Full Circle

Any other man would’ve recoiled at seeing the Vala of Love in that monstrous form, but Failo had been born into the world for the sole purpose of inflicting pain and misery on those so deserving. He had seen much in his long years of life, so Buffy’s metamorphosis didn’t surprise him, not in the slightest. He understood what had happened to her and why.

Believing that it was imperative to remove his Mistress from the rank, dark, blood-covered dungeon, the Chief Torturer of Folkvang pulled out an Orb of Thezula from the pocket of his cloak, and uttered the incantation that pulled the doppelganger’s fey from her hröa into the mystical sphere.

When the woman’s hoarse cries had ceased, her dangling body no longer flailing within the shackles from which she had been constrained, the Slayer turned her wrathful gaze to Failo and growled, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” as the Orb glowed with a deep-purplish light.

“You’ll thank me for this later,” replied the Maia, slipping the Orb back into his pocket. “Enough is enough, Maranwë. It is time for you to leave this chamber of horrors and savor the light that you covet so much.”

“I’m not finished,” she sneered, her demonic eyes fixed on the round bulge concealed within his garment.

“I’m afraid that you are,” he answered, placing his hand protectively over the sphere. “You’ve been locked away in here for four years, my Lady. That is quite long enough! Need I remind you how swiftly time passes in Folkvang? Your husband and son have impatiently been waiting for you. Do you not want to see… ” His words faltered, as his enraged Mistress suddenly began slashing at the lifeless body of Angwen. The Maia had hoped that his mention of her loved ones would’ve had a positive effect on her. He was startled when it didn’t. He began to wonder if he had allowed her to stay too long within the confines of the dungeon, that perhaps the Darkness had begun to devour her soul as it had her body.

The Maia sensed that his Mistress was unaware of her transformation, and he knew that that sudden realization would be a hard pill for her to swallow. He knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t want any to see her in her current state, especially Maglor and Olofin. Failo had to somehow convince the Slayer to leave the dungeon with him. However, by her reaction to his taking the fey of Angwen, he could rule out the possibility of her coming willingly. He had decided that it would be best to remove her to his own chambers on the seventh floor. The only problem he foresaw was getting her there. With so many of the Valkyries milling around in the depths of Sussrúmnir anxious to see the Lady, he’d have to sneak her from the dungeon to the secret passageway down the hall without any noticing.

Failo’s eyes searched the room for something that he could use to restrain Buffy. He was tempted to use the chains that hung from the ceiling, but the sound of clinking metal would draw the attention of her maidens like a moth to flame. He needed something quieter, something that wouldn’t produce any type of sound.

The sound of Angwen’s severed body parts hitting the blood-covered floor with a splash alerted him to the fact that he needed to act quickly. There was not much left of the Witch, and it would only be a matter of minutes before his Mistress turned to him to sate her fiendish desires. He eyed the various implements of torture on the table.

While Buffy’s attention was focused on the dismemberment of the body of her prisoner, Failo raised his hand. His lips moved, yet no sound came out. A heavy, blood-splattered iron rod then zoomed through the air straight into the Maia’s outstretched hand. Grasping the bar tightly, he approached the Slayer from behind, and gave her a good whack to the back of her demonic head. Before her unconscious body could sink to the floor, he caught her in his arms. He loathed having to strike his Mistress, but drastic times called for drastic measures.

As he crossed the room, he used the heal of his boot to unclog the drain on the floor. Bone fragments and entrails had stopped it up, thus causing the blood to pool on the floor.

Failo wrapped his cloak around the Slayer, concealing her the best he could. He then cracked the chamber door open and peeked outside, just as Rainë disappeared around the corner. He stealthily crept from the dungeon, sticking to the shadows until he reached the hidden door, which thankfully, only a handful knew about. He pulled the bracket on the wall. The doorway slid open, allowing him entry, before it quietly closed behind him. As he carried Buffy up the winding staircase to his quarters, he used his telepathic powers to inform some of his men to clean the mess in dungeon number thirty-three, as well as the bloody footprints in the hall and stairway. Ideally, he didn’t want any to learn of Buffy’s latest misfortune, at least, not yet.

