Full Circle

“I don’t know what to tell you,” said a perplexed Istahiro. “I’ve been seeing these symptoms for years, especially outside of Eridu. I’ve told you that at least two dozen times, Inanna.” The healer let out a heavy sigh as he walked over to the basin and washed his hands.

“So there’s no cure?” questioned a frantic Buffy. Wringing her hands, she began pacing back and forth in her bedchamber. “I’m… I’m just supposed to watch my flesh rot off… to smell that… that stench.” She’d rather have died and remade her hröa, but for some reason that option was closed to her. She had already tried, many times in fact. She even went as far as to slice her wrists in an attempt to bleed to death. Unfortunately, whenever she had passed out from the blood loss, she’d wake up later, only to find that her wounds had somehow healed themselves. The Slayer suspected that dark magicks were behind her ailment, perhaps Morgoth, getting a bit of revenge. As far as she was concerned, his mission had been accomplished!

“You can try an oatmeal bath for the itching… ”

“This isn’t fucking chicken pox!” she spat angrily. Buffy could feel her face reddening from both her ire and frustration. Her pacing came to a stop, and she took several deep breaths. She didn’t mean to snap at her chief healer. Once she had regained her composure, she resumed speaking; her tone revealing her desperation. “You’re a healer, Istahiro, a Maia healer, no less… Surely, there’s some cure buried beneath all that knowledge in that brain of yours.”

His head hanging low, the healer replied, “I am truly sorry, Inanna, but this is beyond my expertise.” He shifted his sorrowful eyes towards his mistress. “If I knew of some cure, I would’ve healed those that had been afflicted with this malady before now. I’ve never seen anything remotely like this before - a disease transmitted by sexual contact,” he said in a baffled tone, drying his hands on a towel. “And while that is strange enough, not everyone that contracts this ailment suffers from the symptoms. I deem that it’s safe to say that you’ve contracted this from Naram-Sin, yet he exhibits no symptoms… ”

“I swear,” interrupted Buffy with a threatening hiss, “when I get my hands on that son-of-bitch, he can say bye-bye to his dick once and for all!” When she was diagnosed with the ‘malady,’ as Istahiro called it, the mortal king had fled Eridu and gone into hiding. The Vala was sure that Naram-Sin’s kinfolk in Kish had granted him asylum.

The Maia sighed again, placing the towel in a cloth sack. “That won’t solve the problem, now will it?”

“No, but it’ll make me feel better.” The Slayer walked over to the window and glanced at the elves singing in the garden below. “So what can I expect next?” she queried in a small voice. The healer didn’t answer. After a few moments of silence, she spoke again. “It must be pretty bad. My guess: my flesh will continue to decay, then my tissues and muscles… until… until I’m nothing but a walking skeleton.” She glanced over her shoulder at the Maia. “Is that about right?”

“I can’t rightly say how this ailment will affect you. You’re a Vala; sickness should not affect you, regardless of its source. There’s some devilry at work here.”

“No surprise there,” replied the downcast Slayer. “Me and devilry tend to go hand in hand. You, of all people, should know that by now.”

While Istahiro tried to remain hopeful, Buffy knew that his efforts were pointless. Whoever it was that was behind that bit of dark magick had it in for her. None of the Maiar or Elves had been stricken by the plague, even though they were guilty of committing the same sins as she. Only mortals and the Slayer suffered the painful symptoms of the debilitating disease. The only difference between their agony and hers was that mortals found relief through death, something Buffy would come to envy in months to come. The wielder of the dark spell had no intension to kill the Vala; his goal was to make her weak and vulnerable. And the only one that seemed to like her in that state was Melkor Bauglir. The Slayer convinced herself that Morgoth was wreaking his vengeance upon her at last. It was pay back time for her acts of betrayal.

By the time that midsummer had arrived, Buffy very seldom left her private chambers in Eanna. So horrified was she by the number of blisters that had formed on her body, that she only wore long sleeved, floor length gowns with matching veils to conceal her ‘disfigurement’ (as she called it). Making matters worse, was the fact that those pustules broke with the slightest bit of friction, releasing a foulness that would turn anybody’s stomach. There were many times when the Slayer stood naked in front of the mirror, in tears, staring at the grotesque pockmarks and lesions that covered her entire body. With each new outbreak, the sores unmercifully ate deeper and deeper into her flesh. She found herself in excruciating pain. If not for the opium, hashish and alcohol, Buffy couldn’t have endured her torments as well as she did.

It was shortly thereafter that the inhabitants of the far eastern regions of Middle-earth began to suffer the direct results of her illness. As the disease affected her nervous system, Buffy became more emotional, prone to sudden fits of rage or melancholy, dramatically altering the weather throughout the area. Terrible storms beset the lands, resulting in floods, earthquakes, tornadoes, and hurricane force winds along the coastlines. Unfortunately, the ‘natural disasters’ that afflicted Sumer and Akkad had tragic results - many people had perished, crushed beneath crumbling buildings or drowned by the flash floods.

