Full Circle

Those Noldor, Green-elves and Men that happened to be near Buffy at that time were totally blindsided by the sudden attack by the traitorous Easterlings. So focused were they on battling the enemy that the mortals under Uldor’s sway were able to slice their throats or drive their blades deep into the most vulnerable parts of their flesh before the loyalists even knew what had happened. A few of the wicked aimed their crossbows at some of the mightiest Lords of the various Houses, striking many of the unsuspecting men down with an arrow to the face. They were brutal and malicious in their actions, and by their duplicity were on their way to turning the tide to Morgoth’s favor.

The Balrogs and Dragons played their part in the scheme as well. They kept those from the host of Maedhros from immediately noticing the treachery that was taking place amongst their ranks by diverting the attention of Elf and Man while the evil Easterlings’ slew them from behind.

Luthor was the first one to spot the horrific deeds of those from the House of Ulfang. Using the Carnimír, he sent blasts of flame at those committing those atrocities, drawing the attention of Orchal and Tarlanc who were fighting nearby.

The two Green-elves stood there stunned for a moment or two before the realization of what they were actually witnessing sank in.

“I knew something would go awry!” growled Orchal in his fury, tightening the grip on his blade.

As Tarlanc charged the malevolent Easterlings, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Traitors in our midst! Traitors in our midst!” With his face contorted in rage, he rushed the newly discovered defectors with his notched sword above his head. Reaching the closest of the betrayers, he brought his weapon down with such force that he clove through the mortal’s helm, splitting his head in two. Yet the Captain of Ossir didn’t stop there. He continued to hack all he had seen assailing those true to the Union, slaying them ferociously.

Orchal tried to alert as many people around him as possible, as he, Tarlanc and Luthor would not be able to fend off so many from the House of Ulfang. He shouted the same thing as his friend, yet his voice was lost to the din that normally accompanies battles. The sound of metal hitting metal formed the grisly melody to the wargs’ high-pitched howls. Men grunted loudly in combat or cried out in pain. However, it was the deafening roars of the Balrogs and Dragons that truly drowned out his voice.

The Green-elf still managed to inform those closest to himself. Dozens of elves turned their attention to the traitorous Easterlings, as fighting broke out on all sides. Some unfortunate mishaps happened in the confusion and some of the discombobulated Noldor killed their own kindred, unsure at that point, of who was friend and who was foe.

Yet the melee diverted the attention from Uldor. His most trusted comrades swiped the horses of the fallen elves and rode in a tight circle about the Easterling so that none could see that he was absconding with the Slayer. He wrapped his cloak around her in an attempt to conceal her from her loyal followers. Since he now claimed the reward for his treachery, he wanted to make sure that none could hinder his escape. He had his brother Ulwarth sound his trumpet. The shrill notes rang out in the darkness. Suddenly, thousands of traitorous Easterlings that had hidden themselves amongst the hills came rushing into the battle, assailing the hosts of Maedhros from the south. The Eastern armies were now being attacked on three sides, forcing the warriors to scatter.

Buffy was cursing the mortal in every tongue she knew. I swear to God, you’ll pay for this, you son-of-a-bitch. As soon as I can move again, I’ll inflict such pain on you that you would’ve wished to suffer Morgoth’s wrath rather than mine, she screamed in her mind, half-expecting Uldor to hear her internal dialogue.

Though paralyzed, her other senses seemed to work just fine, perhaps too fine. The Easterling held her tightly against his chest, the chain mail rubbing uncomfortably against her cheek with each step the horse took. Not only that, but her hip painfully collided with the front of the saddle, adding to her misery. But nothing seemed worse than being hidden beneath the mortal’s cloak. No longer smelling the fresh air, she had to endure the rank odor from Uldor’s body as well as the heat generated by it. It was unbearable. Yet she was powerless to do anything. The Slayer could only hope and pray that nothing happened to her before two o’clock, when Sargon would surely summon her to Folkvang.

“Already Himring has been seized by Melkor’s armies,” revealed Uldor, drawing Buffy even closer to himself. “Yes, Inanna, the delay was part of the plan. A host from Angband had positioned themselves to the east of Maedhros’ land before we ever left for the war. All those left behind will be killed, my wife and daughters included.” He sniggered before continuing. “But I care not. I will happily sacrifice them as long as you are my prize.”

Buffy couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking, my love,” Uldor continued. “Fret not! Whilst I know Melkor will be wroth at me for straying from the original plan by taking his beloved, how could I not after you publicly declared your love for me. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t return it? How could I bring you to him when I love you more than he does?”

He tightened his arms around her. “I may have led my people here for the riches that Melkor has promised, but I no longer wish to possess the fair lands of the Eldar. You are my only desire. You are love and mercy, but you are also hate and pain. And how can I not find that irresistible?” he laughed.

The Slayer grew fearful, now believing that all the Easterlings were lured to Beleriand by the guile of Morgoth. Knowing that the lords from the House of Bór were fighting alongside Maglor, she was terrified that they would kill her beloved husband. Her heart ached at the thought. This had to be a nightmare, some terrible nightmare that Morgoth had conjured in her mind. How else could things go so wrong?

