Full Circle

On the morning of Midsummer’s Day, after her return from Folkvang, Buffy changed into her mithril suit of armor. There was no possible way she could sleep, and many in Himring felt the same way. Despite the early hour, the city was bustling with much activity.

“How are you feeling?” asked Maglor as he laid out his battle garb on the bed.

“Nervous… and excited,” she answered, shoving her mithril mask into the pocket of her coat. “But in a good way,” she added in a more optimistic voice. “I’m nervously excited! And can’t wait to kick some demon butt!”

“That’s my Luinil,” said her husband with a smile. “It’s good to see you raring to go. You had me worried for a bit.”

“What can I say? Ilúvatar pulled through for me. Big time,” she laughed, walking over to the small wooden box on her dresser. “I’ve got to say, Káno,” she continued, glancing over her shoulder, “the Eldar really should put more faith in Eru than the Valar. He can do things they can’t… or won’t do.” Buffy pulled the tuft of Kit’s mane out of the box, kissed it, and shoved it into the palm of her mithril glove.

“They are the Guardians of Arda and… ”

“Pfft! Guardians my ass!” she exclaimed, cutting off the Noldo mid-sentence. “They may guard their realm, but they sure as shit don’t do anything here in Middle-earth.”

“Perhaps they know they’ve left it in good hands,” suggested Maglor with a wink. “You’ve done remarkably well since you’ve been here.”

“Well, I’ve made my share of mistakes, but I feel good about today. We’ve prepared, well enough.” A wide grin came to her face. Buffy excitedly added, “I can’t wait to see the look on Morgoth’s face before I kick his teeth in.” She fixed her bright eyes on Maglor. “I’ve been thinking about beating him to death with Grond, just like he did Fingolfin. Seems just to me.” She chuckled. “He’ll wish he never fucked with the House of Fëanor and Luinil, that’s for sure.”

The Noldo’s own smile broadened upon hearing her words. He swept across the room and pulled his wife into his arms, and gave her a passionate kiss.

“What was that for?” she asked, slightly taken aback by her husband’s unexpected kiss.

“I couldn’t help myself,” he replied with a chuckle. “Hearing you speak of killing Morgoth with such enthusiasm, and seeing you in your battle regalia - it turns me on.”

“No sex before the battle!” she said somewhat seriously. “We can celebrate our victory afterward.”

Maglor then whispered all the naughty things he’d do to her once the war was over. Her eyes widened as he spoke.

“Ooh, you’re so bad,” she chortled. “But I’m gonna hold you to your word on that.” She pulled out of the embrace. “I’ve gotta go see how things are going. Don’t be too long.”

“I won’t,” he answered, playfully swatting her on the butt before she left the room.

As Buffy walked confidentially down the corridor, she happily greeted all that she passed. Everyone in Himring was delighted to see that she was back to her normal self. She headed down the main stairway and out the front doors of the citadel.

The streets were filled with people busily going to and fro. Oxen were pulling wagons laden with supplies toward the main gates, as Maedhros had ordered. The Slayer wanted to inspect the engines before they left the city. Since they would have to be assembled on the battlefield, she wanted to make sure no parts were left behind. Something as simple as a missing bolt would be catastrophic, and would render a war machine useless. She wasn’t about to let that happen.

After her inspection, she climbed the stone steps to the top of the bulwark. She stood on the wall, scanning the landscape to the north. Thick mists covered all the land, obscuring one’s vision between the numerous hills in the region. Below her, she saw the hundreds of horses that the cavalry would ride into battle. Already, men were busy placing the protective coverings on the beasts. The banners of Fëanor, Luinil, and Ossir (a green leaf on a golden field) waved proudly in the chilly morning breeze.

Buffy smiled, knowing that she was witnessing history in the making. Having taken their time in preparing for this war, she knew they were going to win. She could feel it. Morgoth was going down, and the Slayer herself would oust him from his throne. She couldn’t wait.

Maedhros sent word to her to come to the gates as all the Captains were to assemble there. Even though the eldest son of Fëanor was running the show, he still consulted with Buffy on all decisions. She smiled when she saw all the mighty Lords and Ladies gathered there. The flames of the torches and the light from the lamps reflected against their armor, which shone like blood, portending what was to come.

