Full Circle

When the chariot made its descent in Lindon the following morning, many elves began to congregate along the clearing that Buffy always used as a runway of sorts. They were surprised to see that only the lioness was pulling the vehicle and feared that something terrible had happened to Barathalion. Their suspicions were confirmed when the chariot landed, and they saw that both their Mistress and the lion had been injured.

Dozens of anxious faces closed in around her, inquiring about what had happened. The Slayer was none too eager to discuss her misadventures, as she was more concerned with Barathalion’s well-being. She would feel much better after Nestor had given the lion a clean bill of health. She handed the possibly poisoned dart to Arachas, and asked that he escort her kitty to the Healing Chambers.

As one of the elves unharnessed Noeriel from the vehicle, Buffy instructed Nimrod and Gúrchim to gather the sword and staff of Húrin, the Dragon-helm of Hador, and the bow of Beleg Cúthalion. Their keen elvish eyes immediately recognized most of those objects, which led to even more questions, something for which she was not in the mood.

The Slayer was able to stall her inquirers by promising to share the tale later. At that point, she was most eager to bathe, eat a hot meal, and take a nice long nap in the comfort of her own bed. She wasn’t worried the slightest about her elbow, as her councilors were. She knew that her injury would most likely mend itself by the end of the day any way. Already, it was turning from black, blue and purple to yellow, which was a telling sign that the healing process had begun.

When Gúrchim pulled a dried piece of goblin guts from her hair, Buffy determined that a bath was called for, pronto. She would not return to her Halls first.

“You guys take that stuff to my rooms. And ask Meldis to bring me toiletries and clothing to the hot springs, please.” She sniffed her body. “Oh God, I stink! I smell like orch!” she added with a scowl, taking off down the path that would take her to the steamy pools.

Once she arrived at her favorite hot spring, she saw that many maidens were already bathing there. Seeing their injured Queen, the women were quick to offer their assistance. They helped her undress, wash, and then clothed her in the garments that Meldis had brought. That alone, made the Slayer feel a million times better.

By the time she made it to Lindon Hall, lunchtime was fast approaching. She decided to wait and eat with her Household. Outside the kitchen, Nestor ran into her and insisted that he take a look at her arm.

“How’s Barathalion?” she asked as the healer examined her elbow.

“He’s fine. Fortunately, the arrow was not poisoned.” Nestor squeezed on the joint, causing her to wince at the pain. “I take it that hurts.”

“Ya think?” she said with a grimace.

“At least it’s not broken. But I think you should keep it in a sling until it fully heals so you don’t risk injuring it further.”

“Fine, fine,” she answered, pulling free from his grasp. Her elbow hurt more now than it had before. “Just hurry up. It’s almost time for lunch and I’m famished.”

“It’ll only take a few minutes. Come on.” Nestor led her to his Healing Chambers where he made a sling out of the same beautiful, blue material that matched the dress she was wearing.

Before he had finished tying the sling, the bells rang out throughout Lindon Hall, indicating that the midday meal was ready. They then left to join the rest of the Household, both eager to fill their bellies.

The Slayer couldn’t help but notice six empty seats at her table, as well as many more at the others. She felt her heart drop, beads of sweat formed on her face.

“Where’s Káno, and his brothers?” she asked, turning to Orchal, who sat nearest to her.

“They went to Amon Ereb to visit the twins,” answered the Green-elf, before shoving a forkful of chicken into his mouth.

Her face paled.

“Do not fret, Bella,” said the Elf Lord, watching, as the color drained from her face. “Olofin went with them.”

Buffy let out a sigh of relief. Yet, for a moment, she couldn’t help but think the worst.

As Orchal whispered that the sons of Fëanor had departed the same morning that she had left, his voice became drowned out by her own thoughts.

After witnessing the malice of Morgoth, she knew that it was only a matter of time before the Oath reared its ugly head, triggering the brothers to seek the Jewel that Thingol had in his keeping. That thought alone made her sick to her stomach.

Learning that Olofin had gone off with them offered her some comfort though. She knew that there was no way that the Noldor would do any evil in the presence of one so righteous. Moreover, there was no way on Eru’s green earth that they’d be able to persuade her son to attack anyone for a Silmaril, even if it happened to be wrought by the hands of his grandfather.

Buffy rose, and left the table, unable to eat a thing. She retreated to her private rooms. There, in her main sitting room, she saw the items that she had brought back from her travels laid out on one of the tables. She poured herself a glass of wine before settling onto one of the couches, thinking about all Melkor had said and all he had done in recent years.

