Full Circle

Buffy sat, staring into the pewter mug of ale, clutched in her hands, as Dvalin recounted everything that had transpired in the war between Oromë and Illyria. She remained aloof, doing her best to restrain her emotions, even though she felt as if she was about to explode.

Seeing Maglor’s face when he had reached the depths of the Well kindled her feelings of guilt over her earlier actions. She regretted hitting her husband. The Noldo was willing to overlook her act of violence toward him, as long as she heard Luthor out before passing judgment. She had reluctantly agreed, on the condition that she hear the tale from anyone except the Maia. If she had to look at the old man’s face overly long, chances were, she’d rip his head off with her bare hands. As a compromise, she would speak with Dvalin regarding the battle and betrayal of her father figure.

She took a sip of her brew, her body still trembling with rage. The Slayer didn’t buy Oromë’s story, not one iota of it. There was no way that Illyria was about to break through the mystical barrier and wage war against her. It was all lies. The Valar didn’t know her daughter. They didn’t see the goodness in her that Buffy had seen. Besides, her daughter had not committed any crime to warrant her death. How could the Valar pass such a judgment on the claims of Námo alone? Buffy was still alive and kicking. No, those in the West had decided to strike out against her by killing her firstborn, an act that she deemed unforgivable.

“My Lady, Námo had foreseen your death at the hands of Illyria,” reiterated the dwarf. “They could not sit idly by and let that come to pass. They had to act. None in the West wish to see you perish.”

Buffy remained silent for a long while, staring at the contents of her cup.

“I can’t trust him,” she finally whispered, stifling back the tears that filled her eyes once again. “I should’ve seen this coming, damn it.” She lifted her gaze, looking at the dwarf across the board. “I no longer trust Luthor.” Buffy shook her head disappointedly. “I hold him responsible for everything, and I’ll never forgive him for his betrayal.”

“He’s done nothing of the sort!” cried out Dvalin, his voice echoing within the mammoth dining hall. “Luthor foresaw Illyria’s rise as well. He had seen long ago that she’d seek retribution for the dishonor that you had caused her during the war. He was only looking out for you. If he is guilty of anything, it is his loving of you, loving you as a daughter. Show him mercy, my Lady, I beg of you.”

The chamber fell quiet again. Buffy drained the rest of her ale, and then rose to her feet. “I’m ready to issue my judgment.”

As she made her way to the Great Hall, she instructed Dvalin to bring Luthor and the other Lords to her. All the Slayer’s surviving offspring and nearly every dwarf gathered in the enormous room along with Maglor, who now had the Trident. Luthor, still in his nightclothes, stood between Dvalin and Brokk. His blue eyes looked at her with both shame and fear.

“Humble yourself before me,” she said from the Maia’s throne. He dropped to one knee with his head bowed low. “After much thought, I’ve decided your punishment, Luthor.” The Maia lifted his head, meeting her gaze. “Do not look at me! Don’t you ever look at me again!” she shouted, her eyes narrowing in anger. The old man swiftly bent his head, avoiding her icy stare.

“You can thank both Káno and the Naugrim for their pleas of mercy, for I’ve decided to show you some at their bequest.” She shifted her eyes to her husband. He wore a look of relief on his face. “The lordship of the Deeper Well will no longer be yours.” The Maia nearly lifted his head at her declaration, but caught himself, bowing his head even lower than before. “Dvalin, son of Durin, will now rule those that dwell here.” Buffy nodded her head in the dwarf’s direction. He nodded back in reply.

“Since I’ve been gracious enough to spare you a death sentence in the killing of Illyria, you shall be commanded to Sussrúmnir, as my prisoner, for a term of one thousand years.” There were gasps from the crowd, as murmurings erupted throughout the chamber. “At the end of that time,” she continued, “I will consider your crime absolved, for I am Maranwë Luinil, Vala of Love and War, and I have spoken.”

