Full Circle

The Slayer did not speak on the journey. She was numb, numb from the bitter cold winds that rushed against that part of her face uncovered by her scarf, and numb from the Kinslaying that she was unable to prevent. Her world was crashing down around her, the ground falling out from beneath her feet. She was plummeting into that deep abyss called despair, and saw no hope of ever finding her way out. Her mind was spinning with so many thoughts that she couldn’t clearly focus on any of them.

Despite her objections, she was grateful that Orchal was with her. He was right. She needed him more than ever before. He was her rock, her anchor. Feeling the Green-elf’s arms wrapped around her, his body pressed closely against hers, brought her a certain amount of comfort. Her gloved hands clung to his, as her bleary eyes scanned the lands below.

They did not wait at the bridge as Buffy had intended. Orchal thought it best that they continue their flight until they came across the Enyd. He felt that it was imperative that they retrieve the twins and return to Ossir as quickly as possible.

When they finally landed on the rocky plains beside the Onodrim, Thônel lowered the twins to the ground.

Eluréd and Elurín then came running toward Buffy, crying, “Bella! Bella!” The moss draped around the boys’ bodies flew off as they jumped into her outstretched arms, hugging her tightly. Even though they had just been through the most horrific experience of their young lives, they were gladdened to see her again. They knew that she’d keep them safe.

Orchal pulled sweaters over the boys’ heads before he and the Slayer wrapped them in furs, trying to warm them as much as they could. As the Green-elf led the boys to the chariot, giving them each a mouthful of miruvóre to suppress their chills, Buffy spoke briefly with the Enyd, thanking them for bringing the orphaned children to her.

She then climbed back onto the chariot and they began the trip back to Tol Galen. Every now and then, the Slayer would look over her shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of her beloved crossing the plains. Even though he had been a participant in the attack at Menegroth, she still loved him. Love was not something that she could turn off and on at will, and not knowing whether he was dead or alive was driving her mad.

The sun had already risen in the morning sky by the time they arrived at Tol Galen. None on the isle knew about what had transpired in Doriath, although a few had a feeling that something tragic had taken place, among them Olofin, Thranduil, Luthor and Lalwen. When they saw the young sons of Dior being ushered into Lindecoa, their suspicions were confirmed.

Buffy took the boys straight to the kitchen, which was always the warmest place in her Halls. She wanted them fed, bathed and then put to bed. The twins were disappointed that she didn’t stay with them. After barking out her orders, she returned to her private rooms, emotionally drained.

She poured herself a tall glass of spirits before taking a seat before the fireplace. It was times like these when she would often turn to Maglor for support and advice, and now that he was gone, she found herself sinking into a deeper depression. Staring at the flickering flames of the fire, she tried to convince herself to not dwell on what had happened. It wasn’t doing her any good to do so. No matter how difficult, the Slayer had to focus on the here and the now. She’d have to approach each day, hell, each hour, one step at a time.

Eluréd and Elurín were her immediate concern as their well-being had been entrusted to her. Under different circumstances, she would’ve enjoyed the thought of rearing the boys into manhood. But, as it stood, she felt that she was unfit to care for them. How could she be a responsible parental figure when she had lost all hope? She just didn’t have it in her to nurture the boys in the manner in which they deserved.

Though she loved them, it grieved her to admit that the twins’ presence would be a constant reminder of what Maglor and his kinfolk had done. And, right now, she couldn’t deal with that. As much as she loathed the idea, she decided that it was in not only their best interest, but hers as well, to send Eluréd and Elurín away. Far away from the evil in Beleriand. But where?

Her first thought was Folkvang, but the mortal blood in them would prevent them from entering her Blessed Realm, unless they died in battle. Since they were only ten years old, there was no way on Eru’s green earth that she could kill them. They weren’t Húrin. So, that eliminated that notion.

Buffy then thought about sending them to Dvalin at the Deeper Well, but once again, one must be immortal to pass through the gateway lest they die a fiery death. She even considered sending them to Amdír in Lindórinand, but quickly put the kibosh on that idea as well.

