Full Circle

By the time that Buffy and Sargon had reached the halls of Brolach, all of Folkvang lay shrouded in darkness. As they entered the magnificent dwelling of the patriarch of Men, the aroma of roasting meat and freshly baked bread was wafting through the hallways, causing the Slayer’s stomach to rumble with hunger. All the mighty lords and ladies were present to greet their Queen and the newly appointed Prince of Folkvang.

“Let me take a look at you, my scion,” said the eldest lord of what eventually became the First House of the Edain, pulling out of the embrace with Sargon. Brolach looked over the newest arrival to Folkvang. “Your deeds are legendary, even in this Blessed Realm,” he continued, his dark eyes glistening with pride. “I hope that you find the time to share your tales with us, when you’re ready. We would love to hear of the prowess of Sargon the Great from the man himself. What an honor that would be!”

“My heart tells me that I will tell them several times over,” laughed Sargon.

“We never tire of hearing the tales of old,” answered Brolach with a chuckle, placing his hand on the Adan’s shoulder. “Come, now, my son, my Lady, honored guests,” he nodded to Sargon, Buffy and her companions (Vórëa and Rainë had accompanied the couple). “Let us get you fed. I’m sure you are all famished after your journey.”

“Too true, Brolach,” said the Slayer, rubbing her belly. “I think I can eat a whole cu by myself.”

“We have plenty, my Lady. Eat until your heart’s content.” He gestured the others toward the hallway that led to the dining hall.

Both Orrin and Orran escorted Buffy down the corridor first, as Sargon followed behind with Brolach, the two men continuing their conversation.

“I have readied a modest guest house as you had requested, my son,” she overheard Brolach saying to her lover. “However, shouldn’t Maranwë stay in accommodations more befitting a Valië? She is the Holy Queen, after all.”

Buffy glanced over her shoulder, stunned by the fact that Brolach had used the words, “as you had requested,” when the two mighty lords had only just met. Unfortunately, the men’s conversation was drowned out when Orrin began speaking to her loudly.

After partaking in the delightful feast, those in attendance went into another chamber where they were entertained by the minstrels. The evening was a mixture of song and storytelling, mostly revolving around the past deeds of the seed of Brolach. Normally, Buffy enjoyed hearing those feats, in whichever mode Man chose to deliver them, but not on this particular occasion. She found herself quite restless, unable to sit still. With every passing minute, her discomfort grew.

Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, yet again, the Slayer fixed her green eyes on the Valkyrie sitting on the other side of the room. Using her telepathic powers, she instructed Vórëa to meet her outside in the eastside courtyard.

“I’ll be right back,” she said to Sargon, rising from her seat.

“Where are you going?” he asked, narrowing his grey eyes.

“I gotta pee.”

“Don’t be long,” he said, as his lover quickly left the chamber.

Buffy wiped the beads of sweat from her face with a trembling hand. Her skin felt clammy. She didn’t feel so good. Only five hours had passed since she had sworn to Sargon that she’d give up opium, but she found herself unable to keep her vow. Her body was craving the stuff. Not even alcohol provided her with any relief. The Slayer’s heart seemed to be beating irregularly fast, as if all her synapses were going off at once. It was making her shake and sweat, two things she found most unpleasant.

Once in the deserted courtyard, Buffy began pacing across the flagstone floor. Despite the cool night breeze, sweat was running down the back of her neck. She twisted her hair, piling it on top of her head, allowing he gentle wind to cool her wet skin.

When Vórëa had exited the halls, she fretfully said, “About time.”

“I didn’t want to look suspicious,” answered the Valkyrie chieftain, reaching inside the pocket of her cloak.

Out of nowhere, Sargon suddenly appeared on the other side of the wall. “What’s going on here?” he asked, his eyes darting between the two women.

Buffy was stunned. She let her hair fall back down, trying her best to play it cool. “Just getting a bit of fresh air.”