Buffy then rose from her seat and approached her husband. “Happy?” she asked, a hint of sarcasm in her voice, taking the Trident from his hand.

“A thousand years is a mighty long time,” answered Maglor.

“It is better than death, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes,” he nodded, grim-faced. “I suppose that it is.”

“I thought that I was extremely lenient, considering what Luthor had done.” She sighed. “Perhaps I should change my ruling… ”

“No, no don’t do that,” said the Noldo quickly. “You were just in your decision. Thank you.” He placed a kiss on her forehead. “I appreciate it. I really do.”

“Good. Now, I need to find that doorway. Watch him.” She motioned towards the Maia with her head. “I’ll be back.”

The Slayer left the Great Hall, wandering the labyrinth of passageways in search of the place that she had seen in her vision. When she believed she had found the spot, Buffy placed her palm on the face of the wall. She quickly pulled her hand back, cursing. The stone felt extremely hot to the touch. Deciding that that was indeed the correct location, she thrust the prongs of the Trident into the wall. It immediately made a loud cracking sound. She withdrew her weapon and watched as the stone crumbled to dust, gradually forming a tunnel into that part of the mystical cave. The deeper the tunnel went, the more muffled sounded the rumblings. A cloud of dust enveloped Buffy. Not only did it obscure her vision, but the tiny fragments also got in her mouth. No matter how much she tried to spit the gritty particles out, she could feel them crunching between her teeth.

She retreated down the passageway with the Trident propped over her shoulder, happy that at least the tunnel proved to be more than a mere ‘delusion.’ When she went to round up those few that would be journeying to Folkvang, Buffy then noticed that both Kit and Kat were missing. She hadn’t seen them leave, nor did anyone else. Regardless, she decided that she and a chosen few would return to her Blessed Realm even though the lions were missing. She had assumed that they were probably hunting for fresh meat since they had gone four days without food.

Only six people entered the tunnel: Buffy, Maglor, Luthor, Dvalin, Brokk, and Alfrik. As they made their way through knee-deep dust, the Slayer attempted to contact the Valkyries with her mind. She knew that once they had exited the mountains of Folkvang that they’d have a long way to go before they would reach the lake. Not only that, but a ship would be needed to carry her small party to the island.

When thirty minutes had passed, and the group had turned the last corner, a welcoming beam of sunlight shone at the end of the passageway. Buffy’s excitement grew when she saw a single form standing within the light.

“Greetings, Maranwë,” said Feawë. “We’ve heard your call and will see you on your journey.” The Valkyrie’s voice reverberated in the tunnel.

Once they had stepped out onto the plains of Folkvang, Buffy’s horse, Rocco, trotted up to her, rubbing his head against his Mistress.

“How you doing, boy?” she said, patting the side of his neck. He neighed in reply.

While the Naugrim were in awe of Folkvang, they weren’t delighted by the thought of having to travel on horseback to reach the heart of Buffy’s mystical realm. Since the Valkyrie chieftains were present, they decided to return to the Deeper Well, knowing that if they proceeded deeper into that enchanted land, they’d never want to leave. Before disappearing into the darkness of the passageway, the dwarves tearfully said their good-byes to Luthor. They had come to love the Maia greatly over the years and hoped that his imprisonment would pass swiftly, for all their sakes.

It was in the wee hours of the morning when the group finally reached their destination. Most of the inhabitants lay sleeping in their homes, as Buffy and her fellow travelers ascended the steps of Sussrúmnir. She instructed her maidens to lock Luthor away in a set of rooms in the tower on the third floor. While he would spend the next thousand years living in the lap of luxury, he was forbidden to leave those rooms, ever.

An exhausted Maglor headed to Buffy’s private quarters on the thirteen floor, while her maidens garbed their Mistress in her queenly raiment. When she had entered her Hall of Judgment, she saw that the Valkyries had placed Sargon’s lapis lazuli casket against one of the walls. She pulled off her crown, and laid it along with her scepter on the bottom step of the dais. She walked over to the large coffin. Instead of summoning the feys into her chamber, she climbed on top of the box and fell fast asleep.

