Chapter One Hundred-Eight: The Trial

Ulmo placed a spell of sleep upon the Slayer, ending all her attempts to break free from his hold. He loathed that fact that his brethren had chosen him to be the one to apprehend her, not forgetting the promise he had made to his former lover, to be there when she needed him most. The Lord of Waters could not help but think that she would see his act as a sign of betrayal, but Manwë had ordered him to bring her back to Valinor to answer for her crimes against Oromë and Thorondor, and who was he to defy the Lord of Arda?

Understanding the trials and tribulations that Buffy had been subjected to, all Ulmo could do was aid her in her defense. He felt that his brethren did not wholly comprehend how awful life had been for those outside the Blessed Realm. Though they had heard much from Eärendil when he had come, the son of Tuor and Idril hadn’t told but half the story. The half-elf had not traveled the vastness of Middle-earth, and had not experienced the guilefulness of the servants of evil that roamed freely about, from coast-to-coast.

As the Lord of Waters neared the end of the river, those elves that toiled at constructing a new settlement under the direction of Ereinion fled in terror when they suddenly saw and heard the wall of water roaring downstream. Only a handful knew that they were witnessing one of the many incarnations of Ulmo, but the sight of him as a dreadful wave still terrified them, nonetheless. None could see that Buffy was in his grasp. They were too busy running, hiding amidst the surrounding trees. From their various locations, the Eldar watched in amazement as the breaker crashed onto the still waters of the gulf. The thunderous collision created a swell that came nearly to the top of the rocky cliff wall, spraying them with a light, salty mist.

The elves then came out from their hiding places, daring to peek over the ledge to see if Ulmo had gone. When they reached the cliff, they saw the disturbance on the water’s surface, but nothing more. Unsure whether the Lord of Waters wrath had been stirred awake, messengers were immediately dispatched to their King, who was visiting the encampment of those from the West.

Ulmo’s feet turned to stone blocks, the weight sending him plummeting to the sandy floor. He looked down at the still form of Buffy clutched his arms, the tendrils of her golden hair splaying about her head. Though she appeared to look at peace, he could feel the anguish emanating from her essence. The Vala Lord had to fight the overwhelming urge to take her to his halls at the bottom of the sea, where he longed to heal her tormented soul without interference from his kinfolk.

Despite his feelings, he knew that he had to carry out the orders of Manwë; otherwise, he might not be granted the opportunity to sit on the council that would decide the Slayer’s fate. Knowing that all the mightiest Lords and Ladies would be present, not just the Aratar, Ulmo felt that it was imperative that he attend, (something he very seldom did). He was concerned that a few of them were quite eager to cast Luinil through the Door of Night and into the Void, permanently banishing her from Eä. Yet, those same few gave no thought as to the consequences of doing so. They were merely acting out of spite and jealousy over the Vala of Love, their festering animosity toward her having built up over time.

Even though Ulmo walked with long strides, it still took him a little over a year (in the reckoning of the elves) to reach the shores of Valinor. Accompanied by several of his servants, he rose from the depths of Belegaer at Eldamar, his feet returning to normal, as he made his way through Calacirya, the only pass in the Pelóri, the great mountain chain that fortified the eastern coast of Aman. Before him, to the west, stood Túna, the mound raised by the Eldar on which Tirion had been built. Deeming that the Slayer would delight in seeing the birthplace of Olofin’s kinfolk, he wished to wake her, and show her the beauty of that fair elvish city.

As he considered lifting the spell, he heard the heartbroken voice of Manwë in his head. Glancing to his left, his eyes surveyed the mighty peak of Taniquetil, stopping at the summit that remained hidden amid the puffy, white clouds.

From his throne in Ilmarin, the Halls of Manwë Súlimo and Varda Elbereth, the Lord of Arda counseled Ulmo not to lift the spell just yet. ‘For my heart tells me that Luinil’s rage has not lessened, though much time has passed since her attack on both Oromë and Thorondor. Let her sleep still, until our mightiest have assembled, for only by a mustering of our powers, can we rein in hers.’

Ulmo turned his solemn eyes back to the Slayer, sighing in defeat.

‘Do not think that I have forgotten your love for Luinil, my friend,’ continued Manwë from his throne high above. ‘We too love Maranwë dearly! If, as you say, that my brother’s malice is behind the horrific events that have transpired - rest assured, that it will be brought to light.’ The Lord of Arda paused before adding, ‘However, you must remember that Luinil is very strong, dangerous, even with her powers suppressed. Angainor is not available to us, nor do we have the strength of Tulkas and Oromë to keep Luinil restrained. I shall summon the others to the Ring of Doom, but, once again, I must ask that you do not wake her until you reach Máhanaxar.’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ answered Ulmo, using his gift of telepathy to reply to Manwë.

A series of horn blasts came from above, the melodic notes traveling far and wide, alerting those in Valimar of the Slayer’s arrival and impending council. As the Lord of Waters resumed his trek, following the road made by the elves long ago, he heard the bells ringing in answer from the wardens of the chief city and dwelling place of the Valar.

Many of the Vanyar left their homes on Taniquetil, eager to catch a glimpse of the Valië of Love and War in the flesh, for the rumor of her deeds, both good and bad, had even reached their ears. Those Teleri that had not accompanied their Lord to Middle-earth, boarded their vessels at Alqualondë, setting sail to Eldamar, as they too wished to see the Vala Queen that had aided their kinfolk in the battles with Morgoth in the Hither Lands.