“Is that so?” he asked, leaping over the half-wall. He stood before the women, eyeing them suspiciously. “Hand it over, Vórëa,” he demanded, holding out his hand.

“My lord?” queried the Valkyrie chieftain, doing her best to play dumb.

“I’m not an ignoramus!” He narrowed his eyes at the woman. “What kind of servant are you to aid your Mistress in the poisoning of her mind and body? Is that what you want, to turn her brain into mush?”

“Most certainly not!” countered the woman in an affronted tone. “I am commanded to do as Luinil instructs me. If she orders me to give her her medicine, then that’s what I shall do.” With a defiant look on her face, she pulled the pouch from her pocket.

Sargon snatched the bag from Vórëa’s hand. “Inanna has promised me that she will not indulge in hul-gil any longer. Isn’t that right, my love?” he asked, turning his gaze to the Slayer.

Buffy fidgeted with the rings on her fingers as she looked longingly at the bag in the Adan’s hand. She could smell the herb from where she stood.

“Um,” she started, nervously licking her lips. “Uh-huh.”

“Inform your co-conspirators that they are to hand over all the hul-gil hidden in this land to Istahiro,” demanded the Adan with such an air of authority that the Valkyrie chieftain didn’t question him. “Woe onto any that gives Inanna any of that herb without instruction from the healers. Enough is enough!”

Vórëa gave a quick glance at her Mistress, who reluctantly nodded in agreement. The Valkyrie bowed before the couple before disappearing in a blink of an eye.

“I told you that I’d help you get through this,” Sargon sighed, his face a mask of disappointment.

“I’m weak, Sargon,” whimpered the Slayer. “You have no idea how I’m feeling. I can’t stand it. Can’t we wean me off the stuff instead of going all cold turkey? I feel like I’m dying.”

“As long as you remain dependent upon that herb, you will continue to be weak,” he replied, placing his hands comfortingly on her shoulders. “We will get through this… together.”

The Adan then took her by the elbow, leading her out of the arched entryway of the courtyard toward their lodgings, which were located on the outskirts of Brolach’s compound. They walked in relative silence, or so it seemed. Unbeknownst to Buffy, Sargon had been reborn with newfound powers, a gift from the Allfather above, and was using his telepathic abilities on Rainë. He instructed the Valkyrie maiden to inform Maglor that his wife would not be returning to Sussrúmnir for many weeks.

While the Maia was slightly taken aback to hear the Adan’s voice in her head, she obliged, deeming that it was the will of her Mistress. She teleported herself to the thirteenth floor of Sussrúmnir, just outside the main doors leading to the Slayer’s inner sanctum. Rainë knocked on the door, calling Maglor’s name repeatedly. After waiting several minutes, she entered the suite of rooms, still calling the elf’s name.

“Kanafinwë?” she shouted, making her way from room to room. It wasn’t until she had reached the bedchamber that she found the Noldo, slouching in one of the overstuffed chairs, besotted with spirits. On the short-legged table before him sat his uneaten supper as well as a near empty decanter of spirits. “I’ve been calling for you,” said Rainë, approaching the elf warily. “Did you not hear me, or were you being deliberately boorish by not answering?” The Valkyrie stood there with her hands on her hips, mirroring the posture of her Mistress. Her piercing dark eyes remained fixed on the Slayer’s husband.

A bleary-eyed Maglor continued to stare at the bejeweled portrait of his wife that hung on the wall above the fireplace. Slowly, he turned his gaze to the woman, his eyes puffy and red. “What is it you want?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

“I’ve come to inform you that… ”

“…Bella will not be returning this eve,” he interjected, finishing her sentence. “Or tomorrow or the day thereafter.” He sipped his drink. “I know she’s off cavorting with… Bëor,” Maglor continued bitterly. “I saw them together.”

