Full Circle

Buffy instinctively threw her arms around the elf, burying her face in his shoulder, as she had done numerous times in the past.

“Oh, Bella,” Mablung whispered, wrapping his arms tightly around her, offering her the solace she so desperately needed. “I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do to ease your pain. Thingol is a proud man, and I’m sure that, in time, this whole incident will blow over.”

“No, it won’t,” she sobbed, still clinging to the Elf Lord. “I foresaw this a long time ago. He hates me.”

“That’s not true. He’s wroth right now, true, but mostly at the sons of Fëanor. You and your son just happened to be in the crossfire of his ire, which, I deem, was unwarranted. I will speak with the King myself,” he said in his most reassuring voice. “I will mend the fences between the House of Thingol and Luinil.”

“Don’t bother,” she answered, pulling out of the embrace. “What’s done is done.” She wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her shirt. “I won’t let my husband’s kin harm him. I won’t break my promise despite Thingol’s loathing of me… ”

“Listen to me, Bella,” said Mablung, his green eyes fraught with worry. “You need to distance yourself from the sons of Fëanor. I fear that the Doom that follows them will get you ere the end. Flee now whilst you still can. I will help you.” He cupped her cheek with his hand, and looked lovingly into her eyes. “I don’t want to see any ill come to you, and my heart tells me that as long as you remain with Maglor, despair and sorrow will be your constant companions.”

“He’s my husband,” moaned Buffy in reply. “I love him. I won’t leave him. I’ll… I’ll die without him.”

“A Vala does not fade from grief! The pain that he will cause will haunt you throughout all your days, prolonging your suffering. I beg of you - flee as fast as you can!”

Her eyes began to well with tears, but the Slayer hardened her heart. “I’m not gonna leave him. I’ll never leave him… ”

“But he lied to you! What kind of husband lies to his wife?” he said incredulously.

“One whose own wife has lied to him, betraying her wedding vows, more than once,” she answered, choking back her tears. “He forgave me. He stood by me. And I’ll do the same for him. That’s what love’s all about.” She searched Mablung’s eyes with her own and could see that the elf still loved her, that he had been clinging to the memories of their past life together.

Buffy brushed his hand aside as she rose to her feet. The Elf Lord stood as well.

“I’m not the same woman you once knew, Mablung. You’re in love with a mirage of my former self. You have no idea of the things that I have done, what I have become.

“I’ll never give up hope on Káno or our love. He’s a good man. And our son, our son is living proof of that. Olofin epitomizes the best traits in both of us, without the flaws. Hope is not lost. Not yet.”

Mablung grabbed Buffy’s hands. “Please, Bella, listen to me,” he started, making one last desperate attempt to reason with her. But his words were cut short by the untimely arrival of Olofin, Thranduil and the lions.

“What’s going on?” asked Olofin, who now stood beside the chariot with the rest of their party. His eyes darted to the elf’s hold on his mother. “Nana?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” she said, pulling from Mablung’s grasp. “Harness the kitties.” She wiped her face again, suddenly aware of the numerous guards and spectators that had surrounded her and the chariot.

“Bella! Please do not leave just yet. I haven’t finished speaking with you,” implored the Elf Lord.

“There’s nothing more to say, Mablung,” she answered firmly. “We’ve got a war to prepare for. It’s as Olofin had said: We’ve wasted enough time in Doriath.”

Thingol’s Chief Captain hung his head in defeat. He wished beyond anything that he could whisk Buffy away to somewhere safe, somewhere where there were no sons of Fëanor to lead her astray. Yes, he still loved her. He always would. After all the many years that had passed, Mablung still didn’t understand what had possessed him to do the things he had that brought an end their relationship. It was his greatest regret.

When the lions were harnessed, both Olofin and Thranduil stepped onto the platform of the chariot, as the Slayer looked one last time upon the gates of Menegroth. She didn’t expect to return to the Halls of Thingol again, and was saddened by the thought.

“I will be part of the company that escorts you to our borders,” said Mablung, acting the part of Captain of Doriath.

