Full Circle

The rain lashing against the windowpanes roused Buffy from her sleep. She lay in the warmth of her bed, as a bright flash of lightning lit up the room. She waited for the inevitable sounding of thunder, which followed only seconds later. Maglor stirred at the sound, rolling onto his side, facing opposite his wife. The Slayer stared at the ceiling, an uneasy feeling coming over her. Wide-awake, she slid out of bed, trying her best not to disturb her husband’s peaceful slumber. Unable to shake that feeling, she walked over to one of the large windows. Despite the poor visibility, her eyes pierced the gloomy darkness, the feeling that something was amiss growing with every passing minute.

She hoped that Olofin was alright. He had been gone for over two weeks, and for some reason, she felt that something was wrong, terribly wrong. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a sudden chill as the rain continued to pound against the glass. Knowing that there was no chance of falling back to sleep, Buffy decided to head to the kitchen and make herself a cup of coffee. She pulled on her robe and slid her feet into her slippers before quietly leaving the room.

Exiting her private chambers, her elvish guards wished her good morning. She nodded, mumbling, “morning,” as she made her way down the corridor. The moonstones in the lamps and sconces bathed the interior of Lindon Hall in a soft silver light. All was silent except for the sound of rain beating against the roof, and the occasional clap of thunder.

More guards greeted her as she descended the stairway, Buffy merely nodded in acknowledgement. Since Oromë’s arrival in Middle-earth, she had definitely tightened security, not only in her own home, but also to the north and west of her realm. If the Vala Lord dare enter her lands, then she would most certainly defend her own with what might she had. Already, war machines had been strategically placed in the most vulnerable areas of Ossir, not to mention the legions of elves hidden on talans throughout the woods.

After making her coffee, she sat on one of the terraces watching the rain fall through the canopy of leaves. She rocked slowly back and forth in her chair, unable to rid the uneasiness from her heart. Not thirty minutes later, she heard the faint sound of Valaróma in the distance. The cup fell from her grasp, shattering when it hit the wooden floor. Immediately, she fled back into her Halls, alerting her Household that the Vala Lord would soon be entering Beleriand, and instructing them to prepare to depart.

If Buffy had had all her powers, she would’ve eagerly confronted Oromë on the Dwarf-Road, but this time, she chose to leave Lindon Hall and travel deeper into her realm, to Tol Galen. By the time her people were boarding the boats on the Gelion, she could already feel the heavy footfalls of the Hunter’s horses shaking the earth beneath her feet.

The boats were carried swiftly downstream with the aid of Ulmo. He feared a confrontation between Luinil and Oromë. Knowing that the son of Yavanna had successfully carried out his mission, he wanted to put as much distance between the two as possible. The Lord of Waters felt that it was his responsibility to make sure that the Slayer didn’t go off the deep end.

The rains dissipated for a time as they reached the River Brilthor. They were nearly half-way to their destination and it was only just past six in the morning. As Maglor lay dozing in the cabin, Buffy found herself alone, leaning against the railing at the bow of the vessel. Her demeanor was so morose that none of her Household disturbed her. They could sense an ominous vibe coming from their Mistress, something they had felt many times before. It was in everyone’s best interest to leave her be, to let her wallow in her thoughts, no matter how gloomy they may be.

Buffy wept, not knowing why. Deeming that she was suffering from another bout of melancholy, she retreated to the cabin once the rains had started again. After smoking several bowls of opium, she found herself in an altered state of consciousness. Her thoughts turned to Folkvang and her longing to return there. She sat with her eyes closed, picturing the beauty of her mystical realm in her mind. She saw herself in falcon form, flying from the tower of Sussrúmnir over the clear waters that surrounded her isle to the vast lands that encircled the lake. She soared over the lands towards the mountain range. The experience seemed so real. She could feel the wind ruffling her feathers, the smell of the clean air, and the warmth of the sun’s rays.

