Fangorn Forest

"Wait," Faradin called as everyone flew into action. "I have this that may help us. He drew from his cloak a bracelet of black metal studded with jewels. I recovered this from where I buried it on the plains of Rohan many years ago. It is an object of great power, but not one that I can use fully, perhaps one of you can use it to help us defeat this menace."

Mal stared in at the bracelet in wonder and then stepped forward. Taking it from the hands of the Ranger and putting it on awkwardly with only one hand he stode still for a moment and he felt some of his lost power reenter him.

Mal breathed deeply, and the others stared at him for a moment at the look on his face. He shudered for a moment, then blinked his eyes, looking back at then.

His familiar grin spread across his face. "I think we may be much more than our foe is prepared for."

"Much more indeed," a voice calls out from the plains ahead of them, and they see a figure walking forwards towards them - the grey cloaked figure they saw a few days before.

As he approached, Mal's grin grows larger, and he turns to the rest. "This is Harnauro, an old friend of mine. He bears a great deal of hatred towards this dark one, as well as all of his ilk, and has offered his aid to us."

As Harnauro walked forward, his face unscrutable, he breathed an inward sigh of relief. The elven witch wasn't present, and none of the others would know what he truly was. Once more, he inwardly cursed what had been done to him - but none of his inner turmoil showed upon his face.

"Where did the elven lady go?" he asked, his low voice rumbling.

Mal's grin faded for a moment, as he said, "She went ahead, via her power. To distract the dark one for some time. He has found himself a way to forge ancient artifacts, powerful ones."

Harnauro's eyes strayed to the bracelet upon Mal's wrist. His eyes narrowed. Had he revealed ... no. His eyes rose back up to Mal's face, doubting that Mal even realized he knew his secret.

Unvar stepped forward, tossing a scowl at the new companion, and said, "We have no time for idle chatter! We must move, and as fast as we can!"

Nodding, and moving once again towards the mountain in the distance, Mal said to Harnauro, "I will introduce the others as we march."

Harnauro said nothing, simply turned and walked beside Mal as they began to speed their pace towards their goal.

The Balrog's black hand opened in the air, and a finger stretched out, drawing a circle of fire in the air. Then, he concentrated.

He glanced down at the book before him, reading the ancient script. Then, he prepared for the next step.




Syntia materialized out of thin air on the black mountain, and hurried up its edge. The drop was one of over a thousand feet, and below her she could see the army of traitor corsairs, spread out on the ground below. All were in battle ranks, with their weapons out. And there was some kind of magical power covering and protecting all of them.

Quickly, she hurried up the edge, searching for the opening, or cave that she knew she would find.




Marondras sensed her, and a mad smile creeped across his face. He quickly hurried out of the opening in the rock to meet her.

He soon reached her and came to a stop, a wild grin covering his face.

"We meet again, Syntia," he said.

Syntia snarled as she raised her weapon. "To kill you, once and for all."

"You found out in Valinor it's hard to get rid of Istari," Marondras said. "And you underestimate us. I am more than I was before, and you Maia taught me an interesting lesson. I must hide myself, and harden, and my power will grow. I've done that for a long time, but now it will be vented."

A flicker of fear crossed Syntia's face, replaced quickly by firm determination.

Marondras raised his arms, and an explosion of light filled the sky, lighting it up with the flashes of their combat for miles around.

The group had entered the mountains, and now were moving at full gallop across the ground, tearing towards Iron Heart.

Unvar looked up as the explosions filled the sky, brilliant flashes of blue, red and white light. Energy filled the air.

Nardran turned to him. "Sire, we cannot hope to defeat the forces that we will meet. They'll have thousands more than us. But I have an idea. This is meant to have an intricite mining system built in. If we could free the slaves that are inside, we could both boulster our ranks and gain a foothold in Iron Heart, all at the same time."

Unvar nodded. "All right. But you're the one whose going to go in and lead them in this revolt."

"Would they listen to a one eyed man who used to be one of the leaders of their slavery?" Nardran asked.

