one tale of three parts
Chapter I. SUBORDINATE CLAWS
There are older and stranger things than Orcs in the deep places of the world....
It was over. Gandalf steeled himself for what he knew would come. He had foreseen it; he had foreseen everything: the pain, the warfare, Frodo’s anguish, the need for a brand new wardrobe (oh, very well; he was looking forward to that). He had only to wait for the fiery tug to begin his descent. Ah! There was the crack of the whip, searing him as it––
––sped past.
Frodo’s scream popped his eyes open.
Gandalf stared, frozen with shock, at the blazing thong coiled around the Ring-bearer’s ankle. He caught a glimpse of pale, terrified little face before the thong went taut and Frodo snapped into the void.
“Weird,” Aragorn muttered, peering over the edge. “Doesn’t LOOK like the Crack of Doom.”
“Blast that ‘rog and his horrid aim!!” Gandalf raced from the crumbling remnants of the bridge. “Losing both the Ring and the Bearer! What the blazes will I tell Manwë?”
Sam was hurtling forward. “FROOOODOOOOOO!”
“Or––Varda?!” whimpered Gandalf. “Aiiiiii, Varda will KILL me!”
Sam was caught by Boromir, who was muttering florid multilingual curses. Boromir found himself grabbing up Merry and Pippin as well. “Stupid little gits, what are you, hobbits or lemmings?!”
“Ai! We were doomed when we entered!” wailed Legolas. “I knew it, I knew it! All is lost!”
Gimli stopped weeping long enough to give the elf a scowl. “Don’t make me smack you, lad.”
---
As the lash seized him, a scream burst from his throat and he tumbled into space, Frodo decided that fright alone would certainly kill him.
He was rather disappointed when it didn’t. “Blast my godlike courage, anyway!”
Daring to look down, he saw the balrog at the other end of the whip, and found renewed promise in heart-stopping terror. A taloned hand as big as the Gaffer’s smial was reaching for him. He could do nothing but close his eyes.
Here I go into the fiery maw of a demon, and Sauron will have his Ring belched up for him by tea-time, he thought in despair. I’m sure Gandalf didn’t mean things to go this way.
The vast paw closed about him like a cage.
He had just resolved to die with the dignity required of a sacrifice when he heard the following boomed out in a voice like thunder:
“Don’t fret, Ring-bearer. You’re in good claws. I do this all the time...tumble down the bottomless depths of Moria, that is. Quite a diversion. My, you are a pretty lad, for all you’re no bigger than the gleam in my eye. Ewww–– did I say that? Too Barad-Dur! Bleah!”
Frodo wondered if this whole sorry turn of events was nothing more than one long, elaborate hallucination. Perhaps the rations had gone bad. “Um––beg pardon?”
“You’re quite a surprise!” chattered the balrog. “Then again, so was the wizard, but I mean a nice surprise. So was the elf, but elves are so quick-tempered where we’re concerned––and we won’t talk about dwarves! I only wish I hadn’t been so hasty myself, but I had been SO sound asleep, and then the orcs all started in with their infernal jabbering and whooping and crashing––you know how loud they are, and sound carries ever so far in these caverns––well, I was in a state. And I come upstairs and find a wizard stirring up trouble, as they always do. I just flipped my lid. Wizards mean well, I’m sure, but trouble follows them around like a groveling fire-imp! I was going to give the old git a talking-to, but he hurried off, and anyway I felt the presence of Mr. Too-Evil-For-You and it stopped me right in my tracks.”
Frodo’s stomach twisted. “You felt....”
“Only took me a few moments to figure it out. I must say, though, I was flabbergasted when I realized you’d been stuck with the thing. And I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything quite like you.”
“Lots of––er, people say that,” said Frodo weakly.
“Anyway, I wanted to know what was going on, so I tried talking, but your wizard wasn’t in the mood for it, and since I wasn’t in the mood for being snubbed, I chased him. That tiff at the bridge was the last straw. I SO lost my temper. All I wanted to know was what the old fool thought he was doing, chasing around an orc metropolis with the Ring when any moment the bothersome gnats were going to gang up on you all and take it! He couldn’t have meant to give it back to Eyeball!”
“It?––Eyeball??”
The balrog gave him the gentlest of shakes––between hobbits, an affectionate gesture, but it left Frodo marveling that his teeth were still firmly rooted in his gums.
“The Ring, silly!” chided the balrog. “That wee bit of blood-contaminated gold! And don’t make me say his name, darling; I swore a long time ago I’d never let it pass my lips again.”
Frodo felt as if his brain would explode from the pressure of all the weirdness streaming into it. “Um...you don’t like him?”
