Dimrill Dale.
This was a valley on the eastern side of the Misty Mountains. A rushing torrent flowed down from the mountain pass, forming a waterfall at the northern end of the valley, surging into a lake in the northeastern region.
Its name was Mirrormere.
The eastern gate of Moria opened on the hillside west of Mirrormere. Here, broken dwarven statues could be seen scattered everywhere. But today, this place welcomed a group of rather unexpected visitors.
A massive array of armor gleamed golden under the sun, its brilliance even outshining the reflection from the sacred lake.
Rumble...
Tremors echoed from within the mountains.
Thump.
Garrett tumbled out of the gate, flung through the air.
As the blinding sunlight struck him, he suddenly realized, Wait, why is this a steep downward slope?!
"Whoa, ah, damn!"
His armor clanged loudly as he bounced and rolled down the stairs, finally coming to rest after a long descent, landing on a patch of soft grass.
Whew.
He gasped for breath and crawled up from the grass below the steps, brushing the dust off his gear.
Though a bit disheveled, he had finally escaped.
Unfortunately, he still hadn't been able to stop the Balrog, it had crossed the bridge.
Still, the air outside was infinitely better.
Standing before the grassy field, he couldn't help but sigh.
"Ah... this grass, this sunlight, this waterfall, this lake, this... elf?"
His expression froze.
Before him stood a fully-armored Galadhrim army, proudly bearing the golden banners of Lothlórien, lined up silently by Mirrormere. Their expressions were solemn, their formation steady, unmoving as statues.
"Why is there an elven army here?"
"We have come bearing aid!"
An elf waved from the distance, calling out loudly with an irrepressible smile.
"I sincerely thank you!"
Also, could you please stop smiling?
Beside the enthusiastic elf stood a graceful, noble lady who gently nodded toward Garrett. She wore flowing robes and walked barefoot upon the earth, yet not a speck of dirt clung to her feet.
"Greetings, my lady—"
Garrett shouted at once, "Now's not the time to talk! Listen to me, tell the army to retreat, it's right behind me!"
It?
The elves were puzzled by Garrett's urgent warning.
What was this "it" their ally spoke of?
The answer came swiftly.
As the tremors grew stronger, searing heat rose from beneath the earth. The elves' breathing quickened involuntarily, their grip on their weapons becoming unsteady.
A wave of oppressive heat descended upon them.
An nemesis.
A foe of the Firstborn, known since the Elder Days as the Bane of the Elves: a Balrog of Morgoth.
It was not only the Elves' bane, but the enemy of all life. No being in Middle-earth could claim mastery over it, not Sauron, not the Istari, not even the Lady of the Golden Wood standing before it now.
Thoom!
Along with the heat came war drums from the depths of the mountain, the drums of the infernal army.
Boom!
The mountainside split, flames erupted skyward, and two charred claws burst forth, tearing apart the doorway and crushing the ancient stone frame.
ROAR!!
For the first time, the enormous wings fully unfurled under the sky, nearly blotting out the sun, casting the entire valley into shadow.
"Ai... ai...!"
As sunlight on their faces turned into firelight, and thick smoke with choking sulfur filled the valley, some elves could no longer bear the terror. They cried out, stumbling several steps backward.
Just the appearance of the Balrog was enough to shatter the Galadhrim's formation.
For these younger elves, a Balrog was simply too overwhelming a presence.
Just as orcs feared Garrett, the Elves' dread of Balrogs was almost imprinted in their very souls. Only the mightiest could face such evil.
Even among the warriors of Valinor, few would willingly engage a Balrog in battle.
"Hold the line! Stand fast!"
Behind Lady Galadriel, the elven captain leading the army was the first to recover, turning to shout at his warriors. But the Balrog didn't even spare them a glance. From beginning to end, its burning eyes were fixed on one person.
"I told you, you cannot escape!"
"Foolish mortal. Did you believe summoning the Elves would save you? All of you shall perish here today!"
Flames gathered in its massive hand. Garrett knew exactly what this meant. After all this time fighting, just one gesture from the Balrog, and he could predict its next move.
He had memorized its entire repertoire.
Shing.
He drew his longsword and stepped in front of the elven army, swinging it forward to meet the Balrog's attack head-on, deflecting the flaming blade.
In that moment, he could clearly feel the sword in his hand respond like never before. That parry was heavier and more powerful than any he'd made in recent days.
The blade seemed to sense something, its glow intensified, its power magnified.
"That is a sword forged by our kindred..."
The elves stared at the weapon that resonated faintly with their very essence, hearts stirred with recognition.
"You think yourself mighty, worm..."
Clang!
Garrett's sword clashed with the Balrog's weapon, sparks and stray flames flying. The runic ring on his hand flashed with brilliant amber light, absorbing the impact of the Balrog's strike.
A golden ring...?
Lady Galadriel slowly lowered her raised hand, a trace of wariness rising in her heart.
She chose, for now, to wait and observe.
Led by Galadriel, the elves held their position.
But on Garrett's side, the Balrog's strength was still overwhelming. While locking blades, its other hand swiftly formed a whip, already prepared, and lashed it around Garrett's leg, the creature had learned to use tactics.
