Full Circle

Buffy delivered a roundhouse kick to Luthor, sending the old man flying a good twenty feet, before he came crashing down to the ground, knocking the wind out of him.

“For the love of Eru, Bella,” he moaned as he lay on the ground rubbing his backside. “Not so hard!”

“Sorry,” she winced, walking over to the Maia and offering him a hand.

“Let’s rest a while,” suggested an out of breath Luthor, slowly shifting upright with a groan. “I’m not some young, buff elf, you know.”

“Sorry,” she apologized again, now offering the Maia her water skin. She plopped down next to him, eager to resume her training. Crossing her outstretched legs, she leaned back on her propped up arms, sighing heavily as she looked across the crystal-clear waters of Lake Helevorn.

The old man took a long drink, studying the Slayer over the container. “I cannot help but notice that you’ve been devoting most of your time to working out. Why is that?” he asked after taking a swig.

The Slayer shrugged her shoulders in reply.

“Come, now, you can tell me,” prodded Luthor.

She fixed her eyes on him. “Let’s just say that I’ve got a lot of built-up sexual tension. And when I say a lot, I mean a lot.” She moaned, collapsing backwards to the ground. “Káno doesn’t find me desirable any more, Luthor. We’ve only had sex twice in forty years! Twice! In forty years!” She placed her hands on her face, covering her eyes. “What’s wrong with me? Am I not sexy any more?”

The Maia shifted uncomfortably. “Do you not have any… women that you can discuss such things with?”

“No!” she answered, slightly annoyed by his question.

“What about Vórëa or Rainë?” he suggested hopefully. “Surely, they can commiserate with you.”

“Pfft!” sounded Buffy, dropping her hands to her side. “They’re getting some lovin’ in Folkvang! The whores!” she pouted, slightly jealous of her Valkyrie chieftains.

“Can you not speak to them about your, er, dilemma?”

She turned her head, facing the old man. “Do you know what they tell me?” He reluctantly shook his head. “They say that all I have to do is go to Tingilindë, and men will swarm me like bees to honey.” She moaned again. “I’m trying to be monogamous, Luthor, really I am, but there’s only so much a poor girl can take.” She shifted to a sitting position, scrutinizing her companion. “How do you do it, remain celibate, that is?”

“Must we have this conversation?” asked the old man, his gaze turning from Buffy to the group of men approaching. His face was beginning to flush beneath his enormous amounts of facial hair.

“I come to you for your advice and now you’re gonna shun me?” said the Slayer in mocked disgust. “What happened to the whole, ‘if you hearken my counsel, things would go differently’?” she said mimicking the old man’s voice. “I’m going through a crisis, Luthor. If I don’t figure this out, I’m afraid of what I might do!”

“Hail, Bella,” greeted Gúrvel. “Luthor.” The Elf Lord acknowledged the old man with a nod of his head. “We couldn’t help but notice that Luthor is struggling in his efforts to spar with you,” he continued amusedly. The dozen or so men that had accompanied the Captain of Thargelion chuckled along with their Lord. “We thought that we would be more fitting opponents for you to train with.”

“Besides,” added Handon, another great warrior in his own right, “we could use the practice.”

While the men stood before her, Buffy averted her eyes, mumbling a prayer under her breath. The only words the others heard were, “… and deliver me from temptation… ”

“My Lady?” said Gúrvel, confused by the only audible words that came from the Slayer’s mouth.

Buffy whimpered.

“I deem that Bella’s had enough for today, my good men. Perhaps another time,” said Luthor, realizing that his Bella was sincerely struggling with her efforts to remain faithful to her husband.

“Oh, alright then,” answered the Captain disappointedly. “Perhaps next time.”

The men started back towards the town beside the lake, the Slayer keenly watching them as they went.

“Dear lord, Bella,” said the old man, stunned by Buffy’s ogling of the elves. “Snap out of it!” He gave her a good slap across the face, hoping that that would knock some sense into her.

