Full Circle

Maglor and Buffy had never really had the opportunity to talk, one-on-one, before they left Folkvang. It was during the festivities that the Noldo finally pulled her aside and asked the question she knew was coming.

“Why have you not told me about Bëor… or should I call him Sargon?” he asked, trying to voice the question with indifference but his eyes revealing otherwise. “I would have thought that you’d tell me about one so important to you.”

“There wasn’t much to tell,” answered Buffy with a shrug of her shoulders, downplaying the whole situation.

“Not much to tell,” he repeated, his brows raised in wonder. “He seems to be the topic of conversation throughout Folkvang. I know he is dear to you. I just do not understand why you haven’t spoken of your relationship with the mortal.” This time, Maglor did not conceal the hurt in his voice.

“In my defense, I didn’t really know that Bëor was Sargon, not until his time was up, any way.”

Both Thranduil and Olofin chose that moment to join Buffy and Maglor.

“What are you talking about?” asked the Green-elf, not having heard any of the couple’s conversation.

“Sargon,” answered the Slayer, quickly glancing from face to face for any obvious changes in expression that might cause Maglor alarm.

“Ah, Sargon,” said Thranduil, a sudden look of awe coming to his face. “He was impressive to behold in battle.” He turned his gaze to the Noldo. “He was as big as Maedhros, and as fierce as Bella, something not often seen in the mortal race,” he smiled. There was a moment of awkward silence after he had spoken. “So, why are we talking about Sargon?” he asked, oblivious to the whole reincarnation thing.

“Oh, my dear friend,” began Olofin, placing his arm around Thranduil’s shoulder. “We’ve only been back for a quarter of an hour, and I have failed to tell you the news. Turns out, Bëor was the reincarnation of Sargon, yet this time, mother was with him at his time of death and has brought him back to Folkvang.”

“So it looks like your suspicions were spot-on, Bella,” said the Green-elf. “You always said that he bore a striking resemblance to his forefather.”

“Naram-Sin did too,” remarked Buffy’s son, “but he turned out to be nothing like his grandsire.”

The hair stood up on the back of the Slayer’s neck at the mere mention of the one that had inflicted her with the malady. She was puzzled as to why Olofin would dare mention that name in her presence.

“Who is Naram-Sin?” asked Maglor.

“A mortal unworthy of the title of king, that’s who he was,” proclaimed Luthor, who now joined the group in their conversation. The old man had immediately noticed Buffy’s discomfort and chose that moment to come to her aid. “He allowed himself to be ruled by his greed and lust for power. But I daresay he got his in the end,” added the Maia with a chuckle.

“What do you mean?” queried Thranduil, who was not up to speed on the goings-on in Sumer since they had departed.

A wry grin came to Luthor’s face. “Before we left, I visited him in a dream and told him not to sleep with his wife for thirty days, or else. He did, thus activating the curse I had placed upon the adan. I sent a drought that ravaged his lands for twelve years, causing a great uprising amongst his people. Naram-Sin led his armies to Ur, to seize the food supplies of those good people, and he and his forces were decimated as a result.”

“I didn’t know that,” said the Green-elf, turning his gaze to Buffy. “Are you keeping me out of the loop now?”

“Of course not,” replied the Slayer, giving the elf a reassuring smile. “It’s just that so much was going on at the time. I didn’t find out about it until we met up with Luthor before crossing Orocarni.”

“So, tell me of this Sargon,” said Maglor, steering the conversation back to the original topic. “I want to hear all about him.”

Luthor, Olofin and Thranduil then told the Noldo all about the Adan and his many accomplishments. Of course, none mentioned the true nature of Buffy’s relationship with Sargon, which clearly showed their unwavering loyalty to the House of Maranwë Luinil.

While Maglor still harbored a bit of doubt regarding his wife’s affection for the mortal, Luthor’s words had alleviated his suspicions. The Noldo had a tremendous amount of respect and love for the Slayer’s father figure, especially since he had stood up to her, protecting her at risk to his own life and limb.

None that day truly lied to the Elf Lord. They merely left out pertinent details in order to maintain peace within the House of Fëanor. In times to come, Maglor himself would bring up that conversation creating a rift between the two Households, and causing animosity and doubt to creep into the hearts of the brothers and most of their followers.



Within twenty-four hours of her arrival back in Beleriand, Buffy was dealt her first blow. Much to her dismay, she discovered that her magics had once again been stifled. She now only possessed those abilities she had had before she had left for Folkvang, which were her slayer strength and heightened senses. She found it very disconcerting. After wielding her magics in Folkvang with ease, she assumed that all her powers had returned, and would stay with her in Middle-earth.

Instead of losing her cool, she sat down on her bedroom floor and meditated. She prayed to Ilúvatar, asking for guidance. That guidance came in the middle of the night, as she lay sleeping next to Maglor.

At precisely three o’ clock in the morning, Buffy vanished from the warmth of her bed, only to find herself standing in her nightgown in the entrance hall of Sussrúmnir. Stunned, she blinked her eyes several times, thinking that she was dreaming. When both her Valkyrie chieftains and Sargon warmly greeted her, she realized that it was no dream.

After her maidens had garbed her in her royal raiment, the Adan walked with her up the stairway leading to her Hall of Judgment.

“I understand that you’re confused by your lack of powers,” he said, startling her with his words.

“How did you know that?” asked a perplexed Buffy.

“I love you, Luinil,” he answered, taking her hand in his. “I know what troubles you. Do not despair. In time, your powers will return, but not just yet.”

“Oh, God,” she moaned. “Don’t tell me that you’re an official member of the in time society too,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“In time society?” queried Sargon with a look of confusion on his face.

“Never mind,” she said dismissively. “So, tell me my darling Sharru-kin, are you the one responsible for bringing me here… waking me from my peaceful slumber?”

“Indeed,” the Adan replied with a grin. “You still have your sacred duties to perform here. War never stops in Middle-earth and there are souls awaiting your judgment. Eru feels that you’ve been shunning your responsibilities over the years and has decided that the best way for you to fulfill your obligations to mankind is for me to summon you here each and every night. I chose the time. I thought it best to have you return to Sussrúmnir whilst most are sleeping in Beleriand. That way, your time away from your loved ones will be lessened.”

“And do you speak with the Allfather on a regular basis?” asked Buffy, her heart thumping in anticipation of his response.

“I am His emissary, Bella. Even you know that,” answered Sargon with a sly smile.

“Will wonders never cease?” she chuckled. Stopping on the landing, she looked into her lover’s grey eyes, “Just who are you, Sargon? You’re, by no means, a typical mortal.”

The Adan wrapped his arms around her waist and answered, “I am your guide, your companion, and your lover.” He kissed her softly on the lips before adding, “I am whatever you want me to be.”

“There’s something about you that I just can’t quite put my finger on. You’re an enigma if ever there was one.”