The time had arrived to send the scouts out to survey the route the Eldar intended to follow. Uldor volunteered himself and his men for that task. Maedhros looked to Buffy, who nodded her approval. The Easterlings’ then mounted their steeds, galloped north, and disappeared in the dense fog that continued to linger over the land.

Already, the Elves, Men and Dwarves were gathering at the gates, eager to begin the march.

When the sun rose, bringing with it the first light of the day, the Noldor sounded their trumpets. The sound bounced from hill to hill, filling all that area with the sweet sounding melody.

To their north, Morgoth answered their challenge. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled from the very depths of Angband, causing the earth to tremble beneath the host’s feet. Thick black clouds issued forth from Thangorodrim, slowly rolling across the northern sky, obscuring the sun over the Dark Lands of Morgoth.

Shortly thereafter, Uldor returned, informing Maedhros and the others that Morgoth’s troops were marching toward Himring, as he spoke. The Easterling advised the Captains to wait, and confront the yrch on their own turf as opposed to meeting them on the open plains. The hills in the area would provide a natural shield from the enemy and could be used to the advantage of the Noldor.

That made perfect sense to the Captains, and so they waited…



In Western Beleriand, the host of Fingon had assembled amongst the hills and woods of Hithlum in anticipation of dawn. The Noldo King was quite pleased that he had received reinforcements in the past week from Círdan, Orodreth and two of Thingol’s greatest warriors. The more people, the better.

When the sun had risen in the sky, the Eldar sounded their trumpets, and they too, saw the black smoke billowing from Thangorodrim and felt the rumblings beneath their feet in answer to their call. Fingon turned his gaze to the east, and with his elvish eyes hoped to see the cavalry of Maedhros approaching. Unfortunately, he saw no clouds of dust along the sandy plains of Anfauglith. Doubt stirred in his heart. He expected to see the Eastern forces shortly after dawn.

Seconds later, sweet sounding notes echoed across the vales, drawing the host’s attention to their south. To the surprise and amazement of all, Turgon had come out of his hidden kingdom, having heard news of the impending battle, and brought with him an army ten thousand strong. Both elves and men lifted their voices in song. Joyful was the meeting between Fingon and his brother after so many years of separation.

With Turgon’s unexpected arrival, Fingon ordered him and his men to guard the Pass of Sirion along the Fen of Serech to prevent Morgoth’s minions from escaping that way. Having such a great force of Noldorin warriors stationed there would make it nearly impossible for the enemy to get through.

Not long afterward, the hosts of Fingon saw a great army of yrch marching toward Hithlum. Many of the Eldar grew restless, eager to engage the enemy on the plains, but Húrin wisely warned otherwise.

“Do not underestimate the guile of Morgoth,” counseled the Lord of Dor-lómin. “He shows us but a little of his might.”

The yrch drew closer and closer, stopping just shy of the River Sirion. The hosts of Morgoth stretched for miles, from the outer walls that encompassed Barad Eithel all the way to Rivil’s Well in the northwestern eaves of Dorthonion. From the various outposts in that area, the Eldar could clearly see the eyes of their enemy. Yet, the hosts of Fingon remained silent, and kept hidden behind the wall, hills and trees.

The Captain of Morgoth was ordered to draw Fingon’s hosts out from hiding by any means possible.

The yrch then taunted the Noldor, speaking gleefully of the deaths of Fingolfin and Finrod, two beloved elves of the line of Finwë. Their words inflamed many of the Eldar, who could hardly restrain themselves from attacking.

Once again, Húrin told the host to wait.

A few yrch chieftains were sent forth on horseback and offered tokens of parley. When that failed to bring out Fingon and his army, the chieftains returned to the Captain of Morgoth, who bid his men to return to the gates of Barad Eithel with someone who would surely rile the Noldor to action.

The yrch then brought forth Gelmir, Elf Lord and brother of Gwindor, from Nargothrond. During the Noldo’s captivity in Angband, the yrch had cruelly gouged out the elf’s eyes. The empty sockets had since become infected and were swollen and coated in a greenish-yellow crust. The yrch threw him roughly to the ground. The elf’s hands desperately felt around in an attempt to get his bearings.