This is real, her own voice of reason said in her head. You feel the pain in your heart, in your body, and in your soul. Morgoth has bested you in battle. The Valar have forsaken you, yet again. They care nothing about you. Why else would they allow this to happen? Ilúvatar. Ilúvatar ordered this. He’s punishing you for some reason or another. Why else would He send a traitor to heal you, a traitor who has taken you captive and will rape you the first chance he gets?

It’s the Curse! screamed her conscience in opposition. Do not doubt Eru, not for one moment. Remember the words said by Mandos - all things that the Noldor attempt will start out well, but will go bad in the end. This is part of the Doom upon them. You can’t change it, not with all the preparations, not with love. It is how it’s fated to be.

Buffy’s eyes burned with tears. Despite all the conflicting thoughts racing through her mind, she couldn’t help but think that everything was her fault. She allowed herself to trust the Easterlings with a few mere words of flattery and had invited them to join their respective Households to the detriment of all.

“… This battle marks the end of the Age,” Uldor had rambled on. “Once you gift me with immortality, together we shall rule these lands, instilling fear in all those that dwell here… ”

He’s insane, the Slayer thought. And delusional.

She screamed her husband’s name at the top of her lungs, but, of course, no sound came out. Buffy was beginning to panic. She desperately tried to move any part of her body - a finger, a toe, anything. Nothing moved. Concentrating hard, she tried to blink, but to no avail. The only part of her body that seemed to work other than her lungs was her tear ducts. She could feel the warmth of her tears running down her cheeks.

Words could not describe the terror that was overcoming the Slayer. It seemed obvious to her that Morgoth had given Uldor the ‘magick dust’ that caused her paralysis, and she wondered if the mortal possessed other magically enhanced items to keep her docile. Did the Dark Lord have the ability to keep her from traveling to Folkvang at the appointed time? Were his powers that great? Would Morgoth retaliate against Uldor once he learned that the mortal had double-crossed him? Was Buffy going to be raped repeatedly until she conceived? That thought terrified her more than any other.

Káno! she cried out in her mind. Help me, Káno!

At that moment, Maglor killed yet another orch. As he pulled his sword from the creature’s body, he heard his wife’s tormented cry in his mind. He stopped and looked around the area, hoping to glimpse his beloved battling some minion of Morgoth.

“Russandol,” he shouted to his elder brother, “Do you see Luinil?”

Maedhros, who was much taller than all his brothers, scanned the battlefield from atop his steed. Yet he saw no sign of his sister-in-law who had been fighting near the sons of Fëanor. “I don’t see her, Maglor! I do not even see her banner.”

“Something’s happened to her, Russandol. I feel it in my heart,” said the Noldo with dismay, mounting his horse once more.

Celegorm and Curufin came riding up to their elder brothers. “The enemy is overwhelming us. There’s no way we can withstand all of our foes. We must flee!” declared the eldest of the two.

“Bella’s gone,” revealed Maglor. “We must find her. I fear that the enemy has taken her.” The Noldo then took off in search of his wife, refusing to wait until their forces were mustered.

Maedhros sounded his trumpet, summoning all those faithful to his House. Those remaining from the House of Bór came as did the Naugrim and those Green-elves fighting in the general area. Unfortunately, the eldest son of Fëanor had to give the order to retreat. Seeing Maglor disappear into the throng to their east, he and his remaining forces took off in the same direction, hoping that they could aid their brother in his attempt to find his wife as they made their escape.

Those gathered then cleaved their way through the enemy, slaying all in their way. The Balrogs and Dragons pursued them in their hatred, killing many in the Union as they fled east. Some of the evil Easterlings were killed by the flames of the monstrous beasts, but not enough to diminish their numbers significantly.

Orchal, Olofin and Thranduil had gathered as many Green-elves as they could. They fought in a tight circle, doing their best to fend off the fiendish creatures and wicked mortals. They were the first to see Maglor who had cut his way to the group.

“Where’s Bella? Have you seen Bella?” he queried, anxiously looking from Captain to Captain.

“Mother’s gone?” cried out Olofin.

“Yes,” answered Maglor. “My heart tells me that she’s been taken captive.”

“Shit!” shouted Thranduil as he released another flying projectile at an Easterling. “We have to find her!”

“I’ll bet it was the traitorous Easterlings,” said Orchal with revulsion. “Those bastards!” His eyes scanned the immediate area as a whip from a Balrog came out of nowhere, striking the elf. The men were forced to scatter from the sudden attack. While the Green-elf was only slightly injured from the fiery thong, his horse’s legs snapped with a loud crack from the impact. The beast let out a painful neigh, falling to the blood-covered earth, taking with him the Regent of Ossir.

Olofin came in and grabbed Orchal by the arm, pulled him onto the back of his own horse and took off. The Balrog gave chase. The Naugrim formed a blockade about the retreating men, and hewed down the towering demon with their axes.

With the remnants of those from the House of Fëanor and Luinil sticking together, they made their way east following the same course as Maglor.

When the second son of Fëanor spied a band of Easterlings moving in the same direction as he was traveling, his heart grew hot. He knew that his beloved wife was hidden in the midst of the traitorous men. Though he was alone, his love for Buffy drove him on.

Lifting his blood-streaked blade over his head, he shouted, “I’m coming Bella! I’ll save you!”

Those elves close by joined Maglor in his pursuit, some on foot, some on horseback. As they approached those from the House of Ulfang, a group of Balrogs mobilized. They formed a barrier between the elves and retreating Easterlings, unaware that they were protecting mortals who were no longer following the commands of their Master.