Sargon let out a hearty laugh. “Come, now,” he continued, linking his arm with hers, leading her up the next flight of stairs. “You have much to do.”

When Buffy had finished passing her judgments, Sargon demonstrated yet another ability. One second the Slayer was standing amidst her maidens in the entrance hall of Sussrúmnir, the next second, she found herself lying back in bed beside Maglor. She quickly looked at the clock. Only two seconds in Middle-earth time had passed since she had left, even though she had spent several hours in Folkvang.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” she mumbled, completely dumbstruck. It then occurred to Buffy that Sargon possessed the powers that she no longer had, wielding them spectacularly in a manner that she, herself, had never thought of.

Clearly, Ilúvatar was still watching over her, but she couldn’t understand why He wouldn’t allow her to have all the powers she had before. If she had new trials to face, wouldn’t it make sense that she be at her strongest? Perhaps she would have to rely more on her wits than anything else. She didn’t know. Buffy still had to face whatever was coming, and she hoped that she’d be able to defeat whichever Big Bad came her way.

As the weeks turned to months, and the months turned into years, the Slayer resumed working on her body - her greatest of all weapons, (at least, at that time). She trained with a variety of elves, but mostly enjoyed sparring with Maedhros and Celegorm when they came to visit. Those two brothers were by far the toughest of the sons of Fëanor. Sometimes, she even fought with all of them at the same time (save the twins, who seldom came north). Curufin liked to play dirty, (pulling hair and eye gouging were favorites maneuvers of the Noldo). His desperate ploys at besting her were always unsuccessful, and made it all the more gratifying when she took him down.

Buffy and Luthor had repaired their relationship, and their love for one another grew even stronger. Though Curufin and Celebrimbor had given her the completed scepter that contained the mystically enhanced Carnimír, she had not yet given it to the Maia, waiting for the perfect time to do so.

Now, the Slayer didn’t share her nightly disappearances with any, except Luthor. She was quite surprised that it had taken thirty years for her husband to discover her ‘secret’. Unfortunately, she seemed to disappear at the most inopportune time imaginable: right in the middle of sex. One moment Buffy was beneath her husband, the next moment she was gone, and then she reappeared again a second later, fully dressed. Of course, that proved to be an instant mood killer, and required an explanation.

Buffy then explained that Eru felt that she had been neglecting her sacred duties as the Fëantári and had decided that she was to return to Sussrúmnir at three o’ clock every morning. Not wanting her to lose any time with her loved ones, His emissary manipulated time, so that her absence from Middle-earth was not long, only the two seconds it took to leave and come back.

Maglor was amazed by his wife’s revelation. “How long has this been going on? And why have you not told me of this emissary before? Details, Bella, tell me the details,” he said excitedly. The thought that she had a link, other than through the twins, to Ilúvatar seemed rather appealing to the elf.

Buffy felt uneasy despite the Noldo’s excitement. She knew that he’d be upset when she told him how long that had been going on without his knowledge. She now wished she had told her husband sooner.

“Well, um, since the first night we all arrived back from Folkvang,” she stammered.

Maglor’s jaw dropped. He quickly snapped it shut, his eyes searching hers for several moments before he spoke. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been returning to Folkvang on a nightly basis for thirty years and not once did you think it important to tell me. Why would you do that?” he asked, a pained expression on his face.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal. I mean, it’s not like I’m on holiday or something. I make my pronouncements and come home. Hell, Káno, I’m only gone for two seconds! It’s really no big deal.” Buffy placed her hand on his. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I hate that you found out the way you did,” she said with an uneasy smile, her eyes glancing over his nakedness. “But quite honestly, shouldn’t we be thankful that Eru has stepped in as He did. I mean, part of my responsibilities is to return there and judge those that fell in battle. It’s nice that I won’t have to be gone for weeks, months, or years, even.”

The Noldo looked down at her hand that was caressing his own.

“Do you forgive me?” she asked, sliding closer to her husband, nuzzling his face with hers.

“Of course,” answered Maglor, with a quick smile. “I only wish you would’ve told me when it had first happened. It hurts my feelings that you did not share this with me at the start.”

“I’m sorry.” She planted many kisses on his cheek, saying, “Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?” in her most seductive voice. She eased him back down on the bed, now kissing his smooth, muscular chest.

“Perhaps,” he chuckled, grabbing hold of her dress and pulling it over her head. Once naked, Buffy lay atop her husband, her mouth finding his. After sharing a passionate kiss, curiosity got the better of Maglor. He then whispered, “Tell me, Bella, who is this emissary of Ilúvatar? Is it Irmo?”

“Oh,” replied a slightly startled Buffy. She thought that their conversation had ended. “No, it’s not Irmo,” she answered between kisses.

“Who is it then?”

“Sargon.”

“Sargon!” exclaimed the Noldo, bolting upright, knocking the Slayer aside with his abrupt movement. He hadn’t heard mention of that name in years, but hearing it out of the blue as he had, immediately filled him with jealousy and dread. “Sargon,” he repeated in a flabbergasted voice. Maglor turned his narrowed eyes to his wife. “What is it with that mortal? First, he’s reborn, as the elves are, and now, I hear he’s the emissary of Ilúvatar. Now, I have a better understanding as to why you never told me about your nocturnal excursions.”

“Are you jealous?” said Buffy teasingly, playfully pawing at her husband.

“No!” he replied a bit too quickly, revealing that yes, he was jealous. “Who is this Sargon? He can’t be an ordinary mortal,” he added with a shake of his head.

“You know, I think the same thing, sometimes. You know all the powers I used to have. He has them now,” she disclosed with a sigh, folding her arms above her head. “I think Eru somehow transferred my powers onto him or something. I don’t know why, but he seems to be able to do all the things I used to.”

“You see him when you go to Folkvang.”

“Sometimes.” Buffy felt a pang of guilt when she said that. She could feel her face flushing under the scrutinizing gaze of her husband. “I usually only see him for a minute or two,” she added in an attempt to save face.

“Hmm,” he sounded. Maglor leaned over and blew out the lone candle burning on the nightstand beside his bed. He lay back down. The Slayer resumed her kisses. “I’m not in the mood,” answered her husband, rolling over onto his side.

“Káno?” Buffy snuggled up to the Noldo. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she shook him gently. “C’mon, don’t do this.”

“I’m tired, Bella. And you must be, as well, after working so hard. Good-night.”

She sighed heavily before lying back down, staring at the ceiling for a long while before finally falling asleep.

The following morning, the Slayer awoke, only to discover that Maglor had left earlier for Himring, seeking Maedhros.

As she sat down to breakfast with Thranduil, the Green-elf asked, “Why the long face? Does this have something to do with Maglor’s departure, this morning?”

“What else?” said a moping Buffy, scooping teaspoons of sugar into her coffee.

“What happened?” he asked, tearing into his bacon.

