Full Circle

“Don’t be afraid to hit me, Borland,” said Buffy, a hint of frustration in her tone. She held her quarterstaff horizontally before her body.

“But you’re my God, er, Vala. I cannot harm you!” he replied in protest.

She rolled her eyes. “Right now, I’m a minion of Morgoth, a viper released from the bowels of Hell,” the Slayer began, slowly circling her mortal prey. “Kill or be killed! The enemy would like nothing more than to disembowel you, hanging you from a tree by your own entrails for the wolves and carrion fowl to feed upon.”

Many in the crowded courtyard chuckled at Buffy’s comments, watching with amusement, as she and the eldest son of Bór practiced combat tactics with weapons that wouldn’t inflict much damage.

“But you are a woman!”

Buffy sighed, holding her quarterstaff upright on the ground. “You foolish, foolish man,” she said with a shake of her head. “Do you think Morgoth has no women in his service?”

Borland shrugged.

“He most certainly does! And let me tell you, they’re a vicious bunch,” she replied, lifting her weapon once more. “Do not underestimate the abilities of a woman. We are vicious creatures and more deadly than any man.” She started circling the Easterling again. “Men think we’re no threat, that we’re weak. Let me tell you, that’s bullshit in every sense of the word! Try taking a cub from momma bear some day. She’ll rip you to shreds before you can lay hands on her young… ”

“Well said, Bellaseth,” called a voice from the second floor balcony of Maedhros’ Halls.

Buffy turned, recognizing the voice of her brother-in-law. Leaning against the railing, eating an apple was none other than Curufin.

“Hey,” she said, shielding her eyes from the sun with her free hand. “When did you get here?”

“A little while ago,” he answered, as Celegorm suddenly walked out beside him, waving to the Slayer below. “I see you’re training the new recruits.”

“Trying is a better word for it,” she answered with a snicker.

“Is my favorite sister-in-law not going to greet her kin properly?” queried Celegorm with a smile.

“Where’s my man-”

WHACK! Borland blindsided the Slayer with his quarterstaff, knocking her in the side of the head. She stumbled, but caught herself before falling onto the stone patio. She saw stars.

“Oh, my Lady,” said the horrified man, running to her side in a state of panic. “I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to…. I’m sorry… I should never have… ” he sputtered.

“It’s okay, Borland,” she replied, rubbing the side of head. The Slayer looked at her hand. “See, no blood. You didn’t even break the skin.” Her hand went back to her throbbing temple despite the fact that she was trying to downplay the whole situation. “Here, Thranduil,” she said, tossing her quarterstaff to the Green-elf. “I need a break and a nice dose of Hweston’s tonic.”

“That’ll teach you for turning your back on the enemy,” laughed Curufin from above.

“Yeah, yeah. Very funny,” she mumbled, still rubbing her head. “So, you guys gonna come down or do I need to come up?”

The two C-brothers looked at one another. “We’ll meet you downstairs,” answered Celegorm before disappearing back into the house with his brother.

Buffy then followed the stone pathway to the nearest set of doors. Once inside, she made her way to the central stairway knowing that that’s where she would meet both Celegorm and Curufin.

Sure enough, when she reached the foot of the stairs, the brothers were descending them.

The Slayer hadn’t seen her brothers-in-law since the last time she was in Nargothrond some years earlier, and their reunion was a happy one. Neither brother mentioned the truth of what had brought them to Himring, at least, not to her. They claimed that they had grown tired of dwelling within the caverns of Felagund and longed to come back north where the threat of Morgoth was greatest. While Buffy was delighted to hear that, she didn’t understand why their respective Households, including Celebrimbor, had not come with them, or Huan, who was always at his Celegorm’s side.

“Huan is dead,” revealed Celegorm, his voice bitter. “The wolves of Tol-in-Gaurhoth now roam freely across Talath Dirnen, and killed him whilst we were in pursuit. It was Draugluin, the sire wolves, that done him in.”

“Oh, God! I’m so sorry to hear that,” replied a shocked Buffy, stroking the elf’s arm sympathetically. “First Kit, now Huan.” She narrowed her eyes. “We’ll make Morgoth pay, Celegorm. Mark my words.”