“We won’t need an escort,” answered Buffy, turning her gaze to the Elf Lord. “Unless you guys can sprout wings and fly.”

He gave her a peculiar look. “I was ordered to do so,” he replied, watching as Olofin and Thranduil assisted her onto the chariot.

“Suit yourself,” she shrugged. The lions jolted the chariot forward.

A voice suddenly cried out, “Bellaseth! Bellaseth! Wait!”

“Whoa, babies,” Buffy said to her kitties, bringing the vehicle to a halt. She turned toward the sound and saw Nimloth, accompanied by several maidens, running across the bridge. She waited patiently for them to approach.

“I’m glad I caught you before you departed,” said the out of breath daughter of Galathil, leaning against the cart for support.

“What’s up, Nimloth?”

“My Lady,” she panted, her face glistening with sweat. “If I may, I have a request to make of you.”

Buffy raised her brows, curious as to what the kinswoman of Thingol would ask of her.

“I miss Lúthien terribly. May I… do you mind if I join her in Ossiriand?” she asked hesitantly. “I hate the thought of not being with her whilst her mortal years dwindle away… ”

“Of course you can. I’m sure she’d be grateful to have some of her kin with her,” answered the Slayer with a small smile. She then raised her gaze, scanning the many elves that had gathered outside the gates of Menegroth. In a loud voice, she addressed them all. “Any from Doriath are welcomed in Ossir. You need not ask - just go. None of the Sindar will ever be turned away. We do not forget the friendships and alliances of old.”

Buffy turned her eyes back to Nimloth. “I’m sorry, Nim, but as you can see, we don’t have room for you and your maidens on my chariot. You’ll have to find some other means of getting there. Nevertheless, I’ll alert Orchal and our Captains that you’ll be coming. I’ll have a ship waiting at Lindon to take you and your kinfolk to Tol Galen when you arrive.”

Nimloth grabbed Buffy’s hand and kissed it. “Thank you, my Lady. Bless you! I do not care what Thingol says, my love for you has not lessened though you wed a son of Fëanor.”

“I appreciate that.” She gave a nod of her head and the woman stepped back. “Take care.”

“Bella,” said Mablung, taking Nimloth’s vacated place beside the chariot.

“What?”

“When do you propose to make your war with Morgoth?”

“Midsummer’s Day. At first light.”

“Midsummer’s Day,” he repeated, nodding his head.

“Beleg knows more about it,” she said, casting a quick glance to the marchwarden, who stood amongst the guards. “Take it easy,” she said, forcing a quick smile of farewell.

“We’re supposed to escort… ” His words faltered as the lions started running, gradually ascending into the darkening sky, careful not to hit any of the towering trees that surrounded them. The Sindar gasped in amazement, having never before witnessed beasts without wings flying. Many were pointing above the treetops, shrieking with excitement.

Buffy looked below and saw both Mablung and Beleg in deep conversation. She half-heartedly waved good-bye to the elves as her kitties headed south. After the ordeal with Thingol, she decided that a stopover in Ossir was called for before heading on to Nargothrond. The sons of Fëanor had damaged her relationship with the King of Doriath beyond repair, and she could only assume that she’d find the same thing to be true with Orodreth. For her own emotional well-being, she needed to recuperate from the first reaming she got before facing the next one.

While the trio was flying to Lindon, both Mablung and Beleg returned to the Great Hall of Menegroth and begged Thingol to let them join the battle against Morgoth. There was no way that they could remain in Doriath knowing that such a huge war would soon take place. Besides, they both loved Buffy and wanted to help in any way they could (although they did not share that reason with their Lord).

In the end, Thingol relented. He allowed the two Elf Lords to join the battle, but they were not permitted to fight under the banner of any son of Fëanor or Buffy. He commanded them to go to Eithel Sirion and join the forces of Fingon. They were the only elves from Doriath to do so.

Upon reaching Lindon, the Slayer was exhausted, emotionally drained and hungry. She spoke privately with her closest of friends, Orchal and Nestor as she ate, telling them of what had happened with Thingol.