The stinging of her cheek brought tears to her eyes. “See, Luthor,” she said miserably. “Now, I’m checking out the elves’ asses! I never do that. They’re off limits.”

“Why is that?” asked the Maia, slightly bewildered. “I’ve always wondered why you never… shared your love with the First-born of Ilúvatar. You never wrote about that in your diaries.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she said, rubbing her reddening cheek. “They’re immortal. I made it a rule, back in the day, to never have sex with the immortal folk, if I could help it.”

“Why is that?”

“Because they’re immortal!” she answered with a roll of her eyes. “Mortals make perfect lovers. If they turn out to be disappointing, then I can avoid them until they die. If they’re good, well then, I can screw ’em until I tire of them.” She moaned. “Listen to me! I sound like Inanna Ishtar,” she continued, rising to her feet. “I thought I had killed my alter ego long ago.”

“Where are you going?” asked the old man, deeply concerned.

“I’m gonna take an ice cold bath,” she sighed. “Stupid hormones,” she mumbled, walking back to the dwelling where she and her family were staying.

Over the years, Buffy had done everything she could think of to entice her husband, but to no avail. At first, she thought that he was still mourning the death of their unborn child, and that that deterred him from wanting to be with her, intimately. But Maglor had told her that he had come to terms with the loss, and had accepted the fact that he was destined to father only one child.

Then, she thought a change of scenery might do the trick, so their train left Tol Galen for the fair city of Lindon. It was there that she had her only success in the art of seduction, scoring twice. But then, the Noldo reverted to his lack of interest in her. Thinking once again, that a change in scenery would help, they left the city in the trees and stayed with Amrod and Amras at Ereb Amon for many years, despite the fact that that place gave the Slayer the willies. (She had never forgotten the slaughter of Denethor and the Green-elves that had taken place upon that hill, centuries before, and didn’t like the feel of the land).

When she failed to seduce her husband there, they continued their trek north, stopping at Estolad to visit with the mortals, which turned out to be not such a good idea. Most of the Hildor had never seen Buffy, although they were familiar with the lore concerning her. Having scores of men leering at her, trying to woo her in front of her husband, only made things worse. Upon departing Estolad, they ended up at Caranthir’s land, where they had remained for the past seven years. And still, the Slayer had no luck at winning the affections of her husband, her failure only heightening her ever-growing sexual frustration to insurmountable levels.

It would later be learned that Morgoth was behind the strife in Buffy’s marriage. He was desperate to get her back and had resorted to sending visions to Maglor of his wife copulating with her mortal lovers in the East. That was the reason behind the Noldo’s standoffish behavior toward the Slayer. Every time he tried to demonstrate his love for her, he saw her with other men, which disturbed him greatly, and caused his desire to immediately diminish. The Dark Lord had hoped that his sending of the visions would be enough for the son of Fëanor to end his marriage to the Valië. In spite of that, Morgoth kept an ever-watchful eye on Maglor’s Gap, waiting with trepidation, to see whether or not his Melisse would return to the lands of the Noldo.

In the end, the only thing that Buffy had accomplished during their journeys across southern Beleriand was the strengthening of her relationship with the C-brothers. Over the years, they had rallied around her, offering her much love and support during Maglor’s period of aloofness towards her. In the past, the brothers had been somewhat arrogant towards others outside their House, including Buffy. Yet they seemed to have had a change of heart since the reading of her diaries. They even went as far as to chastise Maglor on her behalf, telling him that he was acting like an ‘ass’ and that she didn’t deserve his maltreatment. Yes, the Slayer had come to love the C-brothers greatly, and enjoyed the time that they spent together immensely.



When the cold winds started whipping from the north a few weeks later, Maglor decided that it was time to end their ‘holiday’ and return to the Gap. The trip was awful! The caravan had to endure torrential downpours on their journey, which made everyone miserable and gloomy, just like the weather.