Curufin then added, “Our people wish to remain in Nargothrond. It seems that they’ve become weak-willed in their contentment, and fear returning to the battles of the north.” He shook his head in disgust. “I would never have thought that my own son would turn out to be such an utter disappointment.”

“Well,” started Buffy, unsure of what to say. “There’s one in every family, I’m afraid.” Her thoughts immediately turning to her firstborn.

Several days later, the Slayer would discover the real reason for the two C-brothers’ sudden need to be with kin.

It was nearly four in the morning when the messengers from Ossir arrived at Himring. Arachas and Nimrod first met with Thranduil, as he was the only Green-elf with the authority to enter Buffy’s private rooms at any time. By order of Orchal, they were not permitted to share their message with any except the Slayer. Therefore, the task of waking her fell upon Thranduil.

“Can’t this wait until morning?” asked the agitated elf.

“I’m afraid not, my Lord,” answered Arachas. “Believe me, I would not wish to wake the Lady at this hour, but it is imperative that Orchal see her at once. I cannot stress that enough.”

“Is Ossir at war with the enemy?”

“No. No, my Lord. The threat of war does not lie at our doorstep just yet. I cannot say more than that. Please, Thranduil, wake her.”

The urgency of the Green-elf’s voice prompted Thranduil to slip into the Slayer’s bedchamber while she lay sleeping beside her husband.

“Bella,” he whispered, shaking her gently. “Bella, wake up.”

She moaned softly, stirring in her sleep.

“Come on, Bella. Wake up,” he said, shaking her a bit harder.

Buffy’s eyes fluttered open to a darkened chamber. Feeling a hand clutching her arm, she turned her head to the side. As her eyes adjusted to the blackness, she made out the silhouette of an elf kneeling beside her bed.

“Thranduil?” she yawned overly loud.

“Shh,” he sounded, as Maglor noisily smacked his lips before rolling over onto his side. When the Noldo was still again, Thranduil whispered, “Come with me.” He threw back the covers and helped her from the bed.

“What’s going on?”

“Shh.” The Green-elf didn’t want to wake Maglor. He didn’t speak until they had left the darkened bedchamber and entered the adjoining dimly lit sitting room. Linking his arm with hers, he resumed speaking in a hushed voice as they left her quarters for the main corridor. Thranduil lead her to the library where both Arachas and Nimrod sat waiting.

“My Lady!” they said in unison, falling onto bended knee.

“Forget the formalities,” she said, unconcerned with protocol at that hour. Being woken up before dawn with an urgent message from Orchal concerned her greatly. “What’s the matter? What happened?” she asked, slightly frantic in tone, as she came to a stop before the two Green-elves.

The men rose. “Orchal asks, no, implores you to come to Lindon at once, my Lady,” started Arachas. “The wheel of destiny turns, and you’re urgently needed at home.”

“What the hell do you mean by the ‘wheel of destiny’?” She put her hands on her hips. “This isn’t the time for elvish riddles. It’s four in the morning for Eru’s sake.”

“My Lady,” Arachas nervously began again. “Of what has happened I dare not speak in the halls of a Noldo, especially one from the House of Fëanor. All that I can say is that you need to meet with Orchal as quickly as possible! Take your chariot and fly! When you reach Lindon Hall you will hear everything.”

“That sounds cryptic.” Buffy wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a sudden chill.

“Bella, there is need for haste!” added Nimrod, the Mighty Hunter.

“Alright, alright,” she answered, making her way back to the door. “Let me wake Káno, and we’ll… ”

“No, Bella,” said Nimrod, grabbing her by the arm.

The Slayer stopped, her eyes darting to the elf’s hand that gripped her arm.

He let go. His grey eyes looked beseechingly at her. “None are to accompany you. Orchal wants you to come alone. That is his order.”

Buffy’s anxiety was growing by the moment. Not pressing the messengers any more, she ordered Thranduil to ready her chariot while she changed for the trip. She offered Arachas and Nimrod lodgings so they could rest, but they refused, being quite eager to return home.

She told Thranduil to tell Maglor that she was called away on ‘slayer business’ and would be home as soon as she was able. The Slayer then climbed aboard her lion-drawn chariot, and ascended into the chilly darkness of early morning.

