A/N: Sorry this chapter is so short. Oh well. Enjoy anyway. There's a poll on my profile where you can vote for your favorite Author. Please do; it'll only take a few seconds.

WARNING: Character Death. Plot Twist.

It was a good thing Isabella didn't weigh much, Daphne mused. The spiky-haired blonde had insisted on carrying the child by herself, and had instantly tore a strip of cloth from her tunic, leaving her midriff inadvertently exposed. Binding Isabella's hands around Daphne's neck was the easy part - carrying her was the hard part. To keep Isabella from accidentally choking her, Daphne hooked an arm underneath each knee and tilted herself slightly forward. The girl moaned a little and shifted, sending a trickle of blood down Daphne's back. She shuddered. No doubt it was from the head wound the girl had suffered from her collision with the wall. The Fellowship was ahead of her already, but the Authors - along with Tolkien - dawdled behind, waiting impatiently for her. As soon as Isabella was secured on her back, they took off down the passageway, around twisting corners and through wide, low corridors. They followed Gandalf's icy blue shard of light that illuminated their way, trying in vain to keep from tripping over rocks and jutting corpses. Then the hallway bloomed into an impossibly large cavern, ceilings stretching away to darkness far, far above their heads. Gigantic pillars were wreathed in cracks, wrinkled from the constant strain of keeping the ceiling aloft.

Suddenly, before anyone knew what was happening, goblins and Orcs began pouring from the walls like cockroaches. They scrambled down the cracked pillars, spilling from the cracks like ink as the swarmed over to the large group. There was an impossible amount of them - hundreds, possibly thousands, and Daphne felt panic rising in her chest. They were hideously ugly, with sallow-green skin and crooked yellow fangs. Greasy hair hung in oily dreadlocks from their scalps, and their scaly fists were wrapped around cumbersome, rusty pikes with ragged black bannerettes spiked on the end. Their armor seemed to be fairly thin, crude leather sewn together with a few metal clips, but there were so many of them it really didn't matter. They howled shrieking war cries, the sounds bouncing off the echoic cavern, filling their ears and causing icy fingers of fear to ripple down their spines. They raced towards them, bloodlust evident in their glowing black eyes, loping slightly on their feet.

They pulled up before they reached the Fellowship or the Authors, war cries turning into squeals of pain when they saw Adavis. She was glowing, strength shimmering in the air around her, a sword - which had never been seen before - in her fist. It was a golden sword, also shimmering, inscribed with runes and symbols. In spite of everything, Daphne found time to roll her eyes. "Give me a break," she muttered to herself as Adavis warded off the goblins. They ran from the very sight of her, whooping and fleeing away, back into the chasms and caves and sticky, messy puddles. Daphne adjusted Isabella on her back, trying to calm her racing heart as she steeled herself for what was going to come. The rest of the Fellowship looked slightly frightened and unsure, but the Authors looked like their hearts were going to implode. Tolkien, above all else, stood there calmly, thumbs tucked into his vest pockets. They drew in closer together instinctively, gathering themselves in one solid mass for whatever was hurtling around the corner.

One thing that was never portrayed in the movie was the absolutely impossible amount of heat that was cracking the walls. Madison felt an instant sunburn scorch her face and any inch of exposed flesh - white hot flames were licking around the corner. The balrog was enormous, red scales covering it's gigantic body, wreathes of fire licking around its torso and head, looking as though someone had sculpted lava into the shape of a monster. Colossal black curled horns jutted from either side of its head, and vapid red eyes, pinpointed with red dots in the very center, roved over the now positively terrified Fellowship. A snout, more of a muzzle, was broken with jagged black fangs, and its feet had claws easily the side of Daphne's arm. It bellowed at the ceiling, titanic claws curling and uncurling as it salivated at the idea of a new meal, consisting of juicy Authors for lunch and crunchy Fellowship members for dinner. There was a terrible, swelling, poignant silence while the balrog stared at them and the large group of people, dwarves, elves, Authors, Sues, and one amazing author stared at the balrog. And then -

"RUN!"