Maglor led the charge against the burning foes, unhindered by the flaming thongs that lashed at his armor, denting his protective covering with each blow. Fate protected the furious Noldo. The Balrogs struck at their much smaller adversary with their blades and axes, missing him with each strike. With the others’ help, the son of Fëanor was able to slip past the protective shield of the Balrogs and engage the Easterlings in combat.

The evil men aimed their bows and crossbows at Maglor, sending a hail of arrows at the enraged elf. Many of the flying projectiles went astray, missing their mark completely, while the Noldo, with a wave of his blade, was able to knock others off target mid-air. Unfortunately, an arrow struck his steed in the eye. The animal bucked and reared in pain, flinging Maglor from its back. In its madness, the horse stamped and kicked those mortals around him, injuring quite a few before the Easterlings finally slew the beast.

Maglor heard his wife’s tormented cries in his mind, which renewed his strength and determination to find her. His eyes blazed with the light of his fey as he fought the Easterlings on foot, masterfully wielding his weapon and shield. The mortals began to close in around the elf, confident that they would kill Buffy’s husband. Yet the ferocity with which the Noldo fought made it impossible for any to deliver that fatal blow. Some of the traitors even fled, fearing that they would fall alongside their comrades-in-arms.

Time seemed to be ticking slowly, too slowly, but the remaining hosts finally reached the Balrogs’ line of defense. None, at that point, was aware that Maglor was alone on the other side, fighting with all his might to reach his beloved wife.

Glaurung now took notice of the commotion that was taking place to his southeast. Knowing how furious Morgoth was when they failed to bring Buffy back to him during Dagor Bragollach, the Dragon summoned his fellow worms and quickly slithered across the carnage on the battlefield toward the clash between the Balrogs and the remnants of Maedhros’ host.

The eldest son of Fëanor, seeing the Dragons approaching, ordered the dwarves to form a line of defense between the elves and mortals and the approaching worms, as they could not withstand the fires from those dreadful beasts. This allowed the elves and mortals the opportunity to focus all their attention on the Balrogs, working together to take them down, one by one.

The C-brothers proved quite effective against the towering beasts of flame. They and their men rode around the creatures, striking them simultaneously with a variety of weapons so that the Balrogs constantly turned in circles, using only their whips in defense. Gradually, they began to fall. The ground shook beneath the hosts’ feet at the impact. Some members of the Union took advantage of the gaps formed in the line of Balrogs and rode past the fallen fiends before the breach was closed again. Those that made it through encountered the fleeing Easterlings on the other side.

Maglor was trapped within a sea of Easterlings and a few Balrogs, fighting his damnedest. Whilst dueling with one of the fiery foes, an Easterling leapt upon the Noldo’s back, attempting to slice his throat. The elf’s legs folded under the mortal’s weight. The blade of the dagger missed its intended target but slashed Maglor’s cheek instead. Blood poured from the gash, a mere inch from his left eye. The elf wrestled the weapon from the Easterling’s grasp and drove it into one of the evildoers dark eyes until the tip of the blade became imbedded in the back of his skull.

As the Balrog he had been fighting brought down his axe, Maglor quickly lifted the mortal’s twitching body, using it as a shield. The Easterling was split in two by the strike, spraying the Noldo with a mixture of blood, bodily fluids and guts. In his fury, the Balrog lashed at the elf with his whip. Maglor grabbed hold of one of the fiery thongs. As the monstrous creature lifted the whip back up, be brought the Noldo up with it as well. He clung to the strap for dear life. When he flew over the beast, he let go, dropping onto the creature’s flaming head. Letting out a scream of triumph, Maglor rammed his sword through the top of the Balrog’s skull. The fires of the demon began to sputter out as it teetered from foot to foot, reaching for its head. The Noldo clung to the hilt of his weapon, kicking at the mammoth hands of wailing creature as it reached for him and the sword imbedded in its head.

The archers of Caranthir suddenly burst onto the scene, sending many flying projectiles at the Balrog. The monster’s attention was averted to the new menace as it stomped wildly at the Noldor by its feet.

Maglor, still firmly holding the handle of his sword, quickly surveyed the area below him. From his perspective, and with his keen elvish eyes, he spotted Uldor in the distance surrounded by many of his kinfolk. He noticed the mithril covered legs of Buffy dangling over the side of the traitor’s horse, inflaming the tiring Noldo. He clung to his weapon with both hands as the towering beast started to fall. When he neared the ground, he leapt off the dead beast, landing at the feet of his younger brother.

Caranthir jumped from his horse and helped his brother to his feet. “You’re hurt,” he said gravely, examining the wound on Maglor’s face.

“Uldor’s got Bella,” panted the elf in response, unconcerned for his own well-being. “We need to hurry, Caranthir.” Maglor pulled his blade from the lifeless body of his foe before his brother helped him atop his steed.

Maedhros’ host finally met up with the others, having bypassed the wounded Balrogs, who were now fleeing the battle. The Naugrim continued to hold back the Dragons, successfully killing many of the smaller ones. Glaurung proved quite a formidable opponent for the dwarves. Adding insult to injury, the Great Worm devoured several of the stouthearted people from Belegost in an attempt to dissuade them from battle. However, the heinous actions of the Dragon had the opposite effect on the children of Aulë. In their madness of grief, they encircled the worm, assailing him from every angle, as the beast spewed his fiery breath at them. The Great Worm then noticed that the Eastern forces were now attacking the rearguard of Uldor.