Gwindor was beside himself with rage, but Húrin cautioned him and the others to wait. “This is but a ploy,” he warned. “Let us not be so hasty in taking the battle to the enemy.”

“We have more such as this one at home,” snickered the Orch Captain, Olburz, in an attempt to entice his enemies out of hiding. “You must make haste if you wish to find them all, for we will slay them upon our return.”

The Noldor made no answer. All remained silent. The yrch chieftains were getting angry.

Olburz laughed wickedly, the gruff sound breaking the silence. He then grabbed a handful of Gelmir’s hair, pulling the elf upright.

“Your brethren have forsaken you, Noldo,” he grunted. “You prove to be little worth to not only them, but to us as well.”

The poor elf, reached out, grabbing blindly at the air, crying out for someone to help him.

The yrch laughed mockingly at the Noldo, imitating his woeful pleas. Olburz then unsheathed his scimitar and while one of his cohorts held the outstretched arms of the elf, the Orch Captain brought his blade down, hewing off the man’s hands. The painful cries of Gelmir reverberated throughout the land. His wailing seemed amplified. When the Eldar did not respond to the Noldo’s howls of pain, Olburz then cut off the elf’s feet.

His accomplices threw the severed limbs over the wall, hitting several elves on the other side.

“This is the reward awaiting those that choose to contest our Lord,” he laughed evilly before cleaving the head off the poor elf.

The madness of grief overwhelmed Gwindor. He could no longer be restrained. The Noldo leapt upon his steed and rode out from his hiding spot with those elves from Nargothrond. They charged down the yrch chieftains, slaying them with a vengeance. Fingon put on his silver helm, and sounded his trumpet as a signal for the rest of his warriors to attack, and so began the Fifth Battle in Beleriand.

So great was the sudden onslaught of the Western forces that nary an orch could withstand them. The blades of the Noldor tore through the iron armor concealed beneath the dun raiment of the yrch. The shrill cries of the enemy and the sound of metal colliding with metal rang out across that region.

Those yrch that formed the rearguard of Morgoth’s forces grew fearful and fled the battle with the Noldor in hot pursuit. Gwindor, in his madness, lead the chase with his company. Their horses speedily crossed the desolate wastelands outside the gates of Angband, killing all in their path. They then slew the gatekeepers and passed into the Dark Lands, determined to retrieve their kin held captive and slay all the minions of Morgoth.

When the elves beat against the iron doors of the Dark Lord’s fortress, Morgoth trembled upon his throne. Yet he trusted in his designs, knowing well the strategy of the Eldar. He had confidence that his minions in the east would keep Maedhros’ forces from uniting with Fingon’s. The time was ripe for him to send out his main host of yrch and annihilate those remaining from the House of Fingolfin.

Morgoth then gave the order to unleash the forces he had in waiting, their numbers much greater than the Eldar had anticipated. From hidden doors along the peaks of Thangorodrim, thousands upon thousands of yrch issued forth, trapping those elves that had passed through the first gates into Morgoth’s lands. All were cruelly slain, save for Gwindor, who was taken captive, and brought before the Dark Lord’s throne.

Fingon was dismayed by the turn of events and was unable to aid those trapped beyond the walls of Thangorodrim. He called for his armies to retreat. So great was the number of yrch that they were rapidly closing in on those that had dared to pursue the fleeing enemy. The Noldo Lord’s western and eastern flanks were being decimated as they attempted to withdraw toward Ered Wethrin.

Haldir fell before the walls of Thangorodrim along with most of the men from Brethil that made up the rearguard of the Noldorin forces.

By the fifth day of the battle, as night fell, all the forces of Hithlum, including Fingon, High King of the Noldor were surrounded by the enemy…



“Something’s not right,” said a deeply concerned Buffy, standing atop the bulwark with the sons of Fëanor. “Morgoth’s forces should have reached us by now, don’t you think?” She faced Maedhros, her eyes narrowing in doubt.