When Ulmo neared Tirion, he turned toward the hill and saw the remnant of the Noldor, mostly women, exiting the great gate of their fair city, and making their way down the crystal stairway and to the nearby stables at the bottom of the mound.

Finrod, anticipating the Lord of Waters’ arrival, had kept watch for the Vala from the heights of the tower, Mindon Eldaliéva, which was part of the former abode of Ingwë, High King of all the Eldar, and where the Noldo currently resided. He was the first to leave Tirion, and was already atop his steed by the time Ulmo passed by the steps leading to their city. Riding alongside him, was a de-aged Tuor, who, it turned out, had reached the shores of Aman with Idril and become the first Man to be granted immortality, even before his son and daughter-in-law.

Not forgetting his friendship with Buffy, Finrod longed to attend the council with his people, the Valar permitting. While his people hurriedly mounted their steeds or hitched their wagons and carriages to their beasts of burden, he quickly caught up with the Lord of Waters, asking permission to attend the council.

Looking at his blood-splattered friend, the Noldo pleaded, “I know Bella well, having spent much time in her company whilst I dwelt in Beleriand. She is not one to strike unless provoked.” He narrowed his eyes. “My heart tells me that Morgoth is behind all of this. His malice knows no bounds, my Lord, especially when it comes to her.”

“I do not doubt your words, son of Finarfin. And if I have any say, I would have you there, for Bella will need the support of all her friends, however great or small,” answered Ulmo somberly. “It grieves me that she is to be put before the Ring of Doom. I fear that things will go ill, that Námo will show no mercy.”

“Then that is more the reason for me to be there!” demanded Finrod. “None here understands the horrors that she’s been through, but me! Not only have I witnessed firsthand the malice of Morgoth, but I was made to suffer cruelly at the hands of the enemy.” He fixed his sorrowful grey eyes on Buffy. “I wish to speak on her behalf, in her defense, for I know in my heart, that she’s merely a victim of Morgoth’s treachery.”

“I bid you to come then, Finrod. Perhaps Námo will let you speak your mind.”

Many of the Noldor had caught up with Ulmo and his companions, offering use of one of their wagons so that he did not have to walk the many miles to Valimar. The Lord of Waters gratefully accepted, feeling the weariness of his journey in his body, mind and soul. Still clutching the sleeping Slayer in his arms, he sat upon the bed of pillows that the elves had arranged in one of their vehicles.

From the dark Halls of Mandos departed Námo, his wife, Vairë, Nienna, his sister, and many of their servants. Námo would act in proxy on behalf of Manwë, who, after the Noldor went into exile, vowed never to depart Taniquetil for any reason, until the End of Days, when the final battle with Melkor had begun. The Lord of Mandos was to preside over the proceedings, since he was stern in mood and not easily swayed by his emotions. Only once in his lifetime had he been moved to tears, and that was upon hearing the woeful song of Lúthien Tinúviel. Though Buffy was his sister, he would give her a fair and impartial hearing, not allowing their kinship to affect his ruling.

From the magnificent Gardens of Lórien came Irmo, accompanied by his wife, Estë, and many of their Maia followers. With them also went Melian, who had returned to that place of healing after the death of Thingol. Upon hearing the tidings brought from Middle-earth, Buffy’s mentor felt the need to join her Lord and Lady at the council, speaking out on behalf of one whom she had come to love as a daughter.

In one of the parlors within the Halls of Aulë sat Yavanna Kementári, her sister, Vána, Yavanna’s daughter with Aulë, Nessa (and wife of Tulkas), and a handful of their handmaidens. They were sitting there when the bells sounded, informing them of the Slayer’s arrival and the approaching trial.

If there were any that could be named as Buffy’s nemesis in Valinor, it would be Yavanna. That Valië had no love for the Slayer, only enmity. Her resentment toward the Vala of Love went back ages, even before the making of Eä. She had not forgotten that her husband had asked for Luinil’s hand first, and had settled for Yavanna when he was rejected by Buffy, who had refused to leave the Timeless Halls and descend into the world when the others had. The Queen of the Earth viewed the Valië of Love as a seductress, a creature that used her womanly ways to seduce men to do her bidding. She was promiscuous, and a warmonger, who delighted in the sport of bloodshed.

As she sat there, huddled with her closest kinswomen, her heart became most bitter as she recalled things from times past. She remembered the wistful look on Aulë’s face before he had left with his people to begin construction of Folkvang, a task that took him away from her for centuries. He had worked feverishly on perfecting the mystical abode of his former lover, something that Yavanna Kementári dare not forget.

The Slayer’s arrival also brought to mind the time when Salmar had brought her a rose bush from Ossir, showing the Lady of the Earth the delicate flower created by the blood of Luinil. It was Yavanna that was the purveyor of all things that sprang from the earth, whether it be the wild grasses, flowers, or the trees that she coveted so. To see that the Vala of Love had created a flower with such an alluring scent, something that Kementári had failed to do, only made her livid. She had come to the same conclusion as Úrion before her - that the rose represented the Vala of Love. It enticed one with its heavenly scent, only to painfully prick them when they touched the thorny stem. She had destroyed the gift from the servant of Ulmo, and forbade any to plant or bring a single meril within the walls of Valimar. Only in the Gardens of Lórien could one see the magnificent creation of Maranwë Luinil, for Estë had become enamored with the rose, and on her isle within Lake Lorellin and throughout all her domain, there grew a bounty of roses. Yavanna believed that the wife of Irmo had done that out of spite, and no longer visited that fair place, which many deemed to be the fairest in all Arda.