"No. Agravigan, come here!"

Agravigan quickly rode up.

"I want you to enter Iron Heart and free the slaves. You can use your magical vision to see where the enemy warriors are, and will be able to take steps so that they don't find you that no one else will."

"Yes, my lord," Agravigan answered, and quickly sped off at a gallop in a different direction.

Arvec looked hard at the group that was emerging from the mountain range. It appeared that corsairs were about to fight corsairs. Perhaps he wouldn't have any fighting to do after all.

Nevertheless, he called his souldiers to arms, and positioned them at the walls. Quickly he drew out the main amount of his warriors from the mines, and positioned them as a backup force for in case they got through the gate.

They would probably never even get this far. But if there was one thing he'd learned in his life, it was never to underestimate or get on the wrong side of Maia, or Istari. And he'd gone and done just that.

Few minute pass but to both fighter it look like an eternity. No one succeding to win major point, they were both powerfull beyong the immagination of most human and this display of power was a first since the last day's of the first age.

-You're getting old Syntia. You cannot win, i'm powerfull enough to crush you without any help.

-You're forgetting something fallen one. I for one never lost my power and...i have allies.

-You mean those pathe...

-NO i mean's the Valar, i'm their special messenger here and now. In their name surender yourself to their jugement or be destroy...

-NEVER

-So be it...

The battle intensity raise one step. The power used here was enough that EVERY people of significant power will know something is happening here. And to those knowing the party involve they will know who was fighting. Every low ranking apprentice wizzard to the major power of the land, were they good like Cirdan and Elrond or evil like Sauron of mordor. For as long as the battle continue they watch and await the winner.

Marondras' eyes flitted slightly, and he let the power fill him. Quickly he released it all at her, striking with everything he had, seeking an early end to the battle.

But this didn't seem like it would happen. The energy flared, and the ground around them for several yards in every direction was seared black. The ground split, and a red glow came from the blackened rock.

Flames appeared around the combatants.

"I endured the torture of the Valar!" Marondras screamed, flecks of saliva appearing at the sides of his mouth, his eyes flashing wildly. "If I can face that, I can face you! Die, you assistant of the tormenters! I will rid the world of you!"

The rip in the ground widened, and flames sprang out.

They proceeded, now dangerously close to its edge.

"Your evil cannot win," Syntia said, her hair matted and her face soaked with sweat.

She raised her blade again, and he leapt at her, his eyes flaring with a red glow. Searing beams flashed from them, piercing her magical armor. The being leapt at her, his fingers curling like claws.

She moved her blade to intercept, but the wizard cleverly avoided it, one hand clutching her sword arm and the other tearing into her shoulder, ripping through the armor as if it were straw.

With a scream of agony, she fell back, at the very edge of the chasm. Struggling wildly, she fought his incredible strength. His wiry body compensated, and heaved her towards the edge. Desperately, she reached out with her wounded arm, clawing at his face.

For an instant, he released his grip on her arm to tear away the hand. Swiftly, she brought up her sword blade and stabbed him.

He shrieked as his blood spattered on the stones. Then he leapt upon her, uncaring of the sword that impaled him, and caught her by the throat.

In that instant, both were thrown off balance, and plunged into the void.




With a crunch, their bodies were caught on a narrow outcropping of rock.

Marondras pulled himself up by one arm, and took a deep breath. Blood filled his throat, and he choked. His whole body was racked with agony, and he desperately used what little magic he had left to repair his breathing system so that it was usable.

Then he turned his head towards his companion. She had fared little better, and was lying like a crushed thing beside him.

The flames licked up around the ledge, blackening its edges.

"Well," he said in a rasping and choked voice. "At least I have had my revenge on one of you."

Syntia looked back at him, blood dripping down her face from a wound on her head. "But you have killed yourself in the end of it."

Marondras gave a weak laugh. "What was life, after you Maia stole it?"

"You betrayed us."

