Full Circle

Buffy and her family remained in Himlad while Olofin toiled with Curufin on the reshaping of the Carnimír. She had given very specific and detailed instructions on the design of the soon-to-be scepter. She envisioned the red jewel in the shape of a single flame, nestled within bronze prongs of a rod wrought from the heart of an ash tree. Etched in silver on the shaft would be a lion and a dove, for that represented both power and peace, which to the Slayer, was very symbolic of who she was, as well as Luthor. Since the jewel came from Fëanor, and his descendants were creating the device, she insisted that his emblem be located on it too.

When it came time for the half-elf to imbue the mammoth jewel with the mystical blood of his mother, he banished all from Curufin’s forges so that he could do that alone. His uncle was proud of his nephew’s devotion to the project, as it demonstrated that he was indeed a son of Fëanor. Many of the Noldor looked on in wonder as blue and white lights emanated from the windows of the workshop, bedazzling the eyes. Despite the endless questions from his kinfolk, the half-elf refused to divulge how he had enhanced the gemstone with its mystical properties.

After one year, Olofin had finished his part in the forging of the scepter. Before leaving Himlad with his parents and Maedhros, he asked his uncle to add a cross to the instrument, as that icon truly represented his mother (and Ilúvatar), and he felt it important that it should have a place on the rod. So intricate were the details, that it would take Curufin and Celebrimbor another thirty-four years before they would complete the scepter for Luthor.

From Himlad, the small party then traveled to Himring, the home of the eldest son of Fëanor, where they remained for yet another year. It was with great joy when Buffy finally arrived home at the Gap in the summer of Yr 312. Apparently, word of her arrival was spreading swiftly throughout both West and East Beleriand (courtesy of Finrod), as messengers from Fingolfin were waiting at their Halls upon her return. The Lord of the Noldor sent words of greeting, and wished for the Slayer and her kin to come to Hithlum to celebrate her homecoming. Buffy was touched by the gesture, but wasn’t in the mood to go back out on the road so soon. She sent word back to Fingolfin that she would come on New Year’s Day, as that had become an important holiday to her over the years.

In the meantime, the Slayer was happy to fall back into her old routine. She and Maglor were inseparable and, literally, did everything together. One didn’t even go to the bathroom without the other, which was strange to say the least. They were desperate to make up for lost time and enjoyed rediscovering each other’s little foibles and whatnot. Quite often, they were seen in the company of their son. Buffy was actually very pleased that Olofin would share many stories that portrayed her in a favorable light with his father. The half-elf even sang some of the hymns written in her honor. Those Maglor especially liked.

Before the end of summer, some from Buffy’s Household returned to the Gap at the bidding of Olofin. He wanted many of the treasures that he had brought back from Sumer. Since he thought that they’d be going to Ossir first, all of his belongings were stored in Lindon Hall, gathering dust over the past two years. The half-elf was quite eager to show his father the many things he had acquired during his stay in the East, but he was most eager to show off the map of Middle-earth that he had spent fifty years devising.

A week before New Year’s Day, Maglor, Buffy, Olofin, the lions, and a few members of their respective Households departed their lands for Eithel Sirion, home of Fingolfin. They headed north, passing through the gate in the wall that Buffy had ordered erected within the ‘gap’ of the March of Maedhros (which is what the northern area of East Beleriand became known as to the Noldor, including the chain of hills). They turned west, crossing the brown grasses of Lothlann, meeting up with Maedhros and his people just north of Himring where the hills faded altogether. The winds blew ferociously from the northwest, and even though all were clad in furs, it was still bitterly cold. Once they had reached the northern fences of Dorthonion, the great pine forest, Buffy and her companions were offered lodging for the night by the people of Aegnor and Angrod, despite the fact that the latter had little love for any son of Fëanor. Each night, they found someone gracious enough to take in the Vala of Love and her ‘escort,’ as her fellow travelers were referred to by the people.

Every morning the group started on their journey before sunrise, riding fast and long, not stopping until all the land lay covered in darkness. They reached the Noldo King’s citadel, Barad Eithel, in six days’ time.