“I would think so. I wish these damned mists would lift from the land. I cannot see a thing beyond the nearest hill!”

“My Lord and dear Lady we should wait a bit longer, as the minions of Morgoth move faster under the cover of darkness,” suggested Uldor, who stood on Buffy’s other side.

“Uldor,” started Buffy, turning toward the Easterling. “It’s been five days! Five days! No, something’s up. And I don’t like it.”

The Slayer moved along the wall in search of Luthor. The Maia had been given command of her lion drawn chariot so that he could attack from the air with the Carnimír. As of now, none had been deployed from within the safety of the walls of Himring, the lions included. She climbed down the stone stairway and into the streets, which were jam packed with the armies. She squeezed passed the men and women, who looked anxiously at Buffy in hope that the time had arrived for them to depart. But the Slayer said nothing to any as she disappeared into the throng.

She climbed up the side of one of the catapults, which they had assembled in anticipation of the impending attack. She scanned the masses until her eyes stopped on a grey head. Leaping off the war machine, she quickly pushed her way through the crowd until she reached Luthor.

The Maia was speaking with Lalwen when she finally approached him.

“Luthor!”

He turned and faced the Slayer. “What is it, Bella? Are we ready to open the gates?”

“Not yet,” she answered, narrowing her eyes. “Will you take the chariot up and see if you can spot Morgoth’s hosts? They should have been here by now.”

“Of course.”

“Report back to me. I’ll be at my post on the wall.”

The Maia nodded, as the Slayer disappeared into the crowd again.

For a fleeting moment she had misgivings, but quickly quelled those feelings. She had too much riding on this war. They had to win. She feared what would happen if they didn’t. The Curse proved to be working its magics already and the thought of the sons of Fëanor not regaining the Silmarils from Morgoth was a terrifying one. Buffy didn’t want to be put in the position where she’d have to stand between Thingol and the brothers. She didn’t want them to force her hand.

As she climbed back up the stairway, she became grim. Since Midsummer’s Day, the fog had lingered over the lands preventing all from seeing what lay beyond the nearest hills that surrounded Himring. She wondered if that was the work of the Valar and part of the Curse, or was it some diabolical device of Morgoth’s. Was it possible that the hosts that Uldor had seen somehow surrounded them all, waiting to attack once all was readied?

Stop it, she chided herself. You’re letting paranoia get the best of you.

The gong at the citadel rang twelve times, indicating that yet another day had passed. It was now six days after the battle was to start.

Buffy resumed her position along the wall.

“I see that you sent Luthor out,” remarked Maglor. “It seems we probably should have done that sooner.”

“Better late than never,” she mumbled in reply.

She and the sons of Fëanor waited with nervous anticipation for Luthor to return. While the Maia was only gone for about twenty minutes, it seemed like ages to her.

“The hosts of Morgoth have turned west and are assailing the hosts of Fingon!” shouted Luthor as the chariot flew in circles above the wall. “We must go now!”

“Fuck!” yelled Buffy in her anger.

“Open the gates!” bellowed Maedhros, running along the bulwark to the nearest stairway.

The trumpets of the Noldor rang out under the pitch-black sky. There was a moment of chaos at the gates as everyone tried to push their way out of the city at the same time.

“In formation!” shouted the eldest son of Fëanor in a commanding voice, putting an end to the confusion at the gates.

Maglor climbed atop Rocco, pulling Buffy up behind him. She wrapped her arms tightly around her husband as they hastily sped off with the rest of the cavalry, which made up the vanguard of their forces.

Once they had cleared the hills and reached the sandy plains of Anfauglith, the fog lifted. The Slayer looked over her shoulder and could see that all of Himring still lay shrouded in the ominous white clouds. Something more was at work besides ‘Mother Nature’.

She turned to Uldor, who was riding beside her and Maglor, and gave him a reassuring smile. She had assured the mortal that she didn’t hold him to blame for the recent turn of events. There was no way, she thought, the Easterling could have known that Morgoth’s forces were going to change direction. Uldor’s apparent mistake had ended up delaying the hosts of Maedhros from joining the battle for five days.

