Gimli fixed the wizard with a hateful stair. "Lead the way, Gimli!" he snarled, stamping his threadbare boots on the cold stone. "Why certainly, Mister Gandalf!" he bellowed at the wizard. "Let's let the dwarf lead the way, eh? After all, we built this creepy heap o' stones, didn't we?"

Gandalf turned to glare at the dwarf, though the way his hat drooped and the black smudge marks on his face cast him in a rather ridiculous light. "Move it, stumpy!" he raged, shaking a bony fist at the stocky dwarf. "Who's in charge, anyway? Hop to it, and take the little dickens with you. Now!"

Sputtering a steady stream of dwarvish curses that certainly doomed the wizard to a childless life, Gimli motioned to the cowering hobbits and set out. Arrows fell among them. One struck Frodo and sprang back, repelled by a combination of elvish mail and layers of grime thick enough to tar a house with. Another pierced Gandalf's hat and stuck there like a black feather. Frodo looked behind. Beyond the fire he saw swarming black figures: there seemed to be hundreds of orcs. They brandished spears and scimitars which shone red as blood in the firelight. 'Doom, doom' rolled the drumbeats, growing louder and louder; though apparently some of the orcs were in a festive mood, for in a delightful counterbeat, the echo of "Pom-tiddly-pom-pom, Hip-diddly-doo" could be heard. Despite the terror he felt, Frodo couldn't resist dancing a small jig and snapping his fingers. Some of the orcs from that group noticed him, and cheered him on. He waved back with a grin on his smudgy, plump face.

"Idiot!" snarled Gandalf, grabbing the hobbit by his cuff and dragging him along. A loud chorus of boos and catcalls echoed after them, along with guttural shouts of "We were only having fun!" and "Jesus, what's yer rush fer crying out loud!"

Gandalf gave Frodo the bum's rush past Legolas, planting a solid boot to his arse that sent the little guy sprawling. Legolas chuckled at the sight, and quietly gave the hobbit a boot of his own. Then he turned and set an arrow to the string, though it was a long shot for his small bow. He drew, but his hand slipped, and the arrow slipped to the ground. He gave a cry of dismay and fear.

"Drinking on the job again, fairy-boots?" yelled Boromir, fumbling for the one zillionth time with the massive helm on his head. Its intricately engraved carving to give it the shape of a ferocious possum had been the source of much secret merriment for the company. Then he too stopped in fear. Two great trolls appeared; they bore great slabs of stone, and flung them down to serve as gateways over the fire. The ranks of the orcs had opened, and they crowded away, as if they themselves were afraid. All, that is, save the joyous troop, who continued their merry drumming and took up a chorus that, muffled as it was by the drums and the echoes of the cavern, sounded suspiciously like "Well hey nobby no, no reason to go, the Balrog is a coming and he'll kill you real slow." The hobbits thought the tune was marvelous.

Yet something was coming up behind them. What is was could not be seen; it was like a great shadow (without wings), in the middle of which was a wingless dark form, of man-shape (not bird, nor bat, nor man shaped with wings) maybe, yet greater; and a power and a terror, but certainly no hint nor suspicion of aerial capabilities seemed to be in it and to go before it.

It came to the edge of the fire and the light faded as if Sam had let out one of his soul-killing butter farts again. Then with a rush it leaped across the fissure. The flames roared up to greet it; and wreathed about it; and a black smoke swirled in the air. The form let out a blood-curdling screech, then began hopping around from one foot to the other, swatting its massive hands on its body in a vain attempt to knock out the flames. The largest and bravest of the orcs gave out some helpful cries of "Stop, drop and roll!" and "Ice water'll do the trick!" but it gave no indication that it heard them. Its streaming mane kindled, and blazed behind it. In its right hand was a blade like a stabbing tongue of fire; in its left it held a whip of many thongs.

"Ai, ai, oh no, sweet Jesus in heaven, in the name of all the holy chickens of the bath waters of hashamahish, by the country fried beans of my great sire Beadlewick, fervent cries and moans of fear echo in the hills of the...

"Spit it out, man!" cried Aragorn, his sword hand twitching dangerously. "What is it?"

"A wingless Balrog! A wingless Balrog is come!"

Gimli stared with wide eyes, no trace of the several skins of dwarf liquor he had recently consumed visible. "Durin's Bane" he cried, covering his face. "That thing looks like it eats dwarves for breakfast." And he casually tossed his axe into the chasm and took out another skin. Die neither bravely nor sober had always been his creed

"A wingless Balrog," Gandalf muttered, his skin having gone several shades of pale. "And with this crew of screw ups to back me up. Well, our goose is cooked. What an evil fortune." He nonchalantly leaned over, his shuffling steps craftily taking him towards the back of the group. "And I am already weary."