When they had reached his bedchamber, he laid the still knocked out Slayer on his bed. He studied her for a few moments, saddened that she was now the embodiment of her hate. He couldn’t help but wonder if he had been partly to blame for Buffy’s transformation, since he had allowed her to remain locked away with the wicked doppelganger much longer than originally intended. As much as Failo hated to admit it, he had his own agenda when it came to Angwen. She had deserved that which she had gotten, and it pained him that he was the one that had put an end to her torments.

The Maia pulled the Orb from his pocket. It still faintly emitted the light of Angwen’s fey. He placed it in a drawer for the time being. Soon, he’d have her sent to the Deeper Well, where she would be imprisoned until the Breaking of the World.

Failo then closed all the curtains in the chamber, blocking out the sun’s rays, knowing that the bright light would pain his Mistress’ eyes. He activated only two lamps, filling the room with a soft silver light.

Only a few minutes later, Buffy began to moan. She reached for the back of her throbbing head. “Why the hell did you hit me?” she asked groggily, aware, although confused by the torturer’s actions.

“I apologize for that, my Lady, but I had no other choice.” Failo stood at the foot of the bed. “You must promise me that you will not scream… nor will you strike out against me. Should you attempt to, I will be forced to use my magics on you, and I’d rather not do that.”

The look in his eyes and the severity of his voice quelled the Slayer from taking action against the Maia. Yet his words perplexed her, awakening the disquiet in her heart.

“What are you talking about?” She shifted to a sitting position, still oblivious to her transformation. Buffy fixed her squinting eyes on the Maia. Even the soft, silver light that filled the room caused her sensitive eyes to ache.

“Promise me.”

“Fine,” she sighed with a roll of her eyes. “I promise.”

“Good,” answered the Maia, giving the Slayer a quick smile. “Come here.” Buffy groaned again, as she crawled out of bed and approached her chief torturer. He placed his hands on her shoulders and let out a heavy sigh. “Do not scream as it will draw the Household’s attention. The effects are only temporary, I assure you, and you’ll be back to your old self in no time,” he said encouragingly, flashing yet another quick smile.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Go look in the mirror,” he instructed, the calmness in his tone only added to Buffy’s bewilderment.

The Slayer stood there for a moment. She couldn’t understand why Failo had looked at her with such pity. She shook her head. She’d amuse the Maia, even though his words made no sense to her. Buffy glanced around the room, and noticed a huge oval mirror set within a wooden frame, carved in the likeness of an eagle with outstretched wings. She walked sluggishly towards it, curious as to why the Maia wanted her to look at her reflection.

When she stepped in front of the looking glass, her jaw dropped. “Oh… my… God,” she said, her tone revealing her shock. She stared in horror at her monstrous reflection.

“Remember, no screaming or destroying my personal property,” reminded the Maia, as he began placing his more fragile possessions in various drawers and cabinets.

Buffy couldn’t believe her appearance. She was a monster, a hideous monster no less. She hesitantly reached for her face with claw-type fingers. She placed those beastly looking hands against her black face, which felt like leather. Her forehead protruded over her deeply set crimson eyes. Where her lovely cheekbones once were, she now had ridges of cartilage that ran from her pointed ears and curved under her eyes only to form the bridge of her flattened nose.

That was all the Slayer needed to see. She turned away from the mirror, whimpering.

“Why did this happen to me?” she asked, her voice full of dismay. If she could’ve cried, she would have, but apparently, the beastly side of her wasn’t able to shed any tears.

“Come. Sit,” answered Failo, pointing to the vacant chair catty-cornered to his.

The dazed Slayer sat down, absolutely shocked by what she had become. She fixed her cold, blood red eyes on the Maia, waiting for an explanation.

“As I had said before, the effects are only temporary,” he started, in an attempt to ease his Mistress’ distress.

“But why did this happen to me, Failo?” she repeated, her tone desperate.

“Hate and vengeance are not something to be taken lightly, my Lady. They are strong emotions that, when one dwells on them overly long, affect the hröa. The Darkness on the inside manifests itself on the outside… ”

“But Angwen fucked with me!” exclaimed the Slayer defensively. “She started it. She conspired against me! I only gave her what she deserved!”

