The Wrong Balrog
They left the minstrels and the swirling crowds of Turgon's halls behind and sought solace on a small balcony. The brilliant stars scattered their light into the dark waters and danced in their crystal goblets.
"Was it like that, over the sea?" asked Ecthelion.
"You mean about the Balrog? Sure." Glorfindel drained his cup.
"I wish they'd stop singing it. I'd like to...well, move on. Like you."
"Mine was just an everyday Balrog. Yours was special. Gothmog himself. Slayer of Fingon. Slayer of F'anor, even."
"Well, hmm, yes. That's it. I mean...did it have to be that one?
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Disclaimer: This is a work of fan-fiction, and the characters, settings, places and languages, save those that are original to me, belong to the Tolkien Estate.