For the first time since she had last encountered Salmar, Buffy found herself in the dreamscape…

She sat amidst the gardens behind Eanna, her temple in Sumer, a place that she hadn’t thought of in quite a while. The fragrance of the blossoms was divine, the air seemed to crackle with magic, even though everything was still. There was no breeze, no songbirds singing in the treetops as they had normally done in the past. There were no minstrel voices in the temple itself, no talking, no noise whatsoever. It was very strange. As her eyes scanned the garden, she saw that she was alone.

The sound of rustling leaves behind her broke the silence. She turned her head, looking over her shoulder, as she saw something disturbing the mammoth azalea bushes. Only a second later, she saw her lover stepping out from the white flowered bushes.

“Sargon!” she shouted with joy, leaping to her feet with fluidity and grace. She ran to him, jumping into his outstretched arms. Her words came fast, fearing that the dream would not last long. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there with you at the end,” Buffy cried. “It was selfish of me, I know. I’ve regretted it every single day since. Don’t hate me, Sargon. I’m so sorry.” She buried her face in his shoulder, as his large hand gently stroked her long golden hair.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he said, his tone gentle for a man his size. “I hold no ill feelings towards you.” She could feel his warm breath on her neck while he spoke. “I could never hate my beloved Inanna Ishtar. Never!” He kissed the top of her head. “Come, now. No more tears, my love. I do not have much time.”

She pulled out of the embrace, slowly sliding down his tall frame until her feet hit the earth.

“Have you been sent to me?” she asked, looking up at his towering form.

Ignoring her question, Sargon smiled. His eyes took in the beauty of their surroundings. “I’ve always loved the gardens of Eanna,” he said, reflecting on the days of old. “Nothing made me happier than being at your side, tending to these spectacular flowers.” He inhaled deeply. “Oh, how I’ve missed that scent.” He fixed his dark eyes on her. “No blossom in Middle-earth smells quite the way that these do.” He lowered his voice, speaking softly. “I could live here forever.”

“I’ve been banished from Mesopotamia, you know,” said the Slayer sadly, clinging to her lover’s hand. “I’ve fallen from grace.”

“Hmm, it seems so,” he answered, sitting on the thick, green grass. He pulled her onto his lap, his arms wrapped loosely around her. “To answer your question, yes, I have been sent here. I am but a lowly messenger of Eru, as you know.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No,” sighed Sargon. “Well, not yet. Eru weeps for you. He is deeply troubled by the sinister plan that you’ve concocted in that beautiful head of yours.” Buffy lowered her gaze, stunned that any knew her thoughts. “It is folly to wage war against those in the West. You will fail, and you will be punished accordingly.” Her lover lifted her chin. His dark eyes filled with concern. “No one wants you to spend the rest of Time locked in Mandos, Eru not the least.

“Illyria was indeed planning to attack you, my love. That was no lie,” he continued, shaking his head. “You had deeply humiliated your firstborn and no peace would she have until she saw you dead.” Buffy started to protest, but Sargon placed his finger to her lips, preventing her from doing so. “Eru knows there is goodness buried deep within Illyria, my darling,” began her lover again, softly tracing her bottom lip with his finger, “and He will answer your prayer. When the time comes, Illyria will rise again, and she will be mightier than ever before, if you so will it.”

“What do you mean by ‘if I so will it?’” she asked, her face wrinkled in curiosity.

“You will know… in time, my love, in time.”

“I’m so sick of hearing those two little words, ‘in time,’” she said, rolling her eyes in annoyance.

Sargon chuckled. “I know, my beloved, I know.” He gently stroked her hair, his dark eyes looking lovingly at Buffy. “There is another matter that I must address. Sin, er, Luthor.”