Those factors, together with the tales that came from Middle-earth, caused the Vala of the Earth to voice her resentment toward the Vala of Love and War to any that would listen. Many ignored her diatribes, knowing full well that all she said was out of jealousy. Nessa was the first to be swayed by her mother’s rants, believing that one who had loved Melkor so dearly from the beginning must have some evil tendencies, and after the Slayer’s vicious attack on both Oromë and Thorondor, she no longer had any doubts.

Vána had always agreed with her sister. She always felt a pang in her soul every time she had encountered the Vala of Love when they had still roamed the vastness of time and space in spirit-form. Yet, after Luinil’s attack on her husband, she convinced herself that Buffy was a Vala of Wickedness. She believed that Oromë had thwarted the Slayer’s advances, only to suffer the consequences of having done so. She too sought retribution against the Vala Queen, and Luinil’s recent misdeeds made it even easier to convince their fellows of her guilt, and the need to banish her from Eä, or so she thought.

All the women rose from their seats, and together with their maidens, they began to make their way to the golden gates of their city, for on the other side, outside of Valimar, was the Ring of Doom. As they neared the smithies, the women heard the sound of a hammer striking metal. They knew that Aulë was inside, hard at work. The Vala Lord had heard the bells, but knowing that the council was still a couple of hours away, continued in his labors.

Yavanna stopped outside the opened doors to the building, listening to the relentless pounding coming from within.

“What is it, Mother?” asked Nessa, her face fraught with concern.

“I wish to speak to your father,” answered Kementári. “You ladies continue on. I’ll see you on Máhanaxar.”

The women obediently nodded in reply, continuing down the marble street.

Yavanna took a deep breath before entering the structure. She wasn’t looking for any type of confrontation. She was merely curious as to why Aulë had not put his hammer down. The Valië hoped that he would walk with her to the Ring of Doom, showing her the support she so desperately needed.

When she entered the chamber in which her husband was busily working, she felt a pang in her heart. It appeared that Aulë was constructing a new chariot for the Vala of War. Yavanna took yet another deep breath, this time, attempting to hold back the tears that she felt forming in her eyes.

“My Lord,” she said, clasping her hands before her.

Aulë ignored her, continuing to flatten the sheet of bronze that he was working with.

“My Lord!” she said a bit louder that time.

The Vala Lord lifted his head, and upon seeing his wife, laid his hammer to the side. “What is it, Yavanna?” he asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“My Lord, did you not hear the bells? We’ve been called to council. Surely, you intend to be there for a meeting of such importance.”

Aulë took a long swig from his water jug, gulping down the refreshing beverage.

Yavanna tried to wait patiently for his response. Her worrisome green eyes kept darting from her husband to the vehicle he was constructing.

“All the Aratar must attend,” she continued, her patience running thin. “Save poor Oromë, my son.” She made a point to add emphasis to the words, ‘my son’ since Oromë was only her child, having sprung from her essence, and her essence alone.

“I’m well aware of the impending council, Yavanna,” answered the Vala Lord, slightly annoyed by her intrusion. He preferred that his wife not enter his workspace. With having so many things made of wood in that place, Yavanna had a tendency to complain that he had raped her forests, taking delight in crafting things from her beloved trees. She didn’t seem to understand that much of what he had made was out of necessity, and aided him in his labors. It was a never-ending argument with her that usually ended with his wife changing into a tree, refusing to talk to him for long periods. He found her behavior childish at times. Yet, on the other hand, it also gave him a break from her incessant need for validation of his love for her. Why must she continue to harbor jealousy over something that happened millennia ago? He loved her, not Luinil. The Vala of Love had rejected him, so he moved on. Why couldn’t Yavanna see that?

“I… I was hoping that we could… go together,” she stammered, upon noticing her husband’s furrowed brow. Was he thinking of her? she wondered. He seemed too quiet. “I feel it’s rather important that we show a united front, that we are together as one… that we both want to see justice served.”

The crease between Aulë’s eyes deepened, as he slammed his water jug back onto the table with a bang. The force caused several of his tools to bounce on the wooden surface. He felt his temper rising.

“I see that you’re ready to pass judgment of Luinil when you have not yet heard her side of the story…”

“Her side?” interjected the Vala Queen, her eyes wide with disbelief. “She stabbed my son! She killed Thorondor! What more do we need, other than to decide her punishment?”

“You amaze me, Yavanna,” answered Aulë, shaking his sweaty head disappointedly. “After all this time you continue to doubt my love for you.”

“This has nothing to do with your love for me!” she shot back angrily.

“No?” he queried, slightly stunned that she, of all people, thought that he could not see the truth within her heart. “You cannot hide your jealousy for Luinil from me, Lady. I can now see through the pretense of your visit to my smithy. You have come in hope of persuading me to condemn her without a proper trial. I find your vindictiveness most appalling. I would expect one of the Aratar to show Luinil some pity after all that she has been through, and listen to all sides before passing judgment.”

“She stabbed my son! She tried to kill him. Thorondor is dead! What more proof do you need of her guilt?” she exclaimed in a pain-riddled voice. Yavanna paused, attempting to keep her cool. “It seems to me, my Lord, that you have reached your own verdict before hearing her side. You presume her innocent when we know otherwise. Luinil is but a slayer of the righteous, a creature of evil that lures others to follow her blindly down the path of wickedness. How can you pity one whose moral depravity rivals only Melkor’s?” She narrowed her icy eyes at her husband. “I have now come to believe that it was she that had corrupted Melkor to do evil, for it was she that betrayed his trust.”

Yavanna’s words inflamed the Vala Lord. “You know not what you speak of, woman! If any here are blind, it is you, Kementári, for you know nothing of the world outside this realm. Here, you live in peace, to enjoy the bounty of all that Valinor holds. You do not go without. You have not suffered at the hands of the Enemy… ”

“Not suffered,” she protested indignantly. “My Blessed Trees are barren, withered from the evil that has been unleashed within this kingdom. If any have truly suffered from evil, I have!”

Aulë lunged forward, grabbing his wife by the shoulders. “You know nothing of suffering,” he hissed, his dark eyes narrowed in ire. “Let us cast you into the Hither Lands to wander alone, defenseless against our enemies. You may weep endlessly for the Two Trees, but I weep endlessly for her, for she has experienced such suffering, such pain… Who are we to condemn Luinil when we’ve turned a blind eye to her cries because of our scorn toward the Noldor? Tell me the justice in that, Yavanna.” He released his hold on the Valië, and returned to his worktable, picking up his hammer. “You have made my heart hot with wrath. Go now! Return to your gossip mongering maidens, and tell them of how badly I have mistreated you.”

Yavanna spun around, and stormed out of the smithy, furious at her husband.

Aulë took his anger out on the metal he was working with, destroying the panel that was to be part of the new chariot for Luinil.



By the time that the procession traveling with Ulmo reached Máhanaxar, most of the Valar and their people had already arrived. There, the Aratar sat upon their magnificent marble thrones that formed a circle within the structure referred to as the Ring of Doom. The Lord of Waters stepped out of the vehicle before carefully lifting the Slayer in his arms. He carried her into the building, flanked by the Eldar, who were indeed permitted to attend the council. As he went to place her in one of the vacant seats, Námo stopped him.

“Nay, Ulmo,” he said. “My sister is not here to pass judgment, but is to be judged. Lay her in the center of the Ring.”

Ulmo grudging did as ordered, laying Buffy gently on the circular green rug that lay in the center of the Ring.

“Remove her weapon,” instructed the Lord of Mandos. “Then you may wake her.”

All eyes remained fixed on Ulmo as he undid the clasp of the Slayer’s belt. The charms jingled faintly as he slid the mystical weapon into the pocket of his robes. Leaning over her sleeping form, he waved his hand over her face, calling her by her elven name.

“Wake, Bella,” he said softly.

The Slayer’s eyes popped opened. The face of an old man with brilliant blue eyes filled her line of vision. For a fleeting moment, she thought it was Luthor, but after blinking the sleep out of her eyes, she realized that familiar face was not that of her father figure.

“I know you,” she whispered, not yet aware of where she was.

“Yes, yes, you do,” he replied with a smile, trying to make this most unpleasant ordeal less so.

“Ulmo,” she said, recalling her meeting with him centuries before. “You’ve come to help me. You’re… ” She stopped speaking when she heard the sound of someone clearing his throat, suddenly aware that she and the Vala of Waters were not alone. She made a move to rise.

“Let me help you,” he continued, taking her by the arm, and helping her to her feet.

As she rose, she immediately noticed the throng of people surrounding her. Her body tingled from head to toe, not realizing that that was the power of the Valar keeping her restrained. She would not be able to flee or to use her slayer strength against any. What little power she had, had been subdued.

“Are you alright?” asked the Vala Lord, looking at the Slayer with great concern.

Buffy didn’t answer. She was too busy trying to take in her surroundings. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, a definite sign of warning. Her heart began to thump faster and faster. Still slightly dazed by the effects of the spell, she slowly turned, only to see hundreds upon hundreds of faces staring at her. Blinking repeatedly, she thought that perhaps she was dreaming, for everything seemed dream-like, surreal. It would take her a few more moments to comprehend where she was.

As Ulmo made his way to his seat, she saw that she was standing in the center of what resembled a massive amphitheater, constructed entirely from white marble. Large tree-like pillars supported a domed glass roof, allowing one to see the puffy white clouds in an otherwise clear blue sky overhead.

Attempting to get her bearings, the Slayer’s eyes scanned the landscape that lay beyond the people, stopping on an enormous skeletal-looking tree situated on one end of a hill. The many spindly limbs were barren of leaves, its bark black as the darkest night. And she knew what that tree was. Shifting her eyes to the right, she beheld another, similar in appearance, for she now understood that those two mammoth trees were none other than Laurelin and Telperion, the Two Trees of Valinor. The lifeless Trees stood as a reminder to those in the Blessed Realm of the evil wrought by Melkor and Ungoliant in times past.

Realizing where she was, Buffy, for a moment, grew afraid. She, like Fëanor before her, saw herself surrounded by a ring of enemies, whose only goal, she believed, was to bring about her end.

Her recent experiences came rushing to her mind. The sudden anguish of all that she had lost hit her like a ton of bricks, causing her to harden her heart. The Slayer’s eyes went back to those seated upon their thrones. Only three seats remained vacant, as those belonged to Manwë, Varda, and Oromë, none of whom would be attending the ‘festivities’, as she termed the events taking place in her mind.

By sight alone, she was able to perceive each and every Vala in attendance. She immediately recognized her kin, Irmo, Námo and Nienna. And though they looked upon her with much pity, she could only sense the brewing hostility emanating from Yavanna, Vána and Nessa (who stood between the seats of her parents). She could only think of how they had all abandoned her, forsaking her in her time of need.

Narrowing her eyes, she glared at those sitting upon their elaborate thrones. She deemed that they were the ones responsible for all the pain and sorrow that had befallen the people of Middle-earth. While the Valar wept over the decayed remnants of Yavanna’s greatest work, the Two Trees, they gave no thought or care to those suffering at the hands of Melkor Bauglir. Buffy saw her brethren as cold and indifferent to, not only her plight, but also that of the Elves, Man and Naugrim that had never set foot in their Blessed Realm.

She then did something that most did not expect, except a few, she laughed, a cruel and wicked sounding laughter that chilled many to the core.

Still turning slowly, she was able to focus more clearly on those Valar that were to judge her deeds or misdeeds, as it were. Her disgust grew even more, seeing the elves seated at the feet of her brethren. They reminded her of hounds, the ever faithful companion of Man, that sat dutifully by their master’s feet, waiting eagerly to carry out the next command, or to be shown the slightest bit of affection, a rub of their heads. It was a sickening display that she found most disrespectful to the elder children of Ilúvatar. Buffy would never have treated an Elf in such a manner. The sight of that alone incensed her.

“So, this is it, huh?” she scoffed, having locked eyes with Námo. “After all that I’ve done, busting my ass fighting evil, you decide to bring me here, to the Ring of Doom.” Buffy shook her head in disgust. “The irony of it all never ceases to amaze me.” She turned her gaze toward the dead Trees. “Those must be the infamous Trees of Valinor that the Noldor go on and on about.” She paused for a moment, as the tension built. “I’ve gotta say: Not impressed!” she added with a snicker.

Yavanna shifted uncomfortably in her seat, seething at the Slayer’s insulting comments in regards to her precious creations.

Sensing the Vala Queen brewing in silence behind her, Buffy continued. “I find it remarkable that I’m here, really. After seeing what Melkor has done - how you’ve allowed him to claim the lordship of Middle-earth - you bring me here - for what? Was it the killing of Thorondor - or was it my gutting of Oromë?”

The Slayer’s nonchalant demeanor stunned many of the Eldar and Ainur alike. They remembered when Morgoth had been in the same position long ago, groveling at Manwë’s feet, begging for mercy. She, on the other hand, didn’t seem to understand just how perilous of a situation she was in or care whether her words hurt those present. In fact, it almost seemed as if she was trying to instigate a confrontation - an act that they deemed was folly in and of itself.

Buffy waited for an answer. When it didn’t immediately come, she continued on, striking out at those around her. “Cat’s got your tongues?” she queried, slowly turning so that she could look each of the Aratar in the eye. She stopped when she faced Yavanna, feeling the deep hatred emanating from the Valië dressed in green.

The Vala of the Earth was the first to respond. Sneering, she hissed, “You attempted to kill my son.”

“Oh, damn,” Buffy replied, somewhat dejectedly. “He survived then?” She took a few steps forward, stopping before the throne of the Vala Queen.

Yavanna quickly looked to those sitting on either side of her, in hope that someone would stop the Slayer.

Buffy placed her hands on the armrests of the Vala Queen’s chair, leaning closer as she did so. Feeling the same dislike for the woman as Yavanna felt for her, the Slayer said, “Didn’t Oromë spring from your essence? Aren’t you his mother? Perhaps if you taught him manners, things would’ve been different. I don’t take it lightly when any man tries to get in my pants without an invite. He’s nothing but a rapist who got what he deserved.”

Yavanna was livid by the Slayer’s accusation, not believing it for one second. She wished she had the courage to strike the Vala of War, but thought better of doing so. Despite the fact that Buffy was half her size, the Vala of the Earth didn’t want her own actions to land her in the same position as the woman standing before her.

As luck would have it, Vána spoke up. “You speak lies! My husband would never disrespect any woman, much less one of the Valier.”

Buffy turned her eyes to the Valië seated beside Yavanna. Though her strength had been stifled, the power of her words had not. Believing that she had nothing to lose, she was going to take full advantage of the situation by demeaning those that were to judge her. And what better place to start, than with Vána, sister of Yavanna.

With a malicious glint in her eye, the Slayer pulled back from the throne of the Queen of the Earth (much to Yavanna’s relief). She fixed her eyes on Oromë’s wife, delighted that she was to be her next target.

“Ah, Vána, the Ever-young,” she began in an overly sweet voice, “the one who tends to the flowers in Valimar, right?” Her lips twisted into a wicked smile. “Tell me, Vána, how is it that the Valar institute laws for the Eldar to follow, but you find yourself exempt? Is it not written that none are to wed any closer in blood than third cousins?” A mocked expression of shock came to the Slayer’s face. “Wait a minute! I think we’ve got a law-breaker here.” She rubbed her chin, pretending to be thinking hard. “You’re Yavanna’s full-blooded sister, and Oromë is her full-blooded son - so that means that you’ve been fucking your nephew! No! No! Wait a minute. The more I think about it, the clearer it becomes. God damn, woman, Oromë’s like your sister’s clone. It’s like you’re screwing your sister! If that ain’t vile, than I don’t know shit!” She let out a derisive snort. “Hell, even Túrin and Nienor killed themselves when they discovered they were brother and sister. What does that say about you - oh, glorious Valië - when you find the deplorable act of incest perfectly acceptable?” Buffy turned to the other Ainur and loudly added, “And what does it say about you people? What kind of sick, twisted freaks are you?”

Vána burst into tears, fleeing the council. A few of her maidens took off after her.

With feigned innocence, Buffy asked, “Was it something I said?”