It was true. He was successfully taking out all her allies - only Doriath and Gondolin still stood. While Melian had woven the Girdle around her lands, she was still only a Maia, Morgoth, a Vala. His powers were at least twice as great as hers, and he could take her out if he so chose. It was only a matter of time. And Turgon. Well, after seeing Húrin’s woeful life, she knew that the Adan had unknowingly shown the Dark Lord the general vicinity of the Noldo King’s Hidden Kingdom. It too would fall. She could feel it. And she was not the only one.

Ulmo, the Slayer’s greatest ally, saw it too. Unbeknownst to her at the time, he had sent a mortal messenger to Gondolin to persuade Turgon to take up arms against Morgoth: Tuor, son of Huor, brother of Húrin. But, Turgon was from the proud line of Finwë, and trusted that Gondolin would remain hidden from the eye of the enemy, and refused to heed the mortal’s counsel.

The wheel of fate was in motion. While Buffy believed that Dior was destined to be the savior of the peoples of Middle-earth, she was wrong. As decreed by Turgon, any that happened upon his Hidden Kingdom would have to reside there until the End. And there Tuor still dwelt. But what she didn’t know was that the Adan had fallen in love with Idril, Turgon’s daughter, and they had wed only a few months before. Come the following spring, she would give birth to a son, Eärendil, who indeed would be the true savior of all that resided in Beleriand, for he had the blood of both the Eldar and Man running through his veins.

The longer the Slayer sat there, the more somber her mood became. She could picture the End in her mind - the final battle between Morgoth and herself. Good versus evil, as it were, or was it? Had she become evil? Was sitting in Ossir avoiding the conflicts outside her lands evil? Was she indeed becoming more like Melkor Bauglir? Was her cursing of the Valar evidence of that?

Buffy felt more confused than ever. She came to hate those in the West for doing the same thing she was now doing - nothing.

It was not long afterwards when all the councilors of Ossir filed into her chambers, asking that she share the tale of her journey and how she came to possess the various war implements, especially Belthronding. Their Mistress then told them all that had happened whilst she was away, sparing no details.

Luthor was most troubled by what he called the ‘mind rape’ of Morgoth. Since losing her powers, Buffy never did any of the exercises to protect her mind from those that wished to invade her thoughts nor did she practice the art of telepathy, a gift given, not only to the Ainur, but also to the elder Children of Ilúvatar. At the Maia’s insistence, they resumed their mental workouts later that day, after she had a nap.

With Maglor gone, and as the days began to slowly pass by, the Slayer couldn’t help but think that the sons of Fëanor and their Noldo companions were plotting an attack against Thingol. Even though Olofin was with them, she knew in her heart that her son was not in their company twenty-four hours a day. As her paranoia grew, she sent out doves to Amon Ereb to keep an eye on the Noldor. Not only that, but she sent a messenger to Melian in Menegroth to warn the Queen of Doriath of her fears.

Less than forty-eight hours after her messenger was sent to Menegroth, one of Melian’s nightingales returned with the Maia’s reply.

“The Lady of Doriath sends her greetings to the Blue Lady of Ossiriand,” squeaked the bird, who had perched herself on Buffy’s finger. “She regrets how badly your last meeting with Elu Thingol went, and has not forgotten your ancient friendship or your kindness in harboring her beloved Lúthien. At this, my Lady is most humbly grateful.” The bird bowed low before continuing. “Alas, she knows that Doriath’s doom is fast approaching and has desperately tried to counsel her Lord into surrendering the Silmaril to the sons of Fëanor, yet the King has become overly proud and trusts in his own wisdom over the Queen’s. He covets that Jewel more than any other thing of beauty within his vast Halls. As of now, the Naugrim are in the deep smithies of Menegroth, busy in their labors of setting the Silmaril into the Nauglamír, which had come to Thingol from Húrin, lord of Dor-lómin.

“Fear not, Maranwë Luinil, for the Girdle of Enchantment is still in place. Should the sons of Fëanor come to Doriath seeking injury against the King, they will not be able to enter our lands unless aided by a greater power than Melian herself.

“The Queen appreciates your concern, but things are already set in motion that cannot be undone. Take heed, Queen of Ossir that ill tidings shall one day come to you, leaving you bereft of joy. Trust in Ulmo, for the Lord of Waters loves you greatly and will not let Melkor Bauglir assail your lands. Speak no more words of condemnation against your brethren in the West for they will come through in the end.

“Farewell and may the blessings of Eru Ilúvatar be with you.”

