said as she held back a struggling Luthor. “Stay out of the East; this is my dominion now. You decide to pop up, and you’ll die… ”

“You made a promise to me, Inanna Ishtar, an oath. If you dare break it, grievous woe will find you,” warned the Necromancer in a low hiss.

Buffy ignored his comment altogether. She resumed speaking in a voice that was more composed and threatening in tone than the one that Sauron had just used. “If Melkor’s foolish enough to attempt to make war with me, he’ll pay. Big time! You tell him that. The dwarves will decimate what’s left of his forces and you’ve witnessed the power of the Trident. I lay claim to all lands south of Ered Engrin, east of Orocarni, and north and west of the East Sea. If Melkor or his minions dare cross my borders, I’ll destroy Angband. And don’t even think about meddling with Mankind. They’re off limits; from here on out, they’re under my protection. You tell him that!” She paused before adding, “Now get the hell out of my sight before I regret my decision.”

Sauron stood there, momentarily stunned by the Slayer’s words. With his lips tightly pressed together, he gave a slight nod of his head before turning into his wolf form. He ran a few paces before disappearing in the blink of an eye.

“I still think that you have erred in judgment, Bella,” said Luthor softly in her ear. Buffy released her grip and faced the old man. “That vow you made to Sauron will come back to bite you. Long ago, you were ignorant about the laws of the universe when it comes to making such declarations, but that’s not the case any more.”

“What’s done is done, Luthor. I can’t take it back.” She shifted her gaze towards the various conflicts taking place on the hilltop. She stretched out her arms; both the Trident and her sword came soaring through the air into her hands. “It’s time to fight. Save the fatherly lectures for after the battle.”

Luthor studied her for a long moment before unsheathing his weapon with a smile. His blue eyes twinkled at the prospect of annihilating all the hosts of Morgoth. He had to give credit where credit was due. The old man was impressed that Buffy’s Plan B appeared to be working. Melkor did hand over nearly all his forces to her, ensuring that the peoples of Middle-earth would have peace for a long while once they’re defeated.

“Where shall we start?” he asked enthusiastically, his eyes searching the battlefield.

“How ’bout in the thick of things?” suggested the Slayer, pointing to the south. The greatest clash between dwarves and beasts was taking place on the plains between the mount and the former location of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ.

“Lead the way, my dear.”

Before they joined the fray, Buffy returned her Trident to the copper trunk in her pavilion, (which happened to survive Illyria’s rampage.) She wouldn’t need it. All she needed was her mystical belt. She and Luthor then materialized in the middle of enemy territory. And so they joined the final battle in the war that would afterwards be known as Dagor i Thelaith Thrynin (The Battle of the Eastern Plains.)



It was mid-morning when Melkor finally reached the safety of his stronghold. He was absolutely wroth over Buffy’s multiple acts of betrayal. Once inside his hrör, he went berserk, smashing various pieces of furniture in his Great Hall. Carcharoth whimpered before crawling under the Dark Lord’s throne while all of his servants fled the chamber in fear of tasting their master’s wrath. Only Sauron remained behind.

“She betrayed me!” shouted Melkor. “I cannot believe that my Melisse betrayed me! Curse her!” He went to the only dignified portrait of her in Angband and punched a hole through her heart. He then tore the gilded frame from the wall and sent it flying across the room until it collided with the opposite stone wall. It ricocheted off, fragments of the broken frame sliding across the smooth, polished floor.

“Calm down, my Lord,” begged the Necromancer.

“Calm down?” he questioned in disbelief. “She imprisoned me in that… that sphere. What was that? Why would she do that to me?”

Sauron quickly went to the sideboard and poured his Lord a stiff drink. A large stiff drink. “Please, Melkor. Drink this.” He handed the goblet to his master with a trembling hand. “Do not fret over the whole ordeal. Things are not as bad as they may seem.” Morgoth turned his gaze to his first lieutenant, his eyes blazing with fury. “I… I mean… ”

“Are you defending the actions of Melisse?” asked the Dark Lord in amazement.

“No. No, my Lord, I’m doing nothing of the sort,” replied the fearful Maia.

Melkor took a long drink before angrily collapsing onto his throne, Carcharoth let out a yelp before bolting out the door. “What was that strange sphere that she trapped me in?”

“It is called an Orb of Thezula, my Lord. It was made by the Dwarf Lord, Durin. Inanna uses it as a means of trapping spirits, which she then transports to her prison… ”

“How do you know about this?” asked the shocked Vala.

“She taught us the spell to summon a spirit into the orb before the battle,” answered the Maia. He approached his master’s throne. In an awestricken voice he added, “I saw her rip the heart out of Úrion with her bare hand, my Lord. She literally pulled it out and drank the blood from his heart… ”

“Úrion? She has killed Úrion?” he queried with dismay. “Curse her!”

“My Lord, Úrion has betrayed you as well.” He reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out the orb, it glowed with a faint blue light. “The traitor’s fey is contained herein,” revealed Sauron. “The Lady asked me to give this to you.” He climbed the steps of the dais and handed the orb to his master.

“Are you telling me that Úrion’s fey is housed within this object?” asked Morgoth as he examined it closely.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“And that he has betrayed me?”

“You and Inanna, both. It was Úrion who viciously killed the Lady.” Morgoth fixed his eyes on his servant. “He cruelly hung her from a cross, stabbed her and then set her aflame.” The evil Maia shook his head. “It was appalling.” He paused before continuing, “The traitor has united with the vampire, Daehir.”

Melkor’s face contorted in his anger. “Daehir,” he hissed. “I will crush that… ” his words trailed off as he continued to look at the mystical orb in his blackened hand. The room fell quiet as he slid the orb into his pocket. “She has betrayed me, Sauron,” Morgoth whispered in a pained voice. “I did not foresee that. My beloved Melisse has turned against me. She has made a fool out of me… My armies! I gave her nearly all my forces. What if the sons of Fëanor choose to make war with me? I cannot defend my own.”

“That won’t happen, my Lord.” Morgoth’s eyes bore into the Necromancer, but Sauron held his own against the Dark Lord. “The Lady has claimed Illyria’s former kingdom as her own. It will be many long years before she leaves the East.”

“Who’s to say that she won’t send word to Maglor in the mean time?”

Sauron shook his head, a wicked smile came to his face. “I have spent much time with the Lady, I do not see her doing that. Inanna is about to become a powerhouse in the East, my Lord. We are about to find out if absolute power corrupts absolutely as we say.” His smile widened. “And my heart tells me that it does. Inanna is about to embark on a journey that will further ostracize her from those in the West. She will break many laws of Manwë thus bringing a greater doom upon herself… all in the name of love.”

“You foresee that?” queried Melkor with raised eyebrows.

“Indeed. Things are going better than we ever expected. In the end, she will bring the race of Man to our doorstep.”

Sauron then informed his master of all that he had learned while stationed in the East. His words brought little comfort to Melkor. He was still enraged by his beloved’s betrayal. She would pay, there was no question of that. He would break her heart as she did his. And there was only one way to truly achieve that - kill all her loved ones. One-by-one he’d destroy them all.

The Necromancer managed to convince Morgoth to allow him to repair the portrait of Buffy. He took it to his private chambers where he stretched the canvas out on his work table. His heart went aflutter as he looked admirably at the painting of the Slayer. The Maia’s hostility towards her had begun to diminish, only to be replaced by a warm and tingly sensation. He was so pleased that she had not betrayed him as she had Melkor. Before beginning his labors, he traced her lips with his fingertip. “One day, my sweet,” he whispered. “One day… ”