Of all Buffy’s Valkyries, Rainë was, by far, the most loyal and devoted to her. Unlike the other chieftains, who were appointed to their positions by those in the West, the youngest of Luinil’s Valkyries had earned her place in the hierarchy of mystical warriors by sheer drive and determination. She’d do anything for her Mistress, as she had demonstrated in the past by procreating with a mortal at the request of the Slayer. She’d do anything to protect her, including lying to the Valië’s husband.

“And what exactly did you see?” asked the woman, taking a seat across from the elf.

“You know damn well what I saw!” he snapped, leaning forward in his seat. “You were there, in the carriage laughing along with them.”

“Oh, that,” replied Rainë with a snicker, shaking her head. “That was nothing!”

“Nothing?!” exclaimed the elf, his glassy eyes widening with shock. “How can you say that? My wife was in the arms of another man, kissing and cuddling him… ”

“I was there, Kanafinwë!” countered the Valkyrie firmly. “A few kisses on the lips - it doesn’t mean a thing. For Eru’s sake, your wife has kissed me on the lips - does that mean that she and I are lovers? NO!” She leaned back in her chair, propping her feet on the edge of the table. “What you saw were merely two old friends that had been reunited after many years of separation.”

“Bullshit!” Maglor narrowed his distrustful eyes on the woman. “Do not tell me that there is nothing going on between them. I know how lover’s look at one another. I watched them closely. Bella was behaving as she does around me. How can you condone their impropriety?”

“Impropriety?” she queried, leaning forward, wrapping her arms around her bent legs. “You saw nothing of the sort. Sargon is like family. Your wife… ”

“Sargon? What the hell are you talking about?” interrupted the baffled elf angrily. “That was Bëor, the vassal of Finrod, not this Sargon you speak of.”

“That’s your problem, Kanafinwë: you jump to conclusions when you do not know that whole story. Now I have a better understanding as to why your line has a curse hanging over their heads! You react rashly when you should stop and think.

“The mortal you call Bëor is actually Sargon the Great, reincarnated. Your wife reared him in the days of Sumer, made him the greatest mortal king to ever set foot on Arda. Yes, she loved him greatly, for she treats him as though he is one of her kin. He was pivotal in her obtaining complete control in the East. As a reward for his labors, she agreed to allow him to come to Folkvang, to live here in peace instead of the Halls of Mandos.

“While you sit here drowning yourself with spirits, Sargon is doing what you should have done long ago: getting Maranwë off the herb! He has enough insight to know that dark times await her, await us all, and that she’ll need her wits about her.

“Heed my words, son of Fëanáro: Do not make unfounded accusations regarding our most beloved Valië, for if you continue to do so, then you may just lose her.”

Maglor pondered the Valkyrie’s words. Was he reading too much into what he saw? Was his own insecurity getting the best of him? Was this all part of the Doom that lay upon him and his brothers? His hurt and anger turned to confusion. He didn’t want to lose Buffy. He loved her. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and he deemed that she felt the same way. Since she had returned from the East, they had been inseparable, although he felt that she was still hiding things from him. Perhaps Rainë was right; it was all in his head.

After a long while, the Noldo softly said, “Perhaps I am being paranoid.”

“Indeed, you are,” answered the woman, getting to her feet. “She loves you, Kanafinwë. Do not ever doubt that. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have returned to Beleriand.” She smiled warmly at the elf. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow is a new day. Soon, Luinil will return to you, but first she must overcome her addiction. Be grateful that Sargon loves her enough to see her through her ordeal, which will not be pretty.”

“I want to help,” said Maglor, looking imploringly at Rainë. “I’m her husband. I should be by her side, helping her get through this.”

“Not this time,” answered the Valkyrie. “It is Sargon’s destiny to see her through this, not yours. Just be patient. Enjoy the beauty of Folkvang, for my heart tells me that soon, you and your family will be leaving this realm. Good-night, Kanafinwë,” she nodded before heading to the door.

“Rainë?” queried the elf, looking over his shoulder.

“Yes?” She faced the elf, yet continued to slowly walk backwards.