The scaly beast sent a jet of flames at the host of Maedhros engulfing many elves and mortals with his fiery breath. Some of the horses singed by the fire threw off their riders as they escaped the foulness that is Glaurung. Some of those from the House of Bór caught the fleeing animals, and leapt atop them so that they could catch up with the sons of Fëanor and the other surviving Lords of that House who were hewing their way through the legions of Easterlings.

Caranthir and Maglor were at the forefront of the host. As they led the way through the multitude of traitors, the mortals’ numbers became greater as more and more of their kinfolk joined the fray.

Glaurung, desperate to hinder the elves’ progress, rose up onto his hind legs, spewing flame and poisonous fumes at those rushing the evil mortals. From amidst the smoke, Azaghâl crept upon the beast and delivered a powerful blow that inflamed the Great Worm’s wrath. He struck the Dwarf Lord, knocking him to the ground with a grievous wound. As the beast went to crawl over the Lord of Belegost, the dwarf pulled the dagger from his belt, and with the last bit of his strength, smote the Dragon in its most vulnerable spot - his belly. Black, noxious blood oozed from the wound as the beast bellowed in its anguish. The wounded Dragon came crashing down upon the Lord of Belegost, crushing him to death. Although Azaghâl perished in his act of bravery, he caused the Great Worm to leave the war zone for Angband. Many of the beasts seeing Glaurung fleeing the battlefield followed suit, fearing that they were no match for the wrathful elves. Yet some remained, determined to fulfill their Master’s orders or die trying.

The dwarves of Belegost wailed in anguish upon seeing the death of their Lord. While the battle raged on, the Naugrim made a bier from their weapons and placed the remains of Azaghâl atop it. In their low gravelly voices, they sang a dirge in memory of their fallen Lord as they slowly began the march to their Halls in Ered Luin. None of the enemy dare waylay the mourning dwarves, who would refrain from joining the Eldar in all future conflicts.

No longer hindered by Glaurung, the allied forces were able to continue their pursuit of Uldor, whom Maglor now called the Accursed.

Those aligned with the sons of Fëanor stuck close together, cleaving their way to the center of the evil Easterlings where Uldor was holding the Slayer prisoner.

“Faster, Caranthir! Faster!” ordered Maglor, catching sight of the helm of Uldor the Accursed.

Caranthir clicked his tongue, encouraging his steed to increase her gait.

“The sons of Fëanor are drawing near!” shouted one of Uldor’s comrades to his lord.

Buffy felt her heart jump within her chest despite the fact that she was still powerless and could not move a muscle. The Easterling’s words renewed her hope, which had diminished with the slow ticking of time.

“Kill them!” barked Uldor, as the horse quickly picked up its pace to a gallop.

The Slayer could hear the sounds of the skirmish between the evil men and the elves fading as the horse put some distance between her and her captor, and those coming to her rescue. Her nerves were shot. She feared that Uldor would kill her in order to prevent her from reuniting with her loved ones. With her magics hindered, she didn’t know whether one of the Valar would remake her hröa or if she’d be left bodiless, a wraith left to roam the wilds much like the Green-elves that had fallen in the last war.

“Your elven husband will soon be dead!” snickered Uldor with contempt, tightening his grip on Buffy even more. “All five brothers will perish, my sweet, severing the ties you have with the House of Fëanor. Curse them! Curse them all to Hell!”

The Slayer tried to move again. If only she could somehow slide off the horse, then Uldor would be forced to stop or flee, giving her people an opportunity to catch up to her. No matter how hard she tried, she still couldn’t move any part of her body. She screamed in frustration though none heard her cry of distress, or so she thought.

Caranthir urged his steed on. Increasing her gait, the horse maneuvered through the traitorous Easterlings. Following closely behind were Borlach, Borlad, and Borthand, from the House of Bór. Even though the Slayer thought that those lords were faithless to the alliance, they most certainly were not. They were enraged by the deceitfulness of their brethren from the House of Ulfang and sought retribution against them.

Uldor and his partners in crime continued to press on, but Caranthir, Maglor and those from the House of Bór were fast approaching the fleeing men.

“Faster, Brother. We’re nearly there,” said Maglor fervently as they closed in on Uldor and his kinfolk. The Noldo held on to his brother as he shifted his position on the back of the horse. He placed his feet on the hind quarters of the animal, crouching low, in anticipation of the leap he would soon make onto the lord of the traitorous Easterlings.

Those evil mortals that formed the rearguard and chief defense of Uldor and his immediate Household were forced to stop and confront the loyalists in order to allow their lord the chance to escape with the Slayer. Yet they proved ineffective against the enraged Elves and faithful Easterlings.

Caranthir’s steed managed to make her way alongside the retreating Uldor.

Maglor then made his move. He jumped from the back of his brother’s horse and clotheslined the treacherous mortal, sending the Noldo, Uldor and Buffy crashing to the ground.

The fall knocked the wind out of the paralyzed Slayer. She desperately prayed that the other horses would not trample her in the midst of the chaos now taking place around her. Laying face down on the hard earth, she was unable to make out anything clearly, seeing only blurry movements from the corner of her eye. She listened hard to the sounds around her.

