Full Circle

The lions were horrified when they saw their Mistress, covered in blood, walking up to the chariot.

“Bella, what happened?” cried out Barathalion, his yellow eyes inspecting her crimson-covered garments.

“Just had to take care of some business is all,” she replied, sliding Húrin’s weapon and staff into the compartment along the vehicle’s inner wall. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with.” She raised her head, meeting Noeriel’s gaze. “That goes for you too,” she added, pulling off her shirt. She reached into the chariot and pulled out a spare tunic that she kept stored in there for such purposes. Pulling it over her head, Buffy continued, “We’re going north, to Brethil. I’ve got some business to tend to there.”

“What kind of business?” queried Barathalion apprehensively.

“Why do you guys have to constantly question me?” asked the Slayer, annoyed by the inquisitiveness of her babies. “I swear; sometimes I wish you two were more like your parents!” She walked to the front of the vehicle and picked the harnesses up from the ground. “Come on, let’s get a move on. We’re losing what little daylight we have left.”

The kitties mumbled their displeasure, but it had no effect on Buffy. Over the years, she had learned to tune out their protests or incessant talking. They reminded her far too much of teenagers.

Once harnessed, they took off, heading due east toward the Forest of Brethil. Along the way, she had the lions stop at Cabed-en-Aras, where she paid her respects to the fallen children of Húrin and to Morwen. From there, they flew on to Brethil, arriving after dark.

Buffy’s sudden appearance unnerved the woodsmen. They deemed that she had come too late. But she wasn’t there to give them any aid or counsel. She came for the Dragon-helm of Hador. The new lord of Amon Obel was loathe to part with it, yet, who was he to deny the Vala Queen? The Slayer added the helm to her now growing collection of war relics, a collection she would become more passionate about as the years passed.

Much to the lions’ dismay, they did not turn south toward home, as they had hoped. Instead, their Mistress had them continue their journey northeast.

“Where are we going now?” whined Noeriel.

“We’re going to Taur-nu-Fuin to search for Beleg’s grave.”

“What?!” exclaimed the lioness. “But that is now a place of great evil.”

“Are you losing your nerve, my pet?” the Slayer laughed. “I thought lions were fearless beasts! Don’t tell me you’ve lost your courage and now fear the yrch.”

“It’s not the yrch I fear. It’s the Necromancer,” she answered half-heartedly.

“You don’t have to worry about him. He won’t lay a finger on you. I promise,” assured Buffy to both of her lions.

The search for Beleg’s grave turned out to be no easy task. It was very much like the old adage: to find a needle in a haystack. It had been many years since her dear friend had met his demise, and even with her heightened eyesight, it proved to be most difficult to find his grave in the darkness of the woods.

The lions were perturbed when their Mistress said that she wanted to wait until sunrise before continuing her search. They saw no point in finding the burial place of the Elf Lord, regardless of Buffy’s love for him. Yet the Slayer was driven to discover its whereabouts, as much as she was to find Húrin. While she didn’t understand why she had that overwhelming desire to do so, the feeling would not abate until she saw it through to the end.

Much to Buffy’s chagrin, as they sat waiting in the woods, it began to rain. And it wasn’t one of those gentle spring showers either. Far from. It was one of those cold, torrential downpours that soaked one to the core. Only minutes later, her clothing was drenched, and her teeth were chattering uncontrollably. Her kitties tried to keep her warm by curling up on either side of her, but their efforts did little to ease her discomfort. Even changing her garments in Folkvang later that night didn’t help. As soon as she returned, her dry clothes became again saturated by the rains.

At dusk, they began their search along the slopes of what was formerly known as Dorthonion. The Slayer found herself bitching and moaning along with the lions. She was literally crawling on hands and knees, pushing away the leaves, sticks and earth that seemed to want to stick to her like glue.

“Over here, Bella!” shouted Barathalion some hours later. “I think I’ve found what you’ve been searching for.”

“Thank Ilúvatar!” she uttered, getting to her feet. Buffy wiped the dirt from her hands on her filthy, damp breeches as she made her way to the lion. There, in a thicket of brambles, lay many scattered bones. Apparently, wargs had found Beleg’s body and dug it up. Visible teeth marks on some of the larger pieces only provided confirmation. The thought that her dear friend’s remains had been gnawed on by Morgoth’s wolves broke her heart.

