Full Circle

Buffy tried to get a grip on her emotions, as she clung to her husband. Shifting her head slightly, she turned her gaze northward, staring icily at Thangorodrim, looming in the distance. The mountains appeared blacker than the shadows that lay about the land, almost mocking her, challenging her. It was at that moment that she felt the burden of guilt for those that had fallen in battle. Here she was the Chosen One, the Champion of Ilúvatar, sent to Middle-earth to thwart Morgoth, yet in the span of nearly three months time, he had managed to decimate four elvish empires, three of which belonged to the House of Fëanor. Melkor was obviously targeting those whom she loved most. She couldn’t help but wonder, with her magics suppressed, how she was supposed to contest his might. Surely, it would take more than just her slayer strength.

Not only did she have to contend with that, but also those elves from her own Household that had died in battle. Since they had bound their feys’ to her long ago, they were unable to leave Middle-earth. Having no other choice, she had instructed them to go to Ossir, far from the evil that roamed in the north, where they could haunt the fair woods that they dearly loved. She hoped that one day soon, she’d regain her powers and be able make their flesh anew.

Drying her eyes, the Slayer rose to her feet. She turned, facing the numerous weeping mourners.

“My good people,” she said loudly, sniffing back her tears. The murmurings and wailings of the crowd died down, as the people turned their tear-streaked faces in Buffy’s direction. “Never again will we let the enemy catch us at unawares,” she proclaimed in a commanding voice. “From this day forward, we will be more vigilant, and less complacent. We’ll refortify the Pass of Aglon to our west and strengthen our watch along the northern fences. We will not let the loss of our loved ones be in vain.

“Let us strengthen the friendship of the many Houses in Middle-earth, for not all is lost. Today, we unite as one, no matter if one is an Ainu, Elf or of mortal kind. Together, we can contest the forces of darkness in this world, and defeat it. We shall turn our grief into wrath, and inflict it upon the enemy. Expect the unexpected as that will lead us to triumph in the end.”

The Slayer then glanced at the body of Rochallor before looking at Maedhros. “See to it that he has a proper burial, Russandol,” she said, pulling her cloak tighter around her. “Let us ride to Barad Eithel as soon as we may for I have urgent business to attend to there.”

She started back toward the citadel, her loved ones accompanying her. Maedhros quickly barked orders to his men to bury the horse before joining up with Buffy and the rest of their kin.

“What business do you have at Barad Eithel?” asked Maglor, looking at his wife with a slightly baffled expression as they passed through the gates of the city.

“The time has come for me to collect Lalwen.”

“Lalwen? My aunt?” questioned Maglor, his face wrinkled in confusion. “Why?”

“Because I love her, and I need her,” answered Buffy.

The men around her looked at one another with stunned expressions on their faces.

“There are warriors amongst the women of the Noldor, Káno. Lalwen is one of them. Fingolfin refused to let her enter my service long ago, but I promised her that when the time came, when she was no longer bound to her brother, that I would bring her home with me.” She turned her gaze to Maedhros. “If it’s not too much to ask, Russandol, I’d like for you to prepare accommodations befitting one that I think so highly of. If Himring is now to be my home, it will be Lalwen’s as well.”

“Of course,” he answered with a nod.

“Wait a moment,” said Maglor, stopping his wife. “Bella, did you foresee Fingolfin’s death?”

Buffy looked into her husband’s widened grey eyes. “I’ve foreseen a lot of things, Káno. Some of which I did not document in my diaries. But no, I did not foresee Fingolfin’s death. Anno did. And in my heart, I believe Fingolfin knew that he would perish in Middle-earth, although I don’t think he knew exactly how.”

As they continued to walk back to the citadel, Maedhros remarked, “With Fingolfin dead, that means Fingon is now High King of the Noldor.”

A few hours later, the caravan of twenty-five was ready to depart Himring for Eithel Sirion. Much to Luthor’s dismay, Buffy asked him to stay behind to keep an eye on Kat, whose heart was still heavy with grief at losing her mate.

