Disclaimer

Apparently, these things are important. So I'll just stick this at the front of every story I put out here: this story is not for money ! I am not going to get anything for it ! That should be obvious, seeing as it's here on FF.net, but if it isn't then this makes it clear.

All right, as to ownership-- I don't own any of the characters, nor really even the plot-- just the specifics. I do NOT own any characters mentioned in Lord of the Rings, nor do I own Lord of the Rings, nor do I own any rights to it ! There.

Now you can read the story. :-)

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The thrumming in my ears grew. Somewhere, ahead of me, the beast lay in wait-- the creature that had killed my father. I crept forward quietly, trusting in the Demon's ceaseless sound to cover for my noise. Past the abandoned corridors leading to the storehouses, past the museum of our greatest works, past the wrecked Council chamber.

Ahead of me two mighty columns stood by a gateway into the mines. The creature lived here-- where it had first come in to Moria. And through the gate crept the glow, the glow of the Balrog.

I swallowed. No Dwarf had faced such a danger before, but I had faced many others: cave-ins, Orcs, Wargs of the mountains, the nameless things we met and fought in the deeps of our world. Nothing had prepared us for this foe, though. I had only seen it from a distance, over my shoulder as I fled; only one or two of us had seen it closer and survived, or could speak of it, and from these I had gathered an idea of what awaited me in that chamber.

Nigh 20 feet tall-- nearly thrice the height of even a tall Elf, and here I was, average Dwarf height, planning to attack it. Physical details obscured in unquenchable flame, but unquestionably unnatural, demonic. And beyond the hell-sprung horror of its appearance was the force of its mind, the deadly intelligence crouching behind such inhuman features.

I loosened my grip on my axe and felt it slide down between my hands, slippery with my fear sweat. I carried my father's axe-- he had not had it when the creature caught and slew him, so it remained for me to use. I carried other axes, for throwing and one-handed use and special situations, but all my trust was in this axe, in mighty Trollsbane with its carefully-inscribed runes.

The gate loomed before me; I crouched to the side, just beyond the demonic light pouring over the stone floor. The vibration of the beast quivered through my armor, through my bones, shook my very heart. I could feel the slight change in tone as it breathed in, breathed out. Very even, very calm. I whispered a prayer to Mahal-- may it be sleeping!-- then peered around the corner.

Through the gate I saw a horrible sight. My father sat there, enthroned in a Councilor's chair: I knew it was he by his armor, for naught else remained but his blackened bones. The mocking skull grinned back at me; I steeled myself to the awful vision and looked past.

Beyond lay a pile of bloodied, burnt Dwarven armor and weaponry. With another feeling of sick horror I realized this was the remnants of the foe's feast. Nothing explicitly remained, but I felt it. This was what happened when it caught one of our number.

And beyond that was something surprising: a bonfire. I could only see it now that I had passed through the gate. I observed it carefully, and found that the wood it was built on did not burn, but endured, much like the Demon itself burned but endured. Past the bonfire's towering flames the corridor ran away into darkness, down into the mines from whence it had come.

I looked around in confusion. The creature was nowhere, and this chamber was hardly a large one. Where had it gone to, and when would it return? I realized with a wave of terror that I had been duped, had advanced on a trap set for any foolish enough to seek out our enemy in its lair. I spun, hair dripping with sudden sweat, and stumbled out of the light. I didn't stop until I was cowering in the uttermost shadow of one of the columns.

Fool, I whispered to myself. You aren't fighting a brute animal! The Balrog could think as well as I, if not better; to outwit it I would have to draw on every Dwarven trick, every bit of cleverness available to me. I took a deep breath and thought more clearly. Now I had a better idea of the area, in its new state, and I could plan.

The Demon would not have descended back into the mines, there was nothing there. It was not anywhere in the vicinity, or I would have seen it. This area, though, was very large; only one way in-- the way I had come-- and only one way out-- into the mines. So it was somewhere in this cavern, exploring the dark buildings and silent streets. Why?

Something didn't add up. It was a year since the Balrog had appeared, plenty of time for it to have explored every bit of this cavern. I also realized I had no idea what would be making that thrumming, if not the Demon itself.

Just then something caught at the farthest stretch of my thought, as if I had seen something in the corner of my eye. Something Hunted me, body and mind; the Balrog's calm, collected spirit cast itself out, seeking my own.

It came again, stabbing closer this time; again, and this time it found me.