She and the lions searched all the area for every bone fragment they could find, determined to re-bury all that they found in a much deeper hole. As she ran her hands across the ground’s surface, one of them came upon something solid. Feeling a pang of dread, she grabbed hold of the dark-colored object, said a quick prayer, and then pulled on it. To her surprise, she had unearthed Belthronding, the great bow of her late friend. She sat back on her folded legs, wiping the weapon clean, amazed that it was still intact.

She then placed it to the side, and resumed her search to find all of the elf’s bones. By the time mid-afternoon rolled around, Buffy conceded that they had found all they were going to find. She sat back, holding the bow with care, as the lions began to dig a deep hole in which to put Beleg’s bones. She wished they had found his skull, but that seemed to be missing. When Barathalion and Noeriel had finished their labor, she carefully laid the bones in the ground and said a blessing over them. She then helped her kitties bury them, getting even dirtier in the process.

Not having slept since leaving Lindon, Buffy was exhausted. Her back and knees ached. She was filthy, stinky and her clothing remained damp.

The lions felt that they had accomplished their mission at last, but it was not so. As soon as they were hitched to the chariot, they continued north, and out of the wood. Before them lay the sandy plains of Anfauglith, but to the northwest, stood the Mound of the Slain, now covered with thick green grass. It was a remarkable sight, and looked as a great emerald amidst the desolate wasteland.

“Surely, you’re not about to pluck every weapon from that hill,” said Barathalion, somewhat sarcastically.

“No,” replied Buffy softly, staring sadly at the mound. Thousands upon thousands lay buried there, and even from miles away, she could see that it was enormous. The hill represented her most bitter of defeats, and the loss of so many that she had dearly loved.

“Can we go home now?” asked Noeriel, none too anxious to fly any nearer to Angband than she had to.

“No,” answered her Mistress. “Take me to Haudh-en-Ndengin.”

“I knew it! You are going to make us dig out all those weapons,” complained the lion.

“Be quiet, Barathalion. I’m not in the mood for your cheek.”

Indeed the Slayer’s mood had become glum when she set eyes upon that mound. Yet, just as before, she felt compelled to continue north for some reason that would soon become clear.

From the air, they could see legions of yrch and other beastly creatures coming and going from Morgoth’s realm. Many of them saw her flying in her chariot above, but none dare assail her or shout words of ridicule, as they normally took pleasure in doing.

Buffy had the lions land on the summit of the hill. Her kitties nervously looked around below, fearing that Morgoth or his minions would attack at any minute.

“I don’t like this,” said an uneasy Noeriel, sniffing the air.

“Why are we here, Bella?” asked Barathalion, turning his gaze toward his Mistress.

“I don’t know,” the Slayer replied, before stepping off the chariot. She moved in front of her babies, staring at the menacing peaks of Thangorodrim. The mountains never stopped spewing their black smokes, and dark clouds lingered over all the land. As she stood there, unmoving, the whisperings between the lions grew fainter and fainter, until she no longer heard them at all. Even the afternoon breeze seemed to still. Buffy’s eyes became heavy. She struggled to keep them open, but to no avail.

I’ve heard you curse those in the West, and that is good, said the voice of Morgoth, his face suddenly appearing in her mind. He was sitting on his throne, wearing his iron crown, minus one Silmaril. It brings me great joy that you have finally realized that they care nothing about you, that they are the true enemy.

The Slayer remained fixed to the spot, unable to move, yet her breathing quickened at the sight of Melkor Bauglir. Was he the one that had brought her here? Was he behind her sudden need to travel throughout Beleriand collecting the weapons of her dead friends? And why? Why did she have that overwhelming urge to do so?

Upon hearing the change in their Mistress’ breathing, the lions called her name repeatedly, nudging her with their heads in an attempt to break the spell they knew she had fallen under.

I see that you’ve found Húrin, and killed him. Well done, Melisse. Well done, indeed, he cackled. As each day passes, you become more like me.

I’m nothing like you, she shot back defiantly in her mind.

No? he replied, raising his brows in question. You curse our brethren, threaten the spy of Súlimo with violence, and steal the fey of one whom your brother wished to claim. Yes, my dear, you are becoming more like me. In time, you will see this.

Buffy made no response to his comments.

What did you think of my little curse on Húrin’s children? he continued with a snigger. Brings new meaning to the words ‘brotherly love’, does it not?

You’re sick, she replied in disgust.