Her mind was racing, trying to figure out Orchal’s message, but it proved undecipherable. She had no idea why her old friend was being so secretive or why he deemed that none of the Noldor should know the purpose of her summons. Hell, she didn’t even know.

Shortly before noon, the lions landed in Lindon. After freeing her babies from the harness, she took a lift to the city in the treetops, meeting in private with Orchal over lunch.

The Regent of Ossir then told Buffy about Beren and Lúthien’s Quest for the Silmaril. She, like the others before her, listened with amazement to the tale until Orchal reached the part where Finrod died in the pits of Tol-in-Gaurhoth.

She broke down, weeping. The Green-elf did his best to comfort her, but Buffy was quite distraught. He actually had to postpone telling the rest of the story until later that night.

Nestor ended up giving Buffy a sedative to calm her down. Like old times, Orchal held her in his arms, singing softly, until she fell asleep.

Upon waking, he resumed telling the story. She sat there in a dazed state, listening to all that had befallen the lovers. Once again, she failed to hold back her tears.

“I hope you’re not angry at me for what I’ve done,” said Orchal at the end. “After all that Beren and Lúthien had been through, it only made sense allowing them to dwell in your halls, and… ”

“Don’t worry about it, Orchal,” she interjected, placing her hand on his. “I would’ve done the same thing.” The Slayer wiped her eyes dry. “You know, it makes me happy that you finally see mortal kind in a different light, that your hostility toward them has lessened.” She forced a smile. “It’s about damn time!”

“Better late than never, I suppose,” he laughed.

Buffy then had a messenger sent to the couple, requesting to meet with them, at their convenience.

Two days later, she and Orchal boarded the boat that would take them to Tol Galen.

Upon their arrival to the isle, they were taken to the cooling porch where Beren and Lúthien were waiting. The Slayer’s jaw dropped when she first set eyes on the mortal, his resemblance to Bëor was uncanny. She quickly regained her composure, and hugged the daughter of Thingol and Melian, whom she had not seen since she had left Doriath long ago. She then embraced Beren in greeting, telling him how much he looked like not only Bëor, but also his forefather’s earlier incarnation, Sargon the Great.

The couple expected Buffy to ask that they retell their story, but she did not. In fact, she made no mention of the trials that the couple had been through. Instead, she asked to see the Cross of Brolach, as she hadn’t seen it in many years. When Beren produced the heirloom of his House, the Slayer then shared the story with the lovers of her first meeting with the patriarch of that line.

“Can I ask you something, Bellaseth?” asked Lúthien at the end of Buffy’s tale.

“Sure.”

“When we were in Angband, I noticed the most peculiar thing: a portrait of you hanging on the wall of the Dark Lord’s hall. Why it is that Morgoth would possess such a thing? Is there some hidden tale there that my elvish eyes do not perceive?”

Both Buffy and Orchal shifted uncomfortably in their seats, exchanging quick glances. The Slayer then looked at their companions.

After taking a deep breath, Buffy said, “I guess since you’re mortal, I can share with you a story that few in Beleriand know about. I only ask that you do not share it with anyone else, including your kinfolk, Lúthien. I’d rather keep it hush-hush, if you know what I mean.”

“Absolutely,” she replied, intrigued by her friend’s evasiveness.

The Slayer then told the tale of her bewitchment by Morgoth long ago when she had still dwelt in Doriath with Mablung. She didn’t hold back anything, revealing that she had given birth to a daughter, Illyria, and that she ended up battling her child with Melkor in the East.

Orchal was quite stunned that Buffy spoke so openly about her past, especially her eldest daughter. Since Illyria’s death at the hands of Oromë, she never discussed her firstborn, in public or private. Even those of her Household never mentioned the Blue Demoness by name, calling her ‘The Enemy’ when they talked of bygone days in Mesopotamia.

When she finished her story, Lúthien looked at her with pity. “It grieves me to know that you’ve gone through such trials.” She reached out, placing her hand atop Buffy’s. “My heart tells me that you are now bound to Morgoth, much like I am to Beren.”

The Slayer turned her gaze to the cascade of water that made up three of the walls of the porch. “Such is my doom,” she mumbled in a faraway voice, staring at the flowing water as though in a trance. Her thoughts then drifted to her current dilemma.