“It’s a long story.”

“I’m immortal! I’ve got all the time in the world,” he said with a laugh. “Come on, let’s hear it.”

The Slayer revealed everything that she had learned over the years, about Ilúvatar’s possession of Sargon, the doom on the sons of Finwë, her nightly trips to Folkvang, and Maglor’s apparent jealousy of the Adan.

“I’ve got to say this, Bella,” commented the elf, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Your life is never dull, is it? If it’s not Morgoth, it’s Marduk, or Daehir, or Angwen. You just don’t seem to catch a break, do you?”

“Welcome to the wonderful world of being the Vala of Love and War,” she sighed ,before taking a sip of coffee. “Do you think I should tell Maglor the truth, about me and Sargon, I mean?”

“Are you out of your mind?” he queried incredulously. “That’s a sure way to lose him, don’t you think?”

“Then what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing, absolutely nothing. Let things run their course. Maglor and his kin may be doomed, but do as Ilúvatar had said, treasure what time you have left with the Noldo.” Thranduil paused. “Let’s face it, Bella, the sons of Fëanor are not known for acting… wisely. They are a bit proud and haughty at times… ”

“Not my Káno!” she protested, narrowing her eyes at her companion. “He’s not like the C-brothers. They’re the arrogant ones.”

The Green-elf’s brows nearly disappeared into his hairline, his eyes widening at her comment. “Oh, of course not,” he snickered. “One who boasts of being wed to a Vala is humble indeed!” He shook his head. “Listen, Maglor knows nothing about you and Sargon, and you know those of us that do know, will never say a word, not to him, or anyone else. Be glad that he is seeking Maedhros instead of the C-brothers. The eldest son of Fëanor does seem to give good counsel.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she answered sadly.

“Do you know what would help lift your spirits?” queried Thranduil, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

“Hul-gil?”

“No! I say we make a trip to Ossir. We haven’t been in ages, and I daresay a change in scenery will do you some good.” He glanced out the window at the open plains. “No woods in sight,” the elf uttered with a shudder. “If I didn’t love you so, I wouldn’t live here.”

“You’re probably right. I miss Ossir too. But I don’t want to go just yet. Let’s wait until Káno gets back. Surely, he won’t be gone long.”

Buffy remained morose during Maglor’s absence. She had no idea why he had left and that was driving her crazy. Luthor had suggested that she continue to train to help pass the time, but she had no interest in working out, she had no interest in much of anything. Often, she was seen standing on the balcony of the tower, looking towards the west, in hope of seeing her husband’s return.

When ten days had gone by, Buffy gave thought to riding to Himring herself, to find out what was going on with Maglor. Olofin discouraged her from doing so, saying that his father needed time to process everything that he had discovered. The Slayer had to exercise patience, something that she found extremely difficult.

Four days later, she received the latest census from the twins. She took the documents with her to the library, curled up on the couch, and read over the latest statistics of Mesopotamia. Normally, Buffy was eager to study those documents, but her sadness, combined with the lashing rain against the windows caused her to doze off as she attempted to look them over.

Maglor returned later that afternoon, having ridden in the rain for the last few hours. After changing into dry garments, he found his wife on the couch, fast asleep, rolls of parchment littering the table and floor beside her. He watched her for several minutes before deciding to wake her. Squatting beside the sofa, the Noldo placed his hand on her shoulder and softly called her name.

When Buffy’s eyes opened, he said, “We need to talk.”

“Káno?” she queried groggily, easing up against the arm of the couch, allowing Maglor room to sit beside her. “When did you get back?”

“A little while ago,” he answered, taking a seat on the other end of the couch.

Now wide-awake, she desperately wanted to ask why he had left without saying one word to her, but felt that she had no right to do so, all things considered. Instead, she fixed her gaze on her husband, who was watching the dancing orange flames in the fireplace; a nervous tension seemed to be emanating from him.

“I know that I should have said something before I had left, but I was still rather… upset by your lack of trust in me… ”

“Káno, it’s not that I… ”

“Let me finish, please,” interjected the Noldo, locking his grey eyes on her. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, especially about us.”

Buffy’s heart was racing. The anxious look on Maglor’s face unnerved her.

“I appreciate that you’ve wanted to spend so much time with me since you have returned from the East. I delight in every moment that we spend together, and wouldn’t trade it for all the treasures hidden within the depths of Arda,” he continued, giving her a quick smile. “I understand that you have a Calling, a higher calling than most, and that that will take you from me from time to time. I accept that. Its part of who you are, what you are.”

A thoughtful expression came to his face. “Sometimes I forget that you’re on this journey of self-discovery, trying to find your place in this world. And that you - like me and my kin, have stumbled along the way. You’re not perfect. I’m not perfect. We’ve all made mistakes in one form or another. There is no such thing as a perfect world, not in Valinor, not in Folkvang, and surely not in Middle-earth.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I hold no ill will regarding your nightly ventures to Folkvang. Russandol made me realize that your being the Champion of Ilúvatar comes with certain demands that I have to accept, including your bonding with other men in your quest to protect the children of Eru from the likes of the Morgoth’s in this world. It saddens me that our relationship will face many trials and long separations along the way.”

He paused for a moment, then took a deep breath and resumed speaking.

“Long you were gone in the East, taking with you my only son. He left a boy and returned a man. I missed out on those crucial years of development that made him into the man he is today. I can only wonder how Olofin would have turned out if I had been there to influence him during those many years of separation… ”

Buffy felt terrible. “It was never my intent to take Olofin away from you as long as I have,” she replied. “But he’s my son too. He had to learn firsthand about warfare and about the evils in this world… ”

“I’m not saying that what you did was wrong. Olofin wanted to go. He’s always been enthusiastic about battle, ever since he was a child. That’s something I attribute to you. He’s proved to be not only a great warrior, but also a man with a gentle and kind heart. I am extremely proud of him.”

The Slayer was slightly perplexed. She was half-expecting Maglor to say that he was leaving her.

“I’m confused,” she admitted. “Where are you going with this?”

“Bella,” he started, sliding across the couch, taking both of her hands in his. Buffy looked at him with a baffled expression, anxiously waiting for him to continue. “Let’s have another child.”

“What?!” she exclaimed, totally floored by his request. That was the last thing she was expecting to hear.

“We have kept Morgoth at bay for many years now. Our lands have grown fair, our people have multiplied. Let us add another to our family,” he said excitedly, his eyes glinting with hope. “I know that your heart still aches at the loss of Illyria. Perhaps we can have a daughter this time… Our people have labored hard to maintain peace in Beleriand, let us take advantage of this time whilst it lasts, my darling. My heart tells me that now is the perfect time to add another to our family. What do you say, Bella? Will you do this, for me?”

“I’m shocked, Káno,” confessed the Slayer, nervously getting to her feet. “I gotta admit; you caught me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting you to make such a bold request.”