No, I’m the Lord of Arda, and those that dare mock me will suffer the consequences, just like the dear old son of Galdor. Melkor’s face contorted in rage. Who is he to defy my will? he spat. He is naught but a lowly mortal. The expression on his face then softened, his lips curling into a wicked grin. Oh, Melisse, I wish you could have seen the look on Húrin’s face when his daughter finally succumbed to her brother’s carnal desire. I will cherish that memory forever, for it will haunt the Adan for all of time.

Once again, she did not answer. She watched as Morgoth rose from his throne, limping slowly across his massive, dimly lit hall. With his blackened hands clasped behind his back, he stopped before the portrait of her that hung on one of the walls.

I will take out all your allies, my love, he continued, his eyes studying the canvas. With no friends left to run to, we shall then be reunited. And you will sit beside me and watch as I kill those from your House, including your children. He turned, so that Buffy now could see his face. What kind of Lord would I be if I did not punish you for breaking your word, for breaking the Covenant? What would my men think? He smiled. But that does not change my feelings for you, my beloved, for I do love you.

You don’t know a thing about love, she hissed.

Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Melisse, Melkor answered, smiling more broadly. You are the one thing in this world that I truly love, and the time is drawing near when we will finally be together. He let out a heavy sigh. Alas, that time is not yet upon us. He paused, his eyes searching the very depths of Buffy’s soul. Cherish what little time you have with the Elf, for that will soon be coming to an end. He will break your heart, but fear not! I will mend it, as only I can do.

I’ll never leave Káno, she answered firmly.

We shall see, Melisse. I will sit back and watch the Doom of the Valar run its course. Then we will be together… forever.

Never!

Morgoth laughed, a chilling sort of laugh that sent a chill throughout every fiber of her being. Not until his laughter ceased did the coldness subside.

My men have a gift for you, my love. The sword that you lost in battle longs to return to its Mistress. I would expect you to take better care of my gifts to you, he chastised, with a mischievous glint in his dark eyes. Who am I to withhold something that I had made especially for you? Take it, my beloved, and soon you will join me in Angband, and together we will wreak havoc on this world as is destined. Farewell.

Buffy gasped. Her eyes darted open, as her senses jolted awake.

The lions were still calling her by her various names and mouthing her hands with their teeth, in their attempt to rouse her from Morgoth’s spell.

She shook her head. “I’m okay, babies, I’m okay,” she breathed heavily, stroking their heads with either hand.

“Thank Eru!” they said in unison, licking her hands affectionately.

“My Lady,” shouted a gravelly voice from below. “My Lord has asked that I bring you this gift.”

The Slayer shifted her gaze below. An orch band stood near the mound’s base, a foot or so away from where the green grasses met the sandy terrain. At the forefront, stood one that held aloft the sword she lost during Nirnaeth Arnoediad. She automatically placed her hand on the belt where the blade had once dangled in charm form. She yearned to have it in her possession again.

“Don’t go, Bella. It’s a trap!” whispered Barathalion.

“Brother is right,” said Noeriel in agreement. “The Dark Lord has sent his minions to seize you. They’ll take you back to the Dark Lands.”

“No, they won’t,” answered Buffy, starting down the hill. “Stay here.”

“NO!” shouted the lions together, attempting to block her path with their massive forms.

Buffy was so fixated on the blade that she tripped over the cats, and tumbled down the side of the mound. As she rolled to the bottom, her body painfully collided with some of the shields and weapon handles that protruded from the hillside. She was left slightly dazed when she finally came to a halt just shy of the sandy plains. Her body ached all over. As her eyes focused, she noticed numerous yrch standing over her.

The Orch Captain attempted to lend her a hand, but the Slayer inched backwards, cradling her left elbow, which was hurt in the fall. The orch chieftain dare not step on the grass, none of them did. She slowly rose to her feet.

All the yrch then fell onto bended knee, bowing their heads in reverence to their Master’s beloved.

Still on bended knee, the Orch Captain offered the hilt of her sword. “Take this, Blessed Inanna, as a token of my Lord’s love for you.”

The Slayer massaged her throbbing elbow, her eyes scanning the eighty-some-odd yrch that stood immediately before her. Watching for any sudden movements from the enemy, she slowly moved closer, reaching for the hilt of her weapon with her right hand.