As she mulled over the few remaining possibilities, she heard a few quick knocks on the chamber door before it swung open. Turning toward the entryway, she watched Orchal, Olofin, Thranduil, Luthor and Lalwen come filing into her sitting room. By the forlorn looks on their faces, she knew that Orchal had told them what had happened in Menegroth. She turned back toward the fire, downing the remnants of her drink.

Olofin and Thranduil bolted to either side of her, throwing their arms around her. They had moved so quickly and unexpectedly, that the Slayer was forced backward onto the sofa, the empty glass slipping from her grasp, hitting the carpet with a dull thud. Through their tears, they both spoke so fast that Buffy could barely discern what either was saying. While she understood their pain and sorrow, she could barely breathe. They had thrown themselves onto her so that the weight of their bodies was nearly suffocating her.

“I can’t breathe,” she gasped, tapping the both of them on their backs until they shifted their positions.

“Oh, Nana,” wept Olofin, pulling himself off his mother. “I can’t believe Adar and the Noldor did it. I just can’t believe it!”

“What can we do for you, Bella?” cried Thranduil, wiping the tears from his eyes.

Buffy calmed both of her boys down as Luthor and Lalwen sat opposite from one another before the fire. Orchal stood on the hearth with his arms folded across his chest. All studied Buffy with their concerned and grief-stricken eyes.

“I say we could all use a good stiff drink,” said Orchal, picking Buffy’s glass up from the floor. He then busied himself by making drinks for everyone in spite of the early hour.

After Orchal had handed everyone a glass of spirits, the conversation turned to the Kinslaying.

The Slayer lifted her hand, motioning for her son to stop. She wasn’t ready to discuss it. “Not now, Olofin,” she said in a pained voice. “I’ve got something to deal with that requires my immediate attention.” She took a swig of her drink. For the first time since arriving back at her Halls, she felt something other than numbness - a tingling sensation in her body. The alcohol was beginning to take effect. It was the first thing that she had truly felt aside from sorrow in the last several hours. She stared at the contents of her drink, tracing the rim of the glass with her finger. She could feel the eyes of her companions boring into her. With a heavy sigh, she softly added, “The twins can’t stay here.”

“Why not?” asked Thranduil, slightly taken aback by her statement.

“Because… because seeing them will be a constant reminder of… of what happened.” Her voice broke as she spoke. She took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the tears forming in her eyes.

Olofin rubbed her back sympathetically. “They don’t have to stay in Lindecoa, Nana. There are many dwellings throughout… ”

His mother cut his words short. “I don’t want them here - in Ossiriand,” she interjected morosely. “I can’t care for them. I thought I could, but I can’t.”

“You don’t have to, Bella,” said Thranduil. “There’s many an elf that would love to raise the children of Dior and Nimloth… ”

“I said I don’t want them here,” she said, firmer in tone. “They need to get out of Beleriand. They need to go somewhere safe.”

“What about Folkvang?” suggested Lalwen hopefully. “Surely, that’s the safest place.”

Buffy lifted her head, meeting the elleth’s gaze. “They’ve got mortal blood in them. They can’t go unless they die in battle.”

“Oh,” she answered dejectedly, slumping in her chair.

“And they can’t go to the Deeper Well either,” she added, shifting her gaze to Luthor.

“Wait a minute,” chimed in Thranduil, his face wrinkled in confusion. “Why can’t they go to Folkvang? I understand that they have mortal blood in them, but they also possess the blood of the Eldar and Ainur as well. Surely, that’s enough to allow them entry into your Blessed Realm.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Buffy answered, turning her woeful gaze to the elf. “I know you don’t know much about genetics. Hell, I’m not an expert either, but there are basic principles at work here. When an elf procreates with a mortal, their offspring will inherit the characteristics of the weaker race. Just because Nimloth was an elf, doesn’t mean her children are. They are mortal, like their father.”

“But the blood of Lúthien… ” argued Thranduil, still confused by her words.