Unbeknownst to the Slayer, Ilúvatar was the one guiding her through her dream-like trance. She landed on a rowan tree at the foot of the mountains. Images of the Trident flashed in her mind. She saw the Trident hitting the shoulder of the mountain, which then split, creating a tunnel. She then found herself flying through the darkness of the passageway, knowing every twist and turn before she had reached it. To her surprise, it ended at the Deeper Well.

Buffy’s eyes darted open and she quickly jumped to her feet. The boat suddenly lurched east, now heading against the current of the River Adurant. She maintained her balance as Maglor asked her if she was alright.

“I’m not just alright, I’m fabulous,” she answered cheerily. Her husband was slightly taken aback by the swift change in her behavior.

“Well, that is good,” he replied with a smile. “What’s brought about this change of heart? Has another of your powers returned?”

“I don’t think so,” she answered, her heart pounding with excitement. “I think I’ve had a vision.”

“A vision!” exclaimed the Noldo, his brows raised in surprise. “I take it that it was a good one.”

Buffy’s smiled widened. “You bet your sweet ass it was!” She grabbed her husband’s hands. “I had a vision that the Trident could make a doorway between the Deeper Well and Folkvang. I think that the mystical realms are somehow connected. I’ve just got to open the door.” She gave Maglor a kiss. “I can’t believe I didn’t see this before. See - I told you that hul-gil is good for mulling things over. It… it enlightens one to things they would not normally see.”

“Are you sure that you didn’t experience some delusion?” he queried skeptically, cocking his brow.

The Slayer was appalled at the suggestion. “I’m not an imbecile! I’ve had visions before, Káno, I know one when I see it,” she said, frowning.

“Then I suppose you’re right,” he answered with a nod of his head. He didn’t want to put a damper on her high spirits. “I must say, I cannot wait to see the mighty Trident of Ulmo.”

“Believe me when I say, it’s awesome.”

Buffy was so anxious to get to Lindecoa that she even aided those rowing against the current. When they neared the wharf, she didn’t wait for her people to moor the vessel - she jumped onto the platform while the ship was still gliding across the water. She waited impatiently for Maglor to join her. Unfortunately, the Noldo didn’t possess the ability to leap as far as she. Once he had set foot on the quay, the Slayer took his hand and headed towards the steps that led to her fortress.

When they reached the top of the stone stairs, the Slayer stopped for a moment, smiling, taking in the beauty of Lindecoa. It had been too many years since she had last set eyes on her magnificent Halls. She was excited to be home, and quite eager to show off her newly acquired weapon to her husband. As soon as the couple had crossed the threshold, the elves began playing their instruments, singing Sweet Madam Blue in their fair voices. Making their way down to the vaults, many of the Sindar that hadn’t ventured into the East, warmly greeted their Mistress.

The Slayer was still on cloud nine over her vision, knowing that she had found a way to circumvent the magicks of Marduk. It had been over a half century since she had last been to Folkvang, and the thought that she’d soon be returning left her feeling ecstatic. She couldn’t fathom how many feys were waiting in Sussrúmnir for her to pronounce her judgment.

When they had entered Buffy’s near empty vaults, she was slightly taken aback to see that all her treasures were gone, save for the few things that she had sent back with the Green-elves. While she had known that Úrion had stolen her things, it was altogether different to see them gone. She did her best to conceal her anguish at losing so many rare artifacts wrought by the elves, especially the Noldor. She attempted to raise her spirits by telling Maglor the story of the splitting of Orocarni with the Trident, something she hadn’t told the Noldo before. Her excitement grew when she unlocked her trunk and threw open the lid. There, on the top of her treasures, wrapped in red, velvety material, rested the Trident. As she unwrapped the weapon and handed it to her husband, something caught her eye within the box. She had reached down to grab the unfamiliar object when she suddenly stopped. Her heart dropped to her stomach.