Once they were home, the tension between Buffy and Maglor escalated, nearing what she thought was the breaking point. Their constant bickering upset those in their respective Households, especially Olofin and Thranduil. She had suggested that if her husband no longer wanted her, then perhaps they should divorce, and go their separate ways. The Noldo was appalled that she’d suggest such a thing, declaring that he needed only a bit more time to work things out.

“Time is ever our enemy,” Buffy said angrily, tired of his same old song and dance. “We’ve already lost four decades. There’s not much time left!”

As she stomped across the chamber, Maglor yelled, “We’re immortal, Luinil, time is all we have!”

The Slayer stopped dead in her tracks, and faced her husband. “Did you not read the diaries? Did you not read what Ilúvatar had said? You don’t have that much time, Káno. We don’t have that much time. If you want to keep having that woe-is-me attitude, then you’re gonna find yourself alone, ‘cause no one else wants to join in your pity-party. I’ve done everything I could to show you that I’m sorry, but you just don’t seem to give a shit.”

She took a deep breath and calmly added, “Sometimes, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Maybe that’s what you need from me - time away to see if you really want to be with me. Because right now, you don’t. And you have no idea what that’s doing to me. Actions speak louder than words, lover, and I’m doing my part. It’s time that you do yours.” With that, she stormed out of the room.

Now, Buffy didn’t know whether the Allfather had heard her outburst or not, but something happened that night that set in motion things that she had not foreseen. That night, when she was summoned to Sussrúmnir, unbeknownst to the Slayer, she did not immediately return home after pronouncing her judgments as she had before. Whist all of Folkvang lay in perpetual daytime, giving her the illusion that time had stopped (for her benefit, as Sargon would later reveal), it was actually moving quite swiftly in Middle-earth. She did not realize that her mortal lover had conspired with her Valkyrie chieftains in her absence, to keep Buffy out of Beleriand for as long as possible.

When she had finished deciding which of the mortals slain in battle would remain in her Blessed Realm, her maidens begged her to stay at Sussrúmnir, knowing that being there would end the Slayer’s lousy mood. Thinking that time would be moving as it ever did, that she’d only be gone for two-seconds, Buffy agreed, and proceeded to get smashed with her favorite Valkyries.

When the alcohol had taken effect, the women sang along with Antamo, dancing throughout the halls of Sussrúmnir in their drunken state. The inhabitants of Folkvang were joyful, knowing that their Mistress had decided to prolong her stay in her kingdom, and many took to the streets paved of gold, celebrating her return. The doors of the castle were thrown open, and both mortals and Maiar were invited to join the revelry inside the sacred Halls.

Buffy had no idea that her maidens were trying to tempt her to take another mortal lover, to not only ease her troubled heart but also sate her bodily desires. They understood that their Mistress’ ego had been hit hard by Maglor’s lack of interest in her, and that she had felt that she was no longer desirable to the opposite sex. The Valkyries wanted to show the Slayer that that was not the case. The women garbed her in the softest of silks, red in color. The outfit, which consisted of a strip of red cloth that barely covered her breasts and a very short skirt, left not much to the imagination. The women then adorned Buffy’s body with gold and jewels, dressing her as scantily as they had done back in the days of Sumer.

The men swooned over the Slayer, reaffirming that she was still beautiful and alluring and restoring her self-confidence. She cavorted with the mortals, but invited none to her lapis lazuli bed on the thirteenth floor. She found their attempts at seduction amusing more than anything else.

The merry-making went on for weeks, nonstop. Yet to Buffy, it seemed as if they were still enjoying day one of her visit. Her being intoxicated didn’t help. It caused her to lose all sense of time. Besides, the sun was still up, which only added to the illusion, created by Sargon and the Valkyries, that the day had not yet ended.

Buffy was so wrapped up in the adulation of the men folk that it took her a while before she realized that Sargon was conspicuously absent from the festivities, making her suspicious, in spite of her inebriated state. While the others partook in food, drink and sex, the Slayer staggered to her throne in her Hall of Judgment and summoned for the Adan.