The cavalry rode hard and fast, faster than ever before, hard-pressed to reach the hosts of Fingon and provide them with much needed aid…



Fingon and his men fought the yrch throughout the night. Their numbers were rapidly depleting, along with their hope. Things had gone terribly wrong and it was only a matter of time before the yrch would cut down all of the King’s host.

Yet when the sun rose on the sixth day of battle, hope was renewed. Turgon, who had prevented his armies from the rash onslaught of the battle, now came marching up from the south, the armor and shields of his warriors shining like stars beneath the morning sunlight.

The phalanx of the Gondolindrim broke through the lines of yrch, and together with their King, they hewed their way toward Fingon, who was trapped in the center with those from his House. The enemy could not withstand the forces of Turgon and it was with great joy that the brothers came face to face yet again.

“Well met, Brother,” said Fingon, grabbing hold of Turgon’s arm. “Your timing could not be any better!”

“I deem that it was by the grace of the Valar that I restrained my men from rushing into the fray,” he smiled. “Things surely would have gone ill if I had done otherwise.”

Turgon turned his gaze to Húrin, who stood beside Fingon. It gladdened his heart to see that adan once again.

At that moment, the trumpets of Maedhros sounded to their east. The Western forces looked across the sandy plains and saw the Noldorin cavalry quickly approaching. The standards of Fëanor and Luinil could clearly be seen at the forefront.

Buffy reached in her pocket and put on her mithril hood. She then pulled off a sword charm from her belt, clutching the now full sized weapon tightly in her hand. She slid the strap of her shield from her shoulder, holding it firmly in her left hand, waiting for the impending clash with the forces of Morgoth.

She turned her head, looking to see where Uldor was. He remained by her side atop his steed. He was the only Easterling in the cavalry, which mostly consisted of Noldor and Green-elves. Behind them, marched the greater part of their forces. The Edain and people of Bór formed part of the frontline together with the Naugrim and Elves. The rearguard consisted mostly of Noldor and the people of Ulfang.

The cavalry charged the eastern flank of the yrch, trampling many beneath the horses’ feet. The Slayer leapt off Rocco into the host of the din-horde, taking her frustration out on every orch within striking distance.

Morgoth chose that moment to empty Angband before the two elvish hosts could unite. From the bowels of Hell came wargs with armed archers riding atop them, trolls, Balrogs, Glaurung the Great Worm and many smaller Dragons.

The most nefarious of the Dark Lord’s hosts came straight between the forces of Fingon and Maedhros, forcing them back from their positions thus preventing the two armies from joining together. Glaurung, who had grown considerably since Dagor Bragollach, spewed his venomous flames at the armies, setting ablaze elves and men who happened to be in the line of fire.

Sadly, many Easterlings from the House of Bór had only heard tales of the wicked creatures of Morgoth and had grown fearful when they actually saw them in the flesh. Seeing the monstrous size of the fiery Balrogs and the potency with which the Dragons slew all they encountered, the men fled the battle in horror. Yet the lords of that House remained steadfast in their loyalty to Buffy and the sons of Fëanor and vigorously fought the minions of Morgoth.

The Slayer sought out the most formidable of foes, the Balrogs and Dragons, slaying them with relative ease. To the monsters’ dismay, they could not kill her, under direct orders of their Master. Morgoth demanded that his servants bring her back to Angband, declaring that if any harmed her in any way - there would be hell to pay. Unfortunately, for those demonic creatures, they could only defend themselves against Buffy’s wrath and were careful not to deliver any deadly blows to Morgoth’s beloved.

Luthor proved to be quite effective, assailing the enemy from above. Having learned from the mistakes of the past, both lions had been outfitted in the mithril raiment of their parents prior to engaging the enemy, which prevented the Balrogs’ whips from tearing their flesh. With three sets of eyes, they were able to dodge the fiery thongs of the towering beasts before they could become entwined with the straps of the harness.

Thranduil gleefully sung aloud as he sought out the trolls to combat. Using the leather sling given to him by Cahal in Sumer long ago, he showed the mammoth, dull-witted creatures of Morgoth that a small stone could be just as deadly as any elvish blade. Using all his strength, the Green-elf hurled the rocks with such a force that when they struck the enemy between the eyes it killed them instantly, as it had the giants in bygone days.