“NO!” she cried out, retrieving the withered crown of luinil flowers from the trunk. “NO! NO! NO!”

She recalled the words that her eldest daughter had said to her, long ago:

“As long as Illyria lives, these flowers will never wither and die.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?” asked Maglor, placing his hand comfortingly on his wife’s shoulder. Tears were streaming down her face as she held the circlet of dead flowers in her trembling hand. He looked at the withered wreath with a bewildered expression. “Bella? What does that mean?”

She didn’t answer. Buffy felt like her heart had just been ripped out of her chest. After setting eyes on the wilted flowers, beads of sweat had formed on her face, as if her blood was beginning to boil. It suddenly dawned on her that Oromë had not been sent to Middle-earth to capture her, he had been sent to kill Illyria. Not only had the Valar betrayed her, but Luthor had as well. Aside from her and Melkor, Luthor was the only one that knew the spell to open the mystical doorway. With that knowledge, her sorrow quickly turned to anger. Something inside her snapped.

Maglor gasped, taking a step back, the Trident clutched tightly in his hands. His wife’s green eyes turned black. The clothing that she had been wearing vanished, as a red skin-like covering suddenly crept over her body, changing her appearance dramatically.

“Luinil! Luinil! What’s happening?” asked the panicking Noldo. He stared wide-eyed at her, mouth agape. He had never seen her look that way before. It frightened him. “Talk to me!” he pleaded. “What is going on?”

Buffy turned her black eyes to her husband. “They’ve all fucking betrayed me,” she said between gritted teeth. Her body continued to tremble with rage, as she crushed the crown of dead flowers in her hand. “Illyria is dead.” She tossed the withered circlet back into the box, snatched the Trident from Maglor, and started for the door. “Eye for an eye,” she hissed under her breath, “tooth for a tooth.”

“Bella, where are you going?” asked the terrified Noldo.

The Slayer stopped and glanced over her shoulder. The look in her dark eyes sent shivers up the elf’s spine.

“Luthor will pay for his act of betrayal. He killed my daughter, so now I will kill him.” She started out of the vault again, mumbling, “And then Oromë shall get his… all the Valar will get what’s coming to them.”

The Noldo stood there for a moment, shocked beyond belief. His wife’s metamorphosis stunned him, but her threatening words regarding Luthor and the other Valar scared him more so. Surely, the Powers had to have had a damn good reason for eliminating Illyria. They do not kill their own needlessly. Morgoth was a perfect example of that. He couldn’t help but think that Buffy’s daughter had to have been more evil than her father to justify her death. He glanced in the trunk at the mangled flowers on top of the Slayer’s other treasures.

“Wait, Bella!” he called out. He ran after his wife, leaving the chamber. Maglor noticed that the elves that had returned from the East must have seen Buffy in her current state before. None appeared surprised by her transformation. They fell onto bended knee with their heads bowed as she passed them by. All the while, she uttered curses under her breath. “Bella!” He finally caught up with her, grabbing her by the arm. “Will you wait a minute?” She stopped, and faced the Noldo. “Do not go off and do something rash! Luthor is a good man. He’s… ”

“He’s a fucking two-faced son-of-a-bitch who doesn’t know his place!” she barked. Her angry words drifted down the corridors of Lindecoa. All within her castle heard her declaration. “He has sealed his fate, and when I get through with him, he’ll wish he was dead!”

“What’s wrong with you? Calm down! Let’s discuss this in a rational… ”

“Who the fuck are you to say one goddamned word to me?” she queried angrily, pulling her arm from his grasp. Her eyes bore into the elf’s. “You - who has a curse lingering over your head because of the Oath! You - who unjustly killed the Teleri for their ships! You - who burned those ships, leaving your own flesh and blood stranded in the frigid cold!” She shook her head, a look of utter disgust on her face. “Don’t preach your righteousness to me, son of Fëanor! At least my actions are justified, you can’t say the same thing. I’ve never spilt innocent blood.”