She walked over to the fireplace, her mind racing. As Maglor continued to persuade her that having a child would only strengthen their relationship, Buffy thought of the words the twins had told her long ago. That she was destined to have a son, many years from now with a descendant of Sargon. Not once, had Anno and Mirë mentioned that she and the Noldo would have another child. Not once! And she couldn’t help but think of the day when she gave birth to Olofin, how she knew deep down, that he was the only child she’d have with her beloved. That’s why she was so hurt that Maglor was not with her when she bore their son. She had only foreseen bringing forth one heir, not two.

However, as Maglor continued to plead his case, she thought of the words of Ilúvatar, not about the doom on her husband and his kin, but about the fact that He has made allowances for her. Did that mean that perhaps He would grant her yet another child from the seed of her beloved, to love long after the Noldo has gone?

The prospect of becoming a mother again, of carrying a life within her, was very appealing to the Slayer.

She stood at the hearth, glancing up at the family portrait of the House of Fëanor that hung over the mantle of the fireplace. Maedhros, looking dignified, sat on the throne. His six brothers stood around him along with Celebrimbor and Olofin. She smiled at the thought of adding yet another to that painting, another heir of the House of Finwë.

Maglor must have been reading her thoughts. He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I too, long to see another in that portrait,” he whispered in her ear.

“You do understand that I don’t control whether or not I conceive,” she said, turning around, facing her husband. “If it’s meant to be, then it’s meant to be.”

“Are you saying that we can try, that you long for another child as I do?”

“Yes,” she answered with a smile. “Nothing would make me happier.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” cooed Maglor, tracing her jaw line with his finger. “There’s no better time to start than the present,” he whispered, kissing her on the neck.

“Here? In the library?”

“Uh-huh,” came his reply between kisses, as he took her on the rug in front of the fireplace…

By nightfall, nearly every elf that dwelt in the Gap had heard the rumor of Buffy’s and Maglor’s attempts to conceive, bringing joy to the people of the second son of Fëanor.

Later that night, upon the Slayer’s return to Folkvang, Sargon received a rude awakening. As always, he was there to greet her with open arms, yet on that day, instead of embracing her lover, Buffy backed away, spurning his affections altogether.

While her maidens garbed her in her royal attire, she informed the Adan that she and Maglor were trying to have a baby, and that she and Sargon could no longer have any relations, intimate or otherwise. Her awareness of his uncanny ability to seduce her by words alone was enough to convince her that she had to remove the temptation completely.

Sargon argued that he was unable to father any children since his re-birth in the Blessed Realm. He reminded her that none in Folkvang had the ability to procreate save for the Ainur. Unfortunately for the Adan, Buffy didn’t stop there. Not only did she refuse to seek comfort in his loving arms, but she also refused to interact with him in any way, not until the Curse had claimed the Noldo. The Slayer had decided that she would remain faithful to her husband for what time they had left together.

It was a painful decision to make, but she felt that it was the best, for everyone involved. As Buffy climbed the steps leading to her Hall of Judgment, Sargon pleaded with her to change her mind. He would’ve followed her, but her Valkyries blocked the stairway. When the Vala of Love had disappeared from view, her maidens escorted the Adan out of Sussrúmnir, locking the doors behind him.



When two years had passed, and the Slayer had still not conceived, Maedhros brought his chief healer to the Gap to help the couple. Hweston offered Buffy many herbal remedies and suggestions for different sexual positions that could possibly hasten the conception process. He also advised her to stop drinking alcohol and began to monitor her diet very closely.

After two more years, and still no success, Buffy began to lose hope. Yet Maglor remained steadfast and was determined to keep on trying. Often, the Slayer heard her husband praying to the Valar, begging them to give him this one gift. He even went as far as to repent of his sins, saying that he would forfeit his claim to the Silmarils if granted this one wish.

Hearing her husband’s desperate pleas broke Buffy’s heart. She, herself, made no such appeals, not to her brethren, nor Ilúvatar. She knew that Eru had granted her her one prayer already, allowing Illyria to rise again before the End, and she wasn’t willing to jeopardize her firstborn’s future freedom for a child with the elf. Instead, she turned to her Valkyries, asking them to lay their blessed hands on her when she visited her Blessed Realm, imbuing her with their holy powers. Yet still, she was unable to get pregnant.

In Yr 394, seven years after Buffy and Maglor had begun their attempts, she sent a letter to the twins in the East, seeking their counsel. If any knew whether the Slayer would conceive, surely it would be the Oracles. It had taken two years for her to receive a reply from the twins, and unfortunately, they stood by their earlier pronouncement; that she would not have a child until the Second Age, and that the father of that child would be a mortal descendant of Sargon.

As the century was coming to an end, Thranduil suggested that a change in scenery might be beneficial to the couple’s plight.

“Bella has dwelled too long in the northlands away from her home in Ossiriand,” he said, about the time the cold north winds blew even stronger, indicating that winter was on its way. “Let us return to the fair woods in the south, where the minstrels sing, and all is harmonious. There, the enchantments of Ulmo run deep, and perhaps, distancing Bella from the ever-watchful Dark Lord, will hope be renewed.”

“I deem there is much wisdom in Thranduil’s words,” laughed Luthor, who always had a special fondness for the Green-elf.

All were in agreement.

On the cusp of winter in Yr 399, Buffy, Maglor, and many from their respective Households left the Gap for Ossir. They rode hard and long in their eagerness to reach southern Beleriand as quickly as possible. They reached Lindon in less than a fortnight, where they remained overnight before continuing on their journey by boat to Tol Galen.

The Slayer’s face lit up as soon as she entered Lindecoa. It had been over forty years since she had last set foot in her magnificent Halls. Being in the company of ‘her’ people and hearing the minstrel’s sweet voices throughout the castle lifted her spirits even more.

After hearing his old friend’s dilemma, Nestor took Buffy to the infirmary.

“I cannot believe that you didn’t notify me about this earlier,” chided the healer as they made their way down the corridor. “What do the Noldor know about the art of healing, eh? Nothing, that’s what! They may be experts on delving into the earth, creating objects from stone and metal, but none in Middle-earth surpass me when it comes to the art of healing,” he ranted. “I have made it my life’s work to study plants and have discovered the medicinal properties for everything that grows in these parts.”

“Hweston was trained in Valinor in the art of healing,” said Buffy in defense of Maedhros’ chief healer. “And believe me, Nestor, I’ve taken every concoction out there. I don’t think you have anything in your stores that I haven’t tried.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my dear Bella,” he said waving his finger in her direction. “Don’t you underestimate my talents as a healer.” He opened the door, ushering her inside. “Hweston was trained in Valinor,” he mumbled in disgust. “Hweston does not possess the cure to your ailment. I do!”

Buffy was amused by the golden-haired elf’s little tirade. It reminded her of how much she had missed him while away.