Both Maglor and Uldor quickly got to their feet, each brandishing his sword.

“You will die for stealing off with my wife, you faithless shit,” said the Noldo between gritted teeth, delivering his first strike to the evil Easterling.

“You’re unworthy of the Valië’s love, son of Fëanor. Let the Doom upon your kin now claim you!” spat the mortal in response.

So began the duel between the Noldo and the traitorous Easterling. The mortal was able to hold his own for a while having not battled any since he had abducted the Slayer. Maglor, on the other hand, had fought many enemies to get to this point and the weariness in doing so was beginning to take its toll. Yet seeing his wife lying motionless on the ground increased not only his ire, but also his strength and determination to make the traitor pay for his evil deeds.

A few others from the House of Fëanor had shown up by that time, clashing with the other evil Easterlings that surrounded the dueling pair. It seemed just to the Noldor that Maglor should be the one to slay the conspirator responsible for their loss in the war and the abduction of Buffy.

It did not take long for Uldor to begin to feel the strain of battling the furious Noldo. When he had fallen to his knees, his brother, Ulfast, shoved his way through the crowd and attempted to strike the elf from behind. But Borland leapt from the horde and delivered his own blow to the son of Ulfang, hewing off the mortal’s head.

In his fury, Ulwarth then killed Borland with a single strike before turning his attention to the other sons of Bór. As they battled, Caranthir slipped past the men and pulled Buffy into his arms, getting her out of harms way.

With a leg sweep, Maglor brought Uldor crashing to the ground. The elf stamped his foot on the blade of the mortal, preventing him from using it. Standing astride the defenseless son of Ulfang, the Noldo pressed the tip of his blade to the throat of the traitor.

“This is for Bella!”

The Easterling’s eyes widened in fear knowing that death was about to take him.

Placing both hands on the hilt, the Noldo pushed his weight down on the blade, piercing the flesh and bone of Uldor the Accursed. Thus, Maglor avenged those from the Houses of Fëanor and Luinil for the treachery committed by that Easterling.

Turning toward the others, Maglor saw that the sons of Bór lay dead, having been slain by Ulwarth, who also lay dead in a pool of blood on the ground.

The fighting had never ceased during that time and the surviving elves and few Edain still found themselves in peril. Not only did the evil Easterlings still outnumber them, but also a group of Balrogs accompanied by some smaller Dragons was hastening their way, forcing the remnants of the host of Maedhros to flee at once.

Maglor quickly went to Caranthir and took Buffy in his arms. Despite the continuing threat of the enemy, the Noldo tenderly caressed his paralyzed wife’s cheek, glad that he was able to save her from Uldor.

Buffy’s eyes remained fixed on her husband’s hovering face. Her heart ached at seeing Maglor’s face covered in blood. She wanted to tend to his injury, to touch him, to wrap her arms around him, but could do nothing but cry.

The deafening roars from the approaching Balrogs and Dragons snapped the Noldo to action. Holding the Slayer in his arms, he climbed upon Uldor’s steed as jets of flame and plumes of smoke forced the host to scatter yet again.

“To Himring!” yelled Maedhros over the noise of battle.

The survivors then bolted. Some heading east while others had no other choice but to go south, as the Balrogs and Dragons prevented them from joining Maedhros and his kin.

“Everything will be alright, Bella. I promise,” said Maglor soothingly as they rode speedily along the plains with the remnants of their Houses.

Much to their dismay, when they neared Himring, they saw the city atop the hill engulfed in flames. The last fortress of the House of Fëanor in the northlands was no more.

Maedhros was devastated at the sight of his city burning. He choked back his tears, too overcome with emotion to speak.

“We ride to Ossiriand!” declared Maglor, taking the leadership role of the survivors.

With their hearts heavy from both the loss of Himring and the battle, the group began their journey south. At that very moment, Buffy vanished from her husband’s grasp. Two o’clock in the morning had arrived, and bringing with it, Buffy’s summons to Sussrúmnir to fulfill her obligations as the Fëantári of Folkvang.

When she reappeared only a moment later in the antechamber of her sacred Halls, Sargon was there to catch her limp body. None of the Valkyries were present, as they were busy collecting those mortal souls that had fallen on the battlefield.

“I’ve got you, Luinil,” said the Adan, rushing up the staircase with the Slayer in his arms. “Istahiro is waiting.”

Buffy couldn’t help but notice the troubled look on Sargon’s face. By the look of sorrow in his eyes, there was no doubt in her mind that he knew about everything that had transpired. Sargon gave her several quick glances as he hurriedly climbed the stairs. He looked sleep deprived. The stubble on his face indicated that he hadn’t shaved in several days.

There were so many questions racing through her mind. The Slayer didn’t clearly understand everything that had happened and knew that Sargon was the one that held all the answers. If only she were free from Morgoth’s spell so that she could question the Adan.

“This way, Sargon.” Buffy immediately recognized the voice of her chief healer. Only a few seconds later, Istahiro’s face appeared in her line of vision. “Greetings, Maranwë. I see Melkor’s up to his old tricks again. Have no fear, I’ve already prepared the remedy for your latest affliction,” he said, giving her a reassuring smile. The healer turned his gaze to the Adan. “Inside, Sargon. All is ready.” Istahiro disappeared from her view as Sargon took her into one of the healing chambers in Sussrúmnir.