Before meeting with the many Noldo Lords, Buffy wanted to bathe. She was still shaking from the cold, and felt that soaking in a tub of hot, steamy water was the only way to rid the chill from her bones. Once again, her beloved joined her. A little nookie along with a good soak proved to be the cure for her ailment.

After Buffy had donned an exquisite long red velvety gown, Maglor escorted his bride to the central hall in Fingolfin’s castle. Finrod was the first to approach, as he was quite anxious to speak with the Slayer.

“Nóm indeed!” he said with a chuckle. “You’ve clearly proven you have the gift of foresight, my dear Bellaseth. Do you know that it was only later that day, after I had left you, that I encountered the Hildor?”

“You don’t say,” she replied with a sly grin. “Imagine that.”

“You knew. You knew all along.”

Buffy laughed. “So, what did you think of the Second-born?”

“They thought that I was one of the Valar, can you believe that? Me - a Vala!” He chuckled. “I must say that I love them, I love them very much. I even brought one mortal back with me to Nargothrond. Bëor, I named him. And let me tell you, my dear friend, you will come with me to my Halls after this whole thing is over,” he continued with a wave of his hand. “If you do not come now, I deem you never will.”

“I’ll take you up on your offer, Finrod. I could use a change of scenery. I hate the cold winds of the north.”

Catching sight of Fingolfin, the Slayer excused herself and made her way over to the Noldo King. She offered him her condolences at losing his only daughter. He did the same in a roundabout way regarding her own death. It was while they were seated in an alcove, talking with others of the elf’s kindred that Fingolfin’s sister, Lalwen suddenly appeared before them. The woman studied Buffy for a few moments with tear-filled eyes, her bottom lip trembling. She then fell to her knees, burying her face in the Slayer’s lap, sobbing.

Fingolfin appeared embarrassed by his sister’s behavior. “Oh, Lalwen,” he started with a roll of his eyes, “let Luinil be… ” He went to pull the distraught woman away, but Buffy stopped him before he could. The Slayer wrapped her arms around the maiden, lovingly stroking her long dark hair.

“It’s okay, Lalwen. Everything’s okay,” said Buffy reassuringly.

The elf-maiden lifted her head, tears continuing to stream from her pale gray eyes. “I saw it, Bella. I saw your death in my dreams,” she cried. The clamor in the room died down to hushed murmurings, as everyone watched the heart-wrenching scene. “Oh, my Lady, the horror of it all! I saw you nailed to an enormous cross. I felt your pain as the iron spikes were driven through your flesh and bone.” The sound of many people gasping resonated throughout the chamber. Not all had heard the intimate details of Buffy’s death until that point. Lalwen kissed each of the Slayer’s wrists exactly where Úrion had driven the metal nails through her flesh. Many of the Noldor stared with their mouths agape, watching the changes overcoming the Vala of Love’s demeanor. A painful expression came to Buffy’s face as she vividly recalled her crucifixion. She could feel a tightening in her chest. Her breathing came in gasps. The Slayer closed her eyes as a single tear ran down her cheek. She was reliving that horrifying moment, the pain, the agony.

“That’s enough,” interjected Fingolfin, kindly but firmly, before his sister could continue. Lalwen shifted her sorrowful gaze to the Noldo Lord. “Do you not see the pain that you are causing Maranwë Luinil?” he asked, glancing at the Slayer. “This is supposed to be a joyful occasion, a time of great celebration, not the time to dredge up lamentable memories better left buried. Speak no more of this, my sister.” He then raised his voice, addressing all those in the chamber. “Let it be known that from this day forward, none of the Noldor are to speak of Luinil’s death openly, again.”

Another woman came from the crowd, and pulled Lalwen to her feet and away from the Slayer.

“Stop!” exclaimed Buffy, who leapt from her seat after the daughter of Finwë. She took the woman’s hands and said, “We’re bound together, you and I. You feel it. I feel it. None can thwart destiny. What happens is meant to happen even if we don’t clearly understand why. Come with me, Lalwen. Talk with me in private.” Without giving any a second look, the Slayer and the elleth left the chamber for Buffy’s room, relieved to be free from the doleful looks of the others. Once there, she introduced her friend to the wonders of opium as they talked about the woe to come. The women got so high that they fell asleep on the Slayer’s bed curled up with Kit and Kat, forcing Maglor to bunk with his son for the night.