“Disrobe and hop up on the table,” he ordered, washing his hands in the basin.

“Disrobe? I thought you were just gonna give me a tonic or something,” said the Slayer, eyeing the elf warily.

“For goodness sakes, Bella,” he said with a shake of his head, the annoyance in his voice obvious. “I’ve seen you naked on a number of occasions. Have you already forgotten that I was the one that had delivered Olofin?” he said with a snicker, as he resumed washing his hands. “I merely want to make sure that your reproductive organs look normal, that none of Hweston’s herbal remedies have shrunken your uterus or Eru forbid, something worse.”

“What?” exclaimed the horror-struck Slayer. “Shrunken my uterus?”

“There are side effects to some remedies,” he continued, glancing over his shoulder. “Up on the table, Bella,” he ordered, narrowing his eyes at her. “I swear, you’ve been spending too much time up north. I’m your healer. You should have summoned me years ago. I deem your babe would already be turning ten if I had known about your problem sooner.”

After giving Buffy a complete physical, Nestor determined that she was physically able to conceive.

“Everything seems to be in working order,” he said, as he searched through his cabinet, looking at various bottles.

“Then why can’t I get pregnant?” she asked, as she dressed. “Damn, Nestor, we’ve been trying for twelve years! Twelve years! Do you think it might be Káno? You know, maybe his boys don’t swim any more.”

“It’s possible,” said the healer, still searching through the bottles, “but my heart tells me that you’re the one that’s having the problem, not he.”

“Well, don’t you think you should check him out to make sure? I don’t get how everyone thinks it’s me!”

“Did we not go through this with Sargon?”

Buffy sat back down, looking at the floor with downcast eyes. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“The difference between then and now is this,” revealed Nestor, holding a clear, glass bottle aloft. “This holds the cure to your ailment, my dear.”

“What is it?” she asked, watching as he shook the bottle of powdery looking stuff.

The golden-haired elf smiled. “Do you remember when I asked for your afterbirth after you had born Olofin?”

“Eww!” said the repulsed Slayer, her face wrinkled in disgust. “You mean to say that that bottle contains… parts from me.”

“Yes,” laughed the healer. “Of course, I’ve added some of my own ingredients as well. Mix one tablespoon in eight ounces of water every morning,” instructed Nestor, handing the bottle to her.

“You expect me to drink my powered reproductive organs!” she exclaimed, staring at the contents inside the bottle.

“How badly do you want a child?” he queried with his hands on his hips, his brow arched.

Buffy sighed heavily. “Alright, alright. I’ll drink it.”

With only a few weeks before the New Year, many of those in the Slayer’s Household began making preparations for the huge celebration that they always had to mark the arrival of a new century. This year, Buffy was keeping it simple, only immediate family and her Household.

Amrod and Amras were the first of the brothers to arrive on Tol Galen. The youngest sons of Fëanor frequently visited Ossir, as they dwelt nearby on Ered Amon, and were on very friendly terms with the Green-elves. Not long afterwards, the rest of the sons of Fëanor arrived from the northlands, hoping beyond anything to hear the news that their sister-in-law was expecting. Unfortunately, she was not.

It wasn’t until New Year’s Day when good fortune found its way into both Houses at last.

Buffy awoke, feeling slightly tired from the night before (Maglor had decided to surprise her the moment she reappeared from Folkvang by pouncing on her like a sex-crazed animal, wearing her out with his unbridled passion). After taking care of her bodily needs, she went to take a dose of her medicine. She stopped suddenly, standing in the middle of the bathroom, looked up at the mirror that covered one of the walls and stared at her reflection. She was almost in a trance-like state when Maglor entered.

“Morning,” he said with a yawn, as he bypassed her for the toilet. When he had finished peeing, he walked passed her motionless form again to wash his hands. It took him a few minutes to process the fact that his wife was standing perfectly still in the center of the bathroom. “Bella, what is it?” he asked, drying his hands on a towel. She remained transfixed. “What is it, darling?” he asked, giving her a little shake.

“Huh?” She blinked her eyes several times, turning her gaze to the Noldo.

“Are you alright? You look a little peaked.”

“I’m fine,” she said with a smile. “I think, no, I know, that we’ve finally done it, Káno.”

“Done it?” he asked, his tone full of confusion. His eyes then widened. “Wait a minute, do you mean that… ”

“I’m pregnant,” she said, finishing his sentence.

Needless to say, there was more to celebrate in Ossir than just the New Year, and the turn of the century. That New Year ’s Day would long be remembered by the Green-elves as a time of great joy.

Since Buffy was now expecting, Maglor had decided that they wouldn’t return to the Gap until spring, when the weather warmed up so his wife wouldn’t have to endure traveling in the bitter cold. The Slayer, on the other hand, wanted to remain in Ossir, and birth their child at Lindecoa, but the Noldo downright refused. In order to maintain peace within the Household, Buffy relented, agreeing to birth their child at the Gap as long as Nestor was in charge of the delivery. To that, Maglor agreed.

When she was four months into her pregnancy, the caravan of Noldor and Green-elves set out on their journey north. They stopped for a several days at Caranthir’s palace beside Lake Helevorn, which was incredibly beautiful in springtime, before continuing northwards.

By the time they reached the Gap, a couple of mortal messengers of Fingolfin’s had already been waiting a few weeks for their return. The King of the Noldor had called an urgent council and had been waiting impatiently for the eldest sons of Fëanor and Buffy to return to their homelands, so they could attend. With Celegorm and Curufin present, they demanded that they too were going to accompany their older brothers, despite the fact that most from the Houses of Fingolfin and Finarfin had very little love for those two.

Buffy was excited at the prospect of seeing Fingolfin, Lalwen and the other Noldo Lords again. She had not visited with them in a long time. Unfortunately, Maglor didn’t want her to travel “in her condition.” The Slayer protested vehemently, but her husband wouldn’t budge on the matter. He expressed his concern for her well-being, and reminded her of how difficult it had been for her to conceive. He didn’t want her to have to endure the rigors of the road, and risk any harm to their unborn child.

“Why don’t you stay here with your maidens and prepare the nursery? There is still much to do before the baby arrives,” he suggested.

“Fine,” she said in a huff. “But Luthor’s going in my stead. He’ll be the representative of my House.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” her husband remarked. “We shan’t be gone long.”

While the men folk took off for Barad Eithel, Buffy and her maidens busied themselves by cleaning out the nursery, which had been used for storage over the years. Going through Olofin’s old baby stuff was like taking a trip down memory lane. She couldn’t believe that, in seven months time, she’d be hearing the pitter-patter of little feet running through the house. Her excitement grew with each passing day.