The gravity of the lovers’ Quest was finally sinking in with Buffy. There would be repercussions; there was no doubting that. With the Oath of Fëanor now kindled, she knew that Thingol was in grave danger since he had a Silmaril in his possession. The deeds of Beren and Lúthien would most certainly spread quickly throughout Beleriand. And with Celegorm and Curufin in Himring, it was only a matter of time before the brothers rallied their people and sought to reclaim the heirloom of their House, putting the Slayer in a rather precarious position. Could she stay the sons of Fëanor hand, protecting Thingol whom she had sworn allegiance to or would the brothers seek to destroy her if she stood between them and the Jewel of Fëanor? It was a tough position to be in, and one that would cause her much despair in times to come.

The Curse of Mandos was alive and kicking, and Buffy now saw that those that dwelt in Middle-earth, those that had aligned themselves with the Noldor would suffer from the Doom placed upon the exiled elves, including her, her people, and the Hildor that followed them.

“Bella? Bella?” Orchal squeezed the Slayer’s hand, bringing her out of her reverie.

“Huh?” she said, turning her gaze to the Green-elf and their companions. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

“It’s been a long day,” Orchal said, looking at Buffy with concern. “Perhaps we should call it a night. You need rest, my friend.” He turned to Beren and Lúthien. “We shall see you in the morning, for breakfast,” the Green-elf continued, rising to his feet.

“Wait a second, Orchal,” said Buffy, shifting her gaze to the couple. “If you guys don’t mind, I have a favor to ask.”

“Of course, anything,” answered Lúthien.

“If you’d be ever so kind to let me get a sampling of your blood - both yours and Beren’s… ”

“What for?” asked Beren, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Well,” started the Slayer, “it’s actually for my Mirror. Don’t think for one second that I’m not out to take Morgoth down - I am! And I’m hoping that maybe your blood will reveal to me things that have changed in Angband since I’ve last been there… like Carcharoth. When I was last there, he didn’t guard the gates, but I was told that he was appointed gatekeeper when you guys passed through. It’s little details I’m looking for that you both may not have noticed, things that will help me in the future.”

Beren and Lúthien looked at one another for a moment before nodding their heads in agreement.

“I do not see what harm it could do,” answered Beren. “How much blood do you need?”

“Not much.”

Buffy then had one of her servants brings her two small wooden bowls. Pulling a dagger charm from her belt, she took Beren’s hand first, slicing the tip of his index finger with the blade. She held his finger over the bowl, squeezing out enough blood to activate her Mirror. When she had the desired amount, she found herself sticking the mortal’s finger in her mouth, healing it with her saliva as she had many times in the past. The Slayer then did the same to Lúthien.

She thanked them both before rising to her feet, carefully holding both bowls in her hands. She and Orchal bid the couple goodnight before retreating to the chamber that contained her Mirror.

“Why didn’t you tell me that your healing powers had returned?” asked the Green-elf as they walked down one of the corridors.

“I didn’t know it had until then.”

He looked at her with a baffled expression on his face. “Then how did you know that sucking their fingers would work?”

“I don’t know. I just knew,” she shrugged. “Let’s call it a gut instinct.”

“Well, answer me this, Bella: What does your gut say about Maglor and his brothers? Will they assail Thingol in Menegroth?”

“I don’t know,” she answered dismally.

“If they do, what side will you fight on?” he asked, watching closely for her reaction.

Buffy was silent for a few moments. “I don’t want to think about that right now, Orchal. My head’s spinning with so many questions. Let’s see what Beren and Lúthien’s blood reveals and then we’ll take it from there, okay?”

The Green-elf nodded in reply.

“Get the keys out of my pocket, will you? My hands are kinda full.”

Orchal reached into the pocket of her breeches and pulled out the keys. He unlocked the door, allowing her to enter first.

Buffy placed the bowls of blood on a table before preparing her Mirror. She permitted her friend to stay and witness the trials and tribulations of Beren and Lúthien as they unfolded. After filling the basin with the water of Ulmo, she emptied the bowls of the lovers’ blood into the vessel. As she waved her hands over the Mirror, vapors rose. The blood swirled within the water. Images then started to appear, blurry at first, but gradually they became clearer as the mists dissipated.