When her lover arrived, escorted by Fulla, she fixed her bloodshot eyes on his handsome form, instantly perceiving that something was amiss.

Following protocol, Sargon stopped at the bottom of the dais, and fell to one knee. “Hail, my Lady,” he said in greeting. “It is with great joy that I finally get to see you after all these years.”

“Rise, Prince of Folkvang,” she ordered, carefully scrutinizing her lover, who appeared quite tense. “Why is it that the doors of Sussrúmnir have been opened to all that dwell in my realm, yet you, of all people, chose not to attend my… party?”

“Forgive me, Luinil,” he answered, “but I’ve been under the impression that you did not wish to see me. You have made that clear in the past, have you not?”

Buffy smiled, chuckling under her breath. “I’m a woman. I can change my mind like that,” she replied with a snap of her fingers.

Sargon laughed. “Then it is folly that I did not come sooner.”

“What are you up to, Sharru-kin?” she queried, rising unsteadily to her feet.

Her lover quickly dashed up the steps, fearing that the Slayer was about to fall. He slid his hands around her waist, steadying her. The heavy smell of spirits on her breath overwhelmed him.

“You’re drunk.”

“You bet your sweet ass I am,” she said with a chortle. Buffy placed her hands on Sargon’s chest in order to keep a few inches of distance between them.

Just then, the Valkyrie chieftains came running into the chamber, a few of them, still dressing.

“It was his idea, Maranwë,” panted Feawë, coming to a halt at the bottom of the dais. “You had commanded us to follow Sargon’s orders in your absence… ”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Buffy asked the Valkyrie before turning her eyes back to the Adan. “What’s going on, Sharru-kin?”

Sargon broke eye contact, hanging his head low.

“What the hell did you do?” she asked, her heart beginning to race. She gently lifted his stubbly chin with her hand, anxious to hear her lover’s response. “Sargon?”

“We were ordered to detain you, Maranwë,” revealed Rainë, placing a foot on the bottom-most step of the dais. “We’ve brought time to a standstill in Folkvang, so that you could not tell that time is moving as it normally does in Middle-earth.”

“WHAT?” shouted the Slayer, her face reddening from her ire.

“I had to,” said a teary-eyed Sargon. “Bad things are about to happen, war is… ”

Buffy raised her hand, stopping the Adan. “Middle-earth is no longer your concern, Etana,” she said between clenched teeth, trembling with rage.

Sargon’s face paled at hearing his lover call him by his birth name. She hadn’t called him that in ages.

“You have defied Ilúvatar’s orders by keeping me here longer than two-seconds,” she continued in that same bitter tone. “Turn… back… time… NOW!”

The Adan cringed when she barked at him, partially from being on the receiving end of her temper, and partially from the sourness of her breath. He regained his composure a moment later, straightening to his full height. “I will not,” he said defiantly.

The Slayer’s face contorted in her anger. “Is that so?” she asked, her nostrils flaring like a wild bull. “Take him to the dungeons!” she yelled to her maidens. Two Valkyries quickly came up the steps, grabbing the Adan. “Perhaps Failo can make you see reason.” She motioned to her women. “Get him out of my sight.”

As Rainë and Laurië dragged the Adan away, Sargon loudly proclaimed his love for Buffy.

“You are hereby stripped of your princely title,” she shouted. “You have fallen from my favor, Etana. No place is there for you in my heart.” The Slayer angrily plopped down on her canopied throne, gripping the arms of her chair tightly. “Fulla! Bring me my wine.” Buffy locked her wrathful gaze on the remaining chieftains. “You have all fucked me over,” she continued, her chest heaving from her fury. “From this day foreword, you do only as I command! If you conspire against me again, I will personally take you to my dungeons and torture you myself! And if you think what I did to those in Sumer was bad - just wait and see what I’ll do to you. Do your fucking jobs… and get these people out of my House. NOW!”

Fulla bypassed the retreating Valkyries, coming up the steps carrying both her Mistress’ jeweled chalice and a bottle of red wine.