Rumblings immediately broke out throughout the crowd. While many knew how close Vána and Oromë were in kinship, they had never before thought of their union as incestuous. That is, until Buffy so eloquently pointed it out.

Basking in her moment of triumph, she turned her attention to the other Valar seated around her. “The truth can be a bitter pill to swallow, as you can see.” She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you to judge any, when you people have serious character flaws? You think that you’re holier-than-thou, when you ain’t shit!” she spat.

“I see that the venom of Melkor has poisoned your mind,” remarked Námo.

“Poisoned my mind, huh?” she chortled in response. “And just where is dear, ole Melkor?” Buffy sniffed the air in an attempt to pick up his scent. “I don’t smell him.” Cupping her hands to her mouth, she shouted, “Come out, come out, wherever you are? Ollie, ollie, oxen free!”

Her voice bounced off the ceiling of the structure before fading altogether. Then silence.

“Huh!” she began again. “Imagine that!” She fixed her eyes back on Námo. “Why do I get the feeling that Morgoth isn’t here? What ill have I done to be put in the Ring of Doom before one who has done great evil here and in Middle-earth?”

“It is purported that you murdered Thorondor, most loyal servant of Manwë Súlimo and holiest of the Eagles,” answered her brother.

“Purported?” she repeated. “No, honey. I did it! I did the world a favor by getting rid of that propagator of lies.”

Upon her confession, Nienna began to cry, saddened that her sister thought so little of the Lord of Eagles, and had utterly no regard of his worth to the Valar. She was of the mind that having been in Middle-earth, exposed to the evil there, she had been corrupted.

“Cast her into the Void!” yelled out Yavanna, her body trembling with rage. “Luinil shows no remorse for her deeds, and has shown us nothing but contempt and disrespect.”

“I second that motion,” chimed in Nessa.

Buffy spun around, her eyes boring into the daughter of Aulë and Yavanna. “You have no say-so, girlie!” she snarled, frightening the young-looking woman.

Yavanna held her arm out protectively before Nessa, who skirted behind her mother’s throne. “How dare you speak with such impudence to my daughter! You are as callous as Melkor!” She turned toward her husband. “Say something, Aulë!” she demanded.

The mighty craftsman bowed his head, not wanting to get in the middle of the verbal sparring match between his wife and his former lover. It didn’t help matters that when he laid eyes upon Buffy, his thoughts turned to their relationship in times past. His heart was stirred to pity. Aulë could sympathize with the Slayer’s plight, for none of his brethren had the strength and fortitude to face the constant horrors in Middle-earth. Unlike his bride, he could not so easily dismiss the good that Luinil had done. Besides, she was the only Vala that had set eyes upon his beloved children, the Naugrim. And from what he had been told, she loved them too, even granting immortality to some to help in the construction of the Deeper Well.

“I knew it!” exclaimed the Vala of the Earth upon seeing her husband’s reaction. “You still have feelings for her. I see it on your face as clearly as day.”

Buffy saw a perfect opportunity to get in a verbal jab at Yavanna and wasn’t about to pass it up. How could she?

With the same malicious grin on her face that she had had when speaking to Vána, she locked her eyes on the Valië. “It must really grate on your nerves to know that Aulë settled for you, Yavanna. You were the runner-up at winning his affections. Now that I’m back…”

A livid Yavanna leapt from her seat, towering over the much smaller form of the Slayer. “You… you most certainly are the Vala of Fornication!” she cried out, spittle flying from her lips. “I deem that you’re the one that brought evil into existence by using your feminine wiles to corrupt men of our kind who were once pure of heart. Death is the only befitting punishment for you, Luinil!”

Buffy, who found the whole thing quite amusing, cackled madly in the face of the Valië, incensing Yavanna even more. The Queen of the Earth could no longer restrain herself. She backhanded the Slayer with her Vala strength, sending Buffy flying backwards a good twenty feet before landing hard on her backside on the marbled floor. The strike was so hard that the Slayer could taste blood in her mouth, increasing the fury that she felt for her rival.

Gasps of shock rang out from the spectators within the Ring of Doom, having never before seen a Vala hit another.

Before Buffy could get to her feet, in a loud, booming voice, Námo said, “Enough!” He chastised Yavanna as Ulmo ran to the Slayer’s side.

The humiliated Slayer refused the Lord of Waters’ assistance. She pulled her arm from his grasp, hissing, “Traitor! You brought me here knowing damn well what was going to happen. Don’t touch me! Don’t ever touch me!”

A pained expression came to Ulmo’s face as he slowly backed away from an enraged Buffy. She climbed back to her feet, ready to throw down with Yavanna, but found herself unable to do so. That only made her fume even more. With her fists balled at her sides, she stood there, her chest heaving, staring down the Vala Queen.

Several of the Aratar reprimanded Yavanna for striking the Vala of Love.

When Námo had brought order back to the council, and the others had finally settled down, he commanded that Buffy face him. Powerless to do otherwise, she turned, facing her brother once again. He locked his dark eyes on her. The tingling sensation that she felt became more pronounced as he used his magics to put her in a semi-conscious state. She was awake and alert, but found herself unable to move, even a fraction of an inch. The tingling sensation gradually increased as each Vala focused his and her powers on the Slayer.

Then she saw it, the same thing as they: her entire life, from the moment she had entered Eä in the form of Buffy Summers. She found it impossible to stop the experience, which made her feel naked and vulnerable. Only the Ainur were able to witness these things, not the Eldar. They saw the good times and the bad, her triumphs and her defeats, those moments of great happiness, and the sorrow that always seemed to follow. The probing eyes of her kinsmen exposed every secret that she had kept hidden from all others. It was a terrifying experience, but one that would help the Valar to reach their verdict.

The Slayer didn’t know how much time had actually passed when they finished their invasive search. Once their magics were lifted, she was left feeling weak and ashamed. She fell to her knees before the throne of her brother, on the verge of tears. The only words she could use to describe the god-awful experience was ‘mind rape’. She had been violated, her deepest thoughts and feelings bared before a great number of people, people that saw her most private and intimate of moments.

From behind, she heard Yavanna’s derisive snort. The Valië of the Earth had a smug expression on her face, gladdened in her heart to see firsthand that her bitter rival had suffered so. She believed that not only was the suffering duly deserved, but also, that elements of the Slayer’s life had confirmed what she had always said: that Buffy was no good. Feeling high and mighty, she totally disregarded her son’s inappropriate behavior, believing instead, that the Vala of Love had brought that on herself.

Námo and most of his kindred looked upon the Slayer with pity, for they now perceived that Melkor was behind her woe, as he had put a curse on her like no other, a curse that would follow her throughout her entire life, only to devour her at the end. He now understood that she felt as if she had nothing left to lose, and that her brethren were to blame for all her sorrow. That led to his sister’s lashing out at those that loved her most - the Valar, her kin. The Lord of Mandos found that sad, sad and disturbing, for it seemed that Melkor’s obsession with Luinil had no limits, that he had made it his life’s goal to break her will, to make her evil, just as he was. He longed for a dark queen to sit by his side, whose abilities could aid him in becoming Lord of all that dwelt within Eä.

Now, Buffy herself was left feeling somewhat traumatized by the whole ordeal. She kept her head bowed, avoiding eye contact with any. After seeing her entire life played out in her mind’s eye, she couldn’t help but think of how she had forgotten about her life in America, and the loved ones that she had left behind. She had not thought of Willow, Xander, Dawnie, and Giles for centuries. To her, those memories seemed like a distant dream, one that had faded over time. She wondered how they were, if they were still alive, until she remembered that they had not yet been born into the world, and that it would be thousands of years before they would.

“Look at me, Luinil,” said Námo.

Buffy raised her head. A single golden tear escaped her eye, trailing down her face before hitting the carpeted floor.

“Alas! It is what I had expected,” Námo continued in a solemn voice. “You are merely yet another victim of Melkor’s malice. His possessiveness and lust for you prompted him to beguile you out of jealousy. He has misled you with visions of things that he wished to be, only to have you do his bidding, thus bringing his words to fulfillment.”

Hearing that Morgoth had pulled a fast one on her yet again stirred the anger within Buffy’ heart. She felt like a fool, suckered once again by the Master of Lies.

“Seeing as Melkor was the true culprit behind the death of Thorondor, I vote that we exonerate Luinil’s actions,” said Ulmo kindly. “Though she is responsible for the slaying of Manwë’s servant, she was under the impression that he had been conspiring against her. And we now understand that some of the information that Thorondor deemed true was, in fact, false.”

“I second that motion,” agreed Nienna.

“Nepotism!” shouted Yavanna. “You seem to overlook the fact that Luinil murdered Thorondor in cold blood! She decapitated him, for Eru’s sake! She should be held accountable for her actions! Melkor did not put the blade in her hand! She took it upon herself to kill one so pure and holy.”

Arguing broke out amongst the Valar, each attempting to out shout the others.

Gradually, their voices faded in Buffy’s ears, as she remained on her knees, thinking of her life that had played out in her mind only moments before. Her thoughts were not of her guilt or innocence, but of Melkor. After having been reminded of the events leading to the End of Days, she could see that the Valar would soon make the biggest mistake ever: casting Morgoth into the Void. Witnessing, once again, her battles with the First, (something that had evaded her mind for some time), she now saw that their punishment for him wouldn’t be good enough. He’d find a way back! Whether by his power or Ilúvatar’s will, Melkor would eventually punch a hole into this dimension, so that he could continue to sow the seeds of dissent amongst mankind, and water them with the blood of innocents.

She came to believe that that was the reason that she had been sent back in time, to fix this major blunder on the part of the Valar. It was all beginning to make perfect sense to her. This was the one opportunity for them to change the course of history, to give Man a fighting chance, to bring an end to the greatest evil that had ever walked the face of the earth. Morgoth, she concluded, had to die. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that that was the case.

Slowly, Buffy rose to her feet. She raised her head, as the arguing raged on. Only Námo and Ulmo remained quiet. They had focused their attention on her, watching her intently, perhaps even perceiving her thoughts.

Looking her brother in the eye, she said, “He has to die.” She wasn’t sure if her voice was lost in the din, but by the sudden change in Námo’s expression, she believed that he had heard her loud and clear.

“Silence!” he ordered in that booming voice of his.

Almost immediately, the others ceased their bickering.

“Who must die, Luinil?” he asked, cocking his brow.

“Melkor. Melkor must die.”

Nienna gasped at the suggestion, horrified by the thought of killing one of their kinsmen, even if that happened to be Morgoth.

Not one spoke. The Slayer could feel the thousands of eyes staring at her.

“Casting him into the Void isn’t good enough,” she continued, shaking her head. “I know that’s what you have planned for him. It won’t work. He’ll find his way back, and you don’t have the power to stop him. His evil spirit will roam this world, wreaking havoc throughout all the lands. We can’t let that happen. He must be stopped.”