The two Green-elves were dismayed to hear about the threatening words of Maglor and his brothers, but were angered more by the King’s condemnation of their beloved friend and Queen. They couldn’t believe that she still pledged to protect Thingol after his banning of her from setting foot in Doriath. Regardless of their feelings, Orchal and Nestor would do everything in their power to support her and abide by whatever decisions she made. They trusted her completely.

Unfortunately, the visit to Ossir didn’t ease the Slayer’s heartache as she had hoped. She found herself unable to sleep. Her mind was racing, and refused to shut down, causing her to toss and turn in bed despite her many efforts to do otherwise. Nestor’s tonics didn’t work nor did the sweet, melodic voice of Orchal. Even when she went to Sussrúmnir that night, Istahiro failed to find a remedy to make her sleep. Her friends could only surmise that some new devilry was at work.

Under the circumstances, Orchal decided that he too wished to fight in the upcoming battle, and would lead a few companies of Green-elves. Feeling that something was amiss, he wanted to be by Buffy’s side.

A week later, the Slayer, now quite fatigued and moody from lack of sleep, left for Nargothrond with her boys. The Green-elves left for Himring. Nestor was left as Regent, holding the scepter until Orchal’s return.

The lions swiftly flew to Western Beleriand. When they reached Taleth Dirnen, Buffy had the cats touch down on the plains that were under the ever-watchful eye of the Noldor. Unlike Beren, she didn’t announce herself as she felt no need to do so. Who else in Middle-earth had a lion drawn chariot other than she? No one. That’s why she was quite shocked when things took an unexpected turn for the worse.

She was re-braiding Thranduil’s hair that had come loosened during their flight when, out of nowhere, an arrow came whizzing directly at her.

“Look out!” shouted an ever vigilant Olofin. With Vala speed reflexes, he caught the dart mid-air, only inches from his mother’s face.

Buffy yelped. Thranduil shrieked as she dropped down within the protection of the cart’s copper sides, pulling the poor elf down with her by the hair she still clutched in her hand. Unsure of what to do, the lions halted, causing the chariot to come to a sudden stop with a jerk. She and the Green-elf ricocheted off the walls, their heads painfully colliding with the metal.

Olofin didn’t seem to notice. He was too preoccupied with studying the arrow in his hand. Sniffing the metal tip, he said, “It’s poisoned,” before showing the projectile to both his mother and Thranduil.

“God damn it!” said the Slayer, standing once again. She looked at Thranduil. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he answered, getting to his feet as well. He scanned the plains that surrounded them, rubbing the growing knot on the back of his head. “Why the hell are the Noldor sending poisoned darts at us?”

Buffy didn’t answer. Instead, she angrily bellowed, “If one more arrow comes our way, I will rip the head off of the Elf responsible, for I am Bellaseth Dagnir and I come seeking Orodreth, brother of the late King and my dear friend, Finrod Felagund!”

The Noldor didn’t reply nor was there any movement in the treetops where the Slayer knew the archers remained hidden on their talans amidst the thick greenery.

“Come on, babies. Let’s get a move on.” The chariot lurched forward as the trio kept their eyes open for any more flying projectiles.

“Why are they shooting at us?” asked Thranduil again, disturbed that the elves had resorted to such underhanded tactics against their own kindred.

“Paranoia,” replied Buffy, her eyes still searching the treetops for any sign of the elves.

“Or the Curse,” uttered Olofin. “It was said by Mandos himself that kin will turn upon kin. I think that is what we’re witnessing here.”

“Hmm,” sounded the Slayer. “I’ll go with Orodreth being a dumb-ass. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. Finrod, Aegnor and Angrod were the smart ones from the line of Finarfin - Orodreth, not so much,” she snickered. Pointing to the arrow in her son’s hand, she added, “That’s proof of his ignorance… and stupidity.” Buffy shook her head in disgust and mumbled under her breath, “Sending a poisoned arrow at us. They have some nerve. Humph!”

For a while, all remained silent, except for the sound of the wheels of the cart rolling over the uneven surface of the terrain. As the lions continued onward, a series of chirping sounds rang out across the fields. Buffy knew that those were no birdcalls but the elves signaling to one another. Fearing that the Noldor were preparing an attack, she loudly proclaimed who she was again, and that if any dare assault her and her companions, she would personally obliterate Nargothrond herself, including all those that occupied the Hidden Halls of Felagund.