Buffy’s narrowed eyes remained on her maidens as they fled the chamber. With a wave of her hand, the gigantic doors slammed shut once the Valkyries had exited.

“Bitches,” she mumbled under her breath. “Defying my orders. Who the hell do they think they are?”

“They are your servants, my Lady,” answered Fulla, her hand shaking as she poured the crimson beverage into the cup.

“That’s right, Fulla,” said Buffy, taking the bottle from the woman’s grasp. “You drink that. I can see that you need it.”

“Thank you, my Lady. That is most gracious of you,” she replied, nervously sipping from the chalice of the Fëantári of Folkvang.

The Slayer took a swig from the bottle before standing it on her thigh. She stared at the flickering blue flames in one of the vats as her cupbearer descended the steps, returning to her post within the Hall of Judgment. Buffy tried to calm her frazzled nerves by taking several deep breaths. She couldn’t believe how shitty her life was at the moment. Having to deal with her problems with Maglor was hard enough, but now, discovering that her mortal lover was interfering with her affairs in Middle-earth pissed her off even more. It didn’t matter whether or not his intentions were noble. The Adan had violated a direct order from Ilúvatar, and for that, he needed to be punished.

“Men,” she uttered in a contemptuous tone after several minutes of silence. “They can be such pricks!”

Fulla, the only other occupant in the room, looked warily at her Mistress. “I suppose they can,” answered the cupbearer. She watched Buffy, as she took another drink from the bottle. “He… he loves you, you know,” continued the woman apprehensively. “He only wishes to protect you.”

“Protect me?” queried the Slayer with a derisive laugh, turning her gaze to the maiden. “Protect me from what? The perils in the world? Pfft,” she sounded, waving her hand dismissively. “I don’t need anyone’s protect- ” She never finished her sentence.

Buffy was instantly teleported from the comfort of her throne in Sussrúmnir back to Beleriand. She was shocked and appalled to find herself standing atop the roof of her home at the Gap. That had never happened before! As the cold winds blew ferociously from the north, the Slayer curled her toes on the frost-covered roof, doing her best to maintain her balance. Holding her wine bottle in one hand, her eyes scanned the land, which lay shrouded in darkness. Very few Noldor were out and about. The Slayer turned her gaze towards the heavens, looking to the stars for an indication of time. Seeing the constellation above her, she began to curse rather loudly, realizing that her lover had defied her orders again and had not sent her back in time, but had sent her to present time Beleriand.

Sargon had foreseen the events that were about to take place, as well as the things that were to come thereafter. His goal all along was to keep the Slayer out of Middle-earth, Beleriand in particular, to avoid the heartbreak and sorrow that would befall, not only her, but also the good people that dwelled in those parts. Yet, she had forced his hand, making the Adan send her back earlier than he had anticipated. When he teleported her to the rooftop, it was in anticipation of events to come. He had no idea that he was fulfilling the will of Ilúvatar, for things are not always as they seem.

Now, Morgoth was ever vigilant, and he had bent his will toward Maglor’s Gap. And it was from the depths of Angband that he espied the Slayer’s appearance on the roof of her dwelling. Seeing her arrayed provocatively as she was enraged the Vala, inciting him to take action against, not only the Noldor, but also more specifically, the sons of Fëanor.

“Kill them all!” the Dark Lord commanded to his Captains. “If I can’t have her, then no one will! Kill all those that she loves! It is time for Inanna to experience the pain and loneliness I feel. Leave none alive, especially those from the House of Fëanor!”

Morgoth then readied his armies. He planned to assail both Western and Eastern Beleriand simultaneously. To Eastern Beleriand he would send his greatest forces and most vicious acolytes to ensure the annihilation of those nearest and dearest to his beloved Melisse.

“My Lady,” shouted Ovoron, one of the elvish guards. “What are you doing up there?”

Buffy shifted her gaze to the elf, below. Those that were awake began to congregate in the courtyard, surprised to see their scantily clad Mistress standing atop the roof.