“And you would have us slay the brother of Manwë, showing such little regard for our Lord’s love for his sibling?” queried Nienna, taken aback by the mere suggestion.

Buffy turned toward her sister. “Melkor doesn’t love Manwë. He doesn’t love anything but power. He’s a menace unto the world that must be destroyed.” She turned her attention back to Námo. “He must be taken out. You have to kill him.”

“And why is it, my sister, that you, who have had ample opportunity to do that yourself, have not?”

Buffy looked down at her feet, biting her bottom lip. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I can’t do it.”

“That is because it is not your fate to do so. Nor is it ours. You know that, Luinil,” answered Námo. “Deep down, you know that.”

“No!” she protested. “I don’t believe that! This has to be done now! You saw with your own eyes the evil he’s capable of, even when he can’t take bodily form. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is why I’ve been sent back in time - to fix this mistake, this mistake that you guys are about to make. Melkor must be destroyed!”

Rumblings broke out once again, yet, Námo remained quiet. The Slayer assumed that he was contemplating her plea, but that was not wholly true. Though Manwë Súlimo was not present, and remained in his Halls on Taniquetil, he and Varda both were able to see and hear all of the council. The Lord of Arda was conversing telepathically with Námo, instructing him on what to say next.

After a few minutes, the Lord of Mandos called the council to order. Fixing his eyes back on his sister, he continued.

“Though Melkor has wrought evil within the confines of Eä, he still remains beloved in the heart of Manwë, our Lord. Nay, Luinil, we cannot answer your prayer, for Manwë deems… ”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” she interjected heatedly. “He’s evil! You’re an idiot if you’re just gonna sit on your ass and do nothing. You saw what he’s going to do. You can’t pretend otherwise. You people are supposed to be the Guardians of this world, the protectors of its inhabitants - then do so! This is your chance - your one chance to change all that is to happen afterwards. Do the world a favor and kill him!”

Without missing a beat, Námo narrowed his eyes and replied, “How quick you are to condemn one who, at times, has come to your aid. You give no thought to Manwë’s love for his brother, or his belief in Melkor’s redemption. You of all people profess to believe that there are those that can make amends for the ill deeds in their pasts, but refuse to allow Melkor that same opportunity... ”

Buffy attempted to interrupt, but Námo would have none of it.

“Silence, Luinil!” he barked.

She pressed her lips tightly together, seething at the words of her brother.

“Harsh are your words of condemnation! It appears that you think it an easy task to kill one whom our Lord loves dearly. Let us see how you react when put in the same situation, to judge one who has done ill. Can you slay one whom you profess to love so?”

A look of confusion came to Buffy’s face. “What?” she asked, unable to comprehend what Námo was saying.

“You shall be confronted with a situation similar to that of our Lord, and let us see how you judge the one that we consider a menace unto the world.” Námo raised his hand, and added, “The Valar have spoken!”

With a flick of his hand, Buffy felt her body suddenly jerk backwards into a vortex of swirling white light. She let out a fearful cry as her body spun out of control. She had no idea what was happening, nor the meaning of her brother’s words. Her body tingled all over. Her stomach churned and twisted until she finally found herself thrust out the other end. She landed, on all fours, onto a narrow, bricked road.

She let out a muffled cry, immediately noticing that her garments had changed. She was no longer dressed in the bloodstained shirt and breeches that she had worn before the council in Valinor. Instead, she found herself garbed in a beautiful red and pink gown, the kind wore by noblewomen during the eighteenth century. Confused and shaken by the unexpected experience, she slowly rose to her feet, having no idea where she could possibly be.

The Slayer looked around, surveying her surroundings. She found herself alone in a deserted alleyway between two three-story buildings. The oil lamps on the street up ahead already glowed dimly in the twilight. Gradually, her senses became sharper, she became more alert. The hair that covered all her body stood on end, portending danger.

Painful screams cut through the momentary stillness, causing Buffy to jump with a start. She whirled around, her eyes sweeping in all directions, half-expecting someone or something to suddenly spring upon her. She let out another soft cry when she caught a glimpse of herself in a nearby window, doing a double-take when she noticed her appearance. She looked different. Totally different.

Walking slowly toward the grimy window in her dainty red slippers, she examined her reflection more closely. Half of her hair, which was now dark brown, had been pulled into an elaborate bun, the rest hung in spiral curls past her shoulders.

“Déjà vu!” she said breathlessly, feeling as though she was about to pass out.

Gasping for air, she realized that she was garbed in the same raiment that she had worn on Halloween back in Sunnydale centuries ago. She had seen that memory not long before, and the images of that costume was still fresh in her mind.

More screams rang out from nearby, but this time loud, boisterous cheers accompanied it.

Frightened, Buffy frantically searched the street for something that she could use as a weapon. When she noticed what looked like a piece of discarded newspaper at the edge of the bricked road, she made a beeline for it - hoping that it would reveal something about where she was, and why.

She picked it up, smoothing out the creases in the damp pamphlet. At the top was written: L’Amidu Peuple, the name of the publication. Below that, she read the headline in bold print: “La Morte! La Morte! La Morte!” Breathing heavily, her eyes searched for the date. She groaned again when she saw that it read September 3, 1792. It suddenly dawned on her, that the Valar had thrust her forward in time to Paris, France at the start of the reign of terror during the French Revolution.

A feeling of dread overcame her. Her mind began to spin from the shock. As a result, Buffy fainted, falling to the street, alone and vulnerable to attack…