After that first day, none brought up Buffy’s death again. She remained in rather high spirits for the remainder of their short visit, which lasted the rest of the month. Fingolfin loathed seeing her leave so soon, but the Slayer wanted to keep her promise to Finrod by visiting his realm.

Maedhros, Buffy and Maglor’s Households returned home, while she, Káno, Olofin and her kitties departed Barad Sirion with Finrod.

The small company set out early one morning following the course of the Sirion along the eastern feet of Ered Wethrin. They found relief from the cold after passing through the marshes of the Fen of Serech, which was by far, the worst part of their journey. They stopped for a time and visited with Orodreth at his fortress on Tol Sirion before resuming their trek. About twenty miles south of that isle, they reached the road that Finrod had had made that was nearly a hundred miles long. It veered west of Sirion cutting through the far western eaves of the Forest of Brethil (where Buffy had encountered the vampire lord Daehir long ago). That road crossed two streams, the Teiglin being the greater of the two, before it stopped suddenly at the edge of the woods of Taleth Dirnen, which was the “Guarded Plain” of Finrod’s realm. By the time they had reached those parts, the weather had turned mild with spring in the air, as they continued southwest until they came to the hilly regions along the River Narog. From there, they set off on foot, walking beside the great gorge that formed the far western wall of Andram, to the three humongous doors of Nargothrond.

“Oh, wow, Finrod!” said Buffy in awe after entering the massive First Hall. “I can now see why the Naugrim call you Felagund.” Nargothrond did indeed mirror the beauty of Menegroth, even down to the pillars hewn in the likeness of enormous beech trees. She turned to Maglor and added, “Why don’t Luthor and the dwarves do something like this to the Deeper Well? I’d be more likely to visit more often if they had.”

Her husband laughed. The jovial sound bounced off the walls, bringing a smile to the Slayer’s face.

“Bella, the Deeper Well is a prison, not some palatial inn!”

“You can see the dwarvish influence,” remarked Olofin, studying the architectural aspects of interior chambers. “It balances nicely with the work of the Noldor.” He turned his eyes to a beaming Finrod. “Well done, Felagund, well done indeed!”

“Thank you, my friends. I’m very happy with the fruits of our labor.” He looked at Buffy. “I’m sure that you want to freshen up before reacquainting yourself with the chieftains of my House.”

“You know me so well,” replied the Slayer with a smile, still taking in the beauty of Nargothrond.

Finrod summoned one of his servants, who then led the trio to their sleeping quarters. They made their way through the mammoth winding hallways, gradually descending deeper and deeper into the heart of the fortress. Maglor and Buffy’s private chamber was huge, and decorated in green and white, which were actually the colors of Ossir. It seemed that their room was heavily influenced by what Finrod had seen in Lindon, down to the leaf-looking canopy of the bed. It was marvelous and reminded her of home, despite the lack of windows. Great tapestries, depicting beautiful landscapes, hung on the walls, thus bringing the outside in.

Once she and Maglor had washed up and changed, they began the trek back up the winding passageways to Finrod’s enormous Great Hall.

“Size does matter,” whispered a chortling Buffy to her husband as she craned her neck to look up at the domed ceiling. It must have been a two hundred feet from floor to ceiling. With the flickering flames of the numerous torches, the dome looked very much like a glittering starburst. It was absolutely beautiful.

“Well met, Bellaseth,” greeted one of Finrod’s chieftains. He handed each of them a glass of wine. “Maglor,” he said bowing his head to the son of Fëanor.

“It’s Gildor, right?” asked Buffy with a questioning look on her face. She hoped she had gotten his name right.

“Gildor Inglorion, yes,” he replied with a nod.

“God, how long has it been?” she asked, furrowing her brow in thought. “I haven’t seen you since… ”

“Mereth Aderthad,” said the elf, finishing her sentence.