“Oh, God,” she moaned, falling back onto the grass. “Not you too.”

“He loves you, Inanna, so much so that he was willing to incur your wrath in order to protect you. Illyria is a Vala - she possesses the strength to kill you,” said Sargon, leaning over her, blocking the sun’s rays from her eyes with his broad chest. “Do not be so harsh with him. He was only looking out for you.”

“But he betrayed me!” the Slayer whined. “How can I forgive something like that? I don’t trust him. I can’t trust him.”

“Eru understands your anger, He really does.” Her lover caressed her cheek, a solemn look on his face. “He deems that you should direct your wrath at someone who deserves it… and that’s not Luthor.”

“Then who?” she queried, cocking her brow. “Oromë?”

“No, not Oromë. You will know soon enough. Olofin will bring the prisoner to you.”

“But he can’t teleport into Folkvang!”

“There are no longer any obstacles separating this realm from Middle-earth, are there?” her lover said with a glint in his dark eyes. “Kit and Kat will escort him to Sussrúmnir.”

“So, that’s where my kitties had disappeared to.”

“Your lions are quite intelligent beasts, and know your heart’s desire, as do I.” Sargon then kissed her, a long passionate kiss that made her tingle all over. He suddenly pulled away, turning his head as though listening to something in the distance. “I must be on my way.”

Buffy pulled him closer. “No! It’s too soon. I want you to stay with me.”

“I must go.” He gave her one last kiss. “I love you, my dear Inanna. Do not ever doubt that.” He rose to his feet and walked a few paces before stopping. He faced the Slayer. “By the way, I do appreciate your moving my sarcophagus to your mystical realm, but I would much prefer that my remains spend the rest of eternity overlooking the magnificent gardens of Sussrúmnir, at least whilst Eä endures.”

“Consider it done,” she chuckled. He started into the bushes from where he had emerged earlier when Buffy called out, “Wait, Sargon!” She jumped to her feet as he looked over his shoulder. “I meant to ask you something. Have you been reincarnated into Bëor?”

He appeared amused by her question. So much so, that he actually walked back to her. “And why would you think that, my love?” His eyes gleamed with that same knowingness that he had shown before.

“You guys are so similar. I can’t help but think of you when I’m with him.”

“But is it not said that only the elves are reincarnated into their children?”

“I believe that mortals can be reincarnated as well. Is it true?” she queried excitedly.

“I am but a lowly messenger of Eru. What do I know?” he replied with a mischievous grin and a shrug of his shoulders.

“You know more than you let on. I can tell.”

Sargon laughed, taking her hand in his. “That remains to be seen then. Perhaps Eru grants second chances if one is deemed deserving.” He kissed the top of her hand. “Now I must go before… well, I must go. Farewell, my beloved.” He started walking backwards, wearing a smile on his handsome face. “Perhaps we’ll see each other again… soon.”

Buffy mouthed the words ‘I love you,’ and blew him a kiss as he disappeared into the shrubbery…



The Slayer rolled off the sarcophagus, waking when she hit the white marble floor with a thud. She turned her gaze to the lapis lazuli casket at her side, a huge smile on her face. Nothing made her happier than encountering her lover in the dreamscape. She only wished that it had lasted longer. After so many years apart, she was amazed that Sargon still managed to awaken her amorousness so quickly. Buffy fled her Hall of Judgment in search of Maglor, knowing that he was the only one that could sate her desires.

Along the way, she ran into Vórëa and told her to remove Sargon’s casket to one of the glass rooms that overlooked the gardens. Her maidens hastily carried out their Mistress’ orders.

Once her bodily needs had been met, the Slayer returned to her chamber to dole out her judgment on the mortals that had perished in battle since her last visit. She had instructed the Valkyries to notify her immediately should Olofin arrive. That stunned her maidens, as Buffy had previously commanded that none disrupt her while on her throne save one from the race of the Valar or Eru Ilúvatar Himself.