The balrog drew him closer and closer until he was nearly smothered by its sulfurous breath. “Like him? LIKE him?!?!” It threw back its fearsome head and roared. Frodo had to stop up his ears. With his ears plugged, the skull-cracking noise almost sounded like laughter. “Oh, that’s rich! Let me tell you how I feel about Mr. Whoop-dee-do Lieutenant of Morgoth! He promised me the moon, the sun and Vingilot...told me he was mine alone. And I believed him! Aulë, what an idiot I was! Why, the creep’s nothing but a bloodshot, double-crossing, offal-gobbling––”
“You don’t want him to have it?” Frodo’s voice was shrill with tension, which meant the balrog heard it easily. Its enormous muzzle loomed over him, sniffing great draughts of air which would have vacuumed him right up had the balrog’s grip been looser. The action reminded Frodo so much of a great friendly inquisitive dog that he relaxed. After all, it hadn’t killed him yet.
“Do you?” rasped the balrog.
Frodo’s arms crossed over his chest. “I asked you first.”
“No,” said the balrog primly. “As a matter of fact, I asked YOU first.”
“Oh. Right,” Frodo sighed. In the heat of the moment he had forgotten. He straightened his shoulders. “No, I don’t, in fact.”
The balrog was silent. Gradually its eyes narrowed to slits. “...Say...you’re not really...actually...out to get RID of it...are you?”
Ah, the game’s up, Frodo thought, feeling resigned. “Well...yes. That’s the plan.”
“Hmmmm!....” said the balrog. “Amazing....”
Frodo steeled himself. He was certain the monster would kill him now. But the balrog did something else. Again it threw back its massive head and roared. This time there was no mistaking the noise, though it gave Frodo a ringing in his ears which would not subside for a week.
“Now there’s something he’d NEVER suspect!” thundered the balrog. “Brilliant! Oh, too much! Didn’t I tell him not to get so wrapped up in that thing? Oh, my. I don’t know what’s funnier––those big, powerful folk bowing to a wee speck to do the deed, or having Saurgrape’s Precious right here in my claws to gloat over before it melts!”
“Then you’d actually like to see it destroyed?!”
“Oh, that would just be the best fun!” whooped the balrog. Its head started bobbing merrily back and forth. “Eyeball’s going under! Eyeball’s going under!”
Frodo closed his eyes. “Elbereth, what a relief! I wish I could feel so cheerful about it,” he admitted. “The whole thing seems quite hopeless. But it must be tried, or all the earth will be crushed under Sauron’s heel...figuratively speaking, of course, since he hasn’t got feet.”
“Trust me, darling; limited anatomy notwithstanding, Mr. Whoop-dee-doo is a heel.” The balrog’s great glowing furnaces of eyes fixed upon him. “You are a noble little soul, aren’t you! I’m beginning to see why you were okayed for this business...all right, aside from how pretty you are! That being said, those high and mighty elves––what they meant, placing such a chore on your tiny shoulders, I just can’t think.”
Frodo sighed. “I volunteered. They were afraid they’d cave in to it.”
The balrog opened its hand just a little. Wind whistled past Frodo’s ears and he realized they were still falling. How deep ARE these caverns?
“So are you, unless I miss my guess,” the balrog observed. “But you’ve got it anyway.” It held him a little closer. “My, you’re not pretty, you’re beautiful. A far cry from orcs!”
Well, that’s a relief, anyway, thought Frodo. ...I think. “...You...you’re a FEMALE balrog, aren’t you.”
“Clever lad!”
“Oh, my.”
“Never mind that. Here’s a deal for you. It would take you weeks to get to Mt. Doom overland––if you survived the trip. But I know all the underground routes, and I could protect you from the heat––why, you could be there in a matter of hours and toss the bloody thing and be away before Saurapple could bat his eye!”
Frodo’s mind staggered around the idea. “You’d help me get rid of it?”
“You bet your wee fuzzy feet I would! –Oh, hang on; we’re going under.”
“We’re wha––”
The breath was knocked clean out of him. A sharp sulfurous tang filled his lungs, and the impact of the balrog’s vast area on the surface of an underground lake nearly jolted him from her claws.
He remembered what she had said just in time to grab a chestful of air before water surged in around him. There was a great pull and heave and then he was high in the air over the lake, still clutched securely in a huge paw, peering down to watch the water turn to steam on the monster’s hide far below.
“Well, sparklet,” said the balrog, “what do you think?”
Frodo’s brain cleared. “You mentioned a deal. What would I have to do in return?”
“That’s simple,” said the balrog. “Be my friend. I haven’t had a friend in ever so long; you can’t count orcs, and trolls are really just the stupidest things.”
“Be your friend?!....”
“Yes. Actually, if you’d just have a chat with me every so often, that would be lovely. Or come ‘round and sit with me while I harvest gems. Come to think of it, I just like looking at you.”
“My.”