“Don’t tell Bella about my foolish behavior.”

“Never!” she answered with a small smile. “It’ll be our little secret,” the Valkyrie whispered, giving the Noldo a wink.

“Thank you,” replied Maglor, a look of relief on his weary face.

“Get some sleep,” she suggested. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Rainë left the chamber, closing the door behind her. Her smile widened as she made her way out of the rooms, pleased that she had been able to convince the elf with so little effort. Buffy surely would be happy, knowing that the Valkyrie had circumvented a near catastrophe.



What Buffy thought was to be a romantic getaway with her newly re-embodied lover was turning out to be nothing of the sort. Sargon had taken her to a small, remote cottage nestled beneath the boughs of towering sycamore and oak trees outside of Brolach’s compound. There, he intended to ‘cleanse’ her body of the ‘poison’ she had been ingesting for over a century.

The dwelling reminded the Slayer of Beleg’s place on the northern fences of Doriath, although slightly bigger, and with plumbing. While the size of the dwelling, in itself, was shocking to the Slayer, (her bathing chamber in Sussrúmnir was nearly three times larger!), the fact that there were no servants to tend to their every need dampened her mood even more. Over the years, she had grown accustomed to having someone wait on her hand and foot, but now, Sargon felt it best that they look after each other. Meaning, they’d have to do their own cooking and cleaning.

“How can you expect me to cook and clean?” whined Buffy from her seat on the bed, her face screwed in disgust. “I’m a Queen, a Vala Queen, no less… I’m not supposed to do menial tasks, that’s what I have servants for.” She wasn’t pleased in the slightest to hear what Sargon had in store for her.

“Look at it this way,” started the Adan, rubbing her back reassuringly, “doing chores will be very therapeutic to your recovery. That is why I brought you here. It is time for you to learn to appreciate the little things in life, as I had done whilst living as Bëor… Besides, a little humility couldn’t hurt either,” he added with a chuckle.

“You think this is funny,” she sneered, writhing free from his hold. She leapt from the bed, standing before Sargon, her body trembling with rage.

“Inanna,” he began, slightly amused by her reaction. He reached out for her.

“Don’t touch me!” she retorted, stepping out of his reach. Balling her fists at her side, she continued, “It’s nice to know that my lover finds my affliction humorous. Well, let me tell you something: I don’t have to put up with this shit. This is my kingdom. This is my body to do with what I want. If I want to smoke some hul-gil, then that’s my choice. Fuck you and your cleansing. I’m out of here.”

The infuriated Slayer started across the small room, cursing under her breath.

“Luinil!” she heard in a voice that did not belong to Sargon. So commanding was it in tone that she stopped dead in her tracks. “Sharru-kin was sent to help you, not hinder you,” added the voice empathetically.

Slowly, Buffy turned, facing the Adan. She took a sharp intake of breath when she laid eyes upon her lover. A bright, white light emanated from his bodily form, filling the entire room with an energy that clearly showed that she was no longer looking upon the Prince of Folkvang. His grey eyes now burned like blue flames, the intensity of his gaze instantly stirred feelings of shame and fear within her.

The Slayer immediately understood that Sargon’s body had become a vessel for a higher being, a being more powerful than a mere Vala or Maia. There was no doubt in her mind as to who had taken control over her lover’s hröa. Ilúvatar. She knew it as soon as she had heard His calling of her name.

She dropped to her knees, bowing her head in supplication. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, realizing that she must have screwed up badly for the Allfather to make an appearance in her Blessed Realm.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” she said breathlessly, humbling herself before the form of her lover.

“You are ill, my child,” continued the mellifluous voice from the mouth of Sargon. “Let Sharru-kin help you break free from the yoke that the hul-gil has upon you. It is time for you to regain your strength, for without it, you will not be able to maintain the balance in Eä. And without you, my beloved daughter, the world will fall into Darkness.”