“True, but you’ve spent four years locked away in the depths of Sussrúmnir without respite. That, my dear Maranwë, is not a good thing. You must balance the hate and rage with love and kindness.” Failo let out a heavy sigh.

“This is not as easy to explain as I had anticipated,” he continued, leaning back in his seat with his brows furrowed. “For all intents and purposes, I shall use myself as an example. I was brought into this world for the sole purpose of tormenting those so deserving. It is a task that I take great pleasure in, for that is what Ilúvatar conceived me to be.

“Whilst I try to maintain that balance by tending to the flower gardens of Sussrúmnir and raising both birds and beasts from birth, it was my wife that had truly kept me grounded.” He turned away, a pained expression on his face. “And now she is lost to me,” he added softly, holding back his tears.

“What do you mean?” asked the Slayer, slightly taken aback by the softer side of the Chief Torturer of Folkvang. “What happened to her?”

“She was killed, killed by that bitch, Angwen,” he revealed, a mixture of pain and anger on his face. “My wife is Anairë, one of your Valkyrie chieftains. Or, I reckon I should say, former chieftain.”

“Anairë is your wife!” Buffy couldn’t believe that one of her own maidens was married to her chief torturer. But what shocked her even more was that she had never known. She had never taken the time to talk with her ladies about their personal lives, only her own. As she digested that information, she remembered having learned of the Valkyrie’s death during her absence from her Blessed Realm. Angwen had arrived, guised as the Slayer, introducing evil to her kingdom so many years ago.

“Things make a bit more sense now, do they not?” asked the torturer, as he saw the look of understanding on his Mistress’ face. “That is why I consider myself partly to blame for your transformation. I knew that you’d inflict the cruelest torments on that bitch, and rightly so. I hate none in this world, except for Angwen. If I had tormented her myself, I would have lost myself to the Darkness, for I sought revenge against her more than you.”

“But… but Anairë isn’t truly dead, is she?” asked the stunned Slayer. “I mean, Angwen didn’t destroy her fey.”

“Thank Eru, no,” answered Failo. “She fled to Valinor,” he sighed. “And I do not foresee her return to Folkvang any time soon.”

“I’m so sorry,” said a sympathetic Buffy, placing her clawed hand on the Maia’s.

Failo forced a smile, and placed his hand atop his Mistress’. “I appreciate your words, Maranwë. But you asked why this had happened to you,” he said, changing the subject abruptly. Buffy withdrew her hand before the Maia continued.

“You have no one to balance you… ”

“That’s ridiculous!” she interjected. “I’ve got Káno.” She was surprised that Failo had overlooked her beloved husband.

“The cursed elf?” he queried, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “My Lady, a dark cloud lingers over the entire House of Fëanor,” Failo continued with a shake of his head. “They have committed great evil against their own kindred, and the Oath will get them all ere the end. Can you not see that? Your choosing to espouse one from that bloodline has caused the doom that follows them, to follow you. You, my dear Maranwë, have been ensnared into the nets of the Curse. While the Oath the sons had sworn slumbers, it will not be long before it’s stirred awake. The sons’ fervor to reclaim what was once theirs will reach new heights, much to the sorrow of all.”

Buffy refused to believe Failo’s words of wisdom. “No,” she said adamantly. “Káno and his brothers have changed their ways… they’ve seen the errors of their ways.”

“You’ve convinced yourself of that?”

The Slayer leapt from her seat and started pacing. “They’re on the road to redemption,” she said, more to herself than to her companion, nervously wringing her claw-like hands. “If they do enough good deeds, the Curse will be lifted. It has to. Káno isn’t evil, he’s good, he’s righteous… ”

“The Curse cannot be lifted no matter how goodly the deeds the brothers do. All those exiled from Valinor will reap the repercussions of their actions, no matter how small or large a part they have played in the kinslaying. The Doom of the Valar will come to fulfillment, and the House of Fëanor shall be hit hardest, for they swore a terrible Oath that they cannot escape.

“But hope is not lost on you, Luinil,” continued the Maia, eager to return the topic of conversation to Buffy’s plight, not the sons of Fëanor. “You are integral to Ilúvatar’s designs although I deem that you do not fully comprehend that as of yet. Unlike the rest of us, the Allfather Himself has sent you here. You must maintain the balance between good and evil,” his tone softened, “but, more importantly, you must maintain the balance within yourself.”