“That’s been ages ago.”

“Seems like yesterday to me,” remarked Maglor, giving his wife’s hand a quick kiss. His smile broadened at the thought of the Feast of Reuniting, as that was when he and Buffy had met for the first time outside the ‘dreamscape.’

They were reminiscing about those days so long ago, when Olofin suddenly approached. “Nana, I need to talk to you.”

“… and he missed the target by a mile. I swear, I think he was embarrassed that he was beaten by a woman,” laughed the Slayer, speaking of one of the sporting events that she had won back then.

“Nana.”

Buffy was so engrossed in her conversation with the two Noldor that she hadn’t heard her son, or the urgency in his voice.

“Do you remember when Fingon… ” Gildor cut off his words upon the sudden arrival of Finrod, who was approaching Buffy and Maglor from behind. “Ah, Felagund, I see that you brought the newest member of our Household with you. I deem introductions are called for.”

“Indeed,” answered the Lord of Nargothrond. “Luinil, Maglor,” he continued, as the Slayer finally noticed the anxious look on Olofin’s face. Maglor was already facing Finrod and his companion while Buffy searched her son’s eyes, trying to decipher his thoughts. “This is the adan I’d told you about, Bëor, former lord of the First House and my vassal.” When the Slayer heard mention of ‘lord of the First House,’ she felt the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end. “This is Maglor, second son of Fëanor and Lord of the northern realm, the Gap. And next to him is his lovely wife, Maranwë Luinil, although most of the Sindar call her Bellaseth Dagnir.”

“Hail, Bëor,” Maglor said in greeting, carefully looking over the first mortal he had ever set eyes upon outside of Folkvang.

Buffy slowly turned. When she fixed her eyes on the mortal standing next to Finrod, she thought that she’d faint. Bëor looked at her with those deep, smoldering gray eyes, the same way he had many, many times before. She couldn’t believe that the one man that Finrod happened to bring back with him to Nargothrond happened to be Balan, her former lover.

“Do you know each other?” asked Finrod, noticing the Slayer’s eyes widening to twice their normal size.

As Maglor shifted his gaze to her, she quickly said, “No. Can’t say that we’ve ever met.”

Keep it together, Bella. Jesus Christ! Keep it together, she thought to herself. Remain calm. Take a deep breath.

“What an honor it is to meet you at long last, er, shall I call you Maranwë Luinil or Bellaseth Dagnir?” queried Bëor with a smile. He had spoken the same words, verbatim, when they had met for the first time at his father’s funeral and his own coronation, years earlier.

“It’s Bella,” she answered, “just Bella.” She drained the contents of her glass. “Excuse me, I need more wine,” said the flustered Slayer, shaking her empty cup as proof. “Olofin, be a dear and come with me.” Buffy linked arms with her son and headed towards the refreshment table. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” she repeated in near hysterics. Her heart was pounding so hard that she could feel the blood rushing through her veins. She began to perspire despite the coolness of the chamber.

“Calm down, nana, or you’ll hyperventilate.”

“I can’t breathe, Olofin.”

“Take a deep breath.” She inhaled deeply. “Now, slowly blow out.” She exhaled, feeling slightly lightheaded.

“What am I gonna do? I can’t believe this is happening to me.” She looked up at her son with worried eyes. “I didn’t ask for this, you know that, don’t you?”

“I know, mother,” answered her son, glancing over his shoulder at the mortal, who was watching them both intently. When they had reached the table, Buffy grabbed a bottle of wine and attempted to pour the deep red liquid into her glass, but her hands were shaking so badly, she was spilling the beverage all over the table. “Let me,” continued Olofin, taking the bottle from her. He filled her glass. She drained it in one gulp. He re-filled it. She emptied it. “Mother! Careful now or you’ll find yourself drunk! And I deem you need your wits about you right now.”

“Your father can’t know. He can’t know.” She glanced back at Bëor and the others, who were now having an animated discussion.

“I can’t help but wonder,” started Olofin. The Slayer shifted her gaze to her son as he refilled her glass for the third time.