The Slayer dismissed the messenger, but Melian’s ominous words did little to make her feel better. At least, she didn’t have to worry about her friends in Doriath knowing that the Girdle was still in place, and the sons of Fëanor did not possess that magics to overthrow it.



Only a week later, the sons of Fëanor returned to Lindon. The cool demeanor of all the brothers, including her beloved, made Buffy feel uneasy. It wasn’t until that night, when she and Maglor had gone to bed that she learned why.

“My brothers and I are angered that you sent your doves to spy on us whilst we visited our kin in Amon Ereb,” the Noldo said heatedly from his seat on the bed. “Since when is it forbidden for the Noldor to travel outside of Ossir, or did you pass some new law in our absence decreeing so?”

“I did no such thing,” she answered, aghast by the suggestion.

“Yet you would see to it that we are kept under your ever-watchful eye, or lock us away in a cage like some untamed beast!”

“What the hell has gotten into you?” queried the Slayer, appalled that her husband was sounding more like Celegorm and Curufin than himself.

“You obviously don’t trust me, Bellaseth,” he retorted. “If you did, you wouldn’t have sent your spies to keep watch of me and my brothers.”

“The doves weren’t spying!” she said defensively.

“Then why did you send them?” he queried, narrowing his eyes.

“I just wanted to make sure everything was alright, that you guys were still there.” The Slayer felt her cheeks flushing. She wasn’t telling a real lie, just distorting the truth a bit. “You didn’t leave me a note or anything. I didn’t know what was going on.”

“Oh, I see. Because you’re known for doing the same for me every time you run off,” he shot back.

“I was called away on an important errand… ”

“Ah, yes, slayer duty, I take it,” Maglor answered with a sneer. “I find it interesting that you couldn’t take a moment or two to inform me of your unexpected journey but you expect me to check in with you at every turn. It doesn’t work that way, Bella,” he continued with a shake of his head. “You can’t have it both ways.”

Her jaw dropped. She was stunned by the dramatic change in her husband’s behavior. “I wasn’t afforded the time! For Eru’s sake, I saved Húrin from plunging to his death in the nick of time… ”

“What do you mean you saved Húrin?” he inquired, softening his tone.

Buffy then relayed all that had transpired on her trip into Western Beleriand. His ire waned as she spoke of the horrors that Morgoth had inflicted on Túrin and Nienor. Once she had finished, his mood was rather somber, just like hers.

“Now maybe you have a better understanding as to why I’m so frightened. Not only for you, but our family,” she said with trepidation. “After seeing what Morgoth’s curse had done, I’m terrified… terrified of what the Doom of Mandos will do to… ” Her words faltered in her throat, as her eyes welled with tears. The aching in her heart was too great to complete that sentence.

Maglor sat there; shocked by all that she had told him. Even he had to agree that things looked bleak for him and his brothers. If Morgoth’s will was able to do all those horrific things to Húrin and his children, the Noldo dreaded the thought of what lay ahead for him and his kinfolk.

“I’m sorry I spoke so harshly to you,” the Noldo said softly. His grey eyes conveyed his regret. “I had no idea that Húrin was held captive in Angband, and that his children’s lives were filled with such woe.” He shook his head, dismayed by the fate of the mortal’s kin.

The Slayer took her husband’s hands in hers, stroking his smooth skin with her fingers. She looked at him with what remnant of hope she had left. “I swear, Káno, if I had my powers, I wouldn’t hesitate to march to Angband and fight Morgoth one-on-one for the Silmarils. I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

She struggled to choke back her tears.

“But I can’t save you. You have to save yourself. Renounce your claim to the Silmarils!” she pleaded, looking desperately into her husband’s eyes. “That’s the only way. Think of our son, of us. We’ve sacrificed so much to be together, Káno. Please, if you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me, do it for me and Olofin.” Buffy broke down, crying.

Maglor pulled his wife into his arms, trying his best to comfort her.

She wailed in agony, clinging to the Noldo as though he was about to leave her forever.

He felt her anguish, and through her sobs, Buffy continued to beg him to relinquish his claim to the Silmarils.

“I love you, Káno. I love you so much. I can’t lose you. Not now. Not ever. Please! Please do this for me,” she wept.

Maglor was desperate to soothe his ailing wife. “Alright, Bellaseth,” he finally said. “I will relinquish my claim.”

Buffy pulled out of the embrace, tears streaming down her face. “Really?” she sniffled.

“Yes, really,” he answered half-heartedly. The Noldo gave her a weak smile.

“Thank you, Káno,” she cried, throwing her arms around him. “This means so much to me. I love you. And I do trust you.”

While the Slayer believed his words, Maglor did not really mean them. He was only pacifying her, saying what he had to in order to calm her down. How could he rescind the Oath he had sworn when he was already caught in the nets of Doom?

For the first time since meeting with Húrin, Buffy felt as though a great weight had lifted off her shoulders. Peace had returned to her Household… for a while.



In the spring of Yr 504, Thingol sat in the deep smithies of Menegroth, anxiously watching as the dwarves of Nogrod completed the finishing touches to the Nauglamír. For over a year, the Lord of Doriath had spent much of his time in that place, overseeing the merging of the two greatest artifacts ever wrought by Elf and Dwarf into a whole new magnificent creation. Thingol had always hated keeping the Jewel of Fëanor locked away in his vaults, and was quite eager to wear the newly crafted Nauglamír at all times.

The dwarves, at long last, had finished their masterpiece, and all in the room marveled at the beauty of that newly wrought creation. The Silmaril hung from the center of the bejeweled necklace. Its white, holy light shone brilliantly, illuminating the numerous gemstones of the Nauglamír so that its radiance was a rainbow of colors, each separate yet blended.

Thingol could no longer restrain his desire. He reached for the necklace, eager to clasp it about his neck, but the dwarf craftsman that clutched it in his hand refused to yield it to the King. For the dwarves lust for the Silmaril was great and they felt that something of such great splendor should remain with them always and forever.

“By what right does the Elven-King of Doriath have to claim the necklace made by our forefathers for Finrod Felagund,” declared the greedy dwarf chieftain. “It only came to you because the mortal Húrin stole it from the treasures of Nargothrond. Since Felagund is dead, this necklace shall return to the sons of those that wrought it!”

The scores of Naugrim gathered in the smithies grumbled in approval, their gruff voices angering Thingol.

Though the Lord of Doriath was proud, he was also wise, and saw that the dwarves were using the Nauglamír as the pretext for them to claim the Silmaril.

Thingol’s face contorted with his rage. “How dare you uncouth race ask anything from me, the Lord of Beleriand, who lived long before your stunted fathers awoke in their dark halls,” he said derisively. He stood proud and tall before them. “For years uncounted Elu Thingol has paid your people well for their labors. Your fathers and forefathers would be grieved to see that you’ve allowed your greed to overcome you… you wretched scoundrels!”

He reached into his pocket, grabbed a handful of gold coins, and tossed them onto the worktable. He snatched the Nauglamír from the dwarf’s hand, adding, “Take your fee for your labors and leave my Halls at once! You are hereby banished from Doriath forever!”

The words of Thingol incensed the Naugrim, and the Doom of the Silmaril awakened once again. The dwarves suddenly attacked Thingol from all sides, killing him in the deeps of Menegroth.

The Naugrim then took the Silmaril and fled the Thousand Caves, running east through Region. But news of Thingol’s death quickly spread throughout the woods, and the elves of Doriath pursued to the death nearly every dwarf that had taken part in the killing of their Lord.

Only two dwarves had escaped. They fled back to their Halls telling their Lord that Thingol had refused to pay them for their labors and had ordered them killed. All the mighty Lords of Nogrod were wroth. They pulled at their beards, howling in agony at losing some of their beloved kin and greatest artificers. Once they had calmed down, they began to plot their revenge against the Grey-elves of Doriath…



The grief of those in Menegroth was great, but no one suffered more than Melian. She sat beside her husband, whose body lay upon a blue-draped marble slab in the Great Hall. Tears spilled from her red and puffy eyes as she clung to his left hand, recalling how they had fallen in love ages before in the woods of Nan Elmoth. So great was the Queen’s sorrow that she withdrew her powers, releasing the Girdle, so that all of Doriath now lay open to the enemy.

For days on end, she remained by Thingol’s vacant hröa, refusing to speak to any save Mablung. She waited impatiently for the elves to finish construction of the marble sarcophagus that would house, not only the King’s body, but hers as well. Melian’s time in Middle-earth was rapidly reaching its end. She knew that she would find no peace or joy in Menegroth without her beloved. Her pain was too great and she would only find healing in the gardens of Lórien in Valinor.

When all was ready, she told Mablung to send word to Beren and Lúthien as swiftly as he could. The Queen then laid herself beside her husband, clutching his hand in her own, and succumbed to her grief.

In tears, Mablung unclasped the Nauglamír from his Lord’s neck and locked it in the vaults as Melian had instructed. He then sent a messenger to Ossiriand, holding the scepter until the heir of Elu Thingol could claim what was rightfully his.

Less than twenty-four hours later, Nimros arrived in Lindon, meeting first with Buffy, in private. The elf told her what had happened in Menegroth, which brought the Slayer to tears. She couldn’t believe that the dwarves of Nogrod, her friends and allies, would do such a thing. Yet her shock quickly turned to anger. So infuriated was she by their actions that she immediately named them enemy and refused to have any more dealings with those from that city.

Buffy planned to accompany Nimros to Tol Galen, but before they left, she shared the news of Thingol and Melian’s demise with only a chosen few from her House. Under her direct command, no one was to let any of the Noldor know about what had taken place in Doriath, especially the sons of Fëanor.

Concealing her grief, she informed Maglor that she was going to visit Beren and Lúthien and would be back in a day or two. Since that was something she had done on a regular basis, the Noldo didn’t question her.

As the lion-drawn vehicle flew the Slayer and Nimros speedily toward Tol Galen, a great host from Nogrod was already nearing Doriath’s borders, prepared to assail Menegroth and seize all its treasures to compensate for the loss of their kindred. With the Girdle no longer in place, the dwarves entered that land unhindered. So fierce-looking were they and so great their numbers that the marchwardens fled before them in despair.

The Naugrim crossed the bridge, and with their sharp axes, hewed their way into Menegroth, killing all that stood in their way. Driven by their need for vengeance and their lust for the Silmaril, they fought a brutal battle with the Grey-elves, spilling the blood of many a noble elf in the vast passageways and halls.

Mablung and those of the King’s personal guard attempted to impede the dwarves from descending deeper into the Halls, but to no avail. The Chief Captain and Regent of Doriath called for his men to retreat to the lower levels. They took off running down the stairways and passageways, battling the Naugrim along the way. They made their last stand outside the doors to the treasuries, where the Silmaril was locked away.

The wrath of the dwarves was stirred to new heights, knowing that the prize beyond all prizes lay on the other side of the doors that their forefathers helped construct.

The elves fought valiantly, but they were greatly outnumbered. One by one they fell until only Mablung was left standing, a lone elf, defending the Jewel that had cost the lives of so many of his kin. The black stone floor was slick with the blood of elf and dwarf, and as Mablung swung his blade, taking out a foe, he slipped on the slick surface and lost his balance. One of the dwarves screamed in triumph, now having the perfect opportunity to take out the last of Thingol’s guards. His axe smote Mablung in the gut, cutting through his armor and flesh.

In the shadows of the passageway, no one noticed a cloaked figure hiding in an alcove, intently watching every move that Mablung had made.

The Chief Captain of Doriath’s green eyes widened. He let out a low groan, as his mouth fell open. The dwarf pulled out his weapon, gladdened by his deed. Mablung fell to the floor, clutching his stomach, his blood pooling beneath him.

The dwarves then broke through the doors, stealing everything of value. The Lord of Nogrod claimed the coveted Nauglamír as his own, clasping the bejeweled necklace around his neck…



While Buffy was in route to Tol Galen, a flock of nightingales from Doriath caught up with the chariot mid-air. They informed her of the dwarves’ attack on Menegroth and of the battle now taking place there. She was shocked to hear those grim tidings and it only added to her grief. But at the same time, it inflamed her wrath, and she wanted to make the dwarves of Nogrod pay dearly for their crimes.

Once the chariot had landed, the Green-elves immediately noticed that something was amiss by the look on their Mistress’ face. They could tell that she had been crying. The elves informed her that Beren and Lúthien were in the garden out back with their kin.

Buffy led Nimros through Lindecoa to the rear garden. There, Beren and Lúthien sat with Dior, his wife, Nimloth (whom he had married several years before), their twin grandsons, Eluréd and Elurín, and Elwing, their granddaughter.

One of the hardest things that the Slayer ever had to do was tell Lúthien about the death of her beloved parents and the dwarves attack on Menegroth. Great was her sorrow, and that of her family. It brought Buffy to tears yet again.

For a long while, they all sat there, grief-stricken.

Beren then rose to his feet and said, “We will not let the Naugrim get away with this. If we leave now we’ll be able to accost them and reclaim the Jewel that we suffered through many perils to gain.”

That’s all the Slayer needed to hear. She asked that Nimros remain on Tol Galen since she didn’t have enough room on the chariot to bring them all back to Lindon. She led Beren and Dior to the armories of Lindecoa and garbed them for battle. They then climbed aboard the chariot and made their way back to northern Ossir.