Despite Sargon’s prophetic words, she left Luthor locked in the tower. She had decided that he needed some time to think things over, to realize that he had really screwed her over by his actions, no matter how good his intentions had been.

One thing that Buffy had discovered since arriving in Folkvang was that her powers had returned. Apparently, Marduk’s magicks weren’t strong enough to reach her Blessed Realm. She could re-embody Man, teleport, alter time, all the things that she had done before. It was a pleasant surprise, to say the least.



Less than two weeks later, there was a knock on Buffy’s chamber door. As a newly embodied mortal left the Hall of Judgment, Feawë entered, informing her Mistress that not only had Olofin returned, but he had also brought someone of great interest with him.

The Slayer asked that they be brought before her. Never in a million years was she expecting to see her son accompanied by Angwen, still wearing Buffy’s form.

“Well, well, well,” started the Slayer, her smile widening. “Long time, no see, Angwen.” The Witch trembled with fear, knowing that she was in deep shit. Buffy had long anticipated that moment, and had made preparations for it long in advance. “Take her to the dungeons. Let Failo have a bit of fun with her until I’m ready.”

The Maia screamed, pleading with Buffy to show her some mercy. Buffy smiled as the Valkyries dragged the woman from her chamber. She had waited centuries to inflict her torments on the doppelganger.

Before hearing her son’s tale, she took off her queenly raiment and they retreated to a more comfortable room that she referred to as the Jungle Chamber. Maglor had joined them. Olofin started his tale with his departure from Lindon weeks before. When she heard about his imbuing Sineya with her blood, she was confounded. Based on what she remembered, the Slayer was imbued with the essence of a demon, not the blood of a God, and most certainly not her blood.

“How do you know that she’s the first Slayer?” asked her son, not realizing what he had actually done.

“She tried to kill me, Olofin!” exclaimed his mother. “One doesn’t forget something like that.”

Buffy remained antsy while her son continued with his story. After hearing Sargon’s words, she was quite anxious to take her anger out on one so deserving of it. To her, Angwen was the root of all her problems, and she had waited a long time for the opportunity to exact her revenge.

When Olofin had finished his tale, the Slayer quickly went to the dungeons. She could hear the cries of the doppelganger coming from one of the cells. Upon entering that dimly lit chamber, she saw Angwen dangling from the ceiling, two metal hooks protruding from each shoulder. It was a beautiful sight. Failo was carefully skinning the woman alive. Half of her flesh had been peeled off like that of an apple, exposing muscles, ligaments and bone. Nearly all of the floor was covered with blood.

“The device I wrought long ago, Failo… ” she started.

“It is in dungeon number thirty-three, my Lady, as you had requested.”

“Very good,” she answered with a nod. “Bring the Witch there.” She started for the door, but then stopped. “Leave the hooks in her. We’ll hang her from the eyelets in the other dungeon.”

“As you wish, my Lady.”

Buffy then left the chamber.

Meeting Laurië in the passageway, deep below Sussrúmnir, the Slayer asked the Valkyrie to bring her a bottle of wine, her opium and her pipe. Buffy wanted to relax and take her time tormenting the doppelganger and what better way than smoking a bit of hul-gil.

She was already smoking the stuff when Failo dragged Angwen in by the chains connected to the hooks. She watched as he slowly hung the woman in the center of the chamber. He then left the room, locking the door behind him.

The woman swayed from the ceiling, blood still dripping from her skinless form. Buffy sat on a long box covered with a black cloth, still smoking her pipe. She looked at Angwen, who half-cried, half-moaned. When the Slayer had finished smoking her bowl of herb, she jumped off the elongated box onto the floor. She approached the doppelganger, looking at her with such loathing that the woman began to wail again.

A simple hand gesture on the Vala of Love’s part caused the woman to fall to the floor, the hooks tearing through her flesh. The injury looked gruesome, but Buffy had only just begun. Pulling the woman to her feet, she looked her in the eyes, her lips curled into a twisted sort of grin.