Orchal stood on one side of the Mirror, Buffy on the other. They stood there, for hours, watching all the things that befell the couple. At certain points, the Slayer would stop the scene and have it replay again, or she’d fast forward during intimate moments between the lovers, not at all interested in their courtship.

The Slayer experienced a wide array of emotions as she watched: sorrow, anger, fear, and disappointment. She felt very little glee when the lovers had triumphed over evil. The pain of Finrod’s death and her fury over the two C-brothers’ multiple acts of betrayal left her feeling numb by the time she was summoned to Folkvang at two o’clock in the morning.

She spoke briefly to Sargon about the deeds of his descendant as they walked to her Hall of Judgment. She promised to tell him more the following day, being quite eager to return to Lindecoa so that she could resume studying the events that had taken place.

When Orchal finally collapsed into one of the overstuffed chairs in need of sleep at half past four, Buffy hastened the images to the point where the lovers had arrived in Angband. She re-watched the scenes in slow motion, particularly when they had entered Melkor’s Great Hall. Despite her hatred for Morgoth, a part of her felt the slightest bit jealous when she saw the way that he had looked at Lúthien with that lustful gaze of his. She had never seen him look that way at anyone but her.

The Slayer cursed under her breath, hating the feeling that that image roused in her, yet she couldn’t help the way she felt.

Shortly before dawn, she emptied the bowl. She then refilled it, but this time, added her own blood to the water. She was curious to see if she could conjure images from the future, her future. As the contents swirled around, Buffy saw something she hadn’t expected to see: Morgoth.

“Greetings, Melisse,” he said with a smile on his face.

The Slayer didn’t say anything, but stared into the basin.

“It’s been a long time, my love. It gladdens my heart that you have summoned me.”

“I didn’t summon you.”

“No? You wished to see your future, and now you see that is me,” he laughed. “I am your future!”

She remained perfectly still. Her face, expressionless. Buffy’s eyes remained fixed on the image of Morgoth. Despite the deep gashes that marred his face, he still appeared quite handsome.

“Why must we have all this death?” he continued in a tone that definitely revealed that he was mocking her. “I have killed many of your people, people I deem that you love very much, yet you continue to forestall our reunion. It can all end, Melisse. You can bring all the peoples’ woes to a screeching halt. All you have to do is come home. Come back to Angband and take your rightful place beside me. Let us start our family over and we can let the elves and mortals do as they wish, in peace.”

“You lie,” she hissed.

Morgoth’s mouth went agape, mimicking surprise. “How can you say such a thing? All I want is you.”

Buffy snickered. “That’s a lie too.” Before she realized what she was saying, she added, “I saw the way you had looked at Lúthien, the desire in your eyes.” Her voice was faint, and as soon as she said those words, she wished she hadn’t.

Melkor’s laughter filled her chamber. Surprisingly, the sound didn’t wake Orchal.

“Oh, my dear Melisse - you’re jealous!” he cackled, his smile broadening. “That only proves how much you love me. Have no fear; my desire for the daughter of Melian was merely a… fleeting notion, a thought that never materialized. I assure you, my dear, that you are the only woman for me.

“Now, let’s stop this nonsense. I tire of playing your games. Come home, come home to me.”

“Never!” she replied through gritted teeth, her courage growing. “You will die, and I will be the one to do it.”

Morgoth laughed even louder then before, causing the hair on the nape of Buffy’s neck to stand on end. She cast a quick glance at Orchal, knowing that he would awaken for sure, but nope, he still slept.

“You will not kill me,” he laughed. “You love me too much. If you wish to continue to play, then I will be forced to act accordingly. You cannot defeat me! You cannot kill me! I am the mightiest Vala of them all… ”

“How’s that foot of yours, Melkor?” she queried in disdain. “Such a shame that the mightiest Vala got maimed by an elf, a son of Finwë, no less.”

Her lips curled into a contemptuous grin when she saw Morgoth’s face twitch in anger at her words.

“You find my misfortune amusing, eh?” he remarked, narrowing his scornful gaze on her. “Alright, Melisse, have it your way. You wish to continue to play, then I will too. I will inflict such pain and sorrow on you that you will beg me for mercy before the end!”