“Oh, I’ve been bored out of my fearsome demonic skull. Never underestimate the catastrophic levels of tedium one can reach while holed up pouting for centuries in the company of orcs. Now, tell me if I’m not talking a win-win situation all around! oh, very well, for everyone but Saurpuss. You fulfill your quest and become a hero for the ages. Middle-Earth is saved. The elves get to leave without a fuss, those annoying wizards retire in dignity, Eyeball’s tacky bit of jewelry is unmade, Eyeball himself dissipates in the wind and I, my dear, have revenge on that two-timing, lying, thieving, no-good, miserable filthy cheating Barad-Tur––” She paused to regain herself. “––Anyway. What do you say, pretty boy?”
Frodo took a deep breath...raked his fingers through his curls. “I like it.”
“Smart lad!”
“But...hold on.” He frowned. “What about you? When Sauron is destroyed, I mean––wouldn’t you be destroyed as well?”
The balrog set Frodo on the broad flat volcanic terrain of her chest. An enormous claw touched his cheek. “Why, that’s so sweet! You’re concerned about me! See, you’re my friend already!” A great molten tear slid from the corner of her eye and fell with a hiss and a billow of steam into the water. “No, his destruction wouldn’t affect me, only the spawned things, the lesser beings. I’m Maia, you know. And in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not really a very good demon, at that. I mean, I’m not nearly a bad enough demon, not for Mordor, certainly.”
“Yes, that would seem to be the case,” said Frodo. “But what of the Dwarves? Aren’t you Durin’s Bane?”
“Hmmm...Durin’s Bane...Durin’s Bane...Durin’s...oh!” She laughed. A stalactite jarred loose from the ceiling and speared into the lake. “You mean the one responsible for killing all those bristly little chaps so long ago. No, dear, that was my predecessor. Quite the arrogant one, he. Toadied up to Eyeball quite shamelessly. I needed a nice desolate place to lair far from Mr. Wandering Eye, and Khazad-Dûm was perfect, but the fellow wouldn’t share space, though there was quite enough room in these caverns for two of us.” She stirred the water with a claw. “I was in a petulant mood, nursing a freshly broken heart, and he was insufferable. So, of course, I thrashed him senseless, and then I ate him. Very therapeutic.”
Frodo wasn’t at all shocked. “And Balin?”
“Orcs and trolls. All orcs and trolls. I was so far underground looking for fresh crystals I didn’t even notice the row when it happened. Are you feeling a bit better now?”
“Well...yes, for better or worse, yes, I am,” said Frodo. “Will you truly be able to sneak into Mt. Doom without being noticed?”
“Right into it. Just hold out your wee hand, drop the Ring and it’s gone. Don’t worry, dear; we’ll be going too fast for him.” She thought for a moment. “Come to think of it, I was always too fast for him. You know, we actually used to have contests to see who could roast the most marshmallows on themselves at once! And he’d call me his old flame. Oh bloody roaring pits, can you imagine that!” Her laughter prompted a downpour of stalactites. “Come along; we’ll have lots of time to chat later. Let’s see how clever Slagheap is at getting out of this one!”
“Harvesting gems?” Frodo mused as the balrog clutched him securely and exploded from the water.
---
The Eight Walkers found they had no reason to rush. The orcs had lost interest in them. The Ring––rather, the lack of the Ring––was at fault.
For once Gandalf would rather have been trailed by an army of the unwholesome things, for it would have meant the last awkward moments in Moria hadn’t happened.
Once the first waves of anguish and ire and sheer annoyance passed, they decided to head for Minas Tirith once they got clear of the mountains. Lothlórien no longer seemed so important now they had lost both the Ring and its caretaker, though Merry and Pippin, who had recovered nicely, if a bit fast, suggested they would very much like to take up with the wood-elves and party like it was 1499. Gandalf muttered something about mourning and decorum and respect for the dead, also noting that the wood-elves of these parts were serious, sensible creatures, not at all like the folk of Rivendell, who often as not would go about at all hours singing songs about ‘dwarves’ beards a-wagging’ or ‘nine Ring-lords a-leaping’ or some other such nonsense. After this disclosure Merry and Pippin were quite content not to visit Lothlórien. Little else remained, then, but to go with Boromir and steel themselves for the end.
It was dinnertime for everyone except Sam, who had been so distraught as to receive a strong dose of sedative tea from Aragorn. A bit too strong, as it happened. He was snoring contentedly, oblivious to the cold meal partaken by the others.
In the lull which followed, Aragorn cleared his throat. He looked craftily around. “There was a young lady from Bree....”
“One more brainless limerick, Aragorn son of Arathorn,” said Boromir, “and I will crush your larynx to dust.”
Suddenly a tremor like the first wave of an earthquake radiated through the ground east to west. Gandalf jerked around and stared into the east. His eyes bugged. “What the––”
Another shockwave, then a third, and the earth bucked like a wild horse. Everybody went sprawling except, of course, for Legolas, who rode the heaving earth with his usual profligate grace.