It was late at night when they finally landed. Buffy immediately sent out her falcons to scout out Eastern Beleriand to mark the dwarves’ location. Trying to be as discreet as possible, so that none of the Noldor would know what was going on; she gave the order for her armies to quietly prepare for battle.

Instead of meeting with her councilors in the city, they gathered at a small glade within the woods, devising their plan of attack. The chieftains sat in a circle upon the grass while others stood behind them, leaning over as they studied the map laid out before them by the light of a few lamps.

“The Naugrim are gonna take the Dwarf-road to their Halls,” the Slayer began, following that roadway on the map with her finger. “They have no other choice but to cross Sarn Athrad, and that’s where we’ll wait for them. We’ll position our forces throughout the woods along the eastern riverbank and south of the road, both on the ground and in the trees.” She glanced up at Beren. “I don’t want them to see us coming. We’ll ambush their asses! They won’t know what the hell hit ‘em until it’s too late. There’s no doubt in my mind that they won’t expect an attack from us. Right now, they think we’re their allies.” She shook her head in disgust. “Stupid bastards!”

“Sounds like an ideal plan to me,” he answered, ready for battle.

“I take it we’ll position the archers at the forefront,” remarked Dior, studying the map closely.

“Yep. I want all men armed with bows and swords or whatever weapon they prefer. But at the onset, we’ll use bows to take out as many as we can before we get into hand-to-hand combat, which will happen,” she replied to the mortal. “Battles are not won by stealth alone. It’s a great way to start, but we’re gonna end up fighting face to face.”

At twenty-nine, this would be Dior’s first battle, and Buffy was glad to be a part of it.

Now, it so happened that in the darkness of the woods that surrounded that dell, many Enyd happened to be there, listening to the Green-elves strategizing. Fangorn himself came forth asking what would prompt the elves to fight the dwarves.

Buffy then told the Onod of the murder of Thingol in Menegroth, the death of Melian, and the battle that the Naugrim were waging against the Grey-elves that dwelt there.

Fangorn was dismayed to learn of the King and Queen’s death as he thought highly of the both of them and had always enjoyed walking through the fair woods of Doriath in times past. His loathing for the Naugrim increased. He had always hated how they had butchered the forests east of Ered Luin, giving no thought to replanting.

He then summoned his fellow Enyd from the forest. It was the quickest council that the Onodrim ever had, for they were notorious for debating matters of great concern for months or years on end. Yet, this one time, all thirty-seven Enyd that happened to be in the immediate vicinity, came to an agreement within the span of fifteen minutes. If the Green-elves planned to make war with the dwarves for the slaying of the Thingol and his folk, then the Onodrim would aid them.

The Slayer was floored by the hasty decision of Fangorn and his kin. She readily accepted their assistance. She decided to position the Enyd at the feet of Ered Luin, along either side of the Dwarf-road so that the Onodrim could take out any fleeing dwarves that happened to make it past the elves. Fangorn agreed and immediately set out with the Enyd in his company. He would end up summoning more of his kin along the way so that there would be over one hundred of them waiting at the base of the Blue Mountains.

When night settled upon Lindon, and most had gone to bed, companies of Green-elves secretly departed the city, making their way to their appointed positions.

The first of the falcon scouts returned after Buffy’s quick trip to Folkvang, alerting her and the Captains that the dwarves were approaching Estolad, due south of Nan Elmoth. The Slayer then sent the birds back out. She ordered them to keep watch, and notify her if any broke off from the main host.

As the darkness of morning wore on, Buffy found herself becoming increasingly restless. No matter what she did to distract herself, the feeling would not subside. She felt an inexplicable need to go to Menegroth as quickly as she could. Confident that Beren and her armies could handle the dwarves, she took off in her chariot shortly before dawn.

The Slayer was still flying across the plains of Eastern Beleriand, as the Naugrim approached the bridge that crossed the Gelion. Their host was less than when they had departed their Halls, and all walked hunched, carrying huge, heavy sacks laden with the spoils of their victory.

The elves remained still, concealed within the wood, watching as the dwarves made their way across Sarn Athrad. They waited for Beren to give the signal, which the mortal gave once half the Naugrim had reached the other side of the Gelion.

Arrows came whizzing out of the trees, many striking the most vulnerable parts of their targets. The dwarves wailed in their surprise, and were forced to drop their burdens to reach for their axes. The elven-trumpets rang out, as even more shafts zoomed from the wood.

In their confusion, the dwarf host began to scatter.

The Naugrim were deeply dismayed when they suddenly heard the cry of “For Elu Thingol” from their attackers. Beren and Dior led the charge along with Ossir’s Captains. They sprang from the forest, assailing the enemy with swords, axes and spears.