“Blah, blah, blah,” she said tauntingly. “You bore me.”

“Let’s see if we can do something about that,” he replied, his eyes glinting with malice.

Morgoth’s blackened hand suddenly popped out of the Mirror and grabbed a handful of her hair. Buffy shrieked in alarm, awaking Orchal with a start.

“What? What’s going on?” shouted the Green-elf, still half-asleep. A loud crashing sound jolted his attention to the Slayer, who had knocked the basin off its pedestal, sending a stream of bloody water across the marble floor.

Buffy stood there, her hand pressed against the side of her head, trembling from the pain.

“Bella, what happened?” asked Orchal when he ran to her side.

“Morgoth,” she gasped. “His hand came through the Mirror.”

“Holy Eru!” exclaimed the Green-elf, pulling her away from the Mirror and out of the room.

“He pulled a handful of my hair out,” she whimpered, her hand still pressed to the side of her head.

“Let me see.” Orchal pried her hand away and winced. “Oh, Bella. He did pull quite a bit out. You have quite the bald spot. Does it hurt terribly?”

“Of course it does!”

“Let’s go see Nestor.”

All that the healer could do was smear some salve on her raw flesh, numbing the pain.

Orchal then took her to her room, insisting that she sleep. Buffy refused, having agreed to breakfast with Beren and Lúthien. She decided to forgo sleep until afterwards. She then stepped before her mirror, taken aback by how tired she looked. Dark circles had formed beneath her eyes making her appear slightly older than normal. She groaned while desperately trying to cover up her bald spot by brushing her hair in various styles.

“Just wear a veil,” suggested her friend. “That’ll hide it until the hair grows back.”

“How come I can’t sing some enchanting melody like Lúthien to make my hair grow back?” she asked, looking fretfully at her reflection.

“I deem that your powers lie elsewhere, in your strength, not in your voice,” answered Orchal, now standing behind her.

“Lucky me,” she grumbled, her face wrinkled in disgust.

The Slayer ended up taking the Green-elf’s advice. After changing into a black gown, she wore a matching headdress with her circlet of luinil flowers over that. At least, none would see her disfigurement.

When they joined the lovers for breakfast, Buffy felt stupid over the way she had been carrying on about her hair. Beren had lost his hand, Lúthien her immortality. She had no right to turn something so trivial into some big deal. It was petty. She was being petty.

“I’m really sorry about what my brothers-in-law did,” she said after downing a cup of coffee. “They both deserved death and your mercy was most generous. I feel like I should make amends for their criminal behavior.”

“There’s no need, Bellaseth,” answered Lúthien. “You are not responsible for the deeds of the sons of Fëanor.”

“Yeah, I am,” Buffy sighed. “I can only make a promise that I, myself can keep, or at least, try my damnedest to keep.”

She then swore to both Beren and Lúthien that she would ensure that the couple’s bloodline never failed throughout all the ages of the world. So great of an oath it was, that when the Slayer spoke, a rushing of air came through the opened windows whirling around the three of them, signifying that Manwë himself bore witness to her words.

It was an oath that would prove burdensome at times, but Buffy would keep it, even until the End of Days.

After breakfast, she and Orchal left for Lindon. When they reached Lindon Hall, she called a meeting with all her councilors informing them that she approved of all of her Regent’s decisions regarding Beren and Lúthien. She expected the Green-elves to honor that, and commanded them to do as the newly appointed Lord and Lady of Ossir asked.

Despite her friends’ pleas for her to rest, the Slayer left Lindon for Himring. Along the way, she stopped at Tol-in-Gaurhoth in order to pay her respects to her fallen friend, Finrod Felagund. She and the lions remained there for several hours before taking to the sky again.

When she saw Himring glimmering in the fading sunlight, her anger toward the two C-brothers grew to new heights. After witnessing all that she had in her Mirror, she was most eager to confront the both of them. Not only had they committed atrocities against Beren and Lúthien, but also Thingol, Melian and Finrod. There was no doubt in her mind that their actions called for a good old-fashioned ass-whooping, and Buffy was just the one to give it to them.