The loss of Gil-galad

10

Thariel departed at dawn, her sword at her side, her cloak flowing around her like the night itself. She traveled swiftly through the hills, reaching the base of the mountains by midday. The air grew thick with the scent of sulfur, and the ground was warm underfoot, as if the very earth was alive with fire.

She found the entrance to the balrog's lair, a dark fissure in the rock that led deep into the heart of the mountain. Thariel steeled herself, drawing her sword, the blade shimmering with a faint blue light. She whispered a prayer to Elbereth, for strength and courage, and then stepped into the darkness.

The tunnels wound deep, and Thariel moved silently, her Elven senses alert. The air grew hotter, and a faint glow began to illuminate the passage ahead. As she rounded a corner, she saw it—a great cavern, its walls lined with molten rock, and in its center, the balrog. Its form was massive, wreathed in shadow and flame, its eyes burning with malice. It held a whip of fire in one hand, and in the other, a sword that glowed with dark heat.

Thariel took a deep breath, stepping into the cavern. "Creature of Morgoth," she called, her voice echoing through the chamber. "Your time of terror is over. I am Thariel, daughter of Melian and Thingol, and I will see you banished from this world."

The balrog turned, its eyes fixing on her. It let out a roar, a sound like the crackling of a thousand fires, and lunged toward her, its whip lashing out. Thariel met it with her blade, deflecting the fiery tendril, but the heat was intense, searing her skin even through her cloak. She struck back, her sword cutting through the air, but the balrog was fast, parrying her blow with its own blade.

They clashed, light and shadow, fire and steel, their battle a storm of sparks and flame. Thariel's movements were swift and precise, her sword finding purchase in the balrog's fiery form. Yet the creature's strength was immense, and its fire burned with a heat that seared the very air. Thariel's left hand, raised to defend against the whip, was caught in a burst of flame, and she cried out as the fire licked at her skin, burning her flesh.

Pain shot through her, but Thariel gritted her teeth, refusing to give in. She pressed on, her sword moving like a living thing, striking at the balrog's core. With a final, powerful blow, she drove her blade deep into the creature's chest, piercing the heart of its fire. The balrog let out a scream, its form convulsing, the fire within it flickering and dying. It fell to the ground, its body dissolving into ash and smoke, leaving only the faint glow of embers in the dark.

Thariel stood over the fallen balrog, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her left hand throbbed with pain, the skin charred and raw. She knew the injury was severe, but the balrog was defeated, its darkness banished. She sheathed her sword, cradling her injured hand against her chest, and began the long journey back to Lindon.