“What?” She could feel the alcohol starting to take effect.

“I can’t help but wonder if there is some truth to your claims that Ilúvatar has been behind some of your… past relationships.” Buffy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her son had always doubted her proclamations that it was part of Eru’s designs that she take the lovers that she had in the past. He had always assumed it was her weakness for the flesh, a flaw in her character. But now he was beginning to think otherwise. “How is it that out of nearly two hundred thousand mortals, Finrod chooses Balan as the one mortal to bring back with him to Nargothrond?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing.”

“I guess whatever happens, happens.” He shook his head. “I do not understand Ilúvatar’s will at all, and I doubt I ever will. Do not worry, nana, I will say nothing to anyone. Your secret is safe with me, although I hope that Balan doesn’t say anything that might cause you embarrassment.”

Buffy looked back at the mortal and the elves. “I don’t think he will. I told him not to say a word about our relationship years ago. He would’ve said something to Finrod by now, if he proved to be untrustworthy.”

“Perhaps,” answered Olofin. “Are you ready to rejoin the others?”

“Yeah,” she replied with a sigh. “Thank Eru for wine. It helped.”



Over the course of the next few weeks, Buffy did everything in her power to avoid being alone with Bëor. She had done a very good job of that until one fateful day, when Finrod told Buffy that she could go to his wine cellar to search for a bottle from 73. The Noldor had done a lot of bartering with the Green-elves, even during the Slayer’s absence from Beleriand, and none in Middle-earth surpassed Ossir when it came to wine production.

It was while searching the thousands of bottles and skins that Finrod had in his stores that Bëor ‘happened’ to find her alone in that dim subterranean vault.

“Bella?” The unexpected voice startled the Slayer, nearly causing her to drop the bottle in her grasp. “What a surprise to find you down here?”

Buffy turned, facing the mortal. “Oh, hey, just getting a bottle of my favorite wine,” she answered, trying to play it cool. “What brings you to the cellar? Somehow I don’t see you as someone that frequents this chamber.”

“I do enjoy a good glass of wine as you should know,” he answered, taking the bottle from her hand. “Hmm, made by your people, huh?”

“No one makes wine like the Green-elves. It’s their specialty.” She felt her face flushing in the dim light.

“Why are you avoiding me?” asked Bëor, edging closer to the Slayer. “Are you not happy to see me after all these years?”

“Of course, I am. It’s… it’s just awkward with Maglor around and all,” she answered, backing into the wine rack. The noise of rattling bottles caused her to take a step forward, entering Bëor’s personal space. He took advantage of their closeness by wrapping his arms around her, his hand still clutching the bottle. “Don’t. Not here,” whispered the Slayer, her heart racing.

“Do you not love me?” He searched her eyes, looking for validation of her true feelings.

“I do love you,” she answered, her discomfort increasing. She feared someone walking in on them.

Bëor smiled. “That is good.” He softly kissed her on the lips.

“We can’t,” she protested softly.

“Why not?”

“I told you, my husband… he’s only a couple of floors above us. He doesn’t know… he can’t know about us.”

The mortal turned, looking around the chamber. “I do not see him here. We are alone, Bella. There’s no one here but the two of us.”

“I’ve gotta go.” She snatched the bottle from his hand, ducked under his arm and hurriedly started across the room.

“If you leave, Bella, then that only confirms that you never loved me, that I was merely a toy for you to play with until you grew tired of me.” She stopped dead in her tracks. Bëor’s words cut deep. “I sacrificed everything for you. I left my wife and sons in hope that if I went with Finrod that I would see you once again. I didn’t want to wait until I’m riddled with age to see you again, to have you look at me with pity instead of desire. Was it all a lie? Did our relationship mean nothing to you?” She turned, watching as Bëor slowly closed the gap between them. “Why should Maglor’s presence make a difference now? It doesn’t matter if he’s a hundred leagues away or a hundred feet, that shouldn’t change what we have, what we mean to one another. That shouldn’t prevent us from being together… that is, if you truly love me.” He came to a halt only a foot away from her. “Do you remember the first time you asked me if I loved you?” She didn’t answer, but stared at him with a look of confusion on her face. Her mind was racing. Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. “What did I say?” he asked, taking a step closer. Buffy could feel his warm breath on her face. After a moment, he repeated his question in a mere whisper, “What did I say?”

