Disclaimer: I don't own Lotr. It all belongs to Tolkien. Even the mountain. Sigh.
Archive: If you want it, you can have it. Just tell me where it's going.
A/N: No, I'm not taking a side on the Glorfindel issue. Maybe this is the same one as in Fotr, maybe he's not. And this story is a direct result of one particularly stressing blonde. Honora: the Norwegians are coming. They'll get you.
Dulinraug
They were running. Thanks to Idril's foresight, they had survived thus far. Tuor had led them through the secret tunnel she had thoughtfully prepared. And if they were very, very lucky, the hosts of Angband would not find the tunnel or see those who had passed through it and now headed north, to the foothills of the Encircling Mountains.
There was a sense of irony in the situation. The smoke and steam the dragons had created in their rampage granted them fairly good cover. It would take very good eyes to see anything moving in this mess. Glorfindel sadly glanced back. Gondolin was in ruins. Turgon, the High King, was dead. This group was the only remnant of Gondolin's people. Many among them were women and children and many of the men were wounded. If they were caught now, they were done for.
By the time they reached the rocky slopes, all had lost hope. They stumbled and climbed and stumbled again. The higher they went, the colder it became. Glorfindel wondered whose bright idea it had been to journey through the highest part of these accursed mountains.
After hours of marching in the cold, they finally came to Cirith Thoronath. It was a very narrow pass. The path was watched by the highest peaks of the mountains that had become as much their enemy as the hosts of Angband. On one side was a cliff far too steep to scale. On the other side was a great chasm, so deep that it disappeared into darkness.
It was as they marched through here that they were ambushed. Morgoth had placed watchers throughout the mountains. If it had only been Orcs, they might have stood a chance. But there was a Balrog as well.
Glorfindel cut through the swarming Orcs in great numbers. It was too no avail. As soon as one fell two more replaced it. And the Balrog blocked the way ahead. Glorfindel saw it advance toward Idril, who vainly tried to protect her son, Earendil. Glorfindel raced back along the narrow pathway, cutting down Orcs as he went. He finally came to a place just before the pass began where the cliff was climbable.
The Elf lord leapt up as quickly as possible. He sprinted along the top, carefully stepping over and climbing onto the various boulders and rocks. He finally came to the rocky pinnacle of the mountain. It leaned over the pass enough so that he was just over where the Balrog stood, its fiery whips throwing Elves to their deaths. The demon cracked its whips once more and sent the last of the Elves defending Idril flying into the chasm.
The image of Turgon's mangled body came to Glorfindel's mind. The High King's body had been mutilated in his fight with the Lord of the Balrogs. But the King had managed to slay the demon. Glorfindel steeled himself to the consequences of what he was about to do and shot an arrow at the monster. He wasn't particularly surprised when the beast swiped it off itself and ignored him. It probably had orders to kill Idril or Earendil or both. He fired another arrow and shouted, "Dulinraug! Come fight one who has a sword in hand, you cowardly brute!"
That definitely got the Balrog's attention. It wasn't about to let an Elf call it names, regardless of what its orders had been. The demon used its long whips of pure fire to climb the precipice as easily as a set of stairs. Glorfindel jumped back. The image of Maeglin's broken body lying among the rocks on the slope of Amon Gwareth, where he had landed after Tuor had cast him from the fair walls of Gondolin was more than enough to keep the Elf careful. That would not be a pleasant way to die. Not that being slain by a Balrog was any better.
The Balrog slowly advanced on the Elven lord, savoring the feeling of victory. Glorfindel stood steadily on the highest point of the mountain, sword drawn, shield in hand. The Balrog, disappointed because it wasn't seeing any fear in Glorfindel's stance, cracked one of its whips. The Elf lord used his shield to stop the blow and was alarmed to notice that it had melted most of the way through the metal. After another blow, Glorfindel discarded the now useless piece of misshapen metal.
The Elf lord used his sword to fend off the demon's whips. His Elven magic was barely enough to keep the Balrog at bay. And as much as the proud Elf hated to admit it, he was losing. But a group of tiny specks of in the distance gave him hope. The way the sunlight glinted off of them made Glorfindel think it was Thorondor and some of his eagles. They would be much better off with the aid of the eagles.
Glorfindel was growing tired. His sword was barely blocking the demon's blows and he had long since stopped being able to dart into an opening in the Balrog's defense and launch an attack of his own. The Balrog knew this. It slowly pushed the Elf back, intent on making him suffer. But it was overconfident and did not pay enough attention to the precarious position the pair battled in. A large rock slipped out from under the demon.
It was all the opportunity Glorfindel needed. He leapt from the peak of the nearest boulder, knocking into the demon and using the momentum he'd acquired to send them both tumbling far over the pass and into the abyss. The Balrog screamed in rage at having both victory and life snatched from it.
The monster lashed out one last time, catching Glorfindel across the chest with a fiery whip. Glorfindel's muddled brain came up with the thought that he'd look like Maeglin and Turgon combined once this was over. The Balrog screamed again. Glorfindel didn't pay any attention. He was sure that he saw the eagles gleaming as golden as the sunlight in his own hair. Then he hit the ground.
And so ended the life of Glorfindel, chief of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin. It is said that after the battle was over, Thorondor brought Glorfindel's body out of the chasm. He was buried under a mound of stones next to the pass. Green grass and yellow-gold flowers the color of the Elven lord's hair grew there amongst the barren stone until the world was changed and he lay there no more.
Here ends this tale.
A/N: So, does anybody want a story on the rest of this adventure? The fall of any other Elf lords? Galahan to shut up and go back to writing humor stories? Click the little box down there and tell me.