“I’m… I’m weak, my Lord,” she stammered softly, her eyes welling with tears. “I… I have fallen from grace… I’ve lost my way.”

The illuminating form of Sargon approached her. “Do not weep, child. You have not lost your way nor have you fallen from grace, for everything that happens is My will.” He crouched down, lifting her chin, tears now streaming down the Slayer’s face. Love and compassion emitted from the Adan’s bodily form. Searching her eyes, Ilúvatar continued, “One cannot truly understand the Darkness in this world unless one experiences it firsthand. That is why I chose you, Luinil.” He gently wiped the tears from her face as He spoke. “You possess a resilience that none of your brethren has.

“New trials await you, and you must have strength of mind, body and soul to face what is coming.”

“Please, Lord,” said Buffy beseechingly, taking the hand of Sargon, stroking it lovingly. “I can’t do this any more. I’m not strong. I’m not resilient. There is so much evil in this world. And I am partially to blame for bringing it into being. Please, Lord, take me from this place. Take me back with You to the Timeless Halls where I can bask in Your glory and splendor. Please, Lord! I beg of You!” She placed her face on Sargon’s hand and cried, “Take me with You.”

“Oh, child, your fate rests within Eä, not outside of it,” Ilúvatar responded in a soothing voice. “Your place is here amongst my children, to guide them on their way.” He lifted her chin, meeting her tearful gaze once again. “Do not forsake them, Maranwë. Only through pain and sorrow can you gain strength and wisdom.”

“How much can one person take? Have I not suffered enough? I’ve died, Lord, a terrible death that pains me to this very day. I can’t go through that again. I can’t take it any more. I just want to be free from it all.”

“Do you think that I do not grieve over your pain, that I do not weep for your suffering? Nothing happens without purpose. In time, you will come to see that. I have bestowed many blessings upon you, my favored daughter,” He continued, cupping her cheek. “Who else has a mystical kingdom to call their own? Even the Valar must share the lordship of Aman. Yet for you, I have granted complete control of Folkvang to command as you wish. Does that not prove my love for you, Luinil?”

“I’m sorry, Lord,” replied Buffy, her face flushing with embarrassment. She had never considered that before, that she was given her own kingdom. She wiped her eyes, and said, “You have been most gracious and generous with your gifts. I… I guess that I’ve taken things for granted.”

“That happens from time to time,” Ilúvatar said with a smile. “Regain your strength, my dear child, for you will soon need it.” He rose to His feet, lifting Buffy to hers as well. “You will always find healing in Folkvang.”

“Ilúvatar?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes, my child.”

“Why did you send Sargon to me? I mean, I know that I’m supposed to claim only the souls of those that have fallen in battle. Why did you let me claim his?”

“I do make allowances for you, Maranwë,” He answered with a small smile. “You have much to deal with in this age as well as the upcoming ones… I do not want you to be alone. Sargon will always be there for you…”

“Forgive me, Lord,” interrupted Buffy, her brows furrowed in confusion. “But I have Káno. Maglor.”

Ilúvatar sighed heavily, the smile leaving the face of Sargon. The change in His facial expression caused her stomach to twist into knots.

“All my children have the freedom to choose whichever path they wish to walk upon, whether that be the path of righteousness or the path of wickedness,” He said solemnly. “And sometimes, sometimes they may stray, and change paths altogether, some treading down the right one, others down the wrong one.

“I’m afraid that Kanafinwë Makalaurë has chosen his path, and for him and his brothers, there is no turning back.”

“No!” said the Slayer, shaking her head. “He’s a good man, a decent man.” She looked imploringly into Eru’s eyes. “How can he and his brothers’ fate be sealed when they were blinded by grief? They’re good men. They’ve seen the error of their ways. They’ve changed!” Buffy was beginning to panic, as her words seemed to have no effect on Eru Ilúvatar.