Marondras struggled for a moment, and then put his hand on the hilt of the sword that was driven through his chest. "Yes. Perhaps this is an ending that I deserve. I was weak. Not in my fight, but in my mind. Morgoth terrified me into betraying you all. Yes, this is a proper and deserved end for me."

The ledge shifted slightly as the rock continued to melt at the edges.

The jarring shook both of their broken bodies.

Marondras winced and spoke once more, each breath now a horrible effort. "But it is not a just end for you."

His eyes stared into hers, and then she felt herself lifted. Her body cleared the chasm, and landed at its edge. She looked down, supported on one of her wounded arms, and stared into his eyes. He had a look of contentment on his face. In that second, she realized that it was into the eyes of an Istari that she now looked. Not an evil madman.

Then, the ledge crumbled, and his gray cloaked body tumbled with the melted rocks into the flame.

Once again, she cursed Morgoth. The one who had twisted so many, and caused the death and destruction of millions. This was but one of many. Even though he was locked away where he could do no more harm, his evil still continued to rip apart the world.

Then, her face dropped against the stone, and she lost consciousness.

The group cautiously crept among the ridged paths of the mountain, silence and caution maintained with every step. Unvar walked at the forefront, anger visible upon his features. Lest the main enemy army discover their ruse, he had been force to leave many of his men behind, to serve as a distraction. They had no hope of survival. They, at least, had remained loyal.

As one of Unvar's remaining men stepped upon a loose rock, and barely retained his balance, they all froze as the rock when clattering down the mountainside, fearing discovery.

During their pause, they did, indeed, hear a sound coming from the distance. Not one of armed men charging towards their hidden position, no, it was the sound of a large melee.

"The slaves," whispered Dania, and yet more grim determination appeared on Unvar's face, hoping his loyal man, Agravigan, had not already perished in freeing the slaves.

"We are almost there," said the ranger, as he peered down the pathway ahead of them. Looking up the slope, Mal did see a small opening in the mountain side, a black mouth gaping at the oncoming party.

Once more silence descended over them, but they increased their rush towards the entrance. Soon, they were within the blackness of the mines.

At lengths, they emerged into the dimly lit area of the main corriders of the fortress. Yet even the small light and stale air was a welcome relief, after marching for what seemed like an Age through the narrow, dreary mines, with barely a smidgen of light to see by, and only dust to breathe.

Their relief would be short lived.

------------------------------------------------------------

Gordance strode down the corridors, watching as his men finished off the last of the slaves in this area. His eyes were grim, for the slaves had practically hurled themselves onto the corsair's swords, blood crazed madness in their screams.

A sound seemed to echo through the hallway, and Gordance signalled for his men to stop in their places, and prepare themselves for battle. He had only three score with him, certainly enough to deal with slaves, but this sounded like something else.

As Unvar and the rest walked around one corner, they froze, confronted by many armed corsairs. Unvar's eyes narrowed at who led them - one of his once faithful fellow corsair lords.

Gordance spat at his former ruler, "So, I see we were right in our actions. Allying yourself with elves and rangers shows how much you have sunk, Unvar."

"You dare accuse me of betrayal!?" shouted Unvar, as he drew out his weapon, pointing it at Gordance. "You are the one who is the traitor, and I will avenge my honor with your blood!"

His men rushed out of the corridor and into the room they were in - still a confined and contained place for a battle - and soon the time for words was done, and blades rang against blades.

Mal spun about, Harnauro at his side, but saw that a number of corsairs had come upon them from the rear, and the elves and ranger were hastily battling them.

Spinning back around, he dashed into the room, seeing a small doorway beyond a block of three corsairs. "Help clear me a way," he whispered to his companion, who only grunted in response. Diving under blades and through the swirling melee, they slammed into the three foes. Mal's dagger took one in the throat, and Harnauro simply slammed the other two aside, tossing them halfway across the room. Then, the doorway loomed in sight, and Mal slammed through it.

Spinning around, he looked for Harnauro, but found only empty space. Looking into the room, his face paled, for Harnauro turned to face another corsair, and ripped his chest open with one shuddering swipe.