The dark figure steaming with fire raced towards them. The orcs yelled and poured over the gangways. Then Boromir raised his horn and blew. The pathetic squawk that dribbled out sounded like a troll's bad bowel movement on a sunny day. For a moment the orcs were overcome with laughter, clutching each other as they pointed at the lord of Gondor with his silly helm. Then the figure turned to look back at the host and snapped his black fingers. Still chortling, they drew their swords and tried to look fierce. Someone at the back was still tittering, however, and in moments the entire troop was again helpless with laughter. One of the wags shouted "Look at his head!" and fresh gales of laughter echoed throughout the hall. Even the flaming wingless figure's shoulders could be seen heaving up and down. Boromir's complexion grew so red that he rivaled the creature. He muttered an apology, then angrily threw down the horn and began to stomp it into little pieces.

"Over the bridge!" cried Gandalf, who had mysteriously already made it across himself. "Fly! This is a foe beyond any of you. Fly, I say!" Aragorn and Boromir did not heed his command, for as the others roared past like fleeing rabbits, the two humans each grabbed one of the wizards bony arms and flung him back onto the bridge.

"What in the heck are you doing?" demanded the wizard, clutching his staff like a Louisville slugger and looking for the world like he wanted nothing better than to split some skulls.

"Methinks that flaming black fellers with fire for swords is entirely in the realm of a wizard, old friend." Aragorn replied. "Me and Boro got no problems with the orcs and the other little stuff; but this is your kinda guy. Time to put up or shut up, buddy." Boromir nodded his assent, and waved his sword in a not so casual threat.

"Well, each wizard has his specialty, you know." whined the graybeard, looking nervously over his shoulder. "This is more Saruman's thing. Tell you what, let's just get outside, and try and look him up. I'm sure he won't mind giving us a hand."

"Nothing doing, Gandy." Boromir replied. "You go and hold up shadow boy, and we'll take the urchins outside."

The wizard looked about to have an apoplectic fit. "Bastards!" he cried vehemently, and then launched a kick at Aragorn's shins in one last desperate attempt to get by; but the two held him easily, and on a count of three heaved him back out into the middle of the bridge.

The Balrog reached the bridge. Gandalf stood in the middle of the span, weeping unabashedly and trickling a steady stream of yellow liquid onto the hard stone beneath his feet. His enemy halted again, facing him, and the shadow about it reached out like to vast wings. It raised the whip and the thongs whined and cracked. Fire came from its nostrils. The wizard was shaking like a leaf.

In a high, wretched squeal he raised his hand.

"You cannot pass. I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. I cannot be killed so it's useless to try. However, if you let me go then my brother wizard, who is even mightier and fatter than me will be coming, and you can..."

"Gandalf!" shouted Aragorn, who was nearly at the door.

The Balrog made no answer. The fire in it seemed to die, but the darkness grew. It stepped forward slowly onto the bridge, and suddenly it drew itself up to a great height, and its wings were spread from wall to wall; and the grey and wobbly life form known as Gandalf looked as if it had about three seconds left to take in air before he left this world for the next, when a joyous cry filled the air.

"Oh, thank heavens!" Legolas shouted, wiping his brow in relief. "It's not a Balrog after all. Come on back, boys, let's give the old geezer a hand."

"Not a Balrog you say?" asked Frodo. "But, you, I mean, that is."

Legolas laughed, a mocking sound that fit perfectly with their surroundings. "Silly hobbit, don't you know anything? Balrogs don't have wings. This one does. Therefore, tis not a Balrog."

The company let out a sigh of relief, chuckling to themselves at how silly they were. Several shouts of "Balrog, schmalrog" and "Old fire ass had me worried for a sec" were a joyous sound to hear; nevertheless, they moved no closer to the bridge. They watched in curiosity as the creature reached out, grabbed the wizard, and lifted him high in the air over its head. The flames sizzled up, and the smell of cooked old flesh filled the air. It was disgusting and horrific, yet nevertheless made the hobbits mouths water.

Legolas laid his hand on Frodos head, casually flicking away a couple of lice. "Worry not, my friend, our old companion will be safe. Tis not a Balrog, say I."

Thus it came as quite a shock to the company when the shape flexed its shoulders and the sound of popping limbs filled the air. The wizard screamed in agony.

Aragorn winked at the troop. "Puts on a good show, doesn't he?"

The creature reared back, about to toss the mangled wizard's carcass into the chasm. Yet just as he made his lunge, a couple of the dancing orcs, eager to see the show, toppled onto the bridge in a drunken reel. They tripped en mass, and the domino effect was such that they piled into the supposed Balrog just as he flung the wizard out. It teetered and tottered precariously, its mane blazing and its arms swinging wildly. One of the largest orcs let out a far too casual and deliberate "Oops!" and flung himself at full speed into the creature's back. With a terrible cry the Balrog plunged down and vanished.

The orcs peered over the edge. Then they turned to the troop and waved.

"Old sooty was a bit of a pain in the ass anyways. Always 'doom, doom, doom." Be seeing ya!" And the troop turned as one and drunkenly reeled away into the catacombs of Moria. It sounded like there was gonna be one heckuva party.

The Rooster

"He grinned sheepishly as the crowd laughed and hooted its derision. Though his face was red, his heart was light. After all, it was probably just jealousy. There was no denying that sheep was hot."