“This is but a ploy, I deem,” protested the Maia, his blue eyes suspiciously eyeing the Slayer. “You think of me as a feeble old man since I received my injury… ”

“That’s absurd,” replied Buffy, slightly appalled by his accusation. “I just don’t want Kat to be alone.”

“There’s many a good elf here that are more than capable of taking care of Kat. I am fit to travel. I may appear old but I am as hale as ever!”

Buffy studied the Maia for a few moments. “Come with me,” she finally said, linking her arm with his. They took off towards her and Maglor’s private rooms. “I know that you’re more than capable of traveling any road in Middle-earth, Luthor, but my heart aches with foreboding… for Kat. I fear that she will allow her grief to consume her, and I don’t want that to happen.”

“Then take the lioness with you.”

“No,” she answered with a sigh. “She’ll never leave Himring again, I’m afraid. She won’t part with Kit no matter what. I know that. I feel it. And since Olofin and Thranduil are coming with me, I trust no one else but you with her. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he replied with resignation.

“But, before I go, I have something that I want to give you, a peace offering of sorts.”

“Peace offering?” queried the old man, cocking his brow. “Since when have we been at odds with each other? Or are you harboring some deep resentment of me that I do not know about?”

Buffy chuckled. “I just want to right a wrong. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“No, I suppose not.”

When they reached her rooms, she had Luthor sit on one of the sofas in the sitting room while she went into her bedchamber. She came out a few minutes later, holding something behind her back.

“I didn’t have time to wrap it or anything,” she said before handing him the Carnimír. “I know you’ve seen it in action. Olofin wanted to test it out,” she continued. “It was made for you, to replace the one I destroyed in Eridu.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” answered the old man, staring at the mystical scepter with wonder.

“The jewel was made by Fëanor in Valinor. It was given to me by Káno and his brothers when we became betrothed… ”

“I cannot accept this,” he said, trying to hand the mystically enhanced rod back to Buffy. “This should go to Olofin. It’s an heirloom of your House.”

She wrapped her hand around his that clutched the scepter. Taking a seat beside him, she said, “And you’re a part of my House. You’re like the patriarch. I want you to have it. Olofin wants you to have it, and the brothers, the brothers are in total agreement with that. We all love you, Luthor. And this is a token of that love.” She gave him a small smile. “I hope that this fixes things between us, that this makes up for my… belligerent behavior in the past.”

The Maia’s eyes welled with tears as he placed his other hand on hers. “It is I that needs to make up for the horrific thing that I had done to you, Bellaseth,” he said solemnly. “I am not worthy of receiving such a gift. I… I betrayed your trust… ”

“I don’t want to hear any of that,” she answered, waving her finger in his face. “Let’s just put the past behind us. We’ve both committed wrongs against each other.” She looked deeply into his blue eyes. “No more, Luthor. I need you, and I think you know, deep down, you need me too. Destiny has brought us together for some reason… ”

“Destiny?” he repeated with a chortle. “Is that not the meaning of Maranwë?”

“Okay, then I brought us together, for whatever reason,” she answered half-laughing. “Just keep it. You can discover the Carnimír’s mystical properties while I’m gone.” She rose to her feet before adding, “We should be back in a few weeks.”

Luthor rose as well, pulling her into a bear hug, still clutching the scepter in his hand. “I thank you, my dear. I will treasure this mighty gift, always.” He kissed the top of her head. “You take care while abroad,” he whispered in her ear. “The road you will travel upon has become perilous. Use caution. Be vigilant.”

“I will,” she answered, pulling out of the embrace. “I’ll see you soon.” She then left the chamber.

The journey to Eithel Sirion was a sad one. The once green pastures of Ard-Galen that had stretched from Eastern to Western Beleriand were reduced to dust by the fires of Glaurung and the Balrogs. Therefore, on that trip, the elves renamed it Anfauglith (Land of Gasping Dust).