Buffy was horror-stricken by her lack of self-control. She didn’t mean to cause any harm, but she couldn’t help it - her powers were out of her control. Everyone became fearful of her inability to restrain her emotions, especially mankind. They believed that she was punishing them because their king was the one responsible for inflicting her with the debilitating disease. They attempted to placate her wrath by offering her mighty gifts and tokens of their love, but to no avail. The only time the lands experienced a reprieve from the turbulent storms was when the Slayer put herself into a drug-induced stupor. Yet Sumer and Akkad were already reeling from the aftereffects of her unexpected outbursts of delirium. Most of the croplands either withered from lack of rainfall or lay submerged under several feet of water. Tornadoes had ravaged Luthor’s domain of Kish, destroying many of the silos that stored grains that would’ve supplied the populace during the winter months.

The last time the Slayer left her inner sanctum was in late fall of that same year. By that point, the disease had already affected her mental capacity, rendering her incapable of making sound decisions. She no longer involved herself with the goings-on in the city-states, nor did she concern herself with the daily operations of the government or temples. Instead, she wallowed in self-pity, condemning those around her that retained the beauty that she so coveted.

It was during that stormy night in late fall when Buffy clearly demonstrated the first signs of madness, (the final symptom prior to death for mortals.) She found herself standing alone in front of the empty dais in the centermost hall of Eanna, staring at the Cross of Ilúvatar that glimmered on the back wall. Falling to her knees, she lifted her gaze towards the heavens before beginning her prayer to the Allfather:

“Please, Lord, I beg of you, restore my health as it once was. How can I effectively be your champion if I’m not capable of fighting? I know that I’ve strayed from the path of righteousness, but should I suffer so horribly? Is that my purpose? Is that your intension?” Her softly spoken plea echoed within the enormous chamber. The only sound that she heard was the pounding rain against the glass-domed roof. Buffy was half expecting to hear words of solace from Eru. As she knelt there, her thoughts revolved around the twins association with Ilúvatar. She was greatly perturbed that He spoke directly to them, but not to her. Was she not worthy of receiving His divine wisdom? Had the Allfather forsaken His favored daughter in her time of need? After all that she had done for mankind, at His command, only to suffer needlessly, embittered the Slayer all the more.

She rose to her feet, tears of frustration running down her face, her fists balled at her sides. Buffy fixed her wrathful gaze upon the Cross. In that moment, something inside her snapped. He has forsaken me, she thought to herself. Eru Ilúvatar has tossed me aside like an old rag doll. He has turned against me out of spite… Well, two can play at that game. Enraged, the Slayer sprinted up the steps of the dais, and began to pry the Cross from the wall, all the while, hurling curses at the One. Utilizing the remaining strength that she had in her fatigued body, she managed to loosen the silver icon from its prominent position within the room. She kicked and pulled with all her might until the holy symbol came crashing down upon the marble floor, breaking apart where the two bars intersected. The loud noise alerted her priestesses, who came running into the room; their gasps resonating within the chamber when they saw the spectacle before them.

“Fuck you, Eru!” screamed a wild-eyed Buffy at the heavens, circling the dais like some rabid beast. “Do you hear me? Fuck you! You wanna desert me… leaving me to suffer. Well, guess what, I can do the same.” She reached down for one of the massive silver beams, stunned that she struggled to lift the heavy object from the floor. Her Slayer strength was gone. As that realization dawned on her, she lifted her head, only to see many priestesses gathered at the bottom of the dais, a look of pity on their fair faces.

“Ilúvatar has forsaken me,” said a breathless Buffy through gritted teeth. She stood tall, smoothing out her black dress and adjusting her veil before continuing in the same contemptuous voice. “I will no longer tolerate that symbol in my kingdom.” She pointed her lace-covered finger at the broken icon at her feet. “I want those cursed pieces destroyed. I forbid any to display that mark of evil in my lands. Take the banners down. Burn them! If any continue to brandish that… cross on any of their emblems, I’ll consider it an act of treason - a crime punishable by death!” She cast one last scornful look towards the heavens prior to vanishing from the chamber, leaving her distraught maidens behind.

The sound of hail began to rain down upon the glass-domed roof momentarily distracting the ladies. Seconds later, a loud roaring sound was heard in the distance. Two tornadoes had formed at the bottom of the mount, ripping their way through the mortal section of Eridu.

Vórëa approached the broken icon, her mouth agape. She knew that the Slayer’s breaking of that sacred symbol was a bad omen. She took it as a sign of things to come.

“I fear that the madness associated with the malady has claimed our mistress at last,” the chief Valkyrie announced to her sisters, the sadness in her voice quite apparent. “Surely, Inanna is not in her right frame of mind, she’d never desecrate the Cross of Ilúvatar nor blaspheme the Allfather’s name.” She looked down at the two gleaming silver bars, still in shock from Buffy’s destructive behavior. Vórëa was not one to contest the will of her mistress, but in this case, she couldn’t imagine destroying the sacred symbol of Ilúvatar. It was sacrilege. She knew that the banners in Eridu had to come down as quickly as possible or some heads were going to roll. Messengers needed to be sent throughout the lands to notify the lords of Buffy’s proclamation. The Maia feared that her Holiness would use her magics to visit those lands and punish those that still paraded that symbol. The Valkyries needed to act fast. For the first time ever, Vórëa and her sisters would go against the direct orders of the Vala of Love, in hope that the Slayer would one day see her folly.