Just then, the lions came swooping down from the sky, having each chewed through the other’s leather harness in order to free themselves. Barathalion let out a god-awful roar before snapping his jaws shut on the Orch Captain’s head. The sword fell from the goblin’s grasp as he was lifted off the ground for a moment or two until the lion’s clenched jaw severed his head from his body. When the headless, twitching corpse fell onto his brethren, they jumped to their feet in a frenzy, screaming for vengeance against the flying beasts.

“Oh, shit!” groaned Buffy, quickly snatching her weapon from the ground, livid that her babies had taken it upon themselves to stir up trouble needlessly.

“Hurry, Bella! Hurry!” shouted the lioness, landing behind her Mistress on the soft green grass.

Many yrch had armed their bows, ready to take out Barathalion for the unprovoked killing of their Captain.

“Shit!” the Slayer cursed again, swinging her sword at those nearest to her that had their weapons aimed at the lion. “Go, Noeriel!” she commanded. “Get to the top of the hill! Now!”

“But… ”

“NOW! GOD DAMN IT!” she shouted, cleaving off the arms of two yrch with a single wave of her blade.

Arrows whished from the bows and crossbows of the enemy, most aimed at Barathalion, who was flying maybe thirty or forty feet above the goblins’ heads.

With so many yrch, it was impossible for Buffy to prevent all from shooting at her beloved cat. She ended up pulling an axe charm off her belt, wielding two weapons simultaneously in hope that she’d be able to take out more of the enemy.

Noeriel, thankfully, had done as her Mistress had ordered. She had flown back to the summit of the mound, shouting for her brother.

A loud yelp from overhead indicated that Barathalion had been hit by a flying projectile. The yrch roared in celebration at one of their comrades having successfully hit their target. They clashed their weapons against their shields, shouting with delight.

The sound of her baby’s cry set Buffy’s heart aflame. Her arms moved in a whirlwind of motion, striking all within reach. Every time her axe collided with an enemy, her elbow throbbed even more. If not for her sudden adrenaline rush she would’ve been in tears from the pain. Yet she sought to slay the one responsible for injuring her lion. Her heart ached not knowing whether Barathalion had safely escaped or if he lay on the sandy plains, near death.

Suddenly, the yrch scattered. The Slayer didn’t know if that was brought about by some unspoken command of Morgoth that she did not hear, or by the sight of many of their brethren lying dead or near dead, on the sand. The goblin responsible for injuring her kitty attempted to flee. As he ran toward Angband, she threw her axe with all her might, screaming in pain as she did so. The axe turned end over end before striking the creature in the back, cleaving through the armor beneath his tattered coat.

Her eyes scanned the carnage around her, but she saw no sign of Barathalion. She ran to the fallen orch and pried her weapon from his body. Turning, Buffy now faced the mound. Much to her relief, she saw that the lion had joined his sister on the summit. She placed the axe back onto her belt as she made her way back up the mound, still carrying her sword.

When she reached the top, she dropped down beside the lion, inspecting the wound he had received. The arrow of the enemy was sticking out from his body, having entered above his shoulder. While it was easy for her to remove, her greatest concern was whether or not the barb was poisoned. She sniffed it, even licked it, yet she was unable to determine conclusively if it was toxic.

To be on the safe side, she sliced her hand with her blade, and allowed her own blood to spill onto the wound of the lion to counter the effects of the poison, if it was indeed present. Much to her dismay, when she licked her hand to heal the cut, it didn’t work as it had when she had collected the blood from Beren and Lúthien years before. Cursing, she resumed her treatment of Barathalion after rubbing some dirt into her self-inflicted gash to stop the flow of blood.

“Why didn’t you guys listen to me?” she asked, tearing a strip of cloth from the soiled shirt that she had retrieved from her chariot.

“The enemy would’ve attacked you, Bella,” groaned Barathalion, who, despite his injury, seemed to be doing well.

“No, they wouldn’t.”

“How do you know?” inquired Noeriel, cocking her head. “How do you know the enemy was not setting you up?”

“Because Morgoth told me,” she answered, tying the cloth strip tightly around the lion’s wound.

“He told you. When?” she queried, looking intently at her Mistress.

“Before I went rolling down the hill,” replied Buffy, lifting her gaze to the lioness. “Another thing that wouldn’t have happened had you done as I ordered.” She shifted her eyes back to the wounded lion. “How does that feel? Can you get up?”

“Yeah, I think so,” he said, unsteadily getting to his feet. After standing for a minute or so, Barathalion appeared okay.

Buffy then checked her elbow, which was badly bruised and swollen. She cursed at her misfortune. “Now, what the hell are we gonna do?” she queried, looking dishearteningly at the chewed up harnesses.

The kitties attempted to offer suggestions, but the Slayer snapped, “Shut up, the both of you! If you would’ve listened to me, none of this would’ve happened.” She cradled her elbow, nervously rocking back and forth, pondering what she was going to do next.

The lions stepped away, allowing their Mistress her space. They now felt badly about their disobedience.

Buffy knew that Barathalion was unfit to fly the long distance home. He would have to ride in the chariot. But she was unsure if Noeriel could pull the vehicle all alone, especially with the extra weight of her brother.

She picked up the harness, cursing again. She examined the broken leather straps, wishing that she had the necessary tools to ensure that newly tied knots would not come undone as they traveled. With her elbow throbbing in protest, she began to tie the pieces together, as best she could.

She called Noeriel over and had her bite down on one end, so that the Slayer could pull on the other with her good arm, thus tightening the multiple knots she had tied. She tested the strength of the harness several times. She attached the tethers to Noeriel, hoping beyond anything, that they would endure long enough to make it back to Ossir.

“Do you think that you can handle hauling the both of us?” Buffy asked the lioness, less than certain about her own handy work.

“I think so.”

“Can you answer with a bit more conviction? You don’t sound so confident.”

“Yes, my Lady. I am sure that I can pull both you and Barathalion in the chariot,” answered Noeriel in her most dignified voice. “I am the noble daughter of Kit and Kat, and have the strength of ten of my kind.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Fine. Let’s get a move on then.” She helped the lion onto the chariot, his massive body taking up nearly all the space within the vehicle. She then squeezed in between him and the wall of the chariot. Undoubtedly, it was going to be a long, uncomfortable trip home.

Noeriel started to run along the top of the hill. As soon as she left the hard surface, they dropped several feet, mid-air, causing Buffy to whimper in panic. However, with a grunt of effort, the lioness was able to correct the vehicle, and ascended into the air, and out of range of the weapons of the enemy.

The Slayer then lectured the beasts on the dangers of defying her commands, a tirade that would last long into the night. As she spoke, she made a sling from the remnants of her dirty shirt to help protect her elbow from hitting the walls of the chariot and the body of Barathalion.

Noeriel traveled the safest route possible, in order to avoid flying over Ered Gorgoroth, the Mountains of Terror, which would’ve been the quickest way to go. Instead, they journeyed through Western Beleriand, following nearly the same path that they had taken to Taur-nu-Fuin.

The trip was hard on the lioness. There was no possible way that she could make it to Lindon in one night. When they were above Taleth Dirnen, Buffy informed her kitties that they would stop and rest at Nargothrond. Already, her legs were numb from being crammed within the chariot, and the thought of moving freely about seemed heavenly to the Slayer.

When Noeriel landed on the terrace outside the Doors of Felagund, she collapsed onto the stone floor from utter exhaustion. As soon as Barathalion had freed himself from the chariot, he wobbled over to his sister and lay down beside her, grooming her affectionately.

Buffy stumbled out of the cart and sat on its edge, massaging her legs with her one good hand. Once the blood flow had returned to her stiff limbs, she grabbed a packet of lembas and nibbled on the elvish way bread as she walked to the river, looking at the broken pieces of the bridge in the stream below. The full moon bathed everything in its silver light. Turning, she looked upon the gates of Nargothrond, eager to enter its empty Halls.

Upon entering the tomb-like dwelling, she lit a torch to help guide her through the former home of Finrod. Numerous bats had taken up residence within the ominous vacant structure. They swooped down upon the Slayer, then fled into the night, as she made her way down the various passageways.

Buffy let out a long, shrill whistle of amazement when she saw the vast treasure of the Noldor scattered upon the floor throughout the Great Hall. She strolled through the trove, her heart beating wildly in her chest. The jewels wrought in Valinor bedazzled her eyes in the flickering firelight, awakening a desire to possess it all. There was no way she could leave all those fabulous valuables behind for the enemy to take. Surely, Finrod would prefer that she take it, rather than Morgoth.

Buffy then summoned her Valkyrie chieftains. She ordered them to take everything back to Sussrúmnir to preserve the memory of Finrod Felagund and the Noldor that had once dwelt in the fair Halls of Nargothrond…