Mal turned away as the curse completely overtook Harnauro, and prayed the wolf would be able to tell friend from foe in his shape.

Leaving the battle behind him, he sprinted down the corridor.

Agravigan and his new helpers finally released the last slave in the deep mines.

"Come on," he said as he drew his sword. "The battle's up there, and if we don't help in it, this freedom I've given you won't last long."

The slaves quickly armed themselves with pickaxes and other mining tools, whatever they could find. Then the group hurried after Agravigan as they made their way to the top.

Eventually, the sounds of battle faded behind Mal, and as he carefully tracked his way through the twists and turns of the castle, he stopped often, as though listening to some inner sense.

Finding a small archway from which flame and shadow danced within, he slipped, silent, inside.

Inside, the Balrog grimaced as it slowly intoned words not spoken for centuries. Before it, a fiery circle rotated in the air, and he felt power surging between him and it. Once more, he looked down at the book, making his way through the last page of ancient runes.

A dagger flew across the room, embedding itself in the pages of the book, and tearing across its surface, ripping through the words before the Balrog could read them. From the tear, a black light pulsed, surrounding the book, and soon only ashes remained of the artifact.

The Balrog let out a shriek and then the failed ring in the air shattered apart, mental agony piercing the Balrog's mind. Staggering about, it finally banished the pain, and looked up at the interferance.

Mal stood in the archway, calmly looking at his foe, letting his black cape flutter from the unleashed power that flew out behind him and disipated in the air.

The Balrog's mouth curled in a scowl of utter hatred, as it lifted up its whip and sword.

"Do you know what you have done!?" he cried, hurling the whip towards Malagar.

Mals hand came out, clutching an ebony short sword, and whipped through the air three times. The whip fell apart before reaching him, and the Balrog dropped the now useless weapon.

"I know very well what I have done, fool. And now that I see you, I understand quite well - you were the one called Y-taran, weren't you? A coward and a weakling, who fled the forces of the Valar before Melkor's final battel even began."

The Balrog surged to its full height, flames leaping out and shrouding it. "You dare!?"

"Aye, I dare. Did you not realize that, had you succeeded, the creation of the ring would have utterly destroyed you? And wouldn't Sauron be happy, a powerful ring for him to pick up, with the trapped soul of one of his former companions in it. You have been a pawn all along." So saying, Mal gestured his hand towards the Balrog, his bracelet flashing, and darkness cloaked the monster's form, its flame abruptly snuffed out.

The Balrog shook its head, denying his words, and charged towards Mal. Its blade sailed out, blocked to Mal's left by his sword, but driving him backwards.

Again the Balrog's blade thrust down, at Mal's blind side... but this time two blades caught the Balrog's, and hurled it backwards.

The Balrog stumbled back to its feet, and then froze. Mal clutched a short sword in one hand, and a long dagger in the other.

"No! I saw you atop the tower!"

Mal laughed, mockingly. "I say it again, you are a fool, Y-taran. Yes, you saw that, didn't you, and so did many others. I even fooled M'ertan."

Shaking his head, he cried out, "Have you forgotten who I was? Master of Shadows, Keeper of Secrets! I was the darkness in the night, I was the one never seen! You saw only what I wished you to see."

Giving a scream, the Balrog tensed its legs beneath it, and hurled itself across the room, a shadowy blur, its monstrous sword aimed for Mal's heart. Mal stood there, mockingly, unmoving.

As the Balrog hurtled through the air, it felt itself slow. Finally, the blades tip an inch from Mal's chest, it stopped in midair. It struggled with all of its might, but couldn't move.

The Balrog tensed itself, but its own body fought against it!

"You are a creature of fire and shadow, Y-taran. The fire is gone, and I am the Master of Shadows." Laughing, Mal flicked his hand, and the Balrog hurled through the air across the room, pulverizing the wall behind it. It felt the agony as every bone in one wing shattered, and as it stood up, it limped upon one leg. Looking at Mal, still standing there, laughing. Fear in its eyes, it fled through the broken wall, down the corridor beyond it.