Daphne didn't know who said it and really didn't care; she was running as fast as she could while hampered by Isabella's dead weight. Ahead of her, she saw Tolkien picking Madison up from the ground - apparently the klutzy teen had fallen yet again - and the saw Michael bypassing Aragorn to catch up with Melody, who was far outstripping the rest of the group. Gandalf was standing stone-faced at the balrog, who was cracking a lethal looking whip threateningly. She didn't have time to look twice, because Aragorn was shouting at her to hurry up and everything was so loud and Isabella was so heavy and she just didn't know which way to turn or what to do. Almost automatically, she hitched Isabella a little higher and swallowed a deep breath .

Concentrate.

Memories of her father's training popped to her mind, and she blinked hard, swiping stinging sweat from her eyes. She tried to run without jostling Isabella, not wanting to cause the child more pain, and took off after them, skidding around corners and bumping into various members of the Fellowship. Her eyes seized a flash of purple, and she saw the thing she had most wanted to see - Shonji, his curious grin plastered on his muzzle, whiskers twitching, and above all, Adavis was not on his back.

Need help, Author?

"That," Daphne panted as she untied Isabella from her neck, "would be awesome." She clambered on top of Shonji awkwardly, not exactly knowing how to ride a gigantic purple tiger. Adavis had made it look so easy, sitting as prim as a queen on his broad, furry back, but that glossy purple fur was slippery. She leaned forward, seizing a handful of fur on either side of his neck, keeping Isabella carefully pressed between her own not-precisely-petite body and Shonji's hard, muscled back. She dug her heels into his sides and the tiger sprang forward, shoulder muscles rippling as he pounced down the hallway, tail flicking behind him. They easily caught up to the Authors, who were standing stock still in the middle of the bridge. The bridge itself was massive, a single, high arch spanning over the rocky gulf which was shrouded in eerie darkness. Gandalf was standing at the very end of the bridge, his sword and his staff clenched in each fist.

"YOU - SHALL NOT - PASS!"

There was a blinding sheet of brilliance that swept from the sword and the staff combined, overwhelming the balrog, causing it to stumble back and claw at its eyes, and then the ground began dissolving like wet sand. Boulders the size of cottages melted away underneath the balrog's weight, and it flailed its way down into the rocky canyon, huge, sinewy, burning body shrinking down in the distance. Gandalf took a trembling breath, drawing a hand across his eyes, and turned to go.

A ribbon of flame leapt up, dancing like sparks on the wind, and flicked around his ankle …

But missed.

Gandalf darted out of the way, and instead of catching him, it caught Ethwein by the arm. She was jerked to the end of the crater, beautiful, perfect fingers scrabbling for purchase, and she was hauled to the very edge. She looked at them, painful eyes sad and depressed, beautifully grieved as she looked at the Fellowship. "Fly, you fools," she choked out, and let go.

"Son of a bitch," Michael mumbled under his breath. "She stole his line."

It was with numb shock that the Authors and the Fellowship threw themselves on the uncomfortable rocks dotting the area outside of Moria. There was no sobbing, no tears - except from Quilemna and Adavis, who were crying, well, prettily - nothing except a dim feeling of relief. But the Authors all felt sick to their stomachs with guilt and apprehension. They turned to Tolkien, who looked just as surprised as they did. "Mr. Tolkien?" Madison asked timidly. "Gandalf is still…you know. Is that supposed to happen?"

Tolkien looked off in the distance, passing a hand over his face distractedly. He rumpled his hair, and then patted his pockets for his pipe. "No," he said finally, staring at Gandalf. "No, he's not supposed to be alive." He looked at the Authors. "I don't know what happened. The Sues…" he trailed off, but they all knew what he meant.

The Sues were getting stronger.

And they were wrecking canon big time.