The bitterness of Buffy’s words nearly brought Maglor to tears. “My kin and I were overcome with grief, grief that led us to madness… I do not want to see the same thing happen to you,” he replied softly, his voice full of remorse.

His words had no effect on the Slayer. “If Olofin had been killed, you’d feel the same way,” she shot back defensively. “You’d want to see the perpetrator pay, and so do I. It’s time for Luthor to pay the piper - ME!”

With that, she turned and continued on her way.

Those in her Household that heard her comments were conflicted. On the one hand, they felt that Luthor deserved some type of punishment for his actions, but on the other hand, it was Luthor! The Green-elves knew him to be a good man, and that he had a stabilizing effect on Buffy’s emotions. While none were fond of Illyria, she was still Buffy’s daughter, her firstborn child. If any were to rid the world of the blue demoness, it should be one of her parents, nobody else.

“Well, then,” said the Noldo with a sigh, “I’m coming too.” He chased after his enraged wife, who was climbing the stairway.

Maglor knew there was no way to dissuade his wife from confronting Luthor. However, he begged Buffy to allow him to come with her. He hoped beyond anything, that he would be able to reason with her on the journey. Thankfully, his pleas did not fall on deaf ears. He managed to convince her to allow him to come along. They took off, the Noldo riding on Kit while the Slayer rode on Kat.

Buffy remained sullen on the trip. She spoke very few words. When night had fallen and weariness had begun to overcome the Noldo, he asked Buffy if they could stop awhile and rest. She refused. Instead, she handed him a couple of coca leaves.

“Chew on these. They’ll keep you awake,” she said, as she popped a couple in her mouth.

Maglor was reluctant to take one of her herbal remedies, but he was so tired, and fearing falling off Kit, he chewed on the bitter-tasting leaves. Immediately, he felt himself becoming more alert, more energized. Once again, the Noldo attempted to talk Buffy out of acting so recklessly. She needed to hear Luthor’s side of the story before doing something that she would later regret. He used his own past actions as a testament to his statements.

She remained silent, refusing to discuss any aspect of the Maia’s betrayal. Her mind was made up, and no one could change it, not even Maglor.

When they had arrived at the Deeper Well, the Slayer’s offspring sprang from the mystical doorway. As soon as they laid eyes on their wrathful Mistress, they fell to their knees with their heads bowed. They knew that there would be hell to pay, and dearly hoped that they wouldn’t be on the receiving end.

Buffy passed her demonic offspring without giving them a second glance and entered the doorway. Maglor and the lions followed dismally behind. The Noldo continued to plead with his wife to show the old Maia mercy, but the Slayer remained steadfast, as their footfalls echoed in the dim, dank passageway. When they had reached the bridge that crossed the Well itself, the Slayer stopped and inhaled deeply. She could smell Illyria’s essence lingering in the air, increasing her ire towards Luthor even more.

She continued moving along the metal planking towards the closed gate that lead to the dwellings of the dwarves and their Lord. The door opened on its own accord, allowing Buffy and her companions to pass through before it silently closed again. She turned right, her anger growing with each step. She clutched the Trident in one hand, the other balled so tightly that her nails pierced the flesh of her palm. The Slayer had decided that she’d use the mystical weapon as the means to destroy both Luthor’s body and soul.

She then descended the stairway, the Noldo still closely behind. The flickering flames of the torches set in the brackets along the walls danced eerily as she marched by. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, she turned left. Half-way down the passageway, she encountered Dvalin and Brokk. Their jaws dropped when they set eyes on her.

They could feel the vengeance vibe emitting from the Lady, terrifying them.

“Freya!” started Dvalin, fearing for his Master’s life. “You do not understand. We had no other choice,” he attempted to explain.

Buffy spoke not one word. When she reached the two dwarves, who blocked her way, she pushed one, then the other, sending them soaring down the passageway a good twenty feet before they hit the stone floor, moaning and groaning from the impact.