As she got her thoughts in order, the Maia declared, “We stand here this evening as witnesses to the beginning of the end of our beloved Inanna Ishtar’s reign in the mortal lands. The desecration of the Cross of Ilúvatar signifies that her fall from grace has begun.” She eyed the sorrowful maidens that stood before her, some of them weeping. “Do not blame our mistress for the sinful acts that have transpired; she is no longer herself. The disease has poisoned her mind. We will not forsake her! We will show our love and devotion to her as we’ve always done.”

Vórëa then ordered some of the women to hide the broken silver beams in the vaults located deep beneath the mount while others were to remove all signs of the cross from Eridu, starting with the temple itself. That, in itself, would be no easy feat. The cross was the most popular icon displayed throughout the East, as the peoples of that region associated it not only with Eru Ilúvatar but also with the Vala of Love. The cross symbolized Buffy’s death and resurrection and many Houses used it on their crests, shields, and banners.

While the Valkyries and priestesses busied themselves with their tasks, a rattled Buffy sat on her bed, pulled back her veil, and started snorting enormous amounts of opium. The nerve-racking experience she was going through caused her to tremble all over. She couldn’t believe what had just happened downstairs in the atrium. That wasn’t her. She’d never intentionally challenge the will of Ilúvatar or commit sacrilege against Him. The Valar - yes, but not Eru! What the hell was wrong with her? Where did that outburst of deep hatred come from? The Slayer feared that she was turning into some malevolent beast with a bloodlust that rivaled Morgoth’s. She surely looked the part, complete with rotting flesh. Add in her total lack of self-control, lust for power and need for immediate gratification and adulation - and you pretty much define most evil beings that roam the vast space of Eä.

“No!” she said aloud, rising from the bed. “I’m not evil!” She looked beseechingly at the ceiling, hoping beyond anything that Eru Ilúvatar could hear her. “I’m sorry, Lord. That wasn’t… that wasn’t me. I didn’t mean to… It’s just that… ” Her words trailed off. There was no point in her saying anything else. She broke the Allfather’s sole commandment, and there was no way of undoing it. At that moment, she knew that her doom was upon her, and no matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t about to escape it. That thought alone terrified her.

Buffy filled her goblet with red wine, downing the beverage in a couple of gulps. She needed to calm down. She needed to relax, to get a grip on her emotions before she wreaked total devastation on all the lands in the East. What else could she do other than keep herself in a sedated state? She wished beyond anything that her body would just give out so that her fey could escape. The idea of traveling alone in spirit form for a couple hundred years seemed quite appealing to the Slayer. What she wouldn’t do to have the blessed gift of death.

When the effects of the opium kicked in, the Slayer stretched out on the bed, gladdened by the mellowness that engulfed her. She closed her eyes, listening as the hail hitting the copper roof eased up, turning to rain, then to a drizzle. She tried to think happy thoughts, but was unable to. All she could think about was how much weaker she was becoming - in mind, body and soul. Buffy knew that it was probably only a matter of time before her enemy revealed himself, which only added to her distress. There was no way that she could defend herself and her people from a sudden attack. She was nearly ripe for the picking.

The Vala of Love didn’t know how much time had passed before she finally opened her eyes. She let out a startled gasp upon seeing many of her Valkyries standing solemnly around her bed.

“God damn it, you scared me,” she said, reaching for the wine bottle. It unnerved the Slayer that she hadn’t heard them enter or sensed their presence.

“We’re here to serve you, my Lady,” answered Laurië, one of her Valkyrie chieftains.

“Hmm, yeah, right.” She refilled her goblet and took a long drink, watching her maidens over the rim of the cup.

“Is there anything that we can do for you, most Holy One?”

Buffy fluffed her pillows before leaning against the lapis lazuli headboard, delighted that she still felt somewhat numb. She pondered the Maia’s question before answering, “Yeah. Bring me cases of wine and spirits. And dried fruits and meats. Go to the mortal healer’s and confiscate all the poppy powder that they have in their stores… ”

“Are you going somewhere, my Lady?” questioned Laurië with surprise.

The Slayer became forlorn. “Yes and no,” she replied softly. “I think it’s best that I quarantine myself from the rest of the Household.” She fixed her gaze upon the Valkyrie chieftain. “There’s no telling what I’ll do next. I fear for everybody’s safety. I won’t leave my chambers until the end, whenever that may be.”

“As you wish,” answered the golden-haired Maia. She nodded to her sisters, several of them left the chamber to carry out Buffy’s orders.

While the remaining Valkyries watched, the Slayer began inhaling more of the white powder. She had developed a taste for the bitterness of the drug; she likened it to coffee. And she absolutely loved the altered state of consciousness that the opium put her in. Buffy felt that she could stay in la-la land forever.

The room fell quiet. Other than the distant sound of the minstrel’s song, the only other sound heard was the sniffing noises made by Buffy. Out of the corner of her eye, the Slayer noticed something very strange. Eager for a closer look, she hurried to the window, asking, “Is that snow?” in an astonished voice.

“Indeed, it is,” answered Laurië. “It started several hours ago.”

The Vala smiled as she watched the snowflakes gently fall from the sky, blanketing her lands in white. In all her years in the East, she had never seen any. The sight brought to mind her time at the Gap, where snow was a regular occurrence. For the first time in many years, she felt a pang in her heart for home. She longed to return to Maglor, to have her beloved nurse her back to health. But, alas, she couldn’t go, no matter how much she wanted to. If Káno learned of her deeds in the East, her past relationships, then he wouldn’t want her. Deep down, she believed that their marriage was irrevocably broken. There was no home for her at the Gap, only fair memories of distant days.

The Slayer shuddered, a sudden cold chill swept over her, putting her in a gloomy state of mind. Why did she have to think about her husband and those that she had left behind in Beleriand? Anxious to ease her pain, she crawled back into bed, ready to depart her current reality for another.

Istahiro woke Buffy the following afternoon. It was time for her treatment. The Maia had concocted an oil-based mixture for her to soak in to ease her burning and itching flesh. It didn’t stop the spreading of the sores, but it did ease the pain somewhat and masked the odor for a while. The Slayer remained despondent throughout her treatment, dismaying not only the healer but her maidens as well.

When Buffy climbed out of the tub, she slipped into a red gown before taking a seat in one of her sitting rooms. Crates of goods were stacked in the corner of the chamber. Her Valkyries had brought enough foodstuff and medicines to last at least a year. As she sat there sipping wine, she eyed the beautiful maidens that stood within the chamber. A prickling sensation coursed through her body. She could feel her blood pumping through her veins, sweat forming on her forehead. The tension in the room increased with every passing minute, causing the women to stir uneasily about the room. The Slayer looked yearningly at the lovely faces and smooth, flawless skin of her High Priestesses. Her jealousy and envy were mounting to new heights. Buffy felt an overwhelming urge to strike out at the Valkyries. Fearing that she would follow through with her morbid thoughts, she banished the women from her chamber.

“Get out,” she ordered in a low voice, attempting to avert the impending assault.

“But my Lady… ” pleaded Feawë.

“GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!” she screamed, leaping to her feet. She picked up the wine bottle and hurled it at Feawë’s head. The Maia ducked; the bottle shattered against the wall, red wine streamed down the fabric wallpaper, fragments of glass littered the floor. The Valkyries quickly fled the chamber, distressed by their mistress’s downward spiral. “Oh god, I’m losing it,” cried out the Slayer, plopping back down on the couch. She couldn’t understand where the anger was coming from, why she was acting so violently towards those most loyal to her. She feared for the Valkyries safety as well as the inhabitants of the East.

Buffy recognized that the disease had affected her mind beyond her control. Eager to protect those whom she loved dearly, she performed one last (intentional) spell. She mystically locked all the doors and windows leading to her private quarters, thus barring all others, including her children, from her self-imposed prison. Very few would witness her complete deterioration.

Despite the Slayer’s isolation, the Sumerians and Akkadians did their best to exist under the new, harsh conditions. Unfortunately, times were very difficult. With the farming season over, and with the disasters that plagued the rural lands, food had already become scarce by the time that winter rolled in. Many of the largest households throughout the East had turned people out into the wickedly cold weather, unable to provide them with enough sustenance. The bitter cold killed most of those that were homeless as they sought shelter from the never-ending snowfall. Mortals slew the livestock by the droves since there were no longer any grasses to keep the beasts fit and healthy. The inhabitants of the East no longer cared about the future, only about surviving the present.

Those city-states that had Buffy’s favor did not suffer as badly as their neighbors. When the lords of those cities came to Eridu, bewailing their misfortune, the Valkyries stepped in to ease their suffering. Numerous bales of hay and sacks of grain were brought from Folkvang to keep their livestock and people alive. Lembas bread became a staple of many of those noble houses. When word spread of the food supply in those territories favored by the Slayer, the kings and governors of the deprived areas called their people to arms. Man’s plight had become so severe that many repented of their love to the Vala of Love and War, naming her an enemy instead. Wars broke out between the city-states because of the food shortage. In mankind’s eyes, desperate times called for desperate measures, a motto adopted by Buffy long ago.

With the Slayer out of commission, Vórëa had stepped in as the temporary ruler of the people of the East. She vowed that if any armies entered the Holy City on the Mount, that she and her sisters would personally obliterate the challenger’s city-states of Arda. None dared to argue with the powerful High Priestess. The elves’ animosity towards mankind increased during that time as well. Their initial feelings of love and friendship had turned to scorn when Buffy was stricken with the malady, but now hearing Man blaspheme her name in the open, they began to detest the Secondborn of Ilúvatar. It was the Green-elves that led the rally to evict mankind from the Holy Mount. After three months of persuasion, the High Priestesses agreed, ejecting all mortals from the Holy Mount except for the descendants of Sargon the Great.

As the weeks passed by, Kit and Kat remained outside the main entrance to Buffy’s private rooms, scratching unmercifully at the doors with their sharp claws. Even with their own special brand of magic, the lions were unable to break through the magical barrier that their mistress had put up. After much effort, the kitties gave up on their attempts. Instead, they stationed themselves outside her doors, acting as sentinels. They’d lie on the rug that the priestesses had placed there, watching the comings and goings of the maidens of the Household. They seemed rather content, that is, until the New Year arrived. Shortly thereafter, the lion’s behavior changed dramatically, revealing their growing anxiety. Often Kit’s roaring could be heard echoing down the corridors of Eanna, his growl sounded mournful to Maia ears.

With the approach of the annual celebration of Buffy’s Resurrection Day, the cats vanished from their post, shocking all the dwellers of the temple. A concerned Feawë went to Folkvang in search of the lions, but they had not entered that mystical realm. None knew where they could’ve gone.



Olofin had explored nearly all of Middle-earth outside of Beleriand while on his quest to hide the remains of the Judge. Over the years, he had discovered many new peoples and places whilst on his journey. Not only had he accomplished the task assigned to him, but the Lord of Borsippa had also made the first complete map of all Middle-earth (aside from the one Morgoth had in his possession). The map was to be a gift to his father, who, in turn, would duplicate it and distribute copies to all the Noldorin lords in Beleriand. Since embarking upon his trip fifty years before, the half-elf had come to discover that he too possessed some great powers - namely, his ability to shape shift. Upon completion of his assignment, Olofin freed his horses, abandoned his cart, and traveled in the form of a falcon, as his mother had done many times before.

It was during the winter of Yr 245 F.A. when the half-elf became weary of travel. Still far from home, he took refuge in the woodland realm of the Silvan Elves whom he had befriended years earlier. Those elves were the kinsmen of the Green-elves of Ossiriand, and their lands were very similar. In the fair woods of Lindórinand (“Vale of the Land of the Singers”), the Silvan Elves built their houses high in the treetops, reminding the half-elf of his mother’s homeland. Amdír, the king of that region, had welcomed Olofin as long lost kin. There, the young man was treated with the utmost respect, as the Silvan Elves knew that he was the son of Bellaseth Dagnir, the Blue Lady of Ossir and the leader of the Green-elves.

Olofin enjoyed being amongst the kin of those from his mother’s Household. He spent much time with Amdír’s only son, Amroth, who was around the same age as the half-elf. They often spent their days sailing upon the Anduin River, falling under the enchantments of Ulmo, whose essence flowed deeply in those waters, or wandering through the leaf-carpeted forests of poplars, elms and oaks. His stay in Lindórinand rejuvenated the half-elf and reaffirmed the relations between Buffy and its people. The land reminded him so much of Ossir, that Olofin soon lost track of time. Before he knew it, spring had arrived, signaling the upcoming celebration of his mother’s Resurrection Day. The young man wanted nothing more than to surprise Buffy by showing up on her special day yet he found himself thousands of miles away. There was no beast or bird that he could transform into that could get him back to Eridu in time.

Regardless, the hour had arrived for Olofin to return to his home in the East. No sooner had he informed his hosts when Kit and Kat arrived to the fair wood of Lindórinand, astounding the young man. He had attempted to summon the lions on numerous occasions, failing in all attempts. The young man had no idea that the kitties had come of their own accord. They weren’t there to take him home as a surprise to his mother; they were there to bring him home to save her.

Olofin departed the elvish realm with joy in his heart, not knowing that, in a matter of seconds, that joy would quickly turn to sorrow. When the lions re-appeared with the half-elf at the Temples Courtyard in Eridu, the Lord of Borsippa was immediately bowled over. He arrived right in the middle of a fierce blizzard, the howling winds immediately cut through his thin garments. The snow was so thick, his visibility so poor, he could barely make out the mammoth temples that stood towering before him. The sight devastated him. He never imagined Eridu getting snow, much less a blizzard, especially in springtime!

Kat nipped at Olofin’s hand while Kit nudged him from behind, directing him towards the snow-covered path that led to the ziggurat. To his amazement, the lions’ breath somehow melted the snow on the pathway as they continued to guide him towards Zabalam. The half-elf was confused as to why the lions were leading him there; his mother hadn’t dwelt there in decades.

The Lord of Borsippa was shocked and appalled by what he saw when he entered the temple. Many elves, Maiar and mortals were openly engaging in sexual acts with Buffy’s priestesses and each other. Normally, those deeds took place behind closed doors but it appeared that that was no longer the case. Sickened by the display, Olofin left for Eanna, anxious to speak with his mother about the debauchery that he had witnessed within the sacred halls of Zabalam. When he exited the ziggurat, he turned into a falcon and flew across the courtyard to Buffy’s dwelling.

The young man’s sorrow increased when his half-brother intercepted him on his way up the spiral staircase in Eanna. Taking the half-elf to a private parlor, Anno told him of all that had transpired since his departure a half century before. Olofin was saddened to hear of Sargon’s death but grieved bitterly when he learned of his mother’s sickness.

“Why wasn’t a messenger dispatched to find me?” he barked to the Oracle.

“Well, you see… we had no way of… ” the half-Maia’s words floundered under Olofin’s wrathful gaze.

“Don’t give me any of that bullshit, Anno. Nana’s lions found me in Lindórinand! You didn’t want me to know. You didn’t want me to help mother.” He gave the Maia a contemptuous look. “What kind of son wishes ill of his mother?” In his disgust, Olofin headed for the door, slamming his shoulder into his older half-brother as he went by.

“It’s not that simple,” protested the Oracle, rubbing his throbbing shoulder. “Certain things must happen, certain events must unfold, my brother. These things have been preordained by Ilúvatar!”

Olofin stopped and faced Anno, his eyes ablaze with fury. “When it comes to mother’s well-being, nothing else matters, not even the will of the Almighty Himself.” With that, the angry half-elf left the chamber for his mother’s rooms on the topmost floor.

By the time that Olofin had reached her doors, Kit and Kat were already there waiting for him. Unable to break through Buffy’s mystical barrier, the half-elf climbed on Kit’s back and instructed the lion to take him to Luthor. They vanished, only to re-appear a moment later outside the main entrance to Ekishnugal. The young man let out a cry of dismay when his elvish eyes saw mortals battling mortals on the outskirts of the snow-covered city. He was torn: should he join the fracas or seek Luthor’s aid? Perhaps he was being selfish; he chose to seek Luthor first and foremost. The door wardens allowed the Lord of Borsippa to enter the Maia’s Halls and to escape the frigid cold. Once inside, he honed his senses and soon found the worried Maia alone in his library.

“Olofin! You’re back!” exclaimed the old man, jumping to his feet from behind his ornate desk. Rolls of parchment lay flat on the wooden surface; it looked to be inventory lists. Luthor wrapped his arms around the half-elf, patting his back affectionately. “Well met! Well met indeed.” He pulled out of the embrace; his blue eyes scrutinized the young man fondly. Luthor’s cheerful and casual demeanor took the half-elf aback.

“You are aware that there’s a war going on out there, are you not?” questioned Olofin, arching his brow.

“I’m well aware of that, my son.” The Maia smiled. “Is it wrong for me to express my joy at seeing one whom I love dearly return in my time of need?” The smile faded from Luthor’s face, deep concern took its place. “The mortals seek to win all my food stores. I’ve tried reasoning with them, even dispersed what I could to them, but they’ve become greedy and want to claim it all… I’m at my wits’ end here, Olofin!” He nervously chewed on his bottom lip. “If push comes to shove, I’ll have to resort to more drastic measures… and I loathe the thought of that.”

Olofin placed a comforting hand on the old man’s shoulder. “I promise to do whatever I can, Luthor, but I’ve actually come here seeking your help.” The Maia furrowed his brows.

“What is it? Bella?”

“I’m afraid so. She’s locked herself in her rooms… ”

“Damn it! Those bitches lied to me!” interjected the old man angrily. He felt the sudden urge for a stiff drink. He continued speaking as he walked over to the sideboard. “I’ve been trying to contact your mother for the past three months! Those… those Valkyries of hers told me that she was traveling throughout the kingdom attempting to restore peace.” He guzzled his miruvóre. “I should’ve known better.” Luthor faced the half-elf. “Why else would we have snow at this time of year?” He shook his head disappointedly.

“It seems that the weather has caused the most grief in these parts, or so I’m told. If I can get to mother, I’m sure I’ll be able to bring an end to this mayhem. Anno says that her emotions have been affecting the weather…”

“Indeed. We’ve had snow for six months now. Six months, Olofin! Do you know how that has affected our food supply? It has fallen to dangerously low proportions. And with this weather, we’re unable to plant any new crops. The entire East lay covered in snow, the rivers have iced over… The masses are famished and there’s not a damn thing that we can do,” remarked the grimacing Maia.

“I understand how bleak things are for you, Luthor. And I will aid you when I may, but I must ask - will you come with me? Will you help me overthrow mother’s spell so that I can get to her? If I don’t reach her in time, all hope will diminish and we will all fall.” The half-elf looked imploringly at the old man.

“Of course. Of course, I will.” Without informing any of his servants, Luthor climbed on the back of Kat as Olofin mounted Kit. They vanished from the Maia’s temple and re-appeared outside Buffy’s doors in Eanna. Climbing off the beasts, the two then worked together to override the spell that the Slayer had placed on her doors. After twenty minutes, they had successfully broken the barrier.

“Let me go by myself,” said the half-elf gently, stopping Luthor from turning the knob. “She needs me. See if you can get some of the Valkyries to help you in Kish. I must deal with mother alone.”

The Maia nodded before taking off down the corridor, the lions followed.

When Luthor had disappeared out of sight, the half-elf entered his mother’s private rooms. The noxious smell nearly turned his stomach as he crossed the threshold into the cold, darkened chamber. With a wave of his hand, the candles flickered to life, illuminating the first chamber that he had entered. Olofin’s jaw dropped. The room looked as though it had been ransacked. The floor was covered with broken pieces of glass that glittered in the dim candlelight. All the tables had had their tops removed, leaving behind only their sturdy frames. The couches were missing, chairs were overturned, and the drapes were tied closed. The half-elf walked over to one of the tall windows and pulled open the curtains. The entire windowpane was painted with a red substance. He took his fingernail and scratched the surface of the glass.

“Blood,” uttered Olofin, examining the flakes under his nail. He went to another window, ripped open the drapes, and discovered that that window was also coated in the crimson fluid. All the windows were. The half-elf felt his heart drop to his stomach. He ran across the chamber to the next door, the candles flickered to life as he passed quickly through the room; it was in a shambles just like the previous one. So were the next one, and the next. When Olofin reached Buffy’s bedchamber, he found the door blocked from the other side. He rammed his shoulder against the door repeatedly. Gradually, the heavy furniture on the other side gave way, screeching across the marble floor.

“Nana! Nana!” he shouted, trying to squeeze through the opening. It wasn’t wide enough. The half-elf cursed under his breath as he gave one good last push, knocking over the tower of stacked couches. “Nana!” he called again, clambering over the furniture. Amidst the blackness, Olofin could hear the faint incoherent ramblings of his mother. Stumbling to his feet, he attempted to cast the spell to light up the room. Apparently, there was nothing that gave off light in that chamber. No candles. No moonstones. No sunstones. His mother lived in complete darkness.

Olofin continued to call the Slayer’s name as he tried to make his way through the labyrinth of debris. It disturbed him that the blackness seemed extraordinarily thick, so thick that his elvish eyes couldn’t penetrate the gloom. He tripped, landing on a jagged piece of glass. Cursing, the half-elf tended to his wound in the dark. “I’m coming, nana, I’m… ” His words faltered. The room started to glow in a myriad of colors: red, blue, green, white, bronze and gold. The jewels and metal threads that made up the portrait of Buffy glowed from their place of honor, on the wall across from her bed, illuminating the entire chamber.

While that was amazing in itself, the half-elf was stunned by the state of his mother’s inner sanctum. His heart broke as his eyes scanned the room. Pools of dried blood were everywhere and the room smelled akin to rotting corpses on a battlefield. Portions of the fabric wallpaper were stripped from all four walls; in its place, written in blood, were the words, “Beware of the whore of Babylon,” in the elvish runes. The young man didn’t know what to think of the words of warning. He had never heard the word ‘Babylon’ before, and had no idea what it meant. Nevertheless, the foreboding message sent shivers up and down his spine. The half-elf abhorred his mother’s living conditions and felt that the Valkyries were partially to blame.

Olofin heard Buffy’s gibberish coming from behind another stack of furniture in the corner of the room. She had evidentially constructed a cave-like structure, using miscellaneous furnishings and the bedclothes. It resembled something that a child would make except for the ‘fortification’ of tabletops.

He proceeded cautiously towards the cocoon that concealed his mother, wiping the blood from his bleeding hand on his breeches. From within, he could hear her mumbling, “Twelve, twelve, twelve… twelve, twelve, twelve… twelve, twelve, twelve… ” She kept repeating that sequence of numbers, pausing after saying them three times.

“Mother?” he whispered softly, crouching by the ‘entrance’ to her makeshift cave. She didn’t answer, but continued to utter the numbers. The half-elf pulled back one of the blankets draped over the furniture and peered inside her hidey-hole. There sat his mother, her back facing him, her legs crossed, rocking back and forth like a lunatic. Pillows, stained with Eru only knows, lay all over the floor of that confined space. As the half-elf crawled inside, he noticed the pots of opium, bottles of alcohol and several veils scattered about the area. “Mother?” he repeated in a broken voice. “It’s… it’s me. Olofin.”

The Slayer stopped chanting. “The light!” she cried out, pressing a pillow to her face. “It burns! Make it stop! Make it stop!”

“Alright, nana. Alright.” He pulled the blanket over the hole, dimming the rainbow of lights within the makeshift structure. “Is that better? Is that better, nana?”

Slowly, Buffy lowered the pillow and turned around, her eyes narrowed slits. Olofin let out a cry of anguish when his mother faced him. Weeping ulcers covered her emaciated sallow skin. The lustrous golden hair that once framed her lovely face was now greasy and knotted; chunks appeared to either have fallen out or had been pulled from her head, he wasn’t sure which. The half-elf was surprised to see that her eyes were no longer green but black.

“Olofin?” questioned an alarmed Buffy, her lifeless eyes widened upon recognizing her son. She hesitantly raised one of her spindly, decaying hands towards his face. When she caught sight of her marred flesh, she quickly withdrew it. “He’s captured you too. Oh, Olofin, you’re not supposed to be here. I’m the one being punished, not you.”

“No one has captured me, nana,” replied the young man, silent tears running down his face. “I’ve come to help you, to save you.” He reached out for his mother; she shrank back into her corner, clutching the pillow to her chest.

“You can’t save me. I’m suffering for my sins. I deserve to be in Hell… But it never stops. It never stops!” she whispered solemnly. Buffy suddenly became agitated, fidgety, and started rocking again. “It’s my fault… it’s all my fault.” A tormented expression then came over her face as if witnessing some faraway event. “Eärendil!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “He killed my babies! He killed my babies!” She suddenly became eerily calm. Shaking her head, rocking back and forth, she continued, “I did my best, Eärendil; I did my best to fix the situation. Don’t hate me; don’t hate me and Maglor. We did our best.”

Olofin had no idea what she was talking about. He had never heard of Eärendil. He inched closer to his mother unable to control his own emotions any more. “Mother, it’s me, Olofin. There’s no Eärendil here, only me.” The crazed look in the Slayer’s eyes caused the half-elf great sorrow. “Don’t you recognize your youngest son?” He began to weep uncontrollably, slumping over onto his mother’s lap.

“You must go!” she warned in a whisper, stoking his long dark hair awkwardly. “He seeks to take all that I have. Flee before he comes.” She began pushing her sobbing son away.

“I won’t leave you, mother. I’ll never leave you.” He fixed his teary eyes on her. “I’m going to help you, nana. I’m going to get you cured. I promise.”

Buffy kicked and thrashed at her son when he tried to remove her from her ‘sanctuary.’ “Go away! He seeks to destroy those whom I love most. Love is a weakness, it brings no strength.” She covered her ears with her hands and began screaming, “Make it stop! Make it stop! I’ve seen enough! Please… ” In the very next moment, her body went limp in Olofin’s arms. A blank look came over her face and she once again began chanting the numbers, “Twelve, twelve, twelve… twelve, twelve, twelve… twelve, twelve, twelve… ”

The half-elf clung tightly to his mother. Never before had he experienced such pain and anguish. While Olofin wasn’t always in agreement with his mother, he loved her dearly. It was tragic to witness one so great, fall so hard. Whoever had inflicted the malady on her was cruel and rotten, just like the disease itself. As he held his babbling mother in his arms, the half-elf tried to figure out who was responsible for Buffy’s condition. From what he had heard in the past, he doubted that it was Morgoth. Despite being the biggest and baddest villain of them all, it wasn’t his style. The half-elf knew that the evil Vala took pleasure in his mother’s beauty and had restored her health in the past. Therefore, he ruled him out. That left the Vala, Marduk, the one who delighted in science, altering DNA and having the skill to create communicable plagues.

Olofin, with Buffy in his arms, started to ease out of the makeshift cavern. When the light engulfed them, the Slayer began wailing, covering her eyes with her sore covered hands. “No! No! Not the light. Take me to the dark.” The half-elf pulled the blanket from between the couches that formed the ‘door’ to his mother’s prison cell. He hurriedly draped it over her frail form, speaking in his most soothing voice.

“It’s alright, nana,” he said, making sure that she was completely covered. “I’ve dimmed the light. I’m gonna get you help, nana. Soon, you’ll be all better. I promise.”

“No one can help me,” she whined. “I’m meant to suffer.”

“That’s not true, nana. Marduk did this to you and he… ”

“MARDUK!” she squealed, struggling to free herself . “No! He wants my babies. No! No! No!” She began to cry hysterically as Olofin tried to subdue her. “Leave me alone!” She kicked and clawed unrelentingly at her youngest child.

The half-elf was amazed that his mother had managed to wriggle out of his arms in spite of her poor health. He kept the blanket over her, pinning her body to the floor with his weight. Glancing around the wreckage, Olofin grabbed a leg from one of the overturned table frames and pulled it closer. While he used his weight to restrain the Slayer, he snapped a leg from the frame. The half-elf repositioned himself, holding the object tightly within his grasp, he tearfully said, “Forgive me, nana,” before bringing the wooden rod down upon her head. A loud cracking sound rang out in the room. Buffy let out a soft groan before falling into unconsciousness. He threw the club aside, scooped his mother back into his arms, and rose to his feet. His tears continued to flow. Olofin couldn’t believe that he had to resort to such tactics in order to help his ailing mother. He was only looking out for her best interests, after all.

With his mother concealed beneath the blanket, the young man left her chambers more distraught than when he had first arrived. Several Valkyries were waiting at the end of the corridor, anxious to hear news of their mistress’s well-being. When a teary-eyed Olofin bypassed them; the women took after him.

“Have the chariot harnessed to the lions by the time I reach the ground floor,” he ordered as he crossed the gallery leading to the spiral stairway. The maidens disappeared in the blink of an eye, eager to carry out the Lord of Borsippa’s command.

Once the half-elf had reached the chariot at the main entrance to the temple, he had managed to dry his tears and pull himself together. With his mother in his arms, he climbed onto the platform of the cart. Ignoring the weeping women that surrounded him, he told the lions to take him to the dwelling place of Amarutu Marduk. The front doors of the temple flew open as the lions made their exit. Instead of descending down the seventy-seven steps, they soared through the air before vanishing from sight.

Only a moment later, they re-appeared high above several pyramids that stood menacingly upon the desert, west of Cuiviénen. The lands were experiencing a severe sandstorm. Olofin grabbed hold of the front panel, burying his face in the blanket as the lions circled lower, and lower. The ferocious whirlwind didn’t faze Kit and Kat in the slightest, even when they landed on the sandy floor outside the main entrance to Marduk’s ‘home.’

The half-elf struggled against the whipping winds, the sand pounding against his skin like little daggers. All of a sudden, he lost his footing as the lion-drawn chariot began to fall beneath the earth. Tightening his grip on Buffy, they fell from the cart into utter darkness, the squalling cats and chariot close by. Apparently, they had been on top of a trap door, which opened at Marduk’s command, sending them plummeting underground, a shower of sand raining down upon them.

The brunt of the impact left Olofin winded, yet he continued to hold his mother tightly in his arms. The gap in the ceiling must have closed for the half-elf no longer heard the roaring winds from above. The only sound he heard was Kit and Kat, who were hissing wildly several feet away. A blinding white light suddenly filled the chamber. The lions yelped, and then fell silent. Olofin called out to the noble beasts as he desperately tried to rub the sand out of his eyes. He heard no response. The half-elf began to move towards the kitties until he was stopped by a sharp blade to the throat. Then another. And another. The young man let out a cry of dismay as Buffy was torn from his arms.

The shrill sound of Marduk’s laughter resonated within the space. “Well, well, well. Look what the cats dragged in!” Olofin blindly reached out for his mother. He heard a loud crack and then all faded to black…