“You… you said, ‘with all my heart,’” she replied. She closed her eyes as he placed his hand on her cheek, tenderly caressing her skin with his thumb. She felt herself melt beneath his touch, which nearly took her breath away.

“Prove to me that your words were not hollow. I am not asking you to leave your husband for me. I’m only asking that you love me too.”

Buffy opened her eyes. She looked lovingly at Bëor. His grey eyes looked at her with such longing that she felt herself becoming weak in the knees. She loved him, but she also loved Maglor as well. It was abnormal to love two men at the same time, she knew that, but the Slayer couldn’t help the way she felt. She had tried to suppress her feelings for Bëor, but she found herself unable to do so. It didn’t matter about the possible consequences. It was about the here and the now. It was about following her heart.

“I’m so gonna burn in hell,” she said before pressing her lips against his. Still clutching the bottle in her hand, she wrapped her arms around his neck. As their kissed deepened, the bottle slipped from her grasp, shattering onto the stone floor, spraying them both with the amber liquid.

“Let us go to my private chamber,” Bëor said, scooping her up into his arms.

“You can’t carry me there, Balan. People will see!”

“It’s Bëor now,” he replied with a smile. He carried her to the door before setting her on her feet. “Follow me.” He kissed her sweetly before leaving the cellar.

And so began the affair of Buffy and Bëor once again. They kept their relationship so secret that none in Nargothrond suspected anything between the two other than a budding friendship. Life seemed good to the Slayer, as she was having her proverbial cake and eating it too. Her renewed romance with the mortal kept her in Finrod’s realm much longer than she had originally anticipated. More than two years had gone by since she had first arrived, yet the thought of leaving her aging lover behind filled her with great sorrow. Buffy knew that once she left, she wouldn’t see Bëor again until the end, his end. That is, if the spell that she had given to him several years before actually worked. With her lover recently turning fifty-three, her concern that she’d never get her powers back began to trouble her. If she couldn’t access the gateway to Folkvang, Bëor would be lost to her forever, just like Sargon. She wasn’t about to lose another lover to Námo regardless of Manwë’s decree that she could only claim those souls slain on the battlefield. After all that she had been through, Buffy felt entitled to claim a soul or two of her own choosing.

The Slayer had high hopes that being with Bëor would trigger the return of more of her powers. Towards the end of her stay at Nargothrond, she did in fact regain another one of her abilities. Her senses became heightened. While it wasn’t a gift that she placed an enormous amount of value on, she could see, hear and smell things from afar. The Slayer didn’t jump up and down for joy with the return of that ability, but she hoped and prayed that it was a sign of things to come. Within the last twenty years, she had regained two powers. Surely, Marduk couldn’t keep suppressing her magics from the East for too much longer.

One thing she did notice with her heightened senses was that Beleriand seemed to be alive with magic. She could feel it in the air, in the water and in the earth. It was her uncanny sense of hearing that would play a pivotal role in her departure from Finrod’s realm.

The Slayer lay snuggling with her lover in his bed when she heard a very distinctive horn blast that sent shivers up and down her spine.

“What’s that?” she queried, bolting upright.

“What are talking about? I hear nothing,” said an unconcerned Bëor, as he caressed the naked back of his lover.

“You didn’t hear that horn?” Her lover shook his head. Buffy gave Bëor a questionable look as she listened hard. Once again, she heard a horn blast. The sound seemed to come from the earth itself, reverberating through the stone walls of the chamber. That time, she instinctively jumped from the bed. “You didn’t hear that?” Her adrenalin started pumping as she slipped her dress over her head.

“Where are you going, Bella?” asked the mortal, stunned by her sudden urge to leave. He hadn’t heard anything.

“I’ve… I’ve got a bad feeling,” she mumbled, heading towards the door.