“That was unwise, Nana,” sighed her son. “We come seeking the aid of Orodreth and now you threaten to destroy his home and people.”

“They sent a poisoned dart at us!” she exclaimed in her defense. “For the love of Eru, I don’t know what the hell they could be thinking!”

The Slayer should have taken that as a sign of things to come, but she wasn’t about to let the episode with the poisoned arrow deter her from speaking with Orodreth. She had many friends that still dwelled in Nargothrond and convinced herself that she would be able to persuade some to join the Union in battle. Yet that voice in the back of her mind reminded her that Finrod himself was only able to gather ten companions to join him on the Quest, and he was their King. Surely, one wed to a son of Fëanor, even a Vala Queen, would have little luck convincing anyone from the House of Finrod to join forces with the brothers. Buffy tried her best to push that thought out of her mind but to no avail.

They saw no elves until they neared the heart of the realm beside the banks of the River Narog. There, they were met by numerous elves, all armed to the teeth. The enmity that the Noldor had for Celegorm and Curufin now encompassed all from the House of Fëanor, Buffy included. Despite the chilly reception they received, she insisted on speaking with Orodreth at once.

As they were led to the entrance of the Hidden Halls, the Slayer took the arrow from her son. She wasn’t sure whether the King knew of the violent act committed against her and her boys, but she was going to bring it to his attention nonetheless. With her lack of sleep, and her thoughts constantly on the upcoming war, Buffy was in no mood to play games or take anyone’s shit, King or not.

Outside the gates, the trio was asked to surrender their weapons. Buffy nonchalantly ignored the request, but Gildor knew very well that numerous weapons hung on the mystical belt girded about her waist.

“Come now, Bella,” said the Elf Lord, eyeing her belt. “I know that those charms of yours are of the mystical variety and turn into full sized weapons once removed. I must ask that you turn it over.”

Buffy forced herself not to smile. “If you insist,” she replied with a wry grin.

She unclasped the belt, the charms tinkled in harmony as she placed her most coveted weapon on the palm of Gildor’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you,” he said, closing his fingers around the belt. Not a second later, he screeched in pain, dropping the belt from his grasp. His hand was smoldering as he showed the others how the belt had literally burned through his glove, searing the elf’s flesh.

The many Noldor present then watched in shocked disbelief as the belt slithered across the stone floor and up the Slayer’s leg, clasping itself around her waist.

“Huh, imagine that,” said a smiling Buffy in mocked surprise. “I guess my belt’s not meant to be anywhere but here,” she chuckled, fondly tapping the mystical chain.

The elves stared at her with their mouths agape. None had ever seen anything like that before.

“Does anyone else want to handle it?” she asked, reveling in the shock of the Noldor. Her eyes then lit up as a thought crossed her mind. “Hey, maybe the belt is like my very own Silmaril, and burns those deemed unworthy or unclean with a simple touch.”

Gildor’s eyes widened as he frantically took a closer look at his burnt hand. The flesh was deep red, not black.

“I’m just saying - it’s food for thought,” she sniggered at the elf’s reaction. She waved the poisoned dart in her hand as a reminder of their ignominy.

None attempted to take the belt after that, but the armed guards formed a ring around her, separating Buffy from her two young companions, as they marched into the Halls of Nargothrond. Both Barathalion and Noeriel were forced to wait outside, something that didn’t bother them in the slightest.

When they finally arrived before the throne of Orodreth, a multitude of elves crammed into the massive chamber, much like in Menegroth. Despite the fact that there was little love between the House of Finarfin and the House of Fëanor, the Slayer was a Vala, and that alone commanded her some respect and an audience with the newly crowned King.

Buffy wasn’t about to show any propriety to Orodreth, as she believed him undeserving. Nearly being struck in the face by a poisoned arrow would tend to have that effect on someone, and the Slayer was no different. Incensing her more was seeing the Nauglamír dangling from around the Elf Lord’s neck. That was Finrod’s bejeweled necklace, not Orodreth’s, and she found his wearing of it to be disrespectful to Felagund’s memory.

“Is this how you greet visitors to your lands nowadays, Orodreth?” she queried bitterly, waving the poisoned dart before the throne of the King. “Or have the Noldor of the House of Finrod confused us with the enemy?”

“Those from the House of Fëanor must be viewed with suspicion… ”

“You mean as the enemy,” she interjected, narrowing her eyes at the King. “Why else would one employ the tactics of Morgoth against their own kin?”

“And just who was it that taught the Noldor the craft of poison-making? Hmm,” he answered with a sneer, tightening his grip on the arms of his seat so much so that his fingers had started to turn white.

“I assumed that it would only be used on the minions of Morgoth, not elves or… me,” she answered back coolly. “Your brothers would be ashamed to see how low you’ve sunk in such a short amount of time. Whoever advised you to slay me with this has misinformed you, my dear Elf,” she continued, waving the dart for all to see. “I cannot be killed by you or any of your kindred.” She snapped the arrow in two, tossing the pieces at Orodreth’s feet. “You have disgraced the lordship of the House of Finarfin.”

“I am beginning to doubt my own counsel by allowing you admittance into Nargothrond, Bellaseth,” answered the King, his temper flaring. “I deem that you’ve spent far too much time with the proud sons of Fëanor and their haughty attitude has rubbed off on you!”

Buffy laughed at the Elf Lord’s words. “You’re an idiot, Orodreth. You attack me, and make unfounded accusations and consider me the enemy!” She shook her head in disgust. “I bet Finrod’s rolling in his grave over your cheek. Perhaps it’s in the best interest of all that you no longer seek the goods and services of my people. I do not reward impertinence!”

“So be it,” he grumbled with disdain.

The Slayer turned her back on the King, and faced the masses in the Great Hall. She spoke of the upcoming war, doing her best to rouse the warriors in attendance to join the Union in their fight to take out Morgoth.

Her speech incited one of the Lords of Nargothrond to loudly proclaim his support - Gwindor, who wished to retaliate against the Dark Lord for taking his brother, Gelmir captive during Dagor Bragollach. Since Gwindor’s lover was none other than Finduilas, Orodreth’s only daughter, she hoped that the Elf Lord would be able to sway even more elves into joining the Union.

When Buffy had finished speaking, she faced the King once again. “If you attempt to assail me and mine again, I will show you what kind of powers I truly possess. I won’t take shit from any elf, especially one who’s been coddled and holds the scepter only because he is the sole survivor of a once noble bloodline. You are no King. You are a disgrace to the line of Finwë and by your own ill-advised counsel are bringing the Doom upon these good people.”

“I was mistaken in my earlier declaration, Bellaseth,” said a seething Orodreth. “You are not like the sons of Fëanor, but more like the Dark Lord himself. I now see why he views you as the apple of his eye. You and Morgoth are more alike than I had thought.”

Once again, the Slayer laughed. “See, that proves something, Orodreth. You know nothing! I will take Morgoth down. I will defeat him.” She turned to her son and gave a slight nod of her head. Slowly, she climbed the steps of the dais.

The guards attempted to stop her but Olofin used his magics to keep them at bay.

When Buffy had reached the throne of Orodreth, she leaned over the frightened King. “Yes, my friend,” she said derisively, “the Curse is alive and well in Nargothrond. You have kindled it awake by hunting down your own kin, bringing the Doom upon you and the good people of this realm. Think on that when you reap the reward for your evil deeds.”

The Slayer glared at the King for a moment before descending the steps of the dais. She then left the chamber with her two companions amid the loud rumblings from the crowd.

Despite the hostility of her meeting with Orodreth, Gwindor rejected the counsel of his Lord and was adamant about joining the Union. Because of the King’s love for the Elf Lord, he allowed him and a small company of Noldor to go to war under the condition that they fight alongside the forces of Fingon, not the sons of Fëanor, and especially not Buffy. Only fifty elves would depart Nargothrond for Eithel Sirion.

The trio did not speak as they took to the air once again. Buffy remained aloof, staring into the distance, as the events that had transpired over the past week played over and over in her head. She mulled over her confrontation with Thingol, which hurt her the most, but also put her in the foulest of moods. While she was angered by the brothers’ lie, she, in turn, directed that anger at the King of Nargothrond. She rationalized her rather harsh attitude toward Orodreth as the byproduct of the incident with the poisoned dart. Evil had crept into that realm since Felagund’s demise, and the Slayer blamed that on his younger brother, who, in fact, was only partially to blame. Most of the blame fell on the two C-brothers, for they were the ones that had awakened the Curse in Nargothrond, leading Orodreth to make some unsound decisions in order to maintain the secrecy of his kingdom.

Olofin and Thranduil were deeply concerned about the Slayer, and were quite anxious to speak with Luthor upon their return to Himring. They could see that Buffy was beginning to break down, both physically and mentally, from her lack of rest, and they no longer doubted that Morgoth was behind her condition. Each wondered to himself whether the Dark Lord knew of the impending attack or if it was merely a coincidence that this new ailment plagued her at the most inopportune time imaginable.



When the sentries’ elvish eyes spotted the chariot’s approach, they quickly sent word to the sons of Fëanor, who, in turn, passed the information on to those from the other Houses gathered in Himring. The mightiest Lords and Ladies quickly made their way to the front of Maedhros’ citadel, which was where Buffy normally landed her vehicle.

“Don’t speak of what happened,” instructed the Slayer to her boys as they began their descent.

“Why?” asked a curious Thranduil. “Surely, everyone should know… ”

“NO!” she snapped so rudely that the Green-elf flinched. Noticing the hurtful expression on Thranduil’s face, Buffy apologized. “I’m sorry, little man,” she said, softening her tone. She gave him a quick reassuring smile, rubbing his arm affectionately. “I’m just… I’m just so tired… I don’t want to have to talk about what happened,” she added weakly.

“You won’t have to, Nana,” suggested Olofin. “Thranduil and I can tell the others… ”

The Slayer’s demeanor changed in an instant. She became belligerent. “Tell them what?” she barked, turning her now blazing eyes to her son. “Tell them that Celegorm and Curufin destroyed my friendship with Thingol? That I’ve been banished from Doriath?” Her cheeks reddened as she spoke. “Or are you gonna tell them that their own blood kin will kill any that happens to cross into Orodreth’s realm?”

Buffy stopped herself. She clung to the front panel of the chariot and took several deep breaths, attempting to calm her frazzled nerves.

“I did not mean to provoke your wrath,” Olofin replied dejectedly, stunned by his mother’s drastic mood swing. “I apologize, mother, truly, I do.”

“I’m sorry,” she softly said, closing her eyes, which had begun to burn with tears. “I don’t mean to bite. It’s just,” she paused, taking another deep breath. “Just let me deal with this… ”

The two young men warily eyed one another, their growing concern evident. They were even more determined to speak with Luthor.

Buffy saw that her internal struggle was manifesting itself in the most unpleasant of ways. Her insomnia, combined with her firsthand experience of what she believed was the Doom of Mandos at work, weighed heavily on her mind. Seeing how dismal things had become with Thingol and Orodreth, she couldn’t possibly imagine what lay ahead with her husband and his brothers, as they were the only ones that had actually sworn the Oath. Were the atrocities that had been committed by Celegorm and Curufin a sampling of what was to come should the sons of Fëanor fail to regain the Silmarils from Morgoth? Would she lose them all to the ‘utter darkness’ that they had called upon themselves if unsuccessful, and what exactly did that mean?

Since she was unable to sleep, those thoughts remained constantly in her mind along with the impending war, which was now less than three weeks away. Making matters worse, the Slayer’s physical condition was beginning to deteriorate. And that most certainly didn’t bode well.

The crowd that had congregated at the foot of the stairs made a pathway for the chariot’s landing. Once the vehicle had touched down, the Slayer leapt off the back while Olofin and Thranduil unharnessed the kitties. As she climbed up the steps to the citadel, she heard many people gasping, pointing at her.

“The Lady looks ill!” she heard some say.

When she reached the top of the stairway, Maglor came up to her and said, “What’s happened to you? You look terrible.”

“Gee, thanks, honey. That’s what every woman loves to hear from her husband,” she sarcastically answered back.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, darling, it’s just… you look ill,” he answered, rubbing her shoulders as he scrutinized her physical appearance.

“You try going a week without sleep and tell me how good it feels,” she replied curtly, running her fingers through her hair. She eyed each of the sons of Fëanor. “We’re on our own,” Buffy continued stiffly. “Thingol won’t help and neither will Orodreth. The trip was a bust, except for Orchal. He’s coming with a few more companies of Green-elves.”

Maedhros sighed. “Then we will make do with what forces we have,” he answered. “I consider it a blessing to have additional warriors from Ossir amidst our forces.”

“Good,” she answered, before pushing her way through the throng and into the citadel.

Those remaining outside the doors were stunned by her terseness and abrupt departure.

“We’ve got problems, Adar,” said Olofin once his mother was gone. The half-elf then told the others of the Slayer’s affliction but did not mention what had happened in Doriath or Nargothrond. He wished to speak with Luthor about that first.



“Oh, my God,” said Buffy, as she stared at her reflection in the mirror of her bedchamber. “I look like shit.” She touched the black circles beneath her droopy, bloodshot eyes, amazed that her boys had never mentioned how dreadful she looked. She quickly turned away from the mirror, sickened by her appearance. Plopping down in one of the overstuffed chairs, she sat there, staring blankly at the wall.

It wasn’t long before Maglor came in with Hweston at his side. The chief healer of Himring offered the Slayer a variety of potions and powders, all of which she scoffed at.

“If Istahiro couldn’t help me, what the hell makes you think that you can? He’s a Maia for Eru’s sake!” she snapped at the healer.

“I only want to help, my Lady,” responded a crestfallen Hweston.

“Let him try, Bella,” said Maglor encouragingly. “Hweston studied the medicinal properties of herbs in Valinor and may have a remedy that Istahiro doesn’t have.”

Buffy snorted. “Oh, yeah, ‘cause I’m sure the elves know more about herbal remedies than the Ainur.”

“Let him at least try,” suggested her husband.

“Fine!” She turned her heavy eyes to the healer. “Well, come on, Hweston. I don’t have all day! Work your wonders.”

Not surprisingly, nothing that the healer tried worked.

In the days that followed, it seemed to the Slayer that everybody in Himring suddenly was an expert in the art of healing and offered to help. Azaghâl claimed that the music of the dwarves had the ability to lull one to sleep. Buffy, who had become desperate by this time and was willing to try just about anything, listened to the tuneful melody of the Naugrim, but that too failed. Luthor tried some of the remedies he himself had prepared, but those too failed to provide her with any relief. She even followed Caranthir’s suggestion of drinking spirits until she passed out. While that sounded like a promising idea at the time, the results were far from. Instead of passing out, she ending up staying up all night vomiting while the rest of the people of Himring lay sleeping in their beds.

Buffy was a mess. One moment, she’d be shouting insults at someone, the next, weeping uncontrollably. It’s as if she had lost all control over her emotions and one never knew which personality they would be greeted with when in her company. Adding to her misery, was how physically weak she had become. The Slayer couldn’t spar worth a damn. Even young elflings had the ability to best her in a duel, something unheard of prior to her bout with insomnia.

The sons of Fëanor became fearful, as Buffy was integral to their plans. They were depending on the strength of her, Luthor and Olofin to take out the more formidable foes, such as the Balrogs and Glaurung. With her continuing to deteriorate before their eyes, they began to question the possibility of waging a successful campaign against Morgoth. But things were already in motion, and it was too late to call off the battle, which was now only ten days away.

Now, the Slayer knew that she was not the most pleasant person to be around, and she had started to distance herself from the others, terrified that her behavior would destroy the bonds of friendship that she had with those in Himring. She confined herself to her bedchamber, refusing to see any except those who would never let mere words come between her and them. The only time she left her room was at night. When all lay nestled in their homes, Buffy would wander the deserted streets beneath the starlit sky or sit in the gardens outside the citadel, bemoaning her latest misfortune.

All that changed a week before the battle was to start. The Slayer was sitting atop the wall of the courtyard, wrapped in her cloak, staring up at the many stars of Varda Elbereth. Weeping, she beseeched Ilúvatar to help her through her current predicament.

It was then that she heard a voice in her head. “Oh, Luinil, heavy is my grief in seeing you suffer so.”

“Lord, please,” she cried out pleadingly, “Help me. Help me overcome this new obstacle put before me. Soon we march to war, and I haven’t the strength to fight.”

“Oh, my dear Maranwë,” answered the voice soothingly. “I will answer your prayer. Do not think that I would forsake my favorite daughter. You will find comfort and relief this very day from one whom you least expect. I will send him to you when the sun reaches its highest point in the heavens.”

“Thank you, Lord,” she wept. “Thank you.”

The voice did not respond.

Buffy remained on that wall for the rest of the night. When the sun rose the following morning, she still sat there as those within the city began to wake. Mid-morning, she watched the Easterlings practice some of their drills in anticipation of the upcoming battle. She remained in a dazed state, looking up to the sun every now and again, waiting expectantly for the emissary of Ilúvatar to reveal himself.

When afternoon rolled in, someone joined the Slayer atop the wall. With bated breath, she turned, and saw none other than Uldor, lord of the southern-based Easterlings. Her excitement abated the moment she laid eyes on him for surely the mortal that she found ‘creepy’ could not be the one of whom the Allfather had spoken.

“My Lady,” he began, his dark eyes looking at her with much sorrow. “It grieves me to see you suffering so. We have so little time before the war is to start and I fear that your condition is worsening with each passing day. Will you let me attempt to ease your torment for I wish to put an end to your suffering?”

Buffy raised her brow skeptically at the mortal. “And what would you do differently that the others have already tried?”

“I would sing to you of the glory days,” he simply answered. “Will you let me try, my Lady?”

The Slayer let out a heavy sigh. “Why not? I’ve got nothing else to lose.”

Uldor gave her a reassuring smile as he undid the clasp of his cloak. He formed a pillow with the material, placing it on his lap. “Rest your head here, most benevolent one.”

She hesitated, unsure whether she should place her trust in the mortal. She remembered how he had looked at her upon their first meeting. It still sent shivers down her spine just thinking about it.

“I assure you that my intentions are noble,” he continued in the same reassuring tone. “I only wish to provide you with relief from you ailment, but you must trust me. That is all I ask.”

“Alright,” she answered, as she stretched out on the wall, resting her head on the makeshift pillow on the mortal’s lap.

“Close your eyes,” he ordered softly, gently stroking her hair.

She did.

Uldor then sang the most popular hymn written by Enheduanna, (Sargon’s daughter), Exaltation of Inanna, from bygone days. The words conjured images in Buffy’s mind of her glory days in the East. A blissful look came to her face as she felt her body relaxing. Soon, she found herself sound asleep, reliving the zenith of her reign in the dreamscape.

When Maedhros happened by and saw his sister-in-law sleeping with a smile of contentment on her face, he was absolutely dumbfounded. He took the sleeping Slayer into his arms, and carried her to bed. Those nearest and dearest to Buffy then gathered around her bed, watching and waiting to see if Uldor truly had been successful in curing her ailment.

As the hours swiftly passed by, the Slayer’s friends saw the dark circles under her eyes gradually fade and her skin had a healthy glow to it once again. For three days, she slept. When she finally awoke, Buffy felt refreshed, but famished. That definitely gave cause for a great celebration.

At the feast, at which the Slayer ate more than anyone thought possible, she named Uldor her hero and savior. She then elevated his status to the highest imaginable amongst all mortals in Himring, even higher than the Edain, who, out of loyalty, had followed her into exile long ago. She insisted that the Easterling fight at her right side, and publicly declared her love, trust and faith in the son of Ulfang.

Hope was renewed with the Eastern forces…