“Oh, dear Angwen, how I’ve dreamt of this moment. You have no idea.” She waved her hand again, so that the woman remained upright. The Slayer slowly walked around the Maia, like an animal stalking its prey. “I really want to see the real you.”

Before Buffy’s eyes, the woman’s shape changed, pale white skin covered her messy form. As it turned out, Angwen was a red-head, and not a very attractive one, either.

“Now, I understand why you took on my form,” said the Slayer, her arms folded across her chest, nodding. “Taking my form sure made it easier to seduce men, didn’t it?” she chuckled. “But I’m afraid that won’t ever happen again. In fact,” she started circling the woman again, “when I found out who you were, courtesy of Úrion by the way, I thought, ‘Huh? A Maia by the name of Angwen. How interesting!’”

Buffy walked over to the covered box. The woman spun around, facing her now.

“And I said to myself, ‘Angwen translates to ‘Iron Maiden.’ And that got me to thinking.” She leaned against the box, her cold eyes bore into the Maia. “Long before the heavy metal band came along, there was this torture device from long ago called by that name.” Buffy chuckled. “Ironically, who would’ve thought that I was the one that actually created it.” She turned, stroking the box. “The Vala of Love and War brought forth one of the most heinous torture devices in history.” She turned again, facing the woman. “And I owe it all to you, my dear Angwen. You shall be the first to experience the horrors of the device that I have named after you.” Buffy grabbed the woman by the chin, squeezing hard, forcefully nodding her head. “Oh yes, wanna take a look, and see what I have in store for you.”

The Slayer excitedly returned to the box and pulled the covering off. “Voila!” she exclaimed, revealing the coffin-like metal box. Buffy moved to the foot of the contraption. “This is my favorite part, Angwen,” she continued in the same excited voice as she slowly lifted the lid, revealing the iron teeth fixed to both the top and bottom of the box. Seeing the utter look of terror on the Maia’s face was well worth the long wait. She basked in the fear, emitting from the woman’s fey.

Buffy used her magics to place the woman in the casket-like box. She then poured herself a glass of wine, pulled up a stool and watched as the lid slowly closed. Angwen’s tormented cries echoed throughout the depths of Sussrúmnir as the metal spikes pierced her body. Blood gushed to the floor along with other bodily fluids and brain matter. When the box had completely closed, it slowly began to open again. The sight was ghastly, to say the least.

Thus started the torments of Angwen, former Maia of Melkor, betrayer of all with whom she had ever associated. When, after many weeks, Buffy had grown tired of that device, she used other means to torture the woman. Not once did the Slayer leave that chamber, not for food, not even to take care of her bodily needs.

As the weeks turned into months, her loved ones became very concerned for Buffy’s mental health. Locking yourself away like that surely couldn’t be good, and they were most certainly correct in their assessment. Yet, Failo intervened on his Mistress’ behalf, saying that none should disturb her, for it was Ilúvatar’s will that what was to happen, happened.

For you see, it is not a good thing to be tucked away in the bowels of a place of horror overly long, for it tends to change one over time, as it did in Buffy’s case. Gradually, the darkness of her thoughts and actions began to consume her, changing her, so that when she had been locked away for years without respite, even Failo began to worry.

None had an inkling that the love that Buffy once was renowned for, had diminished. In its place, she had become the embodiment of hate and malice, just like Melkor. Like a cancer, her wickedness metastasized, manifesting itself onto her hröa, literally changing her physical appearance from a creature of beauty into something twisted and grotesque. That was exactly what had happened to the Dark Foe in the past, and now, it had happened to Buffy.

When, four years later, Failo finally opened the door to dungeon number thirty-three, standing amidst ankle-deep blood, was no longer Maranwë Luinil, the Vala of Love and War, but a hideous monster, whose sole purpose in life was to inflict horror and misery on those that had betrayed her.