When Buffy arrived at Folkvang in the wee hours of the morning, the Valkyries informed her that Sargon was nearly beside himself to speak with her. Having the foreknowledge that she would not meet with him in person, the Adan had sent her a sealed envelope containing a many-paged letter. The Slayer took it from Vórëa and made her way up the stairway to her Hall of Judgment, debating whether or not she should read it. When she reached the bottom of the dais, she stopped. Knowing that Sargon possessed great skill with words, she tossed the unopened letter into one of the burning vats of flame, not realizing that she had just made one of the biggest mistakes of her life.



Three weeks later, Maglor, Olofin, and Luthor returned from Hithlum. Buffy didn’t allow them much time to relax after their trip, insisting that they tell her all about the council. Two dozen people gathered in one of the drawing rooms to hear the news from Western Beleriand. The Slayer curled up beside her husband on one of the many couches, as her son relayed what had been said at the meeting.

Apparently, Fingolfin had been plagued with dreams that the siege of Angband was nearing its end, and felt that the time was now ripe to assault Morgoth before the Dark Lord had the chance to attack them. Aegnor and Angrod felt the same, since they too dwelt in close proximity of Thangorodrim. Many of the Edain that had already removed themselves from Estolad to the northern realms of Beleriand were ready to fight along side the elves, but those that had remained behind at the Encampment were not so eager to join the fight.

Surprisingly, the rest of the Noldo Lords in attendance sided with the sons of Fëanor, who most strongly voiced their opposition to Fingolfin’s plan. Most vocal were Curufin and Celegorm, citing Buffy’s pregnancy as the main reason to delay waging war against Morgoth. All had felt that they deserved to enjoy the fruits of their labor in peace, amongst them Fingon and Finrod.

“Damn,” said Buffy, totally stunned that the King of the Noldor was ready to strike out against Morgoth after so many years. “Why the hell did Fingolfin wait until now? Why couldn’t he have said something… twenty years ago?”

“This has been weighing on Fingolfin’s mind for many years, mother. He is not one to make hasty decisions, and has given this much thought.” His expression turned grim before he softly added, “He even mentioned the slaughter of the people of Haladin.”

Buffy bit her lip when she heard that, her heart sinking to the pit of her stomach. That was not something she considered a shining moment in Ossir history. Years earlier, Morgoth had sent a yrch-raid out of Angband through the second doorway in the Iron Mountains. Bypassing northern Beleriand, the yrch had crossed the Blue Mountains unnoticed, and besieged the people of Haladin on the northern fences of Ossiriand where the Rivers Ascar and Gelion meet. Since the Slayer had made Orchal Regent, and he still had little love for any mortal, the Green-elves did not come to their aid. Buffy’s second-in-command deemed that the ‘event’ was taking place in Thargelion, Caranthir’s domain, and that it would be up to the son of Fëanor to defend those that dwelled in his land, not the Green-elves. If not for the might of Caranthir, all of Haldad’s people would have died, as he had. His only surviving child, a daughter named Haleth, then removed the remnants of their people north, now dwelling in Brethil, (part of Thingol’s land), according to Finrod Felagund.

Buffy considered it horrid that Orchal had done nothing, yet she had promised him complete control of the governing of Ossir in her absence, and she wasn’t about to break her word. However, it didn’t sit well with her that Fingolfin had mentioned that incident at the council. She couldn’t help but feel that, by his doing so, he had placed the guilt solely on her shoulders, even though she was elsewhere at the time.

“So, Fingolfin blames me for the deaths of the Haladin,” she said dismally.

“Of course not!” answered her husband. “The point he was trying to make was that our leaguer does not completely surround Morgoth’s lands. The yrch were able to leave Angband from the north, and enter Beleriand from the pass in Ered Luin. The enemy still has the ability to bypass our lands here in the north and strike from the south.” Maglor smiled reassuringly at his wife. “Fingolfin made no accusations against you, my love. In fact, since learning of your pregnancy, he deems that we need to wait several years until you’re fit for battle. He has the wisdom to know that we need the Vala of War on our side.”

“Do not fret over this war business, Bella,” interjected Luthor. “We will strengthen our vigilance and increase our patrols. You need only worry about that child you’re carrying.” The old man smiled, his blue eyes twinkling with delight. “I must admit, I’m quite anxious for the little one to arrive.”

Buffy’s spirits were quickly lifted when Maglor told her that Fingolfin and Lalwen had sent some gifts for her and the baby. Over the course of the following months, she’d receive even more packages from the Noldor and the Edain as word of her pregnancy spread throughout Beleriand.



“Check,” said a smiling Buffy after sliding her white queen across the board in direct line of Maglor’s king.

“Damn it!” he mumbled, shifting his black king to another square.

“Check mate!” she laughed. “Wanna play again?”

“Yes! I’m determined to beat you at this game,” said her husband, as he began placing his pieces back in position on the board. “This is such an interesting game that you’ve devised,” he continued on that hot and sunny day in late summer. “Leave it to you to make the queen the most powerful piece. Pfft! The king is worthless and weak!”

“Come on now, honey,” she said cheerfully. “It’s the queen’s duty to protect her king. She’s gotta be powerful to do that. The key to chess is that you have to stay several moves ahead of your opponent. You have to know what the other player is thinking. This game is so much like real warfare it’s not even funny. I taught it to all my generals and captains in the East, to help them learn about strategy.”

“I cannot help but think that you devised this game around our own Household,” he said with a sly grin. “Making the queen all powerful… ”

Buffy laughed. She had never told anyone that chess was a game she had grown up with in her days as the ‘mortal Slayer’. She let people think that she had come up with it on her own.

As the couple began to play once again, the shrill sound of many horn blasts carried into the opened windows of the house.

“I wonder what’s going on,” said the Slayer, turning her gaze towards the nearest window. Even though she couldn’t see anything from where she sat, she could hear numerous voices shouting from the ground below.

Maglor was so determined to beat her that he gave little thought to the commotion outside. “Your turn, Bella.” He glanced towards the same opened window that his wife was looking out before adding, “The men are probably practicing drills or something. Come on, it’s your move.”

“Okay, okay,” said Buffy with a chuckle, turning her attention back to the game.

Only a few minutes later, there were several quick knocks on the door to the library, startling Buffy.

“Enter,” shouted Maglor, his eyes fixed on the board, pondering his next move.

The door flew open. An anxious looking Gornnir came dashing across the room to where the couple sat. “My Lord,” he started, his face pale and glistening with sweat. “Gorthaur the Cruel stands outside your Halls!” the elf panted.

“Gorthaur!” repeated Maglor, his eyes widening in disbelief. He quickly jumped to his feet, inadvertently knocking the board and all the chess pieces to the floor. “How the hell did he get past the guards?”

“He… he seemed to pop out of nowhere, Lord,” answered Gornnir. “He says that he wishes to speak with the Lady,” continued the elf, glancing at Buffy.

“Me?” queried the Slayer, the blood draining from her face.

“Why haven’t you seized him?” demanded the Lord of the Gap. “He is the enemy!”

“Lord, we can’t. He is using dark magicks that protect him and his cohorts, some type of invisible shield surrounds them. Our weapons cannot penetrate it. He demands to speak with the Lady, says that she knows why he has come,” said Gornnir, his eyes darting to Buffy once again.

“Bella?” Maglor turned his narrowed gaze to her. “What is this about?”

“I don’t know,” she said, rising to her feet. “But I’m about to find out.”

“You’re not going out there!” replied her husband, grabbing hold of her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

“I have to,” she answered firmly. “Sauron won’t hurt me. But he won’t leave until he speaks with me.”

“How can you be so sure?” queried Maglor skeptically. “He’s a servant of Morgoth. All he knows is hatred and cruelty.”

“And what should we do, Káno, sit around playing chess, waiting for him to start offing our people until I go out there? Just let me take care of this.”

Buffy pulled free from her husband’s grasp and started out of the room, her legs feeling like lead. She was shocked by Sauron’s sudden appearance, and oblivious to his purpose. All she knew was that his presence in the Gap filled her with dread, the like she hadn’t experienced in a long while.

Maglor stayed at her side, bombarding her with questions. None she could answer. As they made their way down the hallway, even more people were fleeing the house, entering the courtyard where the Necromancer was waiting. Nausea swept over the Slayer. Beads of sweat formed on her face and palms. None of it attributed to the mugginess of the day. She placed her hands protectively over the small bulge of her belly. Eight months pregnant, Buffy was beginning to show.

By the time they reached the courtyard, hundreds of armed men had surrounded Sauron and the two cloaked figures that had accompanied him. A Bubble, much like the one that had been placed around the Slayer at the time of her crucifixion, had been placed around the three foes, protecting them from the armed elves that encircled them.

“Leave my lands at once or suffer the consequences!” snarled Maglor, glaring with his piercing, elvish eyes at the servant of Morgoth.

“My business is not with you, Elf,” replied the evil Maia contemptuously. “I have come seeking the wife of my Lord,” he continued, acknowledging Buffy with a nod.

“I am not Morgoth’s wife,” said the Slayer between gritted teeth, balling her fists at her side.

“Is that so?” the Necromancer queried with a snigger. “If I recall correctly, and I deem that I do, you and Melkor exchanged vows long before you and the son of Fëanor, thus making my Lord your true spouse, not the Elf.”

Not only did many of the Noldor wince at the mere mention of Morgoth’s true name, but most gasped in horror at hearing that Buffy had exchanged vows with the Dark Lord, something that none knew about except for Maglor, and those from the Slayer’s Household.

Sauron scoped out the crowd, delighted by their reaction to his comments. “I take it that you haven’t shared that bit of information with the Noldor, Inanna,” he continued, his eyes glinting with malice. “Surely, they should know about the Valië that they so willingly follow. Perhaps I should enlighten them,” he threatened in an overly sweet voice.

“Heed not the words of this servant of Morgoth!” shouted Luthor, after pushing his way to the front of the spectators. “He speaks nothing but lies!” He fixed his narrowed eyes on Sauron and hissed, “Return to the filth from whence you came.”

“How befitting that a traitor walks amidst those of the House of Fëanor,” responded the evil Maia, scowling at his rival. “Your days are numbered, old man. Mark my words - my Master has something special in store for you.” Sauron then turned away from Luthor, walking several paces forward, closer to Buffy, yet still within the confines of the Bubble.

“My Lord’s patience with you is wearing thin, Inanna,” began the Necromancer.

Even more people gathered into the cramped courtyard, some even standing on the walls, others hanging out of the windows of the Halls of Maglor, listening to the evil utterances of the servant of Morgoth.

“Melkor tires of your continuing fraternization with the lower beings, his enemies! He has shown his leniency in the past; overlooking the numerous lovers you have taken… ”

“YOU LIE!” shouted an enraged Maglor, grabbing a sword from the Noldo standing beside him. “How dare you speak such lies about my wife!” He struck at Sauron with his weapon, but the force field that surrounded the enemy merely jolted him backwards, sending him flying into a group of elves.

The Necromancer’s eyes lit up at the elf’s reaction. He excitedly rubbed his hands together, nearly salivating.

“Oh my, the Elf does not know of your misdeeds in the East,” said Sauron gleefully, a sinister smile coming to his face. “Well, let me enlighten you, son of Fëanor. Your beloved wife has bedded more men than those that now surround us,” he laughed, gesturing to the numerous people congregated in the courtyard. “She was not named the Vala of Fornication without reason. No, Inanna is by no means a maiden of virtue. She is a whore, whose lust cannot easily be sated by one man. Isn’t that right, most Holy One?” he asked, his tone full of mockery.

Buffy stood there, paralyzed. She couldn’t find her voice. Her breathing became labored. Tears filled her eyes, but she remained both motionless and speechless. She could feel the glaring looks from the bystanders.

“Her silence speaks volumes, wouldn’t you agree?” continued a sneering Sauron, turning his dark eyes back to the son of Fëanor. “Her affairs are legendary in the East, especially the tale of Etana, the mortal boy Inanna plucked from the fields and made king.” The evil Maia turned his malevolent gaze to Buffy. “He became her favorite lover, and she cared not that he was a mere child of thirteen.”

More gasps and grumblings reverberated throughout the crowd.

“Thirteen!” she heard one shout.

“That is but a babe!” exclaimed another.

Those from Buffy’s Household stood there in shock, horrified that their Mistress’ past was coming back to haunt her in such a heartbreaking manner. Yet the Slayer remained motionless, powerless, her bottom lip trembling.

Sauron turned his gaze back to Maglor, who stood there totally dumbstruck. “Yes, son of Fëanor, your wife likes them young,” continued the Necromancer, savoring the effect he was having on both the Slayer and the Noldo Lord. “Sharru-kin, she named him. Sargon, the elves called him.”

“Sargon,” repeated Maglor softly, the remaining color draining from his face. He clutched the blade even tighter in his hand , his knuckles turning white.

“It’s a beautiful love story, Maglor, truly it is,” proclaimed the evil Maia, his mock enthusiasm making his words worse in the telling. “I see that you recognize the name, but have no knowledge of the man himself. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Such a shame, that is,” continued Sauron with a shake of his head, his lips twisting into a sinister smile.

“Sargon always had a special place in her heart, fighting her battles, and killing other mighty lords that attempted to usurp his position with his beloved Vala Queen.” Sauron cackled, the shrill sound causing many to shudder. “Inanna always had a fondness for those descended from her favorite lover. Just how many of his sons did you bed, Inanna?” he queried, turning his dark eyes to Buffy. “I seem to remember that it was his grandson that infected you with the malady. Do you know of the disease that afflicted your wife?” asked the evil Maia, turning his gaze back to Maglor, who now remained motionless, like Buffy. “Did you know that she contracted it by having sexual intercourse with the mortal, that that lead to her downfall in the East?”