The travelers rode hard and fast, eager to reach their destination. They stopped only for a few hours at a time in order for the horses to rest, and for them to stretch their stiff and weary limbs and partake of a bit of lembas.

It was on the second day of their journey that the yrch attacked from the slopes of Dorthonion. Yet the elves and Buffy were ever wary, and knowing beforehand the dangers that lurked on the road, had dressed in full battle regalia in anticipation of such an event. Arrows, poisoned by the enemy, rained down upon them from along the withered hillside. Their elven shields reflected the flying projectiles for the most part. Unfortunately, two horses were hit, and ended up dying as a result of their venomous wounds.

The many Green-elves in their company, who were awesome archers in their own right, returned fire. Squeaks rang out in the darkness as the arrows of the Noldor met their mark, hitting the yrch in the throat, a favorite target of the elves. While the travelers had anticipated a possible raid, they were not prepared to fight so many of the enemy, as they had a limited amount of arrows amongst them.

The Slayer ordered the men to ride on before they lost any more of their horses. Olofin, who had lost his steed, changed into falcon form and flew the rest of the way while Maedhros rode with Buffy atop Rocco. The eldest son of Fëanor was none to happy to flee from the yrch, but his sister-in-law had assured him that they’d replenish their quivers once they reached Barad Eithel, and would engage the enemy on their return home.

It was in the wee hours of the morning, on the third day of their journey, when they finally reached the former Halls of Fingolfin. For the first time ever, the Noldo guards of Barad Eithel witnessed, with amazement, one of Buffy’s two second disappearing acts. Of course, that brought much confusion amongst the sentinels.

“What just happened?” exclaimed one of the flabbergasted men, his grey eyes wide with disbelief. He pointed to Buffy, as the blood drained from his face. “You were here, and then you vanished, and now you’re here again!”

“Have you been nipping at the bottle again, Narudhur?” asked Gûrauth, the Captain of the Citadel with a snicker, having entered the antechamber after the Slayer’s return from Folkvang.

“I have not, my Lord,” answered Narudhur in an affronted tone. “I swear to the Valar that Luinil arrived with the others, then disappeared for a moment, and then returned. It happened in the blink of an eye. I swear!”

“He’s right, my Lord,” answered another, staring awe-struck at Buffy. “I saw it as well.”

The other guards nodded in agreement.

“They were not seeing things, Gûrauth, my old friend,” said Maedhros with a chuckle. “Indeed the Lady Luinil leaves Middle-earth at precisely two in the morning every day in order to tend to her duties in Folkvang. Your men have witnessed what so few ever have.”

“Duties?” queried the flummoxed guard. “How could she attend to any duties in only a moment’s time? That’s impossible!”

“Time moves differently in Folkvang, Narudhur,” answered Buffy, amused by the men’s reaction. “I was actually gone for several hours, but time was altered so that none here are the wiser!”

“Until now, my darling,” chimed in Maglor with a chortle.

That was the only light-hearted moment that the travelers had on that journey. The Noldor were mourning the recent loss of Fingolfin, and the Slayer’s sudden vanishing act was merely a momentary distraction from their grief.

“Fingon Lord has already taken the scepter of his father,” announced Gûrauth sadly. “He has taken up residence in these Halls. Surely, I should wake him and inform him that he has such important guests.”

“Nay,” answered Maedhros, who was closest in friendship with the newly appointed King. “Do not wake Fingon. We are weary from travel, and would be grateful for a warm bed within the safety of these walls.”

“Of course, my Lord Maedhros,” answered Gûrauth with a nod. “I will see to it that rooms are readied as quickly as possible. Should I have one of the cooks prepare some refreshments before you and your noble guests retire?”

Maedhros glanced at his companions. All shook their heads “no”, as they were quite eager to lose themselves to sleep.

“We are only in need of lodgings, Gûrauth. We can wait until morning and eat with the rest of the Household.”