“It’s all Melkor’s fault,” she continued, shifting the blame to the true culprit behind the despicable deeds in Valinor. “He was the instigator. Everything that happened afterwards happened because of him. He killed Finwë. He stole the Silmarils. And… and he destroyed the Two Trees… Yet, yet the Valar do nothing! They let him escape and, and then he did all those things to the good people in Middle-earth, and… and he did horrible things to me… But they chose to lay the Curse upon the House of Fëanor instead of Melkor.” She shook her head, a look of desperation on her face. “Please, Lord, lift the Curse on the sons of Fëanor. They don’t deserve it.”

“My dear Luinil,” began Eru, his eyes full of sorrow. He placed a hand on her shoulder before adding, “It was Fëanáro who placed the Curse upon himself and his sons. His own words sealed their fate. He called the Everlasting Darkness upon them in his lust to regain the Silmarils. And I’m afraid, that they must see it through to the end, bitter though it be.”

“But Lord,” she cried out, her anguish mounting, “You said that You make allowances… ”

Ilúvatar raised his hand, stopping Buffy mid-sentence. “I cannot do that. Not even for you, my beloved daughter. Cherish what precious time you have with the sons of Finwë, for the Doom lies upon all three Houses of the Noldor.”

“No! Please, Lord! I’ll do anything if You spare them,” she cried, in near hysterics.

In an instant, the brilliance faded from Sargon’s bodily form, his eyes turned back to grey. The Adan blinked several times before apologizing to the Slayer over his earlier comment regarding her learning of some humility.

Ilúvatar had gone.

Buffy sat back down, burying her face in her hands. Her head was spinning, her stomach churning. Sargon, who appeared to have no idea that Ilúvatar had entered his body only moments before, tried his best to comfort her, rubbing her back, speaking words of encouragement. Trembling, the Slayer lifted her head, her eyes widening, her face glistening with sweat, her stomach cramping. She leaned over and vomited all over the rug beside the bed, thus starting the cleansing process, which would last several weeks.



For the first ten days, Sargon acted as her caregiver, tending to her every need. Buffy was a mess. She found it difficult to sleep more than an hour or so at a time, waking in a cold sweat. The Adan would hold her in his arms, singing softly to her, until sleep took her once again. Food, something she loved immensely, became difficult to keep down even when she did find her appetite.

“The toxins must be expelled from your body,” her lover had said each time she found herself retching over the toilet, or sitting upon it. It was an awful experience. One that she hoped never to experience again.

Not once, did Folkvang experience any changes in the weather due to the Slayer’s turbulent mood swings, something wholly attributed to the Adan, who did indeed possess powers far greater than any imagined.

When Buffy had hit the two-week mark, things began to get better. The physical symptoms of withdrawal had finally passed, yet the opium still had its grip on her mentally. That would prove to be the most difficult obstacle to overcome. She still craved the drug much like one yearning for food and drink.

Sargon then stepped into the role as counselor. He delved into her psyche determined to find the root of all her problems. It was three months later, while on a fishing excursion to a nearby stream that he was able to get her to open up and talk in great detail about the betrayal of Úrion and her subsequent death at his hands. For the first time ever, Buffy spoke about the Maia’s treachery. She revealed to her lover all the things that she had never told anyone, all the things that she had learned by drinking Úrion’s blood. The Slayer did not leave out one sordid detail nor did she lose herself to her emotions as she recalled that account. It clearly demonstrated how far she had come since Sargon began the ‘cleansing.’

When she had concluded her tale, she let out a sigh of relief and said, “God, I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.” She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around her shins, still clutching the fishing line in her right hand. Facing Sargon, she gave him a warm smile before adding, “It’s liberating, you know. I’ve kept all that locked up inside for nearly two hundred years. It feels kinda good to tell someone.”

“You’ve told no one of Úrion’s wickedness?” questioned the Adan, dismayed by all he had heard.

She shook her head. “It’s not something I wanted any to know. It makes me look like a fool for not seeing his treachery before he revealed it.” Buffy turned her gaze back to the water, just as she felt a tugging on her line. “Hey! I got one!” She rose to her feet, pulling in her line. “Besides,” Buffy continued, picking up their conversation where she had left off. “I find solace in knowing that Melkor is tormenting the hell out of that son-of-a-bitch. What comes around, goes around.”

“I deem that the Dark Lord does not take kindly to disloyalty,” remarked Sargon, as he grasped the slippery, thrashing fish.

“You have no idea,” answered the Slayer, watching her lover wiggle the hook free from the bass’ mouth.

“Let’s call it a day, shall we?” he suggested, tossing the fish, with a plop, into the bucket of water. “We’ve caught enough.”

“That’s fine by me, as long as you do the scaling and the cleaning.”

“Alright,” he said with a chuckle. “Although cleaning fish can be very therapeutic.”

“Ew!” replied Buffy, her face wrinkled in disgust. “They’re too slimy… and nasty... Not to mention the smell. Nope. I catch ‘em, you clean ‘em.”

“Fine, but you get to cook them.”

“That, I can handle.”

They started down the path leading back to the cottage. The Adan watched the Slayer as she sang under her breath, her eyes fixed on the trail before them. He smiled, quite pleased by her pleasant attitude, especially after just speaking of her torments at the hand of Úrion. She appeared to be coping well with his treatment and her need for opium was all but gone. Sargon believed that she was ready to return home, back to Beleriand. He knew that was where she belonged, where she was needed. He could only hope that Buffy would remain clean outside of Folkvang, and would not fall into her old ways. The Adan feared she would return to the herb when confronted with great emotional distress, something she’d inevitably find by returning to Middle-earth.

With the Slayer appearing to be back to her old, rational self, Sargon spoke with her later that night about her relationship with Maglor. He informed her of Rainë’s conversation with the Noldo weeks earlier, and the lies the Valkyrie had told the elf.

“I know that she was trying to help, but my heart aches knowing that she has misled Maglor,” he said, his face grim.

“And what should she have said?” questioned the Slayer, looking up from her plate. Her voice was calm and collected. “Should she have told my husband that we’re lovers, that I seduced you at the tender age of thirteen? Would that have made things better for me, for him, for us?” she questioned before taking a sip of wine.

“I don’t know,” he answered somberly. “I feel that it is wrong to lie to him.”

“So now my lover’s giving me marital advice,” said Buffy with a chortle. “Oh, the irony of it all!”

“I like Maglor. He’s a good man.”

“That he is,” she replied in agreement. “But you’ve got to see things from my perspective.” She propped her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her entwined fingers. “I’m not a big proponent of lying, really I’m not, but how do you think my husband would react if he learned of my infidelity? I doubt he’d throw a feast to mark the occasion,” she added sarcastically.

“I hate to say it, but sometimes lies are necessary, especially when it comes to sparing the feelings of someone that we love. No matter what I have done in my past, no matter how many men found their way into my bed, I love Káno. I always have and always will. Nothing will ever change that. As far as I’m concerned, Rainë acted accordingly.” She grabbed her cup. “In fact, I applaud her for her quick thinking.” She toasted the Valkyrie before downing the rest of her drink.

“You must do what you think best,” answered Sargon, the doubt in his heart increasing.

Gradually, Sargon integrated Buffy back into society, monitoring how she’d deal with the stress of being around others. He knew that she was eager to depart Folkvang with her family, and dreaded the fact that that day was fast approaching. His heart grew heavy knowing that great challenges awaited her outside the Blessed Realm.

Exactly one month later, the Slayer teleported herself, Maglor, Olofin, Luthor and the lions from Folkvang to the Gap. They arrived at their home in Yr 357 (as per Middle-earth time), in the heart of winter. It was a joyous reunion and a call for a great celebration. Little did Buffy know that her bliss would soon turn to tragedy and the many lies she had told over the years would soon come back and bite her on the ass. Big time.