She stopped, turning her gaze to Failo. While her expression didn’t show her worry, she felt it in her heart, the one thing that the Darkness had not consumed.

The torturer rose from his chair and approached his Mistress. He placed his hands comfortingly on her broad shoulders.

“Perhaps you now understand why Eru had sent Sargon to you. The mortal is your anchor. He will help you maintain the balance in your internal struggles. He is a good man who loves you dearly. He would do anything to ease your pain, and will provide you with much comfort in the trials before you. No greater gift could Eru grant you than the love of that mortal, the King of Men.

“When you failed to be there at the time of Sargon’s death and he was commanded to Mandos, Eru intervened. He counseled Manwë that the mortal must come back into this world, that he must be born into one of his children… ”

“Sargon is Bëor, isn’t he?” she asked excitedly, anxious for someone, anyone, to confirm her long time suspicion.

“Indeed. Although in his current incarnation, he has no memories of his past life, at least, not yet. All he knows is that when he first had set eyes upon you, he loved you. He was drawn to you by forces that he had no comprehension of, although you did. You felt it. And you tried your best to flee from it, but couldn’t. You need him, Maranwë.”

Buffy’s head was spinning from everything that the Maia had told her. She sat back down, trying to process it all.

Failo also returned to his seat, watching his Mistress as she sat there deep in thought, waiting for the additional questions that he knew were coming.

“So, how long am I gonna be this way? How long before… before my beauty returns?” she asked in a small voice.

“I cannot rightly say,” admitted the Maia. “It could be once you’ve balanced your hate with love.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that, Failo? It’s not like I’m about to go traipsing through Sussrúmnir looking like this.” She motioned towards her body, her frustration evident.

“You’re more than welcome to stay here until you return to your normal form,” suggested Failo, not knowing what else he could do to appease his Mistress. “I’ll see to it that none disturb you.”

“Well, this just sucks!” she moaned as she leaned her head over the back of her chair, staring up at the ceiling. “Just when I think my life couldn’t get any crappier.”

“I’m truly sorry, Maranwë.” The Maia felt bad for the Slayer. “Can I get you anything?”

“Actually, I’m hungry.”

“That I can remedy,” he said, getting to his feet. “What would you like?”

Buffy thought for a moment. “Something… raw.”

“Raw?” he queried, trying to conceal the look of disgust on his face, but failing miserably.

She nodded in reply. The Maia shuddered as he left his rooms in search of something ‘raw’ to sate his Mistress’ blood-thirsty hunger.



For eleven days, Buffy remained in her demonic form. On the twelfth day, she awoke, only to find that she had returned to her normal self. She squealed with glee, jumping up and down on the torturer’s bed, ecstatic to be beautiful once again.

“I told you it was only temporary,” said a delighted Failo, smiling, as he stood in the doorway of the chamber.

The Slayer leapt off the bed and across the room, landing before the Maia. She planted a big wet kiss on his lips before leaving his chamber, whistling a happy tune. From that day forward, she vowed never again to allow herself to become consumed by hatred or revenge, something with which she would struggle many times over in years to come.

She excitedly sang as she ran through the hallways, cheerfully greeting everyone she passed. She found her husband and son sitting down to breakfast and joined them. Surprisingly, she shared her misadventure with them, but made no comments regarding the fate of the House of Fëanor. Despite everything that Failo had told her, she refused to believe his prophetic words.

Since Buffy hadn’t had a proper birthday celebration for the past four years, the people of Folkvang decided to go all out and threw her a spectacular bash. Her beloved Maglor had given her a silver music box that he had made that played Sweet Madam Blue when opened. The gesture touched her deeply, but what really blew her away was the gift from the mortals.

While she had been locked away in the dungeons, the mortals had built a replica of her lapis lazuli temple in Sumer, Eanna, complete with lush gardens, courtyards and fountains. In fact, it was more beautiful than the one in Eridu as it was located in Folkvang. No matter what light reflected on the temple, sun, moon or star, the mammoth structure sparkled like a star, thus she named it, Tingilindë, which translated to ‘Twinkling Star,’ in the High-elven tongue.