“Look!” the elf cried. “A plume of fire reaching the heavens! Explosions! Mayhem! The earth convulsing! Is this exciting or what?!” He whipped around to the others, his eyes wide. “It is Orodruin! The mountain is convulsed! And Barad-Dur––”
Gandalf scrambled up, and then even he could see it: baleful twin spires of magma rocking with explosions, and a vast, hideous shadow, expanding, expanding––only to fall apart, pitifully batting its eye.
“Mercy!” Gandalf whispered. “Varda may not kill me after all! What in Arda––I can’t imagine what happened!”
He really couldn’t.
---
Frodo clung to the balrog’s neck. His eyes were pinched shut to keep from having to see the rush of liquid flame all around them.
“Here we are, darling! See, I said I’d get you here quickly. Now pluck off that chain and let the thing go!”
Frodo pulled. The chain popped free. The Ring swayed like a pendulum below his hand.
“C’mon, little one! Drop it! Drop! drop! drop! drop! drop!”
The Ring stayed put.
“What’s the matter?” asked the balrog. She looked, and saw that Frodo was holding Sauron’s tacky bauble at arm’s length, staring as it rocked gently back and forth on the chain. His eyes were glazed.
“Oh, rubbish!” she muttered, thought for a second, then––“ah...ah...ahhhhhCHOOOO!”
A very good thing it was that she had a secure grip on Frodo, or her sneeze might have blown him up and out the chamber through the tall gateway. As it was, the only thing that went flying was the Ring. It meteored high over the lava flow and hovered, smug and defiant, until gravity became annoyed with its impertinence and yanked it down, where it bobbed on the molten rock like a snotty little boy sticking out his tongue upon exile to the corner.
Frodo blinked. All his long, wild curls had blown sideways; he couldn’t see. “Thanks, but you know, I could’ve done that. I really could have.”
“I’m sure of it, dear,” soothed the balrog as she watched the Ring dissolve. “Let’s go now. Things are going to be very interesting around here in a second or three. –Hey, Saurface, old flame! Take THAT, you pugnacious, repugnant, festering, pus-filled maggot brain! No more dates for YOU! Say ‘Up yours!’ to Morgoth for me, will you?!”
Frodo’s eyes had cleared; also, he had raked his curls more-or-less into place. The glassy hypnotized look had left him. Tears ran down his face. “It’s gone! It’s done! I’m free!”
“Ohhhh yes!” cackled the balrog. “Now we’d better find those silly friends of yours. Just you remember our deal!”
“How could I possibly forget?”
---
The earth rumbled louder and louder until Gandalf was convinced he would have to do some major wizardly intervention. He was about to lift his staff and start shouting things when quite a distance from them the ground exploded as if struck by a rocket.
Actually, it was more as if a rocket had come up through the mantle.
Gandalf fell back, white as death, as the balrog of Moria blasted into daylight, throwing earth and rock and shrubs and trees and an assortment of surprised rodents in every direction.
“Hi!” said the balrog.
Eight astonished pairs of eyes saw Frodo wave from the spiky enclosure of the balrog’s claws.
“Hullo!” called Frodo cheerily. “Save any supper for me?”
Gandalf was wishing he’d taken Aragorn’s advise and put on a Depend that morning. Then he was distracted by the sight of Merry turning cartwheels in the grass nearby. “Meriadoc Brandybuck, please contain yourself!” To the balrog, “Kindly put Frodo on the ground, you unclean spirit, or I shall turn this staff to a firehose and douse you!”
Pippin tugged at his sleeve. “Gandalf, what’s a firehose?”
“You will do no such thing, Gandalf the Grey!” Frodo scolded. “She just helped me destroy the Ring! She’s my friend, and I
won’t hear of such pranks!”
The balrog positively flared with joy. “Friends, we’re friends! Ah, here you go.” She set her paw on the grass so he could climb down. “Don’t fret on my account, love. Wizards are old windbags; everybody knows that.”
Gandalf bristled. His eyebrows stood out like quills. “WINDBA––”
“And who may this be?” asked the balrog, sitting cross-legged in the entire northern half of the clearing. “This little plump one who looks half-asleep?”
“Sam!! Dear Sam! Come here and meet our new friend!”
Sam rubbed his eyes. The tossing of the earth had jarred him half-awake; the thunderous eruption of he-knew-not-what had brought him unsteadily to his feet. Now he saw beautiful, beloved, very-much-alive Mr. Frodo standing in front of a clawed hand the size of Sandyman’s mill. His eyes and perspective widened.
With a surprised grunt he passed out cold.
“Oh, rubbish,” said the balrog. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t look quite so much the Terrible Reeking Sadistic Demon Queen of Thangorodrim. Only sometimes, mind you.”