“That doesn’t matter, little man,” she said with a somber shake of her head. “Look at Olofin.” The Slayer quickly glanced at her son, sitting on the other side of her. “Olofin resembles an elf even though I’m a Vala. You’d think that since I possess greater powers than his father that he’d automatically be accounted amongst my kindred, but he isn’t. He’s half elf, half Vala, but in regards to his essence, the core of his being - he’s an elf.”

“So, even if you were to have a child with a mortal, your child would be… mortal? He wouldn’t have the gift of immortality,” queried a perplexed Thranduil.

“That’s right. The child will always take the characteristics of the weaker race. Always!” She paused for a moment. “Well, unless someone that possesses great magics changes that. Mortals can be gifted with immortality by one who has the power to do so. And unfortunately, I haven’t had that ability for a long time.”

“But what of Luthor?” he asked, turning his grey eyes to the old man. “You’re a Maia. Your powers are greater than Elven-kind. Can’t you gift the twins with immortality?”

“I’m afraid not, Thranduil,” answered Luthor with a sigh. “That gift is only given to the Valar, not the Maiar. Don’t you think Melian would’ve woven a spell about Thingol if she had had that power?”

“Oh, I never thought of that,” said the frowning Green-elf. He looked at Buffy. “Do you really think that Eluréd and Elurín are in danger?”

“We’re all in danger,” she answered grim-faced. “As long as Morgoth gets to call the shots - we’re all screwed. I have to get the boys somewhere safe, somewhere out of Beleriand. And I don’t want them to be alone.” She turned her gaze to Luthor. “They need to be loved and nurtured by someone that I trust. Someone who’ll teach them right from wrong, someone whose wisdom will help them survive in this world, someone who is experienced… ”

“Why are you looking at me as you speak?” interrupted Luthor, shifting uneasily in his chair. “Surely, you don’t expect me to raise the twins.”

“Well, not just you.” Buffy turned her eyes to Lalwen, who quickly diverted her gaze, looking at the dancing flames of the fire. The elleth’s cheeks flushed. “I think you and Lalwen would make perfect foster parents.”

“Luthor and Lalwen?” snorted Thranduil in amusement. “Where would you get an idea like that?” His eyes darted from the elleth to the Maia before quickly adding, “No offense.”

“None taken,” replied Luthor without missing a beat.

“I think you’re behind the times, Thranduil,” said Orchal with a chuckle.

“What would make you suggest such a thing, Bella?” the Maia asked, trying to remain composed despite that fact that her comment had left him somewhat flustered.

“I’m not blind, Luthor,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “You don’t think I’ve seen you and Lalwen making goo-goo eyes at each other. I’m the Vala of Love for Eru’s sake! God only knows what you two do when I’m not around.”

“Luthor and Lalwen?!” exclaimed Thranduil, his eyes, wide with surprise, darted from the Maia to the elleth. “You mean… that you two… you two… are lovers!” His jaw dropped as the realization of his own words sunk in. The poor Green-elf had been totally oblivious to the pair’s love for one another, even though it had happened right under his own nose.

“Shush, Thranduil,” scolded the Slayer. She turned her attention back to the old man and the elf-maiden. “Listen, you two don’t have to keep your romance secret any more. I know you’ve been doing that for my sake, but really, I’m okay with it, despite what you may have heard from a certain someone.” She cast a quick glance at Orchal, who feigned innocence. “But it would really mean a lot to me if you’d do me this huge favor. I’m not asking you to go forever, just… for a while, until I figure things out,” she added, looking imploringly at the couple.

“What do you mean by ‘figure things out’?” queried Lalwen, scrutinizing Buffy very closely.

The Slayer took a long drink, preferring not to elaborate on her ‘figure things out’ statement. She kept her eyes focused on the glass in her hand. “I’d rather not say, right now,” she finally replied, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. “Just trust me on this. That’s all I can say.”

All fell quiet within the chamber. The only sound was an occasional pop from the roaring fire.

“If it’s that important to you, Bella, then we’ll do it,” said Lalwen, breaking the silence. “But where are we to take the twins? My kin are now scattered, and I don’t rightly know where to take them.”

Buffy looked gratefully at her friend, giving her a warm smile. “I’ve got that covered.” She turned her eyes to Luthor and uttered one word, “Hírilost.”

She never thought her response would create such an uproar with her loved ones. Yet it did, with everyone except for Lalwen, the only one that had never set foot in Mesopotamia. The Slayer sat back, listening to the men folk rant and rave. She drained her glass, feeling her face growing hotter.

“Shut up!” she exclaimed, silencing the men. “None here but me was exiled from Sumer. Marduk won’t do shit to you. He doesn’t even know about Hírilost. It’s way north of his lands.”

“How do you know that?” asked Luthor, his tone revealing his skepticism.

“Because I’ve been corresponding with one of his sons,” she revealed. All the occupants in the room were stunned by her declaration, except Orchal. Buffy hadn’t shared that bit of information with any except for a handful of her councilors, including Orchal. “Marduk spends most of his time at his temple in his newly founded city-state, Babylon, just west of Kish. He never travels north of there… And it’s like I said, he has no beef with you, only me.”

“I don’t like this, Nana,” said Olofin with concern, shaking his head. “Mesopotamia is a place of evil. There’s something unwholesome about that land.”

“How come you’ve never mentioned that you were writing to one of Marduk’s sons? How do you know he can be trusted? He could be setting a trap!” rattled off Luthor, none too pleased at her suggestion about returning to the East.

“I trust him as much as I trusted Nabu,” she answered, her voice resolute. “Nabu died saving me, and Osiris would do the same. I don’t doubt that for one minute.”

The old man continued to look at her with doubt-filled eyes.

“There’s no where else, Luthor,” Buffy moaned in her desperation. “It’s safe. It’s the safest place in Middle-earth. It’s the only place. I swear, no harm will come to you guys. I’ll swear on my life.”

Once again, everyone fell silent. Luthor had leaned back in his seat with his eyes closed, nervously chewing on his bottom lip. The Slayer stared at him, knowing that, ultimately, the decision rested with the Maia, not Lalwen.

After several minutes, he asked with a sigh, “How long? How long do you want us to stay in Sumer?” He never opened his eyes or moved any other part of his body except for his mouth.

“No more than fifteen years.”

“Why fifteen years?”

“Because that’s when Eluréd and Elurín will turn twenty-five.”

“And what is the significance of that?”

“I don’t know, Luthor,” she whined, tiring of the Maia’s incessant questioning. “I just need some time. If you won’t do it - just say so… ”

“No, we’ll do it,” interjected Lalwen, shooting Luthor her don’t-you-dare-rebuke-my-words kind of look. She gave Buffy a quick smile. “When do you want us to go, Bella?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Alright, we can do that,” answered the elleth with a nod.

“You do realize that it will more than likely take us fifteen years to reach Hírilost on foot, Bellaseth,” said Luthor as calmly as he could. He was annoyed with the Slayer, and it showed. But, he also understood that she was struggling with her current predicament and decided it was best not to provoke her any further.

“Not if you take the chariot.”

Relieved that her immediate dilemma had been settled, Buffy was overcome with the weariness of her emotionally draining morning. Excusing herself, she went into her bedchamber, changed into her nightgown and crawled into bed. Within a matter of minutes, she fell into a deep sleep, not waking until well into the night.



It was a little after eleven when she awoke. Buffy’s sorrow at the loss of her beloved Maglor returned full force. Once again, she turned to the bottle, hoping that it would help to ease her pain. Having gone all day without eating a bite, she got drunk relatively quickly.

As the Slayer lay sprawled on the couch in one of her sitting rooms, mulling over the slaughter at Menegroth, her anguish soon turned to anger. The act of her husband’s betrayal had finally sunk in, pissing her off. He didn’t keep his promises, so there was no point in keeping hers either.

When two o’clock arrived, Buffy vanished from the sofa, only to reappear outstretched on the floor of Sussrúmnir a moment later. With the Vala Queen chuckling at her abrupt disappearance, the Valkyrie chieftains helped her to her feet.

“Oh, Maranwë, you’ve been drinking!” said Rainë, crinkling her nose at the sourness of her Mistress’ breath.

“I’m drunk!” proclaimed the Slayer proudly, slurring her speech.

The Valkyries attempted to garb their Mistress in her royal attire, but she pushed them away.

“No!” she protested, wobbling on her feet. “There will be no judgments today.” She shifted her bloodshot eyes to the spiral stairway. “I’m gonna go see my honey.” Buffy then staggered up the stairs leading to the thirteenth floor. When she reached the first landing, she stumbled over her own feet, and fell to the marble floor. Laughing at her own clumsiness, she crawled to the nearest banister and pulled herself upright. Remembering that her magics still worked in Folkvang, she mumbled, “I can be so dense sometimes,” before teleporting herself to her bedchamber.

She reappeared at the foot of the oversized lapis lazuli bed that Sargon had had made for them long ago. The Adan lay on the bed, engrossed in his reading of one of her journals.

“Hello, lover,” she said seductively in greeting.

Sargon cast a quick glance over the top of the book, not wanting to lose his place in his reading. He did a double take when he noticed that Buffy stood there, naked. Her gown now lay on the floor at her feet.

“Luinil!” he said in surprise, placing the book to the side. “Er, what are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” she asked, crawling across the bed toward her mortal lover.

The Adan was momentarily speechless. He hadn’t seen her behave in that way for a number of years and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. That is, until he smelled the aroma of alcohol emanating from her.

“You reek of sour mash,” he finally said as she climbed on top of him.

“It’s not the first time,” she chortled, hovering above his face. “So, you wanna do it?”

“It?” he repeated, still stunned by the Slayer’s demeanor.

“You know what I mean?” she answered coquettishly before planting wet kisses on his neck.

“Luinil?”

“Hmm,” she sounded, now nibbling on his ear.

“What’s wrong?” Sargon asked. He knew that there had to be some underlying reason for her behavior.

Buffy lifted her head, looking into the grey eyes of her lover. “Is it wrong for me to love you?” she queried, slightly irritated that the Adan wouldn’t keep quiet and let her do her thing. “Isn’t this what you want?”

She attempted to resume her kisses, but Sargon grabbed hold of her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

The Slayer closed her eyes, refusing to allow her lover to scrutinize her with those penetrating eyes of his.

“Look at me, Luinil.”

She kept her eyes tightly closed.

“Do you not love me enough to tell me what troubles you? Am I unworthy of knowing the truth behind your sudden desire for me?”

Buffy opened her eyes, and softly said, “It doesn’t matter any more.”

Sargon looked keenly into her green eyes, perceiving her latest misfortune. “Alas, it is what I thought,” he sighed. “Kanafinwë is behind this latest woe.”

“It’s over, Sargon,” she revealed, unable to hide the hurt in her voice. “Káno betrayed me. He lied to me.”

A pained expression came to the Adan’s face. His sad grey eyes continued to search hers. “And I take it that you wish to retaliate against his act of betrayal with one of your own. You wish to use me as a means of getting back at him.”

Her lover’s words stung, for they were true. She attempted to dispute his comments nevertheless.

Sargon placed his hands on the Slayer’s shoulders, and slid her body off his. He got out of bed, retrieved her gown from the floor, and handed it back to her.

“Get dressed, Bella,” he said, the pain in his voice apparent.

“What?” She was flabbergasted by his actions. He had always wanted her and Buffy couldn’t understand why he was rejecting her.

The Adan pulled the gown over her head before turning away. He walked across the chamber, stopping in front of the bejeweled portrait of the Vala Queen that he had commissioned during his first life as the king of Sumer and Akkad. He tearfully looked at the magnificent life-like image, wishing that Buffy would hurriedly dress and ease his temptation. A part of him wanted her desperately, was anxious to take her right then and there, but there would be dire consequences if he did so. That much Sargon knew.

“Don’t you get it? My marriage is over,” conceded the Slayer. “Káno’s gone, Sargon. It’s over.”

“I wish I could believe that,” he answered, still staring at the glittering image on the wall. “But my heart tells me otherwise.” The Adan turned, facing his lover. “You will take Maglor back.”

Buffy’s jaw dropped. Unable to speak, she slowly shook her head.

“You will, my beloved,” he replied sadly. “I do not deny that I long for you. You’re right about that.” He slowly made his way back to the bed, speaking with each step he took. “Yet, you choose to come to me besotted with spirits, seeking to hurt Kanafinwë as he hurt you. Once you sober up, regaining your senses, you’ll see the error of your actions, and, as a result, I will be the one punished. Is it fair, that in the end, I will suffer from the misdeeds of your husband?”

The Slayer sat there in stunned disbelief. She found it unfathomable that she’d take Maglor back after his betrayal. But what was even more disturbing was Sargon’s uncanny ability to see through her façade.

When the Adan reached the side of the bed where she sat, he crouched before her. “I love you, Luinil. I’ve loved you since I first set eyes on you in the days of my youth. I’ve come to accept that I will be second in your heart, that Kanafinwë will always come first. Your love for the Elf is stronger than what you feel for me.”

She attempted to protest, but Sargon placed a finger to her lips, stilling her words. He cupped her cheek, gently caressing her soft skin.

“He will beg your forgiveness, and, because of your love for him, you will gladly accept it,” he continued, his eyes welling with tears. “You will never leave him. Not over this, or what’s to come. This is but the first betrayal on his part. Your love for the Noldo will blind you to the misdeeds brought about by the Oath.” A tear escaped the Adan’s eye. “The Elf will end up leaving you once he truly understands the pain and misery he’s caused. He will wander the world alone in his despair, regretting all the sorrow that the Oath has brought upon his kin, especially you, my beloved.”

“He’ll betray me again,” she said in a wounded voice, tears now streaming down her face.

“I’m afraid so. Sadly, the Oath is stronger than his love for you. It cannot be undone by any, not even you.” The Adan looked at her with woeful eyes. “My dear Bella… you will cleave to him out of love and out of hope.”

“I have no hope left,” she cried. “Everything… and everyone is being ripped from me, one by one. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. It’s so dark. My world… is so dark and full of such pain.”

“The Noldo will renew your hope, my love,” he said reassuringly. “As much as it pains me to say it, he’s good for you. He helps you understand the true meaning of tolerance and forgiveness.”

“How can I be tolerant or forgive him and the Noldor when they killed Dior. Dior, Sargon! He was our salvation. Our only hope. Morgoth will run amok even more and now the Valar won’t help us. Dior was the only one born from the union of Man and Elf. The only one that could get the Valar to aid us in our wars,” she sobbed, in near hysterics.

“No!” countered the Adan insistently, taking her hands in his. He took a seat beside Buffy on the bed. “He’s not the only one, Luinil!”

“He’s… he’s not,” she sniffled, facing Sargon with a look of confusion on her face.

“No, he’s not. I’ve spoken much with Huor. He’s been blessed with the gift of foresight, and has seen many things. Good things. His son, Tuor, has wed Idril Celebrindal, Turgon’s daughter, and they have a son, Luinil. A son! Eärendil is his name. He will become a mighty mariner and will be exalted by the Valar. They will set him in the highs of Ilmen as a star, a star that Man will one day name unto you.”

The Slayer sat there, dumbstruck by the Adan’s words.

“See, hope is not lost. Things will get better. There is a light at the end of that tunnel.” Sargon wrapped an arm around his lover, holding her close, speaking reassuringly to her.

Buffy’s mind was reeling from everything that the Adan had told her. She sat quietly, listening to his words of comfort, attempting to stifle her tears.

When she finally spoke, she faintly asked, “How will I know?” She lifted her head from his shoulder, looking into the mortal’s eyes. “How will I know when it’s over between me and Káno?”

Sargon traced the trail of her tears with his finger. “You will know, my love, when you cry tears of gold.”

“What?” she queried, confused by what the Adan had just said.

“You will shed tears of gold when Maglor finally leaves you.”

“How… how do you know that?”

“I’ve seen it in my dreams.”