“Bella, what’s going on?” called out her lover, climbing out of bed. “Where are you going?”

The distracted Slayer did not hear Bëor. She hastily left the room, unconcerned whether any saw her leaving the mortal’s chamber or her disheveled appearance. She quickened her pace, running down the passageway and up the flight of stairs. She ignored those that greeted her, as she was too preoccupied with the fact that her spider senses were tingling, something that had not happened for many long years. She stopped once she had reached the terrace outside the main doors of Nargothrond, listening for the sound again.

“Is something wrong, my Lady?” asked the Noldo Gwindor.

“A horn blast?” she queried breathlessly. “Did you hear it?”

“Indeed. That was the call of Valaróma. None can mistake it,” answered the elf.

The blood drained from her face when she heard the elf’s response. A feeling of dread engulfed every fiber of her being. “Oromë,” said a panic-stricken Buffy. There was no doubt in her mind that the Vala was coming for her, coming to take her to Valinor to answer for her past deeds before the Ring of Doom. The Valar were making their move against her at long last.

She ran back into Nargothrond, running at full slayer speed down the passageways, screaming for Maglor and Olofin. The lions heard her first, and came running to their distraught mistress’ side. They led her to the chamber where her husband and son were. Father and son were singing one of Buffy’s favorite love songs when she burst into the chamber, frantic.

“We gotta go!” she cried, drawing everyone’s attention. Her husband stopped playing his harp, her son his lyre. All eyes turned to her.

“What is it?”

“I’m in trouble. We have to leave Nargothrond. NOW!”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Just get your shit together and let’s go!” She fled the chamber, scared out of her wits. She just knew that she’d end up a prisoner in Mandos just as Melkor had. Images of all the wrongdoings that she had ever done flashed through her mind as she made a beeline for her room to gather her stuff. Knowing that she didn’t possess the strength to fight another Vala, she knew that she’d have to go into hiding.

A few minutes later, Maglor, Olofin, Finrod, Galdor and Bëor filed into her chamber asking endless questions. Buffy refused to answer any of them. Time was of the essence. She and her family had to depart Nargothrond as quickly as possible. Her distress was so great that both her husband and son did as she instructed. Finrod offered to provide them with provisions for the road and hastily left for the pantries with both Galdor and Bëor.

When all was readied, Buffy and her family left through the secret door that bordered the River Ringwil. They then took off at great speed, the Slayer and Maglor on Kit, Olofin on Kat. They headed south, not to Ossir, but to Taur-im-Duinath, the great forest between the Rivers Sirion and Gelion. Even though evil lurked in those woods, Buffy felt more at ease knowing she could destroy what crept in those places as opposed to the might and magics of Oromë. From there they would make their way east of the Blue Mountains, and to the safety of the dwarvish realm, Belegost. There, the trio would hole up for five years, none realizing that Buffy’s love for opium combined with the feelings of guilt she was harboring had increased her paranoia to insurmountable levels, and that her fears were completely unfounded.



Oromë and one thousand of his greatest Hunters rode along the northern plains of Beleriand, the hooves of the horses of Valinor sounding very much like thunder. The Noldor in those parts retreated before the mighty Lords of the West, hiding within their homes or nearby woods. The Riders made their way to the Gap, knowing that Maranwë Luinil had taken Maglor as her spouse years ago. When they had reached her Halls, they were told that she had left for Fingolfin’s realm a couple years before and had not yet returned. The elves, frightened by Oromë and his kin, then informed the Vala that Buffy was probably in Ossir, her lands in the south.

The company of Ainur then took off south, riding along the River Gelion for the most part. When they had neared the Land of Seven Rivers, Ulmo suddenly appeared in all his glory out of the depths of that stream, and called for the men to halt.

“Do not involve Luinil in this matter, son of Yavanna,” declared the Lord of Waters. “She is no threat to you or your task.”

The golden-haired Ainu looked at Ulmo for a moment before replying, “You wish to protect her, isn’t that what you mean to say? How can you still love her when she is drawn to Melkor?”