With a violent yank, he was hurled into the air, flung up the slope, soaring high above.
On the ground below, the Balrog eagerly awaited, gripping its sword tightly and fixing its gaze on the falling Garrett, preparing for a powerful strike.
However, it wasn't just the Balrog who had been confined underground.
Swish.
With the sound of rockets igniting, Garrett suddenly activated his elytra. After using the fireworks to gain momentum, he swiftly switched back to his chestplate, using the propulsion to dash forward at incredible speed, slamming into the Balrog's head like a meteor. Seizing the opportunity, he brought his sword down in a heavy strike.
Boom!
Caught off guard, the Balrog crashed to the ground with a thunderous rumble, its massive head plunging deep into the dirt.
Right now, all it could feel was its brain buzzing.
[-103]
That heavy, accelerated strike shaved off a tenth of the Balrog's health bar.
But physics worked both ways.
Though the Balrog took significant damage, Garrett also felt the backlash of immense force, the impact drained over half his health bar.
Not from a counterattack, but from the collision itself.
He quickly bit into a golden apple.
Not many remained.
Whether golden apples or other food supplies, they were nearly exhausted. He was truly running on fumes.
"CURSE YOU!!!"
In all the millennia since its creation, the Balrog's rage had never burned as fiercely as it did now.
"If I cannot destroy you, and you cannot destroy me..."
The Balrog pulled its head out of the crater and suddenly let out a terrible laugh.
"Then I shall slaughter all your allies and companions. I shall destroy everything you hold dear!"
ROAR!
No longer focusing on Garrett, the Balrog turned and charged toward the elven army.
At that moment, Lady Galadriel, who had been silently observing, finally acted. She raised her right hand. Between her fingers spun a radiant object, shimmering with silver-white brilliance like captured starlight.
Boom!
The very next second, the Balrog's charge abruptly halted before the army. As if striking an invisible barrier, it found itself completely unable to advance.
Nenya, the Ring of Water.
Garrett stared at the artifact between her fingers.
Nenya, one of the Three Rings of the Elves, held the power of "protection, concealment, and preservation." It was thanks to this ring that Lothlórien had remained untouched by time, home to Valinor's mallorn trees, earning it the name "The Golden Wood."
After Sauron's One Ring was destroyed, Nenya would lose its power, and the realm it protected would fade into memory.
In some ways, this ring was similar to Garrett's territory system, it maintained the very laws of the land. Thanks to its existence, Lothlórien had thrived for ages unnumbered.
"What is this power?"
The Balrog was bewildered.
Having slumbered since the end of the First Age, it had no knowledge of what had transpired in the world since then.
The Rings of Power were forged in the Second Age, well after its time.
Seeing the Balrog blocked, Garrett finally relaxed slightly and caught his breath.
Lady Galadriel was immensely powerful in her own right. With Nenya in hand, restraining a Balrog wasn't beyond her capabilities, especially with Mirrormere right beside them.
As Nenya exerted its power, Galadriel radiated a holy white light. The glow intensified, laced with a silver hue like the light of Eärendil's star.
"Return to the darkness of your slumber, Balrog of Morgoth," she said softly.
"Under the light of the stars, there is no place for you."
Boom!
The silver-white light formed a barrier, holding the Balrog firmly in place.
"Begone!"
Her command forced the Balrog back several steps.
But that was her limit.
Though Nenya's power could restrain the Balrog, it couldn't truly harm the ancient evil.
In fact, if it got close enough, the Balrog's extreme heat could potentially damage the ring itself.
It was dangerous.
Garrett lifted his sword and once again stood before the Balrog.
"I'll say it once more: You shall not pass!"
Boom!
With a charged strike, he forced the Balrog further back. Seizing the moment, he locked on and launched one strike after another, pushing the beast step by step toward the gates
The flames dimmed under the sun, retreating into the shadowy doorway of Moria.
"I shall return," the Balrog growled, clinging to the gate frame, unwilling to yield.
"I shall come back to destroy everything!"
At the gates, it stared down Garrett, leaned forward, and said face-to-face, "When that time comes, it will not be me alone you face... We shall find you..."
The suppressive power grew even stronger.
Darkness returned to its shadowed dwelling. But the war drums did not cease.
The glow around Galadriel slowly faded. Her strength gave out, and she sank to the ground, breathing heavily.
Garrett rushed to check on her condition.
Thankfully, her health was stable. But clearly, she had expended tremendous energy, she needed time to recover.
"The infernal army approaches. Prepare for battle!"
The elven captain raised his sword high, signaling his warriors to ready themselves to intercept the horde of savage orcs that had followed the Balrog upward.
He looked at Garrett beside him.
"Friend, will you stand with us?"
Garrett waved casually at him.
The captain nodded in understanding.
"Very well. Then please rest at the rear, we shall handle the orcs."
"No need."
Garrett stood tall and strode forward, sitting comfortably on the steps of Moria's gate.
"That wave wasn't refusal. It just meant nothing more needs to be said. You don't need to move. I'll stay right here."