Shivering from the cold, she yelled to the men below, “What day is it?”

“It is the tenth day past the New Year,” Ovoron answered.

The Slayer went berserk, ranting and raving so loudly that she woke many more from their peaceful slumber.

Luthor came running out of his house wrapped in his fur cloak. “What the hell are you doing on the roof?”

“Enjoying the scenery, what else?” Buffy laughed sarcastically. She felt as though her alcohol buzz had seemed to intensify upon her return to Beleriand.

“Get down from there before you get sick.”

“I’m already sick, sick and tired of the men in my life,” she complained, waving her hands wildly. “My husband doesn’t want me, Sargon has betrayed me… ”

“Sargon has betrayed you?” queried the old man, as even more elves came rushing out of their houses in search of the commotion that had wakened them at nearly four in the morning.

“Well, I sure haven’t been gone for two-seconds, now have I?” she slurred, trying to figure out a way to get to the edge of the roof without losing her footing. “And why the hell that son-of-a-bitch sent me here - on the roof of my own house - in the middle of winter is beyond me! The stupid jackass.”

She turned her gaze back to the group of elves below. She saw Maglor running out of the house, joining the others. His jaw dropped when he saw his wife up on the roof.

“For the love of the Valar, what are you doing up there half-naked?” he shouted. The Noldo pulled off the blanket that covered his shoulders, balled it up, and attempted to throw it up to his wife. The blanket unraveled and fell back into his outstretched hands.

“That appears to be the question of the day… or night, whichever it is.” She took a swig from the bottle. “I guess Sargon wanted me to do a little star-gazing.”

“Someone get a ladder.”

“Get the lions. They can get her down.”

“Be careful, Bella,” shouted Luthor. “We’ll get you down in a minute.”

“I’m freezing, Luthor,” she said between chattering teeth. “My feet are going numb.” The cold was starting to take its toll on the Slayer.

Olofin ended up getting his mother down by riding up to the roof on Kit’s back. Once safely on the ground, Maglor covered his wife with a blanket.

“Why have you been gone all this time?” whispered an agitated Maglor. “You’ve been with him, haven’t you?”

“Jesus Christ! Is that what you think?” she asked, perturbed by her husband’s accusation.

“What else am I supposed to think? Look how you’re dressed!”

“I’ve been celibate since we last had sex, Káno. May Eru strike me down if I’m lying!” she declared boldly.

As soon as the words had left her mouth, a rumbling sounded deep in the earth. Those that overheard Buffy’s words nervously looked around, stepping away from the Slayer, fearing that Ilúvatar was about to smite her for her cheek. Only a couple of seconds later, a series of explosions went off to the north-northwest. Everyone turned in the direction of the booming blasts, gasping when they saw Thangorodrim shooting molten rock, poisonous gases, and ash miles into the darkened sky.

Screams shattered the night shortly thereafter, as the people began to panic, terrified by the sudden eruption. Buffy stood there, mouth agape, recalling Sargon’s words of warning.

“War is upon us,” she said, grabbing hold of Maglor’s arm.

Lava spewed out of the three cones that made up Thangorodrim, running down the sides of the mountains, the fiery torrents quickly heading directly across the plains towards Dorthonion, the lands occupied by Aegnor and Amrod, and Lothlann, the green pastures of Eastern Beleriand.

Despite the horrors of seeing a volcanic eruption for the first time, the Lord of the Gap hastily shouted orders for the people to ready themselves for battle. Both his and Buffy’s Households were awakened and immediately prepared for the onslaught that they knew was coming.

The Slayer stood there, paralyzed by the realization that the siege of Angband had finally come to an end after four hundred plus years. Tears filled her eyes; her head started spinning, her stomach churning. The alcohol, combined with the lack of sleep for two months time had finally hit her. She collapsed onto the stone floor of the courtyard, out cold.



“Bella! Bella, wake up!” said an anxious Thranduil, frantically shaking Buffy’s sleeping form. “Please, Bella! Wake up!”