Ulmo studied Oromë for a moment before answering. “My love for Luinil is not your concern. I will do what I can to protect those whom I love. Go now! Turn east and do as you must.” The Lord of Waters then disappeared back into the depths of Gelion. The Riders turned east and crossed through the pass in the Ered Luin, riding north northeast until they reached their destination.

As they dismounted from their steeds, dozens of demonic-looking creatures came from out of nowhere. The Ainur began slaying the beasts, their blades slicing the creatures in two. Less than a minute later, dozens of dwarves appeared wielding their axes followed by an irate Luthor. The Riders stopped their carnage.

“What is this bloodshed?” demanded the old man, surveying the dead that lay on the ground in pools of blood. “Who dares to kill my guard?” Luthor then noticed Oromë.

“These… these creatures belong to you?” queried the panting Ainu, his gloved hands and blade covered in blood.

Luthor narrowed his eyes. “Those creatures, as you call them, are the beloved offspring of Luinil, you dumb-ass!” barked Luthor, his eyes ablaze with fury. “What is your business here or is this war, son of Yavanna?” The old man kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to fight the Vala Lord if need be.

Oromë put down his weapon, his men following suit. “You know why I’m here, Luthor.” He fixed his eyes on the old man, speaking with him telepathically so that the dwarves could not hear what was being said.

The blood drained from Luthor’s face, he started nervously chewing on his bottom lip. “I cannot do that,” he finally answered aloud, a look of dismay on his face. The dwarves looked at the Lord of the Deeper Well with peculiar expressions on their faces. They had no idea what the old Maia was talking about.

“You must, Luthor,” said Oromë imploringly. “This is your chance to redeem yourself in the eyes of those in the West.”

“I care not what they think,” he answered, eyeing the slain on the ground. “I only care what Bella thinks. Do you know what this will do to her? Do you have any idea… ”

“Maranwë failed to complete her task!” interjected Oromë. The expression on the Great Rider’s face softened before he continued. “We understand now that it was too much to ask… that is why I am here with my men. We will finish what Luinil could not. We will spare her the grief… ”

“Grief? What do you know about grief? You and your brethren sulk over the Two Trees instead of grieving over those slain in these parts. You allow the horrors in this world to escalate, and do nothing!”

“That is why we are here: to rid the world of an abomination, an evil that will seek vengeance against her mother. Do you want that, Luthor? Do you want to see Luinil fall? This is your chance to save the one whom you’ve grown to love. Do this for her or all will be lost, including your darling Bellaseth Dagnir.”

Luthor began pacing, stroking his long gray beard with one hand, while the other remained firmly on his hilt. Long ago, he recognized that Buffy’s decision was folly, and deep down, he knew that he’d be the one responsible for fixing it. He was the only one in Arda that could perform the spell other than Melkor, and Melkor would not aid any of the Valar under any condition. It was not an easy decision for the Maia to make. He struggled with his thoughts, knowing that he had to do what was in the best interest of Buffy and the peoples of Middle-earth. Unlike the Slayer, he didn’t have the strength to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. That was too much of a burden for him to bear.

“Alright, Oromë, I will do as you ask,” the old man finally said dejectedly.

The Vala Lord placed his blood-covered gloved hand on the Maia’s shoulder. “You have made the right decision, Luthor. In the end, Luinil will come to see that.”

The old Maia lifted his gaze to Oromë; his eyes filled with tears. “That remains to be seen. I will have no other part in this other than opening the gateway.”

“Come fight with us! We can use your strength,” he glanced at the dwarves, “and that of the children of my step father. You need not worry about her! That is my task and my task alone.”

With a heavy heart, Luthor instructed all his warrior-dwarves to leave the Well. Tears streamed down his face as he opened the portal. He watched as the men passed through the mystical doorway, entering the stone city of Bâb-edh-Dhrâ. The old man wiped his tears away and pulled his sword from its sheath. Looking to the heavens of Middle-earth, he prayed to Ilúvatar that his beloved Bellaseth would forgive him for the sin he was about to commit. He then took a deep breath and entered the doorway. The crackling energy field vanished the moment he entered.