Shortly thereafter, the travelers were escorted to their rooms in various sections of the castle. Once Buffy had seen which chamber she’d be staying in with Maglor, she took off for Lalwen’s rooms. She found the elleth sound asleep. She woke her, and spent the rest of the morning comforting the distraught woman.

By the time the bells had sounded for breakfast, the women had fallen asleep, sleeping well into the afternoon.

Upon waking, the Slayer returned to her chamber, eager for a hot bath. After washing and dressing, she and Lalwen went in search of the others. They found them in the main chamber, where many from the Houses of Fingolfin, Fingon, and Hador were gathered, along with those from Himring.

After Buffy had expressed her condolences to the newly ascended King, Fingon asked her to relay the ‘vision’ that she had experienced through the eyes of Rochallor. As she spoke in great detail of the duel between Fingolfin and Morgoth, many elves and mortals softly sobbed, the sound echoing within the enormous chamber.

“So Thorondor has taken the body of my father,” said the grief-stricken King once she had finished speaking.

“Yeah,” answered Buffy. “I assumed he would bring him here, but I guess I was wrong.” She paused before asking, “What of Turgon? Has any informed him of… well, you know?”

“Turgon?” repeated Fingon. “We have no way of contacting my brother. Not even his own kin know the whereabouts of Gondolin. And no messengers have passed through these doors from the hidden kingdom in over two centuries.”

“Oh,” answered the Slayer, turning her downcast eyes to her lap.

Lalwen took her hand, and gave it a reassuring squeeze, just as the dinner bells rang.

Buffy gorged herself at supper, having not eaten anything since her arrival at Barad Eithel. As she ate, she could feel someone staring at her. Looking up, she saw a small elfling watching her intently. She gave the boy a small smile, which caused him to quickly avert his gaze.

“Who’s the kid?” she asked Lalwen while buttering a piece of bread.

“That is Ereinion, Fingon’s son.”

The Slayer shifted her gaze back to the boy. He was watching her yet again. “Why is he staring at me?” she asked, shoving the bread into her mouth.

Lalwen chuckled. “Surely you must know, Luinil. The lad has never seen a Vala before,” she answered, turning her eyes to the young elfling, who quickly looked away. “He’s curious is all.”

In the days that followed, little Ereinion shadowed the Slayer’s every move, yet kept a distance when doing so. She thought that perhaps the boy was afraid of her, as he never approached her and properly introduced himself nor did his father. It wasn’t until a week later when she actually spoke with the boy during a council called by Fingon.

“Grave is our situation, Luinil,” said the Noldo King during the meeting. “With these dark clouds lingering overhead, we’re unable to sow the fields. Hithlum and our other territories are depending upon Ossiriand as the chief source for our food. We are in dire need of your canned goods.”

“Orchal is handling the affairs of Ossir, Fingon,” answered Buffy. “Long we’ve been preparing for such times, and will happily barter with any in need. I have received word from my Regent that our lands have not fallen under shadow, and that the first crops are already in the ground.” She turned her gaze to Galdor the Tall, Hador’s son and successor to the lordship of Dor-lómin. “We will not turn our backs on any. Send your men to Lindon, as that is where Orchal currently resides.”

“Good, good,” answered the King, nodding his head.

While Buffy hated war with a passion, she did however, discover that Morgoth’s clouds of doom would prove advantageous to the economic growth of Ossir, thus making it the richest of realms by the end of Yr 455. Not only would the Green-elves be the sole providers of sustenance to the Noldor, but also to the mortals and Sindar that dwelled in the northern parts of Beleriand. Moreover, in weeks to come, she would receive word from Orchal that the population of Ossiriand was growing, as many elves that fled the battles in the north had come to her lands seeking sanctuary, which, in turn, would increase the work force.

The discussion soon turned to refortifying the areas that had been overrun by the enemy.

Even though the Slayer had proclaimed earlier to the inhabitants of Himring about strengthening their watch along the northern fences, their numbers had dwindled, making it near impossible to do so. It was at this time that her brother-in-law pointed that out.