She stirred, moaning softly.

“Bella, we need you! Wake up!” the Green-elf pleaded, his voice full of desperation.

“Thranduil,” she said with a groan, smacking her lips together. Her mouth was dry, her head throbbing.

“The enemy is at the Gate, Bella. We need you.”

Buffy blinked open her heavy eyes, confused by what the elf had said. “What?”

“Morgoth has unleashed his armies!” he continued, pulling her upright. “The Great Worm is at our Gate! Balrogs, thousand of them, there are, and yrch too numerous to count.”

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed, jumping from the bed. She stood there for a moment trying to get her bearings. The sudden adrenaline rush caused her heart to pound wildly in her chest. Already, beads of sweat formed on her brow.

“I’ve laid your things out,” said a grim-faced Thranduil, dressed in full battle gear. “We have need for haste, Bella. The enemy’s forces are greater than our own. We need you, Dagnir!”

“My head!” answered Buffy, as she began to change her clothes. “Get me something for my head, Thranduil. It’s pounding like mad.”

The Green-elf returned seconds later with a bottle of tonic. “Are you alright?” he queried, rubbing her back.

“No. I feel like shit,” she said. She took the bottle from Thranduil, popped the cork, and took a swig.

“We must hurry, Bella!” Thranduil began to garb her in her armor, as she looked out the nearest window. The lands still lay cloaked in darkness. In the distance, she could see the fiery forms of the Balrogs beyond the Gate, their flaming whips lashing at anything that moved.

“Eru help us,” she uttered under her breath.

“Where’s your trunk?” asked the Green-elf, tightening the straps of her armor. “I’ve looked for it in the armories, but couldn’t find it.”

“Oh, fuck!” she drawled with a grimace. “I left it in Ossir, in the vaults of Lindecoa.”

“Why the hell did you do that?”

“I’ve been off my game lately, Thranduil,” she answered disappointedly. “We’ll have to make do with what weapons we have.”

The only thing that Buffy had kept from her copper trunk was her belt. She prized it above all her other weapons despite the fact that it was wrought by Morgoth. It was lightweight and held a variety of weapons that had always come in handy during times of warfare. Besides, she thought that it was pretty cool how the charms turned into full size weapons when removed from the chain. Nobody else had a weapon remotely like it.

Once outfitted for battle, they left the house for the frigid cold. As they mounted their horses, ash swirled on the wind. All the plains were covered with it. The sky was thick with dark plumes of smoke that would keep the sun from appearing in the northern regions of Beleriand for nearly two years afterwards.

As they rode to the Gate, Buffy could see Olofin riding in her lion-drawn chariot in the sky above the enemy, blasting the Dragon and Balrogs with the scepter made by himself, Curufin, and Celebrimbor. When she and Thranduil had neared the Gate, they dismounted from their steeds. The beast that Fingon had named Glaurung terrified the elves, with not only his size and strength, but also his ability to spew fire from his enormous fanged mouth. The Dragon was using its tail to beat against the wall that the Slayer had had built as a means of defense long ago. If not for that, the enemy would have already overwhelmed their lands.

When the Captains saw that she had arrived, they came running to her, desperate to hear the Vala of War’s strategy against the forces of Morgoth. Before Buffy would advise any, she summoned Kit and Kat to bring her son to her. When the half-elf landed, the small group converged on the plains before the Gates to the Gap.

“This is bad,” said the Slayer with a look of dismay on her face. She turned her gaze to Olofin, shaking her head. “You can shoot that thing at Glaurung all day long, but it will have no effect on him,” she disclosed, pointing to the scepter in his hand. “His hide is like armor! It’s as strong as mithril! A dragon’s weak spot is on its belly. You have to pierce that fleshy part of him in order to defeat him… ”

“But he slithers across the plains like a gigantic worm,” answered Olofin. “How can I pierce his belly if I cannot reach it?”