The next thing the Slayer knew, she was laid upon a bed, as some sort of glimmering bluish-green blanket was wrapped around her body, instantly stifling all her senses for about a minute or two. She no longer heard Sargon and Istahiro speaking or saw any shadowy movements from the other side of the material. Then she heard it, the sound of the sea. The fabric seemed to ripple to the sound, emitting flecks of the bluish-green light that coursed through her body. Buffy felt no pain, but experienced a rather strange sensation. It felt like electrical impulses were jolting all her bodily systems awake, yet it didn’t feel hot, it felt cool.

First, her leg gave a sudden jerk, and then she was able to blink her eyes closed. She enjoyed the cool, rushing feeling that encompassed every fiber of her being. It washed away her anguish and her fears, but only while she remained wrapped in the mystical cloth.

What Buffy thought was a few minutes, in actuality, turned out to be several hours. The Sheath of Ulmo, as that healing device was called, caused her to lose all sense of time.

“How do you feel?” asked Istahiro after removing the blanket.

“Physically? Fine,” she answered, sitting upright. “Emotionally? Devastated.” She turned her gaze to Sargon. “How could this happen? How could things go so wrong? What the hell happened with the Easterlings? How the hell were they able to trick us, to trick me? How could Eru - ”

“One question at a time, Luinil,” interjected Sargon, taking a seat beside her on the bed.

Buffy jumped up. “I’ve got to get back… ”

Sargon grabbed her by the arm, stopping her. “The war’s over, Bella. Has been for hours.”

“But… but… ”

“You’ve lost. I’m sorry, but this was one battle you weren’t slated to win,” the Adan answered sadly.

“But we did everything right,” she countered, the desperation in her voice evident. “How could we have lost?”

Sargon sighed heavily. “I’m afraid Uldor’s the one responsible for your loss. He and his kin - they betrayed you.”

“How could Eru let that happen?” she asked, her eyes beginning to well with tears. “He sent Uldor to me, to heal me, only to have… ”

“Eru never sent Uldor to you,” said the Adan, cutting her off mid-sentence.

“Yes, He did!” she vehemently protested. “I heard Him as plain as day. He said… ”

“That wasn’t Ilúvatar!” interrupted Sargon yet again. “Eru speaks through me, and only me, in regards to you. I am His emissary. Other than me, He speaks only to Manwë Súlimo.”

“Then… then who’s voice was it I heard in my head? Who else would call me his favorite daughter?”

The Adan pulled her closer, sitting her down on the bed beside him. “Can you think of no one?” he asked, cocking his brow at the obviousness of the answer.

Buffy shifted her gaze to the floor. Closing her eyes, she answered faintly, “It was Morgoth, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Damn it!” she shouted, falling onto the mattress. She buried her face in her hands, disgusted by the fact that she was so easily fooled by Melkor. “How could I be so stupid!” she cried out. “How could I not see this coming?”

“It’s the Doom of Mandos at work, Bella,” answered the Adan, shifting on the bed so that he could get a better look at the Slayer. “The Curse will foil all that the sons of Fëanor attempt.”

“But they were doing something good,” she replied, sliding her hands off her face. She pulled herself upright again, locking her eyes on Sargon. “They were fighting the forces of evil.”

“Only to reclaim the Silmarils. That’s what drove them, their need to fulfill the Oath. They were not fighting Morgoth to rid the world of that evil Vala. Their motivation… ”

“I don’t care what their motivation was,” she whined in reply. “They were helping me to do the right thing, to oust Melkor from his throne.”

“No, Bella,” answered the Adan, looking sadly at his lover. “You were helping them achieve their goal of retrieving the Silmarils. Even your motivation in fighting Morgoth was… tainted.”

“Tainted?” she repeated, her face screwed in disbelief. “That’s bullshit! No one wants him dead more than me! He’s killing everyone I love, one by one. He’s got to be stopped. That’s what we were trying to do. That’s what I was trying to do.”

“I’m sorry, Luinil, but as long as the sons of Fëanor are in your life, things will go badly,” said Sargon, stroking her arm sympathetically. “The battle is lost. The time has come for you to take a good look at the future, your future. The brothers now see that they cannot win the Silmarils from Morgoth, which means they will turn their attention to Thingol.”

“No!” she said, shaking her head. “That won’t happen. I won’t let that happen.”

“And how do you propose to stop them?” the Adan queried.

Buffy remained quiet for a few moments, pondering that question. “Love,” she finally answered. “My love will stop them.”

“I’m afraid that love does not conquer all, my beloved. The sons of Fëanor are driven by their Oath, and the love of any, even you, will not change that. You may delay it, but you cannot stop it. Not until the Oath claims them. They brought this on themselves, Bella. They called the utter dark- ”

She raised her hand, stopping the Adan. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“You must hear this. You must prepare yourself for what’s to come… ”

“NO!” she said louder, rising to her feet. The Slayer wasn’t ready to deal with the Oath or Curse right now. The pain of losing the war was too fresh in her mind and she refused to blame the loss entirely on the sons of Fëanor. “Not now, Sargon.” She slowly shook her head, as tears filled her eyes. “My people have died,” she continued, her voice breaking with emotion as she spoke. “Our losses were horrific. My home was destroyed.” She bit her lip, fighting back the tears. “Maybe Fingon and his armies did better than us. There were no traitorous Easterlings in his hosts.”

“Fingon’s dead,” revealed Sargon sadly.

“No,” she said shaking her head. “No, he can’t be.”

“He was killed by Gothmog.”

That news sent her over the edge. The tears now streamed down her face. She couldn’t believe it.

“Sargon, can’t this wait?” queried Istahiro, concerned by his Mistress’ latest misfortune. “Maranwë does not need to deal with this right now.”

The Adan turned his gaze to the healer. “It is best that she deal with this sooner rather than later.” He turned his sorrowful eyes back to the weeping Slayer. “I love you, Luinil. I do not wish to cause you any pain, but you must deal with this, now. You must prepare yourself for what’s to come. I fear losing you. I fear losing you to the darkness.”

Buffy raised her head, taking the handkerchief that the healer offered. She wiped her nose and weakly asked, “I’m not evil, am I?”

“No! No, of course not,” answered Sargon, getting to his feet. He approached his lover, his anguish etched on his face. “You allow yourself to follow your heart, and that can be folly at times.”

“Was my loving you folly?” she asked, locking her bleary eyes on the Adan. “Twice I violated my marital vows with you. Isn’t that wrong? Who decides? Who decides what’s right and wrong? Can you tell me that, Sargon?” she cried. “I try to do what’s right, but I follow my heart in doing so. I can’t change how I feel. I can’t turn my back on Káno. I love him too much. If the Curse is to claim him, then it will claim me as well. Maybe that’s what Eru wants. Maybe that’s my destiny.”

“No,” answered the Adan, grabbing hold of the Slayer’s shoulders. He studied her closely as tears filled his own eyes. “He doesn’t want that! The Doom of Mandos is fated to take the sons of Fëanor, not you. But you will be confronted by the brother’s deeds… ” He paused. “What you saw with Celegorm and Curufin was only the beginning.”

“I don’t want to hear this!” sobbed Buffy, pulling from Sargon’s grasp. “I can’t deal with this, Sargon. Not now… Please, just stop!”

The Adan bowed his head, the tears now escaping his eyes.

No one spoke for several minutes. The Slayer desperately tried to regain her composure.

“Prepare me a bag of supplies, Istahiro,” she ordered, wiping her eyes and nose dry. “I need stuff to heal the injured. Give me whatever you have - tonics, ointments, bandages and the like. Bring them to me in my Hall of Judgment.” She shifted her eyes to Sargon for a moment. Not wanting to deal with him any more, she turned and left the chamber. He wasn’t going to be any help to her she deemed. His only concern seemed to be the Doom awaiting Maglor and his brothers, and what the future had in store for them, not the here and the now. That’s all she cared about - the present.

When she reached her Hall of Judgment, the only one there was Fulla, her cupbearer. While the maiden took it upon herself to attempt to garb her Mistress in her royal attire, Buffy refused. Since she was covered in blood and guts, and stunk to high heaven, she had no desire to soil her finery. All she wanted to do was to sit upon her lapis lazuli throne and see what had happened during the war, to see how things had gone so wrong for the Union. Then and only then, would she do as she was supposed to, judge those slain in battle.

As soon as Buffy had eased onto the cushioned seat of her canopied throne, she began to get flashes of images from the war. Each more distressing than the previous one.

She saw the slaying of Gelmir outside the walls of Barad Eithel that initiated the war between Fingon’s host and that of Morgoth’s, and the unfortunate demise of those from Nargothrond caught within the gates of Angband.

While Maedhros’ host was fighting on the eastern front, Fingon and Turgon were doing their best to assail Morgoth’s hosts on the western front. The Dark Foe had sent out armies three times greater than what the elves had. Even though they didn’t have to contend with Dragons, they were attacked by numerous Balrogs, led by none other than Gothmog.

The Lord of Balrogs and his fellow fiery fiends charged the elven hosts, separating Fingon’s armies from Turgon’s, forcing the latter toward the marshes of the Fens of Serech.

Gothmog then turned his attention to the eldest son of Fingolfin. He and his comrades joined the yrch and trolls in their battle against the High King, gradually slaying all those in the Noldo’s guard until only Fingon was left standing, surrounded by thousands of dead elves and men. Yet the King valiantly fought the Balrog chieftain. That is, until another fiery foe came up behind him, striking him with the thongs of his whip. Fingon’s arms became entwined with the burning straps allowing Gothmog that split second opening to deliver his fatal blow. Bringing down his axe, the blade hit the helm of the Noldo Lord, splitting it, and his head. A burst of white flame sprang up from Fingon as his head was cloven. The son of Fingolfin fell to the ground as other towering beasts of flame beat his body into the blood-soaked earth with their maces. Thus died the High King of the Noldor.

Turgon and the Gondolindrim continued the fight, and with them were the men from Dor-lómin, including their lords, Húrin and Huor. They still held the Pass of Sirion, not allowing any of the enemy to pass deeper into Beleriand from that way.

Upon seeing the devastation to their north, Húrin turned to Turgon and said, “Flee now, Lord, while there’s still time. For as long as Gondolin stands and you along with it, Morgoth shall know fear in his heart.”

“Gondolin will not stand much longer,” answered the Elven Lord grimly. “My heart tells me that it shall soon fall.”

Huor locked his grey eyes upon Turgon. “But if it stands a bit longer, then hope for Elf and Man will come from your House. I say this to you, Lord, knowing that death will soon take me: Whilst we will never meet again, in this life or thereafter, from you and me a new star will rise.”

Turgon took the counsel of Húrin and Huor. Gathering what survivors from Fingon’s House that he could, he ordered his men to retreat through the Pass of Sirion, back toward their hidden kingdom within the Encircling Mountains.

Húrin and Huor refused to depart the northlands that they called home and would defend it to the death. They gathered the remnants of the House of Hador and formed the rearguard of Turgon’s forces so that the Noldo Lord could escape with his people. Ecthelion guarded the western flank of Turgon’s host while Glorfindel did the same for the eastern, preventing the enemy from passing them by.

As the Gondolindrim made their escape, the men of Dor-lómin held their line of defense. All the forces of Angband then charged the Edain. The men were gradually forced back until they were behind the Fen of Serech and the River Rivil flowed before them. That’s where they made their last stand.

The enemy used the dead to form a bridge over the stream and soon the survivors of Hithlum found themselves surrounded by the yrch and other beastly creatures as the sun began to sink in the west on the sixth day of battle.

Huor fell there by a poisoned arrow to the eye. Soon, all the men from the House of Hador had fallen except for Húrin who continued to fight with a vigor rarely seen in the race of Man.

Some of the yrch cut off the heads of the slain men and piled them in a mound. Their golden hair signifying that they were from the House of Hador shone beneath the fading sunlight. It was a morbid display and one that kept Húrin fighting. Throwing aside his shield, he wielded his axe with both hands, killing orch, warg and troll with each devastating strike.

With each kill, Húrin yelled, “Day shall come again!” Seventy times, he uttered that cry, until the enemy laid their hands on the lone mortal. The lord of Dor-lómin continued to hack at the yrch that dared touch him. He cut off their arms, which still clung to his raiment, though detached from their bodily forms. As he became buried beneath the many corpses of his enemy, he was taken at last, by order of Morgoth. Gothmog came forth and bound Húrin before leading the mortal to Angband. Thus, ending the western hosts’ part in the Fifth Battle in Beleriand.

When the images stopped, Buffy wept upon her throne. She had hoped that things hadn’t gone as badly for Fingon and his people, but now she knew that the war was a complete disaster. All those years of preparation amounted to nothing, nothing but the loss of so many lives. It was heartbreaking. And the burden of guilt fell on her shoulders whether rightly so or not. She had failed, again.

Fulla brought her some wine to help ease her frazzled nerves. After downing several glassfuls, she felt the effects. She became mellow although still grief-stricken.

The Slayer herself would name that battle in the annals of Man, Elf and Dwarf. She called it Nirnaeth Arnoediad in the Sindarin tongue, which translates to “Tears Unnumbered”, which seemed befitting of the tragedy that had taken place.

Once she had calmed down, she ordered the first spirit to enter her Hall of Judgment. For hours, she handed out her pronouncements to every man and woman who had perished during battle. All the Edain had their fleshly forms remade and were afforded a second chance at life, a life free from the evil that had taken them from Middle-earth in the first place. In Folkvang, their torments would fade, and their hearts would know such bliss and pleasures that they had never enjoyed in their previous incarnations.

Those chosen few that the Slayer deemed worthy to join the ranks of the Mightiest of the Mighty would be granted the same special privileges that were bestowed upon their forefathers. Huor was amongst them. The lord of the Edain begged Buffy to find a way to bring Húrin to Folkvang when his time came. He couldn’t bear the thought of his brother wallowing in the dark Halls of Mandos or wherever mankind was sent to wait until the Breaking of the World. Even though she had no say over those that died by any other means than on the battlefield, she promised the adan that she’d find a way to bring Húrin to Folkvang.

When Uldor himself appeared before her, trembling in fear, Buffy’s eyes glinted with a malice that the mortal had never seen before. A wicked grin came to her face, as she garbed the mortal in his former bodily raiment. Then, summoning her chief torturer, she sentenced the traitor to an eternity of hellish torment, the like he could never possibly imagine. All those that had aided or abetted in the deception were given the same sentence. Failo was pleased that he could now try out the new torture devices that he had been developing over the years.

While the Slayer could not bring back those Elves and Dwarves that had perished, she felt good knowing that the perpetrators involved with the treachery would suffer the consequences of their actions as long as Arda endured. And boy oh, boy, would she make them pay.

Pleased with her pronouncements, she rewarded herself with a hot bath. She refused to speak with Sargon, not wanting to hear anything more about the Curse or Doom upon her husband and his kin. As she soaked in the tub, she replayed the moment when she had pronounced her judgment on Uldor over and over, savoring the look of utter terror on his face. She closed her eyes knowing that those from the House of Fëanor would also be thrilled by the punishment of the traitor and his cohorts.

Finding herself falling into an altered state of consciousness, Buffy suddenly saw the face of Morgoth, a look of triumph on his face. He smiled broadly. The Silmarils that adorned his iron crown illuminated his face with a bright white light. He folded his arms behind his head as he leaned back on his throne.

The Slayer remained calm although her heart was beating frantically within her chest.

Morgoth uttered only one word, “Check!” before his sinister laughter echoed in her mind.

She bolted upright in the tub, splashing water onto the marble floor, shocked that Melkor was able to invade her mind, especially whilst in Folkvang…