“Don’t do this!” said an out of breath Maglor, trying to keep up with his wife’s surprisingly fast pace. “I beg of you, Luinil. Don’t do something that you’ll regret later. Please!”

When the Slayer reached the outside of Luthor’s chamber door, she turned towards her husband, her eyes ablaze with fury. “I’ve heard enough of your ramblings. I don’t want to hear any more. You can’t save him. No one can.”

Maglor grabbed her arm. “You don’t want to do this. It’s Luthor, for Eru’s sake! He’s been like a father to you.”

“He’s betrayed me!”

“He loves you, as do I. Please, Bella, don’t do this.” Tears welled in the Noldo’s eyes. He was desperate. He didn’t want the darkness to consume her any more than it already had. He took a deep breath and said, “I won’t let you.”

Buffy laughed a frightening kind of laugh that chilled the elf to the core. She backhanded her husband, sending him flying down the hallway landing near the others. “Putz,” she snickered before opening the door. She locked it behind her, as the two dwarves and elf got to their feet, running back to the now bolted door.

The Slayer’s black eyes fell upon the still sleeping form of Luthor. He lay curled up in his bed, oblivious to her presence. A single lamp on a sideboard burned low in the otherwise dark room. She placed her booted foot on the mattress, kicking it, startling the Maia out of his slumber.

“Wakey! Wakey! Momma’s home,” she said, her lips twisted into a wicked grin.

Luthor leapt to his feet, his heart racing with the unexpected arrival of Buffy. His eyes widened with alarm when he saw her appearance. Seeing her looking that way most certainly didn’t forebode any good to the Maia.

“Dear Lord,” he mumbled, trembling in fear.

“Words of flattery won’t save you, old man.” She jumped on top of the bed, standing menacingly over the Maia.

He slowly backed up, his eyes fixed on the Trident that she held firmly in her hands. When he bumped into the wall, he knocked the portrait of his beloved Bella to the floor. His breathing quickened. His eyes scanned the room for any potential weapons to defend himself, as he deemed there would be no reasoning with the Slayer in her current state. He had seen it before, long ago, with Sargon, but this time, things looked much bleaker for the old man.

Time seemed to come to a standstill. The sudden pounding on the Maia’s bedchamber door alerted him to the fact that others were aware of what was transpiring within his room. He could hear the frantic pleas of Brokk, Dvalin and Maglor, begging Buffy to show mercy.

“They’re a distracting lot, aren’t they?” she asked, her tone a mixture of amusement and contempt. She leapt off the bed when she heard an axe hit the door. “Watch this!” Buffy lifted the Trident and rammed it into the door. The wood exploded to smithereens upon impact. The blast sent the trio flying into the stone wall of the corridor, knocking them out cold. “Nighty-night, boys,” she added in a cold voice, before turning her attention back to Luthor.

“When will you people learn - you can’t fuck with me. There’s definitely a price to pay when you do.” She slowly crossed the room, savoring the effect she had on the old Maia. “I smell your fear, old man.” She stopped, inhaling deeply. “Ah, how sweet it is.” She locked her malevolent gaze onto Luthor, who remained cowering against the wall. “You betrayed me when you swore to protect me, to serve me, to love me. I’ve done everything for you and how do you repay me?” She slowly continued to move across the chamber. “You fucking killed my daughter, you shit! How dare you? You crossed the line, and now it’s time to pay, to reap what you sow. Isn’t that what you always say?”

“Listen, Bella,” began the old man between sobs, pushing the stands of silver hair from his face. “I… I had to. Illyria was going… ”

“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, pointing the Trident threateningly at him, “Don’t you dare say my daughter’s name. Murderer! Don’t you dare use the words of the enemy on me! You know that the Valar have been out to get me. They’re jealous! They’re envious of the power I wield. I can destroy the world in an instant and they know it.” She laughed that same cold laugh. “Fuck ‘em! Fuck ‘em all!”