Mal turned away, knowing that the path would take it to the rest of his companions, who likely where finishing their fight with the corsairs. In its weakened state, the Balrog had not a chance. Mal had other concerns. This battle, as well as Syntia's, had surely alerted both M'ertan and the Watchers, whoever they may be.

Walking away, he began to await and hunt the hunters.


*Ok, you guys can take care of some corsairs and the Balrog.. Mal will try and come to a resolution with M'ertan, but I have to run off now, so will post later tonight!*

Slythre crept carefully through the passage, holding her dagger at the ready. The fight wasn't over, but stealth was her advantage. Quickly and silently, she moved in, her weapon poised to strike. The first orc fell without a sound, and his comrade went down an instant later. Quickly wiping the bloody dagger, she searched their bodies and quickly came up with the keys.

Then, she proceeded from dungeon to dungeon, unlocking each. No more would these people suffer the same fate as she had. Quickly they came out, and she led them to the armory, which she'd found earlier. These men were stronger. They were the ones who'd resisted the Balrog's seizure of the castle, but were too obstinate to work, and too important to kill.

"Come," she said. "And try to make no noise. The battle's out there, and with your help, we can break the slaves out of the underground. Then, there will be no stopping us taking this castle."

Quickly taking a sword and small shield from the wall, she joined the other warriors, and led them swiftly towards the tunnels.

The Balrog's movements went along a different course from that which Mal thought they would. Even if he would have been a pawn, he wouldn't now be it. Or anything else that the impudent rat thought he would be. He made his way directly to his chamber, and thrust the tip of his whip into the flames. Instanly it flashed up anew. Then, the Balrog buried himself in the fire, it flaring up around him, the heat healing him and bringing him back to full power. He'd been caught by surprise before, and without his power. The Book of Secrets was gone, and with it his last chance for world domination. But he wasn't finished yet, and Mal had been a fool to let him live. Now, he was purged, and the energy and flame roared up inside him.

He now had a mane of fire, and the rippling flames rolled from his eyes, and mouth. He was a horrible creature, built for the hunt. In his element, and healed, the impudent enemies couldn't survive. Marondras would deal with Syntia, and then both of them together would destroy Malagar, who he knew couldn't hope to defeat both of them.

But at that moment, he felt Marondras' destruction, and cursed. Perhaps it wouldn't be so easy after all. But even now, he was wild in his despair. He roared up the tunnel like a blazing fury, his weapons flashing a fire so bright that even the shadow magic couldn't stop them now.




Nardran turned his head, as he felt the power of the Balrog as it moved forwards. He now, in some deep sense could feel it. The creature's vision and thoughts for an instant became his.

Quickly, he shook the feeling off, and, shifting the hilt of his sword in his hand, stepped down a side passage.

Gordance was quickly pressed back by Unvar, towards the wall. Swiftly, he ducked to the side, just in time to avoid a slash that left a long white mark on the wall where he'd stood a second before.

Quickly raising his own weapon, he attempted to put on an offensive. Almost instantly he was forced back again, put sharply into a desperate defense. His former leader had a furious glint of hatred in his eye, and Gordance saw his own death in it. Gordance ducked a blow and flung himself away from Unvar, scooping up a second sword from the battlefield as he did. Then, with a cry he flung himself at the corsair lord, using both of his weapons, swinging sharply and desperately.

Unvar was pushed back for a moment, and then again the tide turned, in his favor. Nothing could stop him.

With a quick movement of his sword, he twisted one of Gordance's swords to an awkward position, and then slammed down, severing the hand at the wrist.

Gordance screamed in agony, and started to fall backwards when Unvar's weapon came up again, slashing him viciously across the face. Then for a third and final time, Unvar's sword moved, stabbing directly through the traitor's heart.

Unvar held his blade there for a moment before drawing it out of his enemy's pierced breastplate.

As Mal walked through the passages of the castle, he stopped for a moment, feeling the shudder pass through the place as the battle between Syntia and Marondras. