Full Circle

Buffy immediately made a dash for the forest. Her sudden swift movements caused the doves to scatter, taking flight in different directions, the sound of flapping wings echoing within the small space. She had only gotten a few yards into the wood when Luthor shouted for her to return. Pivoting on the spot, she hurried back towards the Maia, who stood facing south, staring up at the sky.

“Is that not Olofin in your chariot?” he asked, pointing above the treetops.

The adrenaline rush combined with the wine left the Slayer winded and flushed by the time she reached the old man’s side. Looking to their south, she cursed when she saw her youngest child in the back of the chariot, flying east from the encampment. Even from that distance (approximately one league away), Buffy could see a lyre clasped in his hand.

“What the hell’s he gonna do, serenade the enemy to death?”

Luthor burst out laughing at the absurdity of the Slayer’s comment. “That’s highly amusing, Bella. However, do not underestimate Olofin’s abilities.”

“Luthor, Marduk tampered with his powers too. And now he’s flying into the thick of things - with a lyre!” A shiver went down her spine. “Where the hell are the Valkyries? They’re supposed to be keeping an eye out for this type of thing.” She cursed under her breath again as she and Luthor took off for the camp.

While the duo ran back into the forest, Olofin had the cats take him through the cleft in the mountain wall. He stood tall, clutching the lyre that he had made as a child close to his chest. He looked lordly and beautiful, his long dark hair billowing in the afternoon breeze. As soon as Vórëa had told him of the approaching armies, he knew that he was the one destined to thwart them. Unlike his mother and the lions, the half-elf’s magics had returned. He could feel it, the power coursing through his veins: the blood of the Valar. Despite his claim, the Valkyries were outraged when Olofin insisted that he confront the armies of Marduk alone. The women demanded that they accompany him, at least in spirit form. There was no way that they were about to let their mistress’ youngest child face the enemy on his own. They badgered the poor half-elf until he yielded. Even though he forbade the warrior-maidens from interfering unless he became injured, they flew in close proximity to the chariot, ready to strike the enemy at Olofin’s word.

It was two days later when they met up with the renegade Vala’s men. Twelve thousand mortals were marching along the pathway created by the splitting of Orocarni. At the forefront was the cavalry, nearly half of Marduk’s soldiers. When the armies caught sight of Olofin, the archers readied their weapons, looking around expectantly for the rest of Buffy’s forces.

“Halt, servants of Marduk!” said the half-elf in a commanding voice that resonated off the sheer walls. Kit and Kat kept the vehicle airborne, and a safe distance away from the enemy. “Return to your master or else suffer my wrath, for I am, Olofin Tirnon, Lord Lulal to the mortals of Sumer and Akkad, son of Inanna Ishtar… ”

At the mere mention of Buffy’s name, a couple of the foot soldiers pointed a massive weapon that resembled a long tube on a tripod at the half-elf, sending a blast of lightning towards the former Lord of Borsippa. The setting sun must have blinded the mortals as they missed Olofin and the lions by a long shot. All they managed to do was inflame the half-elf’s ire.

Olofin had Kit and Kat ascend higher and higher as he began plucking the strings of his instrument. The mortals below laughed and taunted the god, not realizing how truly powerful the young man actually was. He lifted his voice in song, casting a spell upon the sheer walls on either side. Loud, cracking sounds emanated from the rock face as large portions of stone broke off from the wall, raining down upon the men below. Their screams and cries rang out in that space as fleeing mortals watched their fellows crushed to death beneath the heavy blocks. Marduk’s armies’ attempt to outrun the shower of stones was to no avail. Both man and beast met their grisly demise on that pathway.

When the half-elf deemed that all were dead, he ceased his music-making. The last few chunks of rock fell to the ground, shaking the earth upon impact. Silence then followed. Olofin had the lions descend from their position so that he could inspect the aftermath of the volley. They flew about twenty feet above the carnage, darting around the huge pieces of rock that obstructed their pathway. Some of the men, and even some horses, weren’t quite dead yet, their painful moans barely audible. Their bodies lay twisted beneath the weight of the mammoth stone chunks.

Some of the dead were killed instantly, the force of the impact so great, that their innards were literally expelled through their mouths. Even though the half-elf had witnessed much bloodshed in his past, he had to admit that that was one of the most morbid scenes that he had ever encountered. He had to suppress the urge to vomit. Already, the flies were eagerly swarming the mangled corpses that jutted out from beneath the jagged slabs of mountainside.

Olofin hated the thought that many had to die. However, he had accepted long ago that that was a part of warfare; death was a necessary evil. As the Valkyries ended the suffering of those that lay dying, the half-elf finished his inspection, and started back towards the encampment. He was pleased knowing that any that dare tread that same road would find it most difficult to navigate around the humongous rocks strewn across the roadway.

The following day, he encountered his mother and her armies within the opening of the mountain. Buffy was amazed and delighted by her son’s accomplishment, (although slightly jealous by the return of his magics). Olofin had Kit and Kat take them in the chariot to the gruesome scene so that she could see the aftermath of her young son’s mystical attack. The Slayer in her couldn’t help but swell with pride. Her son had single-handedly destroyed two legions of Marduk’s armies and walked away unscathed! Now, that was something worthy of a great celebration!

Buffy had the lions land in a cleared spot amidst the huge blood-splattered rocks. She walked around the site, examining the carcasses that littered the ground. She then summoned the Valkyries, and ordered them to salvage what horsemeat that they could. What better way to celebrate their victory than offering the masses fresh meat. Shortly thereafter, she returned to the camp with Olofin while the others remained behind carrying out her request.

Immediately upon their return, Olofin penned a letter to Marduk, explaining that he and his people were unable to continue their trek until they built a road through the forest. He let the renegade Vala know that he was the one responsible for decimating his armies and that if the Lord of the East sent any more men, they too would perish like their comrades. He asked that the Vala Lord leave them in peace, as they were no longer east of the Red Mountains, which marked Marduk’s territory. Buffy then sent the message with one of her falcons, who quickly took off for Eridu, home of the renegade Vala.

The next day, at sunset, they held a celebratory feast in honor of the half-elf. While Buffy was happy that her son was having his moment of glory, she couldn’t help but feel inadequate by her own lack of abilities. She half-heartedly watched as Olofin entertained a group of young elflings and mortal children by shape shifting into different animals, much to the youngsters’ delight. As the children played with her son who was in wolf-form, she quietly rose from her seat and retreated to her house. An overwhelming feeling of sadness encompassed her spirit. Despite the multitudes of people that milled about the place enjoying the festivities, the Slayer felt utterly alone.

She plopped down wearily on her lapis lazuli bed that the Valkyries had brought back from Sussrúmnir, pulling her folded legs close to her chest. As her eyes scanned the room, they stopped when they fell upon the wooden box that sat on her dresser. Tears filled her eyes as her sadness quickly turned to despair. Rising, Buffy retrieved the box and sat before the flickering flames in the fireplace. She opened the box and slowly pulled out the contents, as the music of the elves drifted into her bedchamber through the open windows. As she listened to the joyful tune, her hands busily worked on the task at hand. The Slayer then grabbed a thin stick from the woodpile and stuck it into the flames until it was alit. Placing the pipe that she had retrieved from the box to her lips, she heated the bowl, melting the globules of hul-gil (“joy-plant”), while inhaling deeply. She held the smoke in her lungs until her face became red from lack of oxygen. Two hits later, she was already beginning to feel the effects.

A sudden rapping on the door startled the Slayer. She gasped, causing her to hack from sucking the smoke too deep. The door opened. Orchal peeped in. Upon seeing the coughing woman, his eyes widened. “Are you ill? Should I get Nestor or Istahiro?” he asked, his brows furrowed with concern. Buffy held up the pipe, revealing the culprit, as she tried to catch her breath. “Ooh, opium,” said the elf, as he hastily entered the room rubbing his palms eagerly together. “Tell me, dear Bella, that you have enough to share,” he added hopefully, kicking the door closed with a sandaled foot.

“I have enough to last ten lifetimes of man, my good elf,” she answered with a wide-grin on her face. Orchal could tell by her eyes that she had already entered that blissful state of mind that accompanied the smoking or sniffing of that herbal substance: they were glassy and bloodshot. “Care to grab a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses and join me?” The councilor moved so fast that he was seated opposite Buffy with the requested items before she finished taking a draw. “Here,” she said, trying to hold in the smoke as she handed off the pipe.

“Thanks,” he replied before taking a hit.

“I’ve got more. Help yourself,” she replied, after exhaling the smoke. “My mouth’s so dry. A little wine should do the trick.” She looked at the label. “Ooh, you grabbed the one from 73. That was an exceptional year for the grape.” Buffy opened the bottle and began pouring the delicate amber beverage into glasses.

“I swear,” started Orchal, blowing out a stream of smoke as he re-packed the bowl, “that you’re the only person I’ve ever known that always keeps a wine rack in your bedchamber.”

“Convenience, my friend, it’s all about convenience,” she replied with a chortle.

They sat there for a while, talking and getting high. The drug had served its purpose: the Slayer’s melancholy melted away. In its place, she experienced utter and complete serenity. That is, until the hardwood floor became too uncomfortable, causing her and Orchal to move their conversation to the comfort of her oversized bed.

Buffy lay there, next to the elf, twirling strands of her golden hair with one hand while clutching her wineglass with the other. Her half-opened eyes stared trance-like at the exposed wooden beam overhead. Orchal was still going on about the unsanitary conditions of the mortals’ camp, a problem that she was already well aware of, especially with the warming weather.

While the elf continued his rant, Buffy became more reflective of her current situation. She wished the mortals would stop defecating around their camp and begin utilizing the lime that they had stored in abundance, but she wasn’t about to take it upon herself to clean up their mess. If they wanted to live in squalor, then so be it.

The Slayer had kept her people segregated from mankind in an attempt to maintain peaceful relations between the races, yet the Green-elves’ love for the Second-born continued to lessen with each passing day, or so it seemed. The Laiquendi were more than willing to leave the mortals behind to fend for themselves, as the elves were now quite eager to return to the beautiful woods of Ossir.

When Orchal had finished his tirade, they both fell quiet, each drifting off in their own thoughts.

“Do you think Olofin’s righteousness has something to do with his getting his powers back before me?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Hmm, that’s an interesting question,” replied the elf, “and one that, I’m afraid, I don’t have the answer to.” He turned towards the Slayer, watching as she continued to twirl her hair absent-mindedly. “Why would you think that?”

“Well, I’m still powerless and he’s not,” she answered dismally. “I can’t help but think that I’m being punished, punished for straying from the path of righteousness.” Buffy took a sip of wine before placing the glass on the nightstand.

“Punished by whom?”

“Ilúvatar.”

Orchal rolled onto his side, repositioning the pillows beneath his head. “That’s nonsense! Marduk’s the one responsible, not Ilúvatar.” She turned her gaze to the elf. “Bad things happen to good people all the time. Of course, they tend to happen a lot more to you than others… ”

“Why is that? Why is every bad ass out there gunning for me? Why don’t they screw with someone else for a change and leave me be?” She turned her attention back to the wooden beam above.

“I’ll venture a guess and say that it’s because you’re the only threat that stands in their way.”

“Pfft,” she sounded, rolling her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, giving the elf a reassuring smile. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Such as?” he queried with raised brows.

“Hmm, how ‘bout me!” she replied with a chuckle. “Actually, there’s something that I wanted to talk to you about.” She rolled onto her side so that she faced Orchal. “Since I’m starting my life over… yet again, I’ve decided that I need to make some changes. You know, turn over a new leaf, as we say in Ossir.”

“And what do you intend to do differently?”

“Pretty much everything I did in Sumer,” she answered with a sneer. She sighed before adding hopefully, “I just want to go back to Beleriand and have everything be… normal.” A thoughtful look came to her face. “Well, at least as normal as my life usually is.” She groaned, rolling onto her back. “I just want things to be like they were before we came here.”

“You’re speaking of your life with Maglor, aren’t you?”

Buffy moaned. Grabbing a pillow, she pressed it over her face and screamed as an overwhelming feeling of guilt washed over her. Just the mere mention of her husband’s name brought to mind her much anticipated reunion with the Noldo. The Slayer feared that if Maglor learned of her escapades in the East, he would surely leave her. Orchal grabbed the pillow, pulling it from her grasp, messing up Buffy’s hair in the process. As she pushed the wisps of hair from her face, the elf searched the Slayer’s eyes keenly.

“You have no plans to tell Maglor about your adventures in the East.”

“Adventures? Exploits seems the more appropriate word.”

“There is no way that you can keep the events that had happened secret,” said Orchal in a stunned voice. “Too many people know the tales. Maglor’s bound to find out one way or another. Have you given any thought to just telling him the truth? I fear that if you lie about what happened, it will lead to another lie and another. No good will come from it, I deem.”

“He can’t find out, Orchal. No one in Beleriand can,” she said, fixing her gaze on the elf. “I’ll do everything in my power to see to it that none learn about what happened in Sumer. I know that I can trust those in my Household to keep mum if I command it, but I’m a little concerned about the mortals.”

“I can see why. They are a fickle folk,” added the Green-elf.

“Maybe so, but not the Edain. They’re in a different class; they’ve proved that they’re faithful to me.”

“Perhaps, but I still have little love for them.”

“Well, I love them.”

“I daresay that you’ve proved that time and time again,” Orchal chuckled, breaking the mounting tension. “How many of the mortals did you actually bed, Bella? Hundreds? Thousands?”

“No!” she said, hitting the elf with a pillow. “I was never that slutty!”

“Perhaps not, but you do seem to have a weak spot for mortal men.”

“What can I say, they’re like my kryptonite,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. Buffy shifted to a sitting position, clutching a pillow in her arms. “You know, I’ve gotta do something about that. I can’t get all weak-kneed every time I see a good-looking man.”

“And what do you propose to do?”

“Well, for one, I have no intention to sleep with anyone ever again except Káno.”

The elf laughed at that. “That’s something I have to see to believe.”

“You don’t think I have any self-control?” she queried with a frown.

“Actions speak louder than words, my friend. And while you’ve been on your best behavior since we’ve departed Sumer, my heart tells me that you will become enamored with one of the mortals before we set foot in Beleriand.”

Buffy’s jaw dropped. “No, no way,” she answered, shaking her head. “That’s never gonna happen.” Orchal looked unconvinced. She sighed heavily; her green eyes looked pleadingly at the elf Lord. “Will you help me?”

“How?”

“Don’t let me do anything stupid. Help me continue my campaign to remain celibate… ”

“Your campaign?” he asked, arching his brow, his smile widening. “And when did this campaign of yours come about?”

“When I got the malady.”

“Oh, I see,” he replied. The sadness of her tone stifled his amusement. Orchal could see by the look in Buffy’s eyes that her avowal was sincere. She really did want to change her ways. The smile quickly left his face. He placed a hand comfortingly on her arm. “I will help you, my dear. From this day forward, I will let no man compromise your… er, virtue.”

“Thanks, Orchal.”

“What are friends for?”

It was only a few weeks later when Buffy’s oath of abstinence was put to the test for the first time. She awoke to a fine morning, on the cusp of summer. As the sun rose over Orocarni, the mists that lay about the land dissipated, revealing a clear blue sky. The temperature was cool, but warming fast. After enjoying a leisurely breakfast, the Slayer decided to catch some rays. Setting out on her way, she came across a group of elflings playing along the edge of the forest that led to her hidden sanctuary. Fearing that the youngsters would follow, and discover her secret spot, she chose to forego her afternoon of solitude. Instead, she would check on the progress of the road, a task that was proving to be both tedious and time-consuming.

She mounted her horse and took off down the southern trail, Kit and Kat running alongside her. While the Maiar possessed the ability to blast a pathway through the forest in an instant, Buffy wanted every obstacle removed by hand. She was in no hurry to get back to Beleriand, thinking that time would be her accomplice in making the mortals forget the past. She had reached the conclusion that once the older generation had died off, history could be altered somewhat with the subsequent ones. Even though that seemed rather dubious on her part, she preferred doing that, rather than using magics on mankind.

Despite her overall objective, the Slayer was still a lover of mortals. None could doubt that. She continued to allow Man a say-so in the governing of things, although the Elves and Maiar held more authority. Since the Second-born were the lowest of the hierarchy, naturally, the most unpleasant tasks fell upon them. That included the cleaving of the roadway.

When the Slayer caught sight of the laborers, her jaw dropped. It wasn’t everyday that she encountered numerous men, naked from the waist up, working diligently beneath the mid-day sun, their muscular chests glistening with sweat. When she neared the heart of the group, most men stopped what they were doing and greeted her properly as she passed by. A few among them caused her heart to skip a beat. Buffy’s conscience screamed for her to return home, yet she found herself being helped off her steed by one of the burly men instead. Dozens of sweaty males surrounded her, delighted by her unexpected visit, each vying for her attention and favor. Before long, the Vala of Love was flirting shamelessly, proving that old habits die hard.

Buffy was so preoccupied with her companions that she didn’t notice the crowd dispersing. From out of nowhere appeared Orchal, on horseback. He rode into the throng and with one swift motion, scooped the Slayer onto his horse. His steed then hastily took off down the path. Buffy looked over her shoulder as the men waved good-bye. She made a clicking sound, and her horse and lions quickly followed her and the elf.

“I’ve saved you from making a terrible mistake, Bella,” whispered Orchal as they headed down the road.

The Slayer sighed heavily. “Yeah, thanks.”

That was the first and last time that she ever checked on the men’s progress with the road. Orchal, true to his word, very seldom let Buffy out of his sight after that. He accompanied her on her visits to the sanctuary, slept beside her every night, ate every meal with her. They were spending so much time together that some began to whisper that the elf and Vala were having an affair, which was most certainly untrue.

It took five years for the roadway to be completed. Before the group packed up their belongings and started the march once again, Buffy decided that having one lord over all the mortals was becoming too much of a burden for Ishmal. After debating the matter with her councilors, it was decreed that mankind would be broken up into three separate factions or Houses, based on where they had come from. For there was one common denominator amongst the Edain: all were originally descended from the peoples of Bela, Admah and Zeboim. Ishmal would still be lord of the First House and overlord over all mortals, since he was a direct descendant of Sargon, through the beloved Enheduanna. At the urging of Luthor, she appointed Hallel (descended directly from first line of Brolach, through his son Orrin) as the lord of the Second House, and Rimush the Golden became the lord of the Third and largest House since he was technically supposed to be king of Sumer.

The caravan departed the slopes of the Red Mountains on a fine autumn morning in Yr 252. It took a few months for the entire train to make it to the other side of the forest. They came out of the wood just south of a long ridge that jutted out from Orocarni for about fifty miles to the west. Even though the terrain was still somewhat rolling, the lands lay open before them as far as the eye could see.

After many more months, the company reached a wide river that ran north to south. Its waters were swift, the embankments high, preventing the travelers from crossing. They turned north until they reached yet another river that ran from east to west, emptying into the first river. They traveled east until they found a ford where they could cross the frigid waters safely. Unfortunately, they had to continue going some miles north before they could find shallow enough waters to cross the first long river. The journey proved to be incredibly frustrating. All in all, it took over three years to get everybody across that watercourse. To add to everyone’s misery, winter came early that year, forcing the group to hunker down beside the stream until the arrival of spring the following year.

In the meantime, the Maiar, unhindered by the cold weather, went on expeditions, exploring the regions further to their west for the best possible route to follow. While abroad, they encountered stray birds and wildlife that happened to be in the area. Consulting with the beasts, they were told to continue north until the saw a stretch of hills running from west to east approximately seven hundred miles to their north. From there they needed to go north-northwest until they reached a gap between the great forest and the feet of the Iron Mountains. That way they’d be able to bypass the springheads that formed three separate rivers in those parts.

When Buffy heard the news, she summoned all her councilors for a meeting. They gathered inside her pavilion, sitting around a table, looking over Olofin’s map.

“The beasts are correct,” said Luthor, tracing the route on the parchment with his finger. “Going north is the quickest way to go.”

“But what of Morgoth?” asked a grim-faced Olofin. “Ered Engrin forms the southern border to his realm. That puts us dangerously close to the enemy’s lands.”

“He’s got a point,” agreed the Slayer, surveying the map. “We can’t rule out some type of ambush.”

“We could travel due west, through the forest,” suggested Orchal hopefully. He was eager to spend weeks, even months, traveling amid the tall beech, oaks and firs that Olofin said grew there.

“Nice try, Orchal,” said Buffy, looking up from the map at her dear friend and constant companion. She smiled. “We don’t need to waste a bunch of time cutting a road when we can easily go around.”

“The lands are fair to the south,” commented Olofin, pointing to the region south of the forest. “It’s mostly open fields of grass and wildflowers. Although, there are falls located along the Anduin here, to the west,” he moved his finger to the spot on the map that marked the waterfalls. “We would have to cleave a way through the forest’s southern borders if we choose to go this way. The terrain becomes uneven here,” he moved his finger slightly to the east, “and will be perilous to some of our people, especially the elderly. No wagons or wingless beasts can pass that way - unless we go through the wood.”

“We should go north,” re-affirmed Luthor. “It makes no sense to go so far out of the way. Let’s take the direct path. The mortals are slowing us down as it is,” he said, tapping his finger on the northern part of the map.

“These lands are new to us,” chimed in Rimush. “My people look upon this strange place with wonder.”

“Well, I haven’t seen these lands before either,” revealed Buffy, “but I’m tired of living on the road and the elves are ready to go home.”

“Then we take the northern road,” said Luthor with a nod. “That settles that!” Luthor rose from his seat, everyone following suit, breaking into smaller groups, talking.

Olofin looked up at his mother as he rolled up the map. She felt his uneasiness.

“Don’t worry, son. I’ll have the Maiar and Valkyries be extra vigilant. If Morgoth plans an attack, we’ll be ready.”

“I hope you’re right, for my heart aches with warning.”

“Everything will be alright,” said an optimistic Buffy, nodding her head repeatedly. She had a fleeting moment of doubt, considering that Olofin’s powers had returned and hers had not. She quickly shook that feeling off, thinking it nothing more than paranoia. “I’m sure everything will be alright.”

It turned out that Olofin’s heart had not deceived him, as the company would discovered less than a year later. The group was traveling across the wide rocky plains of the north; the towering peaks of Ered Engrin loomed menacingly in the distance. Fall was in the air, the days were becoming cooler, the nights longer. Buffy’s sentinels were ever watchful, particularly along the wooded slopes of the mountain chain, waiting for any sign of the enemy. None knew that Morgoth had no plans to attack the masses with his armies; he had something far better in mind.

Now, Melkor was not ignorant about the goings-on in Middle-earth. And he was well aware that Buffy was leading the first group of mortals to Beleriand. That was all part of his plan. Already, his spies had infiltrated Mesopotamia seeking those willing to enter the Dark Lord’s service with promises of riches and power in the west, neither of which Morgoth intended to honor. It would take several more years before he would gather enough followers, intent on doing his bidding, to leave the East for Beleriand.

Yet one thing concerned Melkor greatly: the number of Edain that followed Buffy. He hadn’t expected that many in her train and gave no thought to the mortals procreating on their journey, which they had. Their numbers were even greater than when they had left Sumer! Morgoth chose to unleash his might when he felt the travelers would be most vulnerable, and that time came sooner then he foresaw. He did not hesitate to strike when the opportunity presented itself - sending the worst snowstorm recorded during the First Age of Middle-earth, The Fell Winter of 257.

What started out as flurries during the middle of the night, turned into a full-blown blizzard within a matter of hours. The abrupt change in weather made Buffy re-think her course of action. After speaking with all the councilors, the decision was made to continue on the trek despite the bitter cold. Melkor be damned! Unfortunately, not everybody in the caravan was of like mind. Some wanted to remain in camp, riding out the storm, while others yearned to go south to escape the ferocious winds. Regardless, it was decided that they’d continue on, and at first light, most did just that.

The group continued for only two days before they surrendered to the wickedly painful gusts. The snow had gotten so deep that they made little progress on their march. The company had no other option but to head south, relieved to now have the winds lashing at their backs. Their retreat provided little to no relief from their horrific conditions. At times, the intensity of the storm decreased, giving the company a much needed break, but then the winds would pick up again and visibility would be lost in a whirling of snow. All the lands that surrounded them lay blanketed under deep drifts of white.

It did not take long before the cold weather took its toll on the people, more particularly mankind. Thousands of mortals became ill. Bizarre mishaps became a daily occurrence, resulting in many injuries and deaths. The masses cried out that Eru Ilúvatar was punishing them for the sins of their pasts, something that the Slayer did not repudiate.

Shortly thereafter, the mortals began burning their belongings, including wagons and carts, in an attempt to ease their suffering and warm their freezing limbs. When there were lulls in the storm, the Valkyries took to the air, showering leaf-wrapped packets of lembas down on the throngs. The mortals, who called the elvish way bread manna, were grateful for the sustenance, but after several weeks, their craving for protein led them to take drastic measures. The mortals took to slaying their beasts of burden, horses, chickens, anything that satisfied their hungering for meat. Things had gotten so bad that Buffy had the Maiar take most of her animals to Folkvang, fearing the mortals would try to kill them during the night. One mortal actually had the audacity to go after one of her lions. His punishment: Buffy’s beasts got to eat him. For the first time since they had departed the East, the Slayer armed the people of Hallel with weapons and instructed them to police their kindred.

For five brutal months, the travelers endured the cruel torments of Morgoth. Non-stop snow of varying degrees haunted them for nearly two hundred miles. Many lives were lost, and the company encountered their greatest tragedy at the crossing of the river that ran southeast from the feet of the mountain peaks in the forest that Olofin had named Greenwood on his map. Eight of the mightiest lords and ladies from the First House and much of the entourage, perished while attempting to cross the frozen stream. The ice broke beneath their feet, sending them to their watery graves. Ishmal died attempting to save his mother, the beloved Enheduanna, chief hymn-maker of Inanna Ishtar. The news broke Buffy’s heart, especially hearing about the demise of her favorite daughter of Sargon. Her sorrow increased when the weather prevented them from retrieving the remains of those trapped somewhere beneath the ice-covered waters.

The company continued on their miserable journey for another two months before they escaped the unmerciful torments of Melkor. There was no jubilation when the peoples set foot upon the grassy plains of the southlands. So many mortals’ health had become frail from the journey, including Ishmal’s only son, Mansur. The healers kept busy tending to the sick while the others collapsed on the soft green grass, savoring the warmth of the sun that they had not seen in nearly half a year. All were weary from the journey, and eager to rest until their strength returned. In the distance, the snowstorms of Morgoth continue to fall upon the lands, gradually receding to the north.

Mankind was beginning to regret the fact that they had destroyed their animals and left behind the tools that would have been useful now that they found themselves in the fair lands of the south. Spring had sprung, and the time was perfect for planting seeds but they no longer had any, having eaten them all. The mortal lords turned to the Slayer, hoping that she would deliver unto them the seeds, tools and beasts needed to work the soil.

“That I will not do,” she announced, stunning the mortals that sat amongst the circle of the Lords and Ladies of her Household. “Ill-advised was it to slay your beasts and burn your goods,” she continued, her eyes narrowing at the men. “You must learn that there are consequences to your actions, and all of you acted rashly. Lembas would’ve provided you with enough sustenance until we reached the safety of the southlands.”

“But we were cold and ravenous!” declared Rimush.

“And do you think that we elves did not suffer? Nor the Maiar?” interjected a frowning Orchal, his temper flaring. “Your people even resorted to thievery, attempting to make off with what was rightfully ours.”

Rimush turned his sorrowful blue eyes to the Elf Lord. “I beg of you, Lord, please do not place the guilt on all my people when only a few are to blame. Not all were from my House! Is it not wrong to make the guiltless suffer as the result of the misdeeds of a few?”

“As lord of the Third House, you are responsible for the actions of your people. It was one from your Household, Rimush, that attempted to slay Bella’s holy lions… ”

“Enough!” interrupted Buffy, wanting to end the quarrel that was brewing between Orchal and the golden-haired mortal. “The guilty party received his just rewards. So let’s speak of it no more.” She locked her gaze on Rimush. “I don’t blame all your people, Rimush, but there’s something that you’ve got to understand: I won’t always be here to help you guys out of unfortunate situations. You have to learn to stand on your own two feet. Once we cross the Blue Mountains, it’s over. You cannot seek me out. You cannot pray for my aid because I can no longer give it. You must look to Ilúvatar. Pray to him for deliverance, not me!”

“I think,” started Luthor, “that the time has arrived for you to address the people, Bella. That time is upon us at last, I deem.” The old man nodded his head encouragingly.

Buffy’s eyes scanned the mortals seated around her. She couldn’t help but feel pity for them. The hardship of living a nomadic life showed more so on mankind than it did on the elves or Maiar. Those mortals in her presence, the mightiest of Men, were utterly exhausted, their garments worn and tattered, huge holes covering the bottoms of their shoes. There was no way she was ready to leave them to fend for themselves. Not yet, any way.

“Let’s wait still, Luthor,” Buffy finally answered. “The lords present here can inform their people that Eru has unleashed his wrath on us because some of the mortals will not stop speaking of the East. Adversity will prevail as long as you continue to do so. Speak no more of the East or misfortune will find you.”

The councilors then studied the map again, deciding that it was in everybody’s best interest to continue on. Without carts or wagons, the company could easily make their way through the wood without having to cut down a tree. To the mortals’ dismay, the Slayer instructed the masses to continue on with the march only three days later.

Their fortune changed for the better a few weeks later when they came out of the western eaves of the forest. Immediately, the Green-elves lifted their voices in song, delighted to be in familiar territory again. In the distance, running north to south were the Misty Mountains. If the company continued west, they would eventually come to the Anduin River, which formed the eastern border of Lindórinand, the realm of Amdír, kinsman of the Green-elves.

Buffy shielded her eyes from the sinking sun as she looked to the west. Her heart started racing when she noticed the three mighty peaks of the mountain chain: Caradhras, Fanuidhol, and Celebdil. A smile came to her face knowing that beneath those peaks dwelled the dwarves of Durin in the mighty halls of Khazâd-Dum. While the elves’ enthusiasm to continue the march was heightened at the prospect of seeing their kinfolk, mankind thought differently. The Slayer urged the Edain to continue the hike, at least until they reached the Anduin River. Most of the mortals relented and followed the elves and Maiar, but some tarried along the forest’s edge.

While making their way towards the Anduin River, the company came across the Onodrim for the first time during their travels. Man was baffled to see the Shepherds of the Trees, but the elves and Maiar were ecstatic. Buffy spoke with their leader, a female Onod called Fimbrethil in the elvish tongue. After hearing the travelers’ woeful tale, the Shepherds wanted to help. And help they did! For the Enyd loved the elves and were eager to teach the craft of agriculture to the younger children of Eru.

The Slayer took advantage of the situation and told the mortals that they were now in Eru’s good graces. She assured mankind that they had not happened upon the Onodrim by chance; it was His will. If the Edain continued to keep their past secret, even more blessings would He bestow upon the good people. Man did not refute her words, they took them to heart, and from that day forward, none of the mortals spoke openly about the events in Mesopotamia. For once, Buffy felt a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She had put another obstacle behind her, unaware that a new one would soon present itself in the most unexpected of ways…