Maglor shook his head in disbelief. “Lies, it’s all lies,” he uttered under his breath.

“Is that right?” continued the Necromancer with a chuckle. “Why do you think the mortals followed her back to Beleriand, son of Fëanor?” He narrowed his eyes at the Noldo. “To find the Light as they proclaim?” He shook his head, taking a step closer towards Maglor. “Your beloved Bellaseth is the Light. They followed her in hope that one amongst them would fulfill the prophecy that had been foretold long ago, that one of the descendants of Sargon will father a child with the Vala Queen.”

Sauron’s eyes shifted to Buffy’s swollen stomach. “Hmm,” he continued, rubbing his chin. “Could that babe in your belly be the descendent that the Oracles had foreseen?” queried the Necromancer.

Buffy instinctively placed her hands protectively over her stomach even though it felt like her heart was being ripped out with each malicious word the evil Maia had spoken. She found it more difficult to catch her breath. She could see her world beginning to crumble around her.

“Tell me he speaks nothing but lies, Bella,” said Maglor, the desperation in his voice bringing her to tears. “Tell me that he is like his Master, and does not speak the truth.”

“She cannot do that, can you, my dear?” interjected Sauron, fixing his gaze on the trembling form of the Slayer. “My Lord has always honored his word with you, but he tires of your games, Inanna. He has been patiently waiting for you to return to Angband, to fulfill your promise, or have you already forgotten?”

The Necromancer reached into the pocket of his cloak, withdrawing a scroll. Buffy’s eyes widened to twice their size, her mouth went dry. She prayed for that moment to end, for her magics to return, so that she could just disappear, ending this new torment of Morgoth’s.

“I see that you recognize this document from long ago,” declared the Necromancer. He unrolled the parchment, revealing the Covenant that Buffy had signed with her own blood during Dagor i Thelaith Thrynin.

“Bella, what is that?” queried Maglor with distress.

She cried even more, knowing that her past had caught up with her at last.

“This is an oath signed by Maranwë Luinil proclaiming that she would produce another heir for Melkor in return for his aid in battle.” The evil Maia turned to the Noldo Lord, a look of triumph on his face. “You see, Elf, your beloved Dagnir came to my Lord when she found herself failing in her war. She used her womanly wiles to seduce Melkor in order to obtain his armies. But there’s something that she overlooked in her haste,” he continued, turning his malevolent eyes onto Buffy. “You failed to read the fine print!”

Sauron read from the parchment. “… In the event that Maranwë Luinil fails to honor the agreement set herein, in recompense, Melkor Bauglir shall kill all her children fathered by lesser beings… ” He smiled, as he rolled up the parchment, and slid it back into his pocket.

Those not stricken dumb from shock, cried out in anguish.

“What?!” exclaimed Maglor, grabbing Buffy by the shoulders. “How could you sign that?!”

“I didn’t know,” she cried, finding her voice at last. “I didn’t know.”

“You went to Morgoth, after everything he did to me, to my kin,” said Maglor, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s true. All of it… is true. You betrayed me. You’ve broken our sacred vows. You lied to me about Sargon.” His eyes shifted to her stomach. “Is that Sargon’s child you carry? It is, isn’t it? That’s why you kept your visits with him secret all those years. It’s all been a lie.”

“No, Káno, I swear. It’s your baby. It’s not Sargon’s! I haven’t been with him in years!” she cried, grabbing hold of the front of her husband’s tunic.

“Don’t touch me!” he said with disdain, pulling free from her grasp. “You’re no wife of mine. How could you willingly sacrifice our son for… for nothing.” He pulled off his wedding band and tossed it at her feet. “It’s over.” He turned, leaving the courtyard. Those from Maglor’s Household looked at the Slayer with utter disgust, sneering at her as they followed their Lord back into the house.

“Káno!” screamed Buffy at the top of her lungs, sobbing uncontrollably. She went to follow, only to be stopped by one of the Noldor, who shoved her, nearly causing her to tumble to the ground. “Káno!” she cried out yet again, as the crowd thinned out, leaving only those of her Household at her side.

“Looks like there is trouble in paradise, sweet, sweet Inanna,” started Sauron, gloating over his success thus far. “Has my Lord taught you nothing? Relationships built on a foundation of lies are bound to fall.”

His two cohorts lifted their arms towards the heavens and began chanting, their words barely audible. The Bubble then burst, the shock wave sending all but Buffy and the three minions of Morgoth flying backwards several yards. Sauron grabbed the distraught Slayer as his cronies activated the invisible force field once again, trapping Buffy inside.

“My Lord is ever gracious,” hissed the Necromancer, holding the Slayer firmly by the arm. “He told me to give you a choice. Come willingly with me back to Angband or remain here, where we will kill not only your half-breed children, but all whom you hold dear. The choice is yours.”

Buffy continued to weep in her despair, her vision blurred by her tears. She could hear several men calling Olofin’s name, searching for her son. The Green-elves attempted to break the Bubble with their weapons, and Luthor uttered various incantations in his attempt to help her.

“What say you?” barked Sauron, sinking his fingers deeper into her flesh.

The traumatized Slayer lifted her tear-streaked face, meeting the evil Maia’s eyes. “I’ll never go back,” she murmured between sobs.

“So be it!” The Necromancer pulled her closer. She could feel his warm breath on her skin. “But know this, Inanna,” he whispered in her ear. “You will bear no child unless it’s Melkor’s. It time for the Covenant to claim its first casualty.”

Sauron then grabbed the flesh of her swollen stomach with both hands. His touch felt like hell-fire. Buffy let out an ear-piercing shriek, her insides feeling as though they had been set ablaze. She teetered forward, in immense pain, knocking the evil Maia’s hands from her belly. The burning sensation ceased seconds later, only to be replaced by cramps that brought her to her knees, crying in agony.

Suddenly, a jet of red light flashed, hitting the Bubble, breaking the mystical barrier. Olofin stood outside the doors of the house, the scepter, Carnimír, in his hand. His eyes blazed with the fury of the Valar, frightening both Sauron and his comrades.

With the barrier broken, the Green-elves quickly charged the enemy with their weapons drawn. The Necromancer grabbed his companions by the back of their cloaks, shoving them towards the elves nearest to himself. He hastily teleported himself from the scene, leaving his two cohorts behind to fend for themselves. They never stood a chance. Before they could unsheathe their weapons, both were on the receiving end of the blades wrought by the Naugrim.

Buffy remained on the ground, hunched over, clutching her stomach. “Luthor!” she howled upon noticing her arms. The demon within her was beginning to manifest itself in her distress, her arms already taking on a monstrous appearance.

The old man ran to her side, gasping when he saw that the change had begun. He pulled her into his arms. The Slayer threw her arms around him, her claws digging into his back. The sound of her mournful wailing echoed across the plains.