Maglor, seeing that his wife was in high-spirits, took advantage of her mood by asking her to free Luthor from his cell.

“It seems clear to me that Luthor was looking out for you, my darling, and being locked away for four years is long enough, wouldn’t you say?”

The Slayer leaned over the railing of the gallery overlooking the atrium of her newly erected temple. Her eyes scanned the crowd of people below, singing and dancing in celebration. Her finger traced the rim of her goblet as she pondered her husband’s words.

“What happened to forgiveness and redemption?” he continued when she didn’t answer. “Those are two things that you used to speak of quite often. Did your transformation not show you that? Perhaps that’s what Ilúvatar wanted to remind you of, to not dwell on the ill doings of others, but to seek forgiveness in your heart. I can think of no other way of demonstrating your love for him than by setting him free.”

Buffy turned her gaze to Maglor. “You’re really fond of him, aren’t you?”

“Luthor is good for you. It pleases me that there is someone looking out for you when I’m not able to be there. He truly loves you, Bella.” He smiled. “Even you cannot deny that.”

“Fine,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I will pardon Luthor, but he’s not to return to the Deeper Well. I won’t change my mind regarding that.”

“What do you have planned for him?” asked her husband, his grey eyes filled with concern.

“Why, he’ll come back with us to Beleriand, of course,” she answered with a chuckle, noticing the look of apprehension fading from Maglor’s handsome face. “You can deliver the good news, honey. I’ll have Vórëa go with you in case my maidens think you’re trying to defy my will.”

“That is indeed wonderful news, my love,” said the beaming Noldo before giving her a kiss. “I cannot help but think that your transformation has had a positive effect on you. You are truly a merciful Vala.”

“I’m glad someone thinks so,” she laughed.

Maglor took off for Sussrúmnir with Vórëa. The elf was glad that he was able to reason with his wife, but he was even more thrilled by the fact that Luthor would be returning to Beleriand with them. There was much wisdom in the old man, and the Noldo was eager to learn as much as he could from the Maia, especially regarding past events in the East. Maglor sensed that his wife, son, and the Green-elves were hiding things from him, and he was quite determined to see what kind of information he could obtain from Luthor that the others would not divulge.

The old man was stunned by his early release and was anxious to make peace with Buffy. While she had authorized his freedom, she avoided the Maia, not quite ready to have that one-on-one conversation that would inevitably bring them to tears. Both knew that their relationship was repairable. They considered each other family and none could break those bonds. Yet it was by that reasoning that she didn’t want to deal with him just yet. Illyria was family too. It didn’t matter that she was evil and vindictive. The Slayer’s blood had coursed through her veins, and now she was dead. She needed more time to heal her broken heart.

Several days later, the Maia cornered the Slayer on the steps of Tingilindë while she puffed on her pipe of hul-gil. While she was not ready to have a heart-to-heart with Luthor, she did call a truce.

“Know this Luthor,” Buffy said to him. “If it hadn’t been for Illyria, I would’ve killed you. She’s the one that stopped me. Funny how things work out that way, eh?” With that, she left the old man, with his mouth agape, sitting on the topmost steps of her temple. The Maia was dumfounded by that revelation.

It would be some years later, when they had returned to Maglor’s Gap, that they would mend their strained relationship.

After all the things that the Slayer had recently experienced, she took her role as the Fëantári more seriously than ever before. She no longer put off her judgments. She now spent half of the day on her throne, and the other half with her family. She felt that she had devised a perfect system that maintained her ‘inner balance,’ and because of that, her spirits remained high.

Yet fate would intervene in the Slayer’s life once again, as it had so many times before.

Whilst sitting upon her throne, dressed in her queenly raiment, passing judgment on those slain on the battlefield, Buffy heard a faraway voice, chanting. As the newly embodied mortal left her Hall of Judgment, she listened intently for the source of the voice.

All of a sudden, she felt herself being pulled by invisible bonds. Frightened, she cried out, “What the… ” before vanishing in a blink of an eye.

Núrë, her cupbearer, the only one left in the room, let out a blood-curdling scream. Both her Mistress’ scepter and crown rolled down the steps of the dais, the wearer no longer in the room…