She stood, towering over the Maia. He folded his arms over his head defensively (as if that would help), closed his eyes tightly, and waited for the inevitable. Images of his life passed before his eyes, knowing that death was coming to him at last. Only two people in the world did he fear, and one of them happened to be standing over him, brandishing the most powerful weapon in all Arda.

“Kiss your ass good-bye, old man,” she said venomously, raising her weapon, “‘cause you aren’t leaving the Well, ever again.”

Luthor whimpered as he drew himself closer to the wall, not wanting to meet the Slayer’s terrifying gaze.

With her jaw clenched, her chest heaving, the Slayer started to bring her weapon down when she suddenly heard a voice in her head:

“Don’t do it mommy!”

The voice of the ‘good’, child-like Illyria caused Buffy to stop mid-action, only an inch from Luthor’s trembling form. The old man let out a shriek, even though he hadn’t been stricken.

“It’s dark, mommy, so dark. I’m scared. Come to me.”

Hearing her eldest daughter’s voice had an immediate effect on her. Tears filled the Slayer’s eyes, as she lowered her weapon. Unbeknownst to her, her black eyes turned back to green, although she remained cloaked in her magical raiment.

When the Trident hit the floor with a clunk, Luthor peeked through the crook of his arm, only to see the back of Buffy, running from the room. He let out a sigh of relief, grateful to still be alive. With the back of his hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow as he got back to his feet. Before tending to his friends that lay motionless in the corridor, he hid the mystical weapon beneath his mattress.

The Slayer ran at full speed back to the Well. She saw many in the passageways who had heard the blast from their chambers, searching for the source. When they saw their Mistress rushing through the corridors, all got out of her way.

After passing through the gate and reaching the bridge, Buffy leapt over the metal railing into the pit, which was a few thousand feet deep at that point in time. She utilized her keen sense of smell to sniff out her daughter’s sarcophagus as she plummeted down into the depths of the Well, passing numerous mystical coffins that protruded from the interior walls of the hole. When she had reached Illyria’s crypt, she grabbed hold of the stone casket, hanging on for dear life. She then swung her legs and did a back flip, landing astraddle the coffin.

The tears flowed from her eyes once again, splattering onto the top of the casket. She traced the sealed opening with her fingers, feeling her daughter’s essence trapped within. Arranged around the iris were five crystals, which housed Illyria’s supernatural powers. Beneath that, was etched the Sumerian ankh (a heart that rested on a cross), a symbol that the Maiar had made back in the East to denote the eternal bliss that Maranwë Luinil offered to those that passed on.

Buffy was overwhelmed with sorrow. She wished to free her daughter whom she felt had been imprisoned unjustly. She tried punching a hole through the opening, but with no success. All she got for her efforts was bloody knuckles. Her cries of anguish bounced off the stone walls, the sound traveling up from the pit. On the bridge, stood Maglor, Luthor and many dwarves, who looked down into the hole, listening to the mournful wailing of the heartbroken Slayer emanating from below.

“I need to be with her,” said Maglor, his heart filled with pity over his beloved’s loss. “Help me get down there.”

While he climbed onto the platform that the Naugrim would lower into the bowels of the Well, Buffy laid her tear-streaked face on the iris of the coffin, speaking to her daughter. She vowed to make it up to Illyria, promising to avenge her untimely death.

In her grief, she called forth what powers she possessed and implored Ilúvatar to grant her one wish. Since she was unable to free her daughter, she wished to see her released from her prison before Eä fell into complete ruination, to see her rise again in all her might and glory. She squeezed the blood from her knuckles, allowing the drops to fall on each crystal. After her life force had splattered on the last one, all glowed in their various colors, lavender, blue and white. She knew at that moment that Eru would grant her prayer, although it would come at a price. At that moment, the Slayer didn’t care. She was willing to pay it.