When Buffy heard her son shout in triumph, she turned her eyes to him, as he leapt upon a fallen Dragon.

“Take this, spawn of Morgoth!” he yelled, before plunging his blade into the eye of the creature. The sword sunk deep into the head of the beast, nearly to the hilt. The Dragon let out a low, painful moan as the half-elf twisted the blade before pulling it out. Olofin had killed his first Dragon.

“That’s my boy!” the Slayer said proudly.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, Buffy scanned her immediate surroundings. She watched as Orchal and Arachas took down another Dragon, filling her with such joy. They were going to win. Victory was nearly in their grasp.

Morgoth’s plans were indeed going astray for the Eldar had managed to withstand the additional forces he had unleashed from Angband. Though it took a greater effort on the Union’s part to slay creatures such as the Balrogs and the smaller Dragons, they were able to nonetheless. The only demonic creature that any fled from was Glaurung, for that beast was, by far, the most lethal in Morgoth’s hosts.

Yet the Dark Lord was ever cunning and he had saved his trump card for the last. While the Noldor, Green-elves, Edain and those from the House of Bór continued to slaughter their foes, the Easterlings under the command of Uldor began to make their way through the ranks, toward the banner of Luinil.

Buffy found herself surrounded by numerous Balrogs, yet she remained undeterred by that fact. After an hour of fighting, she realized that none of Morgoth’s minions had attempted to kill her. She had guessed, and rightly so, that the enemy was instructed not to by their Master, and decided to use that to her advantage.

She happily taunted the beasts, wielding successfully both her blade and shield against the enemy. In her cockiness, she threw down her shield as she climbed upon one of the felled beasts, ready to deliver her final, deadly blow. From out of nowhere, another Balrog used his axe handle like a baseball bat and struck her in the throat, sending her flying backwards several yards.

Even though her neck was protected with mithril, she still felt the blow. Tears streamed from her eyes as she gasped for breath. She dropped her weapon, clutching her throat. She feared that her trachea had been crushed. The guilty Balrog was horrified at the prospect of having hurt his Lord’s beloved, and quickly took off, but was captured by his kin and rewarded for his stupidity with death.

Buffy was on all fours, still gasping for air, when she felt two arms wrap around her waist. Uldor pulled her into his arms, looking at her with worried eyes. He fell to his knees, holding her tightly.

“My Lady, I saw what happened,” he said fretfully. “Let me see.” He pulled off her mithril mask and crammed it into the pocket of his cloak. “Let me see,” he repeated, forcing her hands away from her throat. She groaned as his fingers pinched and squeezed along her neck, sending jolts of pain throughout her body. “You’ll be fine, Inanna. I promise. No harm was supposed to come to you. The Dark Lord was adamant about that.”

The Easterling’s words didn’t immediately register with the Slayer, as she was still trying to catch her breath.

“Shh,” continued Uldor. “I’ll make the pain stop, my dear.” The mortal then opened his hand, revealing a mound of white dust on his palm. He blew the particles into her face, instantly paralyzing her.

What the fuck!!! she screamed. Yet no words escaped her lips. Buffy couldn’t move a muscle, not even her eyeballs. Although her eyes were open, and she could see, her body remained frozen. Her throat still throbbed in pain, and she could feel the fingers of Uldor digging into her side. Help me! Someone, please help me! she cried.

Her eyes remained locked on the Easterling, whose lips had curled into a wicked grin.

“Great is the reward to the one who returns you to Melkor the Magnificent,” he said in a low hiss. “But, I’m no fool, Inanna Ishtar. Long have my people known about the prophecy regarding your procreating with a lord of Men, bringing forth the greatest of kings into Arda. Melkor can keep his reward, for I shall be the father of that child.”

Káno! Help me! she screamed in her mind, hoping that her husband could hear her internal pleas. Oh, God, please help me!

Uldor scooped Buffy into his arms, and climbed onto his steed. At that moment, he gave the signal to his men, who then began to attack the hosts of Fëanor as the Easterling made his escape…