Her glassy eyes widened, as numerous questions came to her mind.

“I do not know when that will be, Luinil,” he continued, perceiving her thoughts. Sargon wiped her tears away. “I have not seen all that’s to come, only some. Know that I will be here for you, to comfort you in your time of sorrow. I will never leave you.”

Buffy placed her head back on the Adan’s shoulder, her mind racing from everything that she had learned. Unfortunately, her head started to spin, and all the alcohol she had consumed churned uncomfortably in her stomach. Only a second later, she vomited all over the marble floor.

Sargon, always the trooper, took care of her. As he put her in a bath, he summoned for a couple of servants to clean up the mess. After bathing the Valië, he put her to bed and cast a spell of sleep upon her, a sleep that would ease her suffering upon awakening.

Little did the mortal know that he was an unwitting player in Ilúvatar’s master plan. Sargon’s prophetic words about the Slayer’s marriage would lead to her reconciling with her husband sooner then anticipated. It was decreed by the Allfather that the time had not yet arrived for his beloved daughter’s relationship with the Elf to end, for she was to play an important role in things to come. Unbeknownst to Buffy, she would be responsible for changing the course of history, especially for the Edain.



And it came to be that several days after she had had that conversation with Sargon, the Noldor returned to Ossiriand. They had foolishly assumed that the Green-elves did not know of their attack on Menegroth. Going against the counsel of Amrod and Amras (who deemed that Buffy knew of the Kinslaying), Maglor refused to remain on Amon Ereb with his twin brothers. The Noldo was full of remorse and sought to return to his wife and son. Maedhros had reluctantly agreed. Their remaining Households, including those of the deceased C-brothers, accompanied the two sons of Fëanor back to the Land of Seven Rivers.

To their horror, they were stopped by Tarlanc and his men at the northern borders. They were told that they were to be brought before the Queen in Lindon Hall, to face her judgment for the sins they had committed in Menegroth. Some of the Noldor grew fearful, too terrified to face the Slayer’s wrath, and fled back to Amon Ereb. However, most continued on the trek to Lindon Hall, even though they did not know what to expect.

All the Noldor, except for Maglor, were ushered into the Great Hall. He was taken to the study where Buffy waited. When the son of Fëanor entered the chamber, he saw his wife sitting behind her desk, busily scrawling her signature on several documents.

Buffy lifted her head. When she fixed her gaze on her husband, her heart began to beat frantically in her chest. Her palms instantly became wet with sweat.

Maglor remained motionless for a few moments, his grey eyes glistening with sorrow and regret.

The Slayer threw down her quill and rose to her feet. Her eyes never left the Noldo.

The son of Fëanor slowly crossed the room, and stood before his wife. He then dropped to his knees, and in tears, told of his misdeeds brought about by the Oath and the unrelenting provocation of Celegorm, Curufin and Caranthir. He begged Buffy to forgive him, to give him another chance, as he had done her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, sobbing.

Seeing Maglor in such a state stirred the Slayer to pity. She was finally beginning to understand the words of Sargon and the words that she herself had said long ago: that love can drive one to do things unfathomable. The thought of facing another day without her beloved husband, sickened her. She needed him. She wanted him. She loved him more than life itself.

Buffy wrapped her arms around the Noldo’s neck, and pressed her face against the top of his head.

“I forgive you, Káno,” she sniffled. “I’ll always forgive you.”

And indeed, in the days and years to come, the Slayer would prove that the power of love would lead her to do things unfathomable. The following day, she would sign a decree, banning all in Ossir from speaking ill of the Noldor and of the Kinslaying.

However, she refused to ease the suffering of Maedhros and Maglor in regards to the twin sons of Dior. She never told them that they were brought to her, and that they dwelled in safety with Luthor and Lalwen outside of Beleriand. She hoped that would make them think should the Oath awaken again. With her knowledge of Eärendil, her hope for the future had been renewed. In spite of Sargon’s words, she became more determined to thwart the Curse that was upon her loved ones, even if that meant she’d have to appeal to the Valar themselves…