“Glaurung’s smarter than he was last time, and he’s now grown to his full might,” she answered, watching as the topmost part of the wall began to crumble from the Dragon’s blows and the Balrogs’ whips. The echoing sounds alone were enough to make the elves recoil in fear. It became evident that their doom was upon them, it was knocking down the wall as they helplessly watched.

Buffy fell quiet as the Captains bombarded her with questions and suggestions. She kept her eyes fixed on the Gate, and those elves, valiant but foolish, that attempted to thwart the enemy by shooting arrows from atop the wall and along the fortified hills to either side of the pass.

“Get them down from the wall!” she yelled to one of the Captains. “Glaurung and the Balrogs are too formidable of a foe for the elves to fight. You guys are no match for them! Get them down from there. NOW!”

A series of horn blasts rang out in the darkness. Those on top of the wall took it as a call of retreat, which it was.

“What are we going to do, Bella?” asked Luthor, his face becoming graver with each whack the enemy made at the wall.

“I don’t know, Luthor,” she answered, trying to keep her bravest face on for the others’ sake. “Me, you and Olofin can handle the Balrogs, but the Dragon… he’s the one I’m worried about. I don’t have anything powerful enough to take him out, no Trident, no Gloves. Nothing!” Her frown lines deepened. “We can’t afford to expend too much energy fighting Glaurung, but if he gets through - we’re finished. It’s over.”

“What about the engines?” asked Maglor, desperate to find a way to defend his turf. “Could we not use them?”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah, as long as we don’t hit the wall in the process. The catapults are probably gonna be our best bet. Get them set up.”

The Lord of the Gap quickly took off, shouting to his men to ready the catapults.

“Damn it! I wish we had time to get them on the hills. We could assail the enemy easier from that point, and maybe slow Glaurung down.”

“But, my Lady,” said one of the Captains. “We do have some on the hills!”

“Then why the hell aren’t they being used?” she snapped.

The Noldo chieftain shrugged. “The order has not yet been given.”

“For Eru’s sake, man, get on it!” she barked, shaking her head in disgust. “Olofin, you take back to the air in the chariot, but you’re bringing me and Luthor with you.” She turned her head towards the old man. “You up to killing some Balrogs?”

Luthor smiled. “I think I have it in me.”

Buffy gave instructions to the others, positioning them on either side of the hills. She suggested that the elves use spears on the Balrogs, to aim for the eyes, as the arrows would be ineffective. She wanted none on the wall, itself, especially now that they were going to attempt to use the engines in their defense.

As they took off in the chariot, the Slayer was disgusted with herself. The sudden attack showed how unprepared they were, how lax they had become in their watchfulness, and in their defenses. If they came through their current ordeal alive, she would see to it that it would never happen again.

Once Kit and Kat had them soaring over the enemy, Buffy looked at Luthor, and let out a heavy sigh.

“Ready?” she asked, pulling a sword from her belt. It instantly turned to a full-size weapon.

The old man unsheathed his blade. “Ready.”

“Wait a minute,” said Olofin. “How do you intend on fighting the Balrogs from up here with those?” he asked, pointing to their weapons.

“We’re going in,” answered the Slayer, gesturing below.

“That’s madness! You won’t last in the midst of the enemy. You’ll be killed.”

Buffy smiled, and placed a gloved hand on her son’s cheek. “I can’t be killed. At least, not by anything down there.”

“Luthor,” the half-elf looked imploringly at the Maia. “How can you be in agreement with this? You are not a Vala! You can die!”

“Yes, yes I can,” nodded the old man. “But I’d rather die fighting beside your mother than by any other means, my son.”

“We’ll be alright,” said Buffy reassuringly, kissing her son on the forehead. “Okay, kitties, take us lower, but keep out of the Balrogs whipping range.” She glanced back at Luthor, slightly apprehensive with her plan. “So, you take the five thousand Balrogs to the left, and I’ll take the five thousand to the right.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” the old man answered, making his way to the back of the chariot.

Only a second later, he and Buffy leapt off the back of the chariot, disappearing into the frenzied masses below…