Most of the Naugrim stood their ground, willing to fight to keep their plunder, but others fled up the road to the waiting Enyd. Not one dwarf would return to their fair Halls within the mountains.

A fierce battle was fought, and Beren himself dueled with the Lord of Nogrod. Having marched throughout the night, the Dwarf Lord was tired, and the mortal was able to sweep him off his feet. He fell to the ground, landing on his face. When he rolled over, the Adan thrust his blade into his chest. Blood spurt from the wound, spraying the Nauglamír with the crimson life force of the dwarf. Knowing that his death was eminent, and with his dying breath, the Dwarf Lord uttered a curse of damnation on any that claimed the treasure of Doriath as his own.

Beren let his weapon fall to the ground. He unclasped the Nauglamír that hung from the dwarf’s neck and held it before his eyes. Blood dripped from the gold chain, numerous gemstones and the Silmaril, which still shone brightly despite being covered in scarlet. The son of Barahir was amazed by the beauty of the necklace. Yet, seeing the Silmaril again after so many years brought to mind all the torments he and his beloved had gone through to obtain the Jewel of Fëanor.

He looked around, noticing that the battle had reached its end. Beren climbed down the slope to the river and washed the blood from the necklace. He intended to give it to Lúthien once he returned home.

None kept the treasures of Doriath, fearing the curse of the Lord of Nogrod. All the many beautiful things that Thingol had had made and collected over the years were tossed into the River Ascar. The dwarves had taken everything from gold goblets and sconces to a vast variety of jewelry and anything else of value that was kept in the treasuries or housed within the Thousand Caves. Beneath the sunlight, the riverbed glowed in golden-red, thus the Green-elves renamed that stream, Rathlóriel, “the Golden-bed”.



Buffy’s heart beat wildly within her chest as she came upon the carnage outside the gates to Menegroth. The elves were busily removing the dead from within the Halls: the elves, in preparation for burial, the dwarves, for burning. The lions zipped through the opened doors and down the numerous passageways, knowing exactly which way to go even though they had never entered the Halls of Thingol before. So many lay dead in pools of blood, both elf and dwarf. The Naugrim had shown no mercy, even killing women and children. It was tragic, and painful for her to see.

When they reached the passageway leading to the treasuries, the Slayer cried out in anguish as she noticed Mablung lying amongst the dead. The lions landed in the only spot they could - on top of dead dwarves. Buffy leapt off the chariot, slipping and sliding along the stone floor, slick with the blood from many. She carefully stepped over the bodies of those that she considered friends, tears streaming down her face at the loss of so many.

She fell to her knees when she reached her ex-lover’s side. Buffy pulled the blood-soaked elf into her arms, bawling uncontrollably. She lovingly stroked his long blood-spattered silver hair with a trembling hand, her face pressed against his cold skin. Her sobbing echoed throughout the deeps of Menegroth, causing a few Grey-elves to investigate.

None dared intrude on the Slayer. They remembered all too well the history between her and the former Chief Captain of Doriath. They slipped back into the shadows, allowing her some privacy.

Buffy sat there, in a pool of blood, crying until she literally had no more tears to shed. She leaned against the stone wall, still clinging to her former lover, musing over how different things would have been if she had never left Mablung. Despite the many years since they had been together, he still had a place in her heart. She still loved him, and always would. She treasured their time together, even if it seemed like another life time ago.

“He never stopped loving you,” a voice rang out from down the corridor.

The Slayer lifted her head, turning toward the sound. Standing between the lions, stood a mournful Celeborn. He was still dressed in his battle regalia, his deep grey eyes filled with great sorrow.

“Celeborn,” she said, her voice cracking as she spoke. “We found out too late. I would’ve come sooner had I known.” She leaned her head against that of her dead lover’s, no longer looking at the Elf Lord. She could hear him coming closer, his footfalls splashing in the puddles of blood. When he came to a stop beside her, she softly asked, “Is it wrong for me to wonder if I made the wrong choice, if I married the wrong man?”

He squatted next to her. “No,” he answered solemnly. “I deem that grief makes us question the choices we’ve made. Death shows us truly how short life can be, even if one is immortal.”

“I can’t believe he’s dead, that they’re all dead.”

“Galadhon is dead,” revealed Celeborn, his voice breaking as he spoke. “So are Elmo and Galathil.”

The dwarves had killed all of his family that had dwelt in Menegroth. His only surviving kin in Middle-earth was Nimloth, and her children.