“Whilst I have the utmost respect for you and your counsel, Muinthel,” said Maedhros, somewhat reluctantly, “and I, for one, do not want my people to give up hope, we do not have enough manpower to secure our borders as you had declared. That wall around Himring is our greatest defense at present. I cannot afford to displace any more of my people outside the city.”

All eyes turned to Buffy, who sat there, her face flushing at the eldest son of Fëanor’s words.

“I hate to say it, but Russandol is right,” said her husband, adding to her mounting discomfort. “You cannot pull any more from Ossir, as that will leave your lands defenseless.”

“There will be no need for that,” said little Ereinion, who suddenly popped out from behind one of the pillars within the chamber.

“Ereinion!” said a startled Fingon. “What are you doing in here, my son?”

“He’s been stealthily following Bellaseth for days now,” said Lalwen, smiling at the elfling. “Haven’t you, lad?”

The boy slowly walked up to Buffy, stopping in front of her chair. He cocked his head to the side and said, “You’re very small. I would think a Vala would be… bigger.” His grey eyes scanned the Slayer’s small form. “I’m ten years old and am nearly as big as you!”

“Are you afraid of me, little Ereinion?” she asked, trying her best to keep a straight face. “Every time I wander through these Halls, I see you lurking behind. Am I that much of a curiosity?”

“I have heard tales of those that dwell in the West, and you are the first of that mighty race that I’ve ever encountered. Should I not be curious?”

Buffy turned to Fingon. “And this boy’s only ten?! He sounds like he’s a hundred!”

“I take that as a compliment,” replied the King with a smile, “as it’s my responsibility as a parent to teach my child well.”

“They are coming as we speak,” continued Ereinion, his eyes remaining fixed on the Slayer.

“Who’s coming?” she asked, confused by the boy’s words.

“Men. Those from the kindred of mankind, I mean,” he answered. “They are a strange looking to my eye as they are unlike the Edain that dwell in these parts.”

Fingon rose from his seat and walked up to his son. Crouching beside the elfling, he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and asked, “Do you foresee that, my son? Do you see more mortals coming to Beleriand?”

“Yes, adar,” he answered, facing his father. “They come because of her,” he pointed to the Slayer, “the Lady Luinil, the Valië whom they love above all others,” Ereinion continued, turning his gaze back to Buffy. “They traveled by long roads from the East in hope of finding you. They long to enter your service, my Lady. Those mortals will replenish the numbers that you desperately need, as they will serve no other than the Vala of Love and War.”

“Out of the mouths of babes,” said Buffy with a smile.

“They will die for you,” added the elfling, his face grave for one so young.

“Well, then,” began the Slayer, turning to the eldest son of Fëanor. “Looks like things aren’t as grim as you thought, Russandol. Hope is not lost, just like I said.” Smiling, she turned back to the elfling. “Come here, little Ereinion,” she said, as she undid the clasp on the gold chain that hung around her neck. “This is for you,” she continued as she clasped the necklace around the boy’s neck. “The ruby cross is the symbol of my House. Only the mightiest of my Lords and Ladies wear them. May it protect you, always.”

Ereinion lifted the red pendant that hung from the chain, and inspected it closely. “Thank you, my Lady,” he replied, his voice full of awe. “I will wear it at all times.” He then threw his arms around Buffy, hugging her tightly.

That’s when the visions came. Visions so disturbing, that Buffy jumped backwards in her chair and out of the grasp of the elfling. Her seat fell over, spilling her onto the floor, causing quite a ruckus within the chamber.

“Luinil? What is it?” asked Fingon, both his face and tone fraught with concern.

Buffy stared wide-eyed at Ereinion, the blood draining from her face, her heart pounding frantically within her chest.

The boy’s lips slowly curled into a knowing smile, freaking the Slayer out even more.

“Bella? What’s wrong?” asked Maglor, rushing to her side.

“We must go,” she said insistently, getting to her feet. “Now!” She quickly fled the chamber, many chasing after her, desperate to know what had happened.

“What was it that the Lady had seen, my son?” asked Fingon, horrified by Buffy’s unexpected display.

The smile had left the elfling’s face. He feigned innocence. “I do not know, adar.”

Buffy ran to her room, and began to shove her garments haphazardly into her bag. She was adamant on leaving, with or without those that had accompanied her. Her companions begged her to tell them what she had seen, but she refused to divulge any aspect of her vision. Even when Fingon himself came on bended knee, imploring her to reveal what she had seen, she still refused, vowing to disembowel any that continued to press the issue.

Despite the Slayer’s refusal, the King was gracious enough to replenish the company’s supply of arrows and to grant them two steeds for their journey home. Within thirty minutes, she, Lalwen and the others from Himring set out for home, leaving a troubled Fingon behind.

The Noldo King deemed that Buffy had foreseen something horrific happening to his young son. In his panicked state, Fingon immediately sent word to Círdan, beseeching the Lord of the Falas to foster Ereinion in his lands, away from the evil that lurked in northern Beleriand. Within a couple of weeks, the boy would leave the Halls of his grandfather for that of the Shipwright, never to set foot in Barad Eithel again.

Now, for some reason, the Slayer chose to journey home by a different road. Traveling across Anfauglith was, by far, the most direct route to Himring, yet she had decided to go south, taking the road that passed between Ered Wethrin to the west and Echoriath (the Encircling Mountains) to the east. Perhaps it was the disturbing vision she had that caused her to lead her men (and woman) on such a dangerous path, or perhaps, after so many years, she felt the overwhelming need to travel upon the same road she had tread when she had first entered Middle-earth over half a millennia before. Many in her party believed that she was eager to confront creatures more deadly than the yrch, and that that was the motivating factor for her taking them through the horrors of Nan Dungortheb.

Initially, Buffy’s true purpose in taking that treacherous road through the valley was to test Lalwen’s prowess and courage in the face of danger, to show the Lords of Himring that she was worthy of being accounted amongst them, as she was a daughter of Finwë and possessed the same skill and valor as her kinsmen. Yet, when many of the Noldor and Green-elves grumbled and complained about the way the Slayer had chosen to go home, she deemed that it would be good for the men folk to confront their own fears by passing through one of the wickedest of places in Middle-earth.

As they rode beneath the sheer southern slopes of Echoriath, none aware that they were mere miles from the gateway leading to Turgon’s hidden city, Gondolin, the Eagles espied them from their eyries on top of Crissaegrim, which ran parallel to the Encircling Mountains. For Thorondor and the other mighty servants of Manwë knew that Buffy and her band were carrying out the will of Ilúvatar, and making that pass less perilous in days to come, as Beren, son of Barahir, would soon be taking that same road, thus changing the course of history forever.

When the group had reached the entrance to the valley, many of the horses grew fearful, as did their riders. Rocco, bravest of all steeds in Middle-earth, neighed loudly, encouraging his brethren to boldly move forward through the region known for inflicting terror and dread into the hearts of any that dare tread through that valley. Moments later, the animals had settled down, yet their riders were still frightened of the doom that lay before them and were reluctant to proceed on into the despoiled lands of Ungoliant’s offspring: the gigantic spiders.

The Slayer reined Rocco around, facing her companions. “This is the first place in Middle-earth that I ever set foot upon… or, I should say, where I landed on my ass,” she corrected with a chuckle. “Here I was sent by the guile of Morgoth, alone and exhausted, to fend off spiders so hideous and huge,” her eyes widened, “the like I had never encountered before. But, as you can see, I survived. Now, it’s time to test your courage, and see how many of Ungoliant’s offspring we can take out as we make our way through Nan Dungortheb to Dor Dínen on the other side.”

“This is insanity, Luinil!” exclaimed Maglor, one of those who were reluctant to enter the foulest of areas in Middle-earth. “Why don’t we go back and travel north of Dorthonion. It will be much easier taking out yrch than the fiendish offspring of Ungoliant!”

“Honey, there’s nothing to fear,” she replied reassuringly. “I know you’re not fond of spiders, but facing them, facing them and killing them, that’s the only way to overcome that fear.”

“That’s easy for you to say - you’re a Valië!”

Many of the elves voiced their agreement with her husband.

Furrowing her brows, Buffy answered, “I’m a Valië whose powers have been stripped. I didn’t possess any special powers when I came through here the first time, only strength and wits. That’s all it takes to survive in this world or any other. Expect the unexpected. That’s the name of the game. Kill the fuckers before they kill you. That’s the nature of warfare, the key to survival.”

Maglor and some of the other elves looked unconvinced. They looked dishearteningly at the path before them. Everything was still. The only sound heard was the hooves of the horses stomping the ground, anxious to now be on their way. No birds, beasts or even insects could be heard from within the darkness that lay about them. The foul magicks of the spiders permeated from the ground up, casting fear and hopelessness into the hearts of many of the elves.

Buffy then pulled off a sword charm from her belt. As it turned into a full-sized weapon, she raised it above her head. The metal shone like a silver beam of light, illuminating the area in which they were gathered. Her green eyes then glimmered with the essence of her fey, revealing her true nature.

She then spoke in a voice so powerful and profound that the mere words alone seemed to cut through the oppressiveness that lingered about the land: “Though I walk through the Valley of Dreadful Death, I will fear no evil,” a wry smile came to her face, “for I’m the baddest mother-fucker in the valley!”

With that, Rocco turned around and set forth down the dark path, the others following behind. The sound of the unsheathing of weapons seemed muffled by the evil that hung over the land. Gradually, the darkness devoured the travelers who remained watchful for any sign of the spiders.

The air became heavier, stifling, the further they went into the gorge. Soon, they saw webs that stretched overhead from ridge to ridge, and along the walls of either side, forming almost a tunnel before them. Within the darkness, many mammoth shadows scurried to and fro in anticipation of capturing those foolish enough to enter the arachnids’ domain.

The attack came from behind as a dozen of Ungoliant’s mammoth offspring tried to catch the company by surprise. Needless to say, the elves were more than ready. Those at the rearguard quickly began to hack at the sinister creatures’ swollen bodies. The muted cries from the enemy rang out, alerting their brethren, who then came scuttling along the webs, dropping down upon the elves from overhead.

Lalwen demonstrated her talent by cleaving one of the spiders in two with a single blow. Maglor let out a startled shout when one of the arachnids lowered itself from a single web, its erect stinger colliding with his helm. Turning his mount, the Noldo swung his blade, cutting off the offending organ before ramming his sword into the belly of the beast. Foul, black blood ran down his weapon as he used all his strength to sling the creature to ground. It was a triumphant moment for Maglor, and one that would stay with him for all his days.

Aside from Buffy, Maedhros and Olofin proved most proficient in the slaying of Ungoliant’s offspring, although all her companions fared well in the clash.

After scores of their brethren lay dead, or dying from their wounds, the spiders began to retreat, scuttling along their webs and out of danger. The demonic creatures had never encountered such formidable foes, not since the Slayer’s arrival many years before. Quickly they spread the word to their fellows, informing them to steer clear of the group of elves traveling through their territory.

Slowly, the caravan made their way along that treacherous road, Buffy at the vanguard. The steel hide of Rocco easily broke the webs that blocked their path, making it easier for those following behind. The group did not stop while they were in Nan Dungortheb, and after three days and nights of constant riding, they safely made it through to Dor Dínen.

As they breathed the cool, fresh air, a feeling of accomplishment overcame the elves. Maglor lifted his voice in song, having mastered his fear. The elves celebrated that triumphant moment, as they were the only ones to ever survive the crossing of that perilous land. Feeling ecstatic, they made their way home, without incident.