Buffy turned her bleary eyes to the Elf Lord. A single tear escaped from his eye, splattering into the pool of blood on the floor. “I’m sorry,” she said, placing a blood-covered hand on his knee. “I’m so sorry… I know it’s no consolation, but my people, my people will slay them all. They were already positioned for battle when I left. Even the Enyd said they’d help. None of those dwarves will ever return to their Halls again.”

“They deserve a fate worse than death!” he said bitterly. Celeborn rubbed his eyes before sadly adding, “All this needless death over the Silmaril. I wish the Jewel of Fëanor had never come to Thingol. It is a cursed thing.”

“Tell me about it,” Buffy replied, placing her head against Mablung’s again. “I hate to say it, but my heart tells me that as long as the Silmaril is floating around Middle-earth, there will be more needless deaths.”

“Where is it now, the Jewel?”

“I don’t know,” she answered dismally. “My guess is that Beren will get it back.”

“And what of the sons of Fëanor and their Oath? I hear that they now dwell with you in Ossiriand,” Celeborn said, voicing his concern.

“Yeah,” she replied with a sigh. “I told the brothers that I’d kill them personally if they laid a finger on Beren and Lúthien.” The Slayer locked her eyes on the elf. “Even my husband.”

They fell quiet for a few moments.

“Maybe you did choose wrongly,” said Celegorm, breaking the silence.

“Huh?” answered Buffy, her mind spinning with so many thoughts.

“I’m speaking of your choice of husband.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she replied somberly.

“Let me help you, Bellaseth,” offered Celegorm, reaching for Mablung. “We’ll bury Mablung together.”

The Slayer tightened her hold on the dead elf. “No!” she said, shaking her head defiantly. “I want to do it myself.” She looked into the vacant green eyes of her dead ex-lover. “I owe him that.”

“Alright,” nodded Celeborn. “I’m sure that Mablung would’ve wanted that.”

All Buffy asked for was a shovel and a blanket, a green blanket to match Mablung’s eyes. She was given what she asked before she left Menegroth, and flew to the Forest of Region with the dead elf in her arms. She had the lions land behind the mansion that the dwarves of Belegost had built for her and Mablung long ago.

Nimloth had told her that her ex-lover had refused to live there after they had broken up and gave the house to Thingol and Melian, who used it as a retreat. She felt it appropriate that he was buried there, in a place that held many happy memories.

She wrapped Mablung in the blanket and laid his body beneath an elm tree. She began digging the hole, unaided by the lions. Buffy wanted to do it herself. The sun was sinking in the west when she finally completed her task. She broke off a slab of stone from the back patio to use as a marker for the former Chief Captain of Doriath. She engraved his name on it with a dagger from her belt before setting the stone upright at the head of the grave.

The exhausted Slayer than climbed onto her chariot and the lions took off for Ossir. She would never set foot in Doriath again.



Darkness settled about the Forest of Region and all lay quiet. From the dense forest, a lone, cloaked figure emerged, and slowly walked to the freshly dug grave. They stopped at the foot of the mound, their head bowed in silence. They stood there, unmoving, for a long while, waiting, waiting for something.

The earth began to stir, as a hand emerged, then an arm, the torn green cloth dangling from the appendage. The figure remained still, watching as Mablung pried himself from the grave. Dazed and confused, he looked up at the figure that stood over him.

“Mablung,” said the cloaked figure with a feminine voice. Slowly, she pulled the hood back, revealing long golden hair that framed her pale face.

Mablung rubbed the dirt from his eyes, thinking the woman was an illusion.

“Randiel?” he finally said, his face a mask of disbelief.

“I’ve come, my love,” said the vampire-maiden, offering the Elf Lord her hand. He took it and she pulled him to his feet. She touched his face with her hand. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you dying, my Lord, so I came back, I came back and gave you a second chance at life.”

Mablung was still shocked, and confused. “What… what am I?” he asked, pulling up his shirt only to see that his deadly wound had healed.

“You are a creature of the night, like me,” answered Randiel with a smile. “Our time has come at long last, my beloved.”

Mablung felt dizzy. He grabbed onto the woman to steady himself. “You mean I’m a vampire.”

“Indeed, my love.” She helped hold him upright. “You’re weak, and must feed. I will show you a whole new world, my beloved, a world that we shall soon rule.”

Randiel linked her arm with Mablung, leading him into the wood where she held an elf captive for her beloved to feed upon. After he had drained Nellas, the Elf-maiden, Randiel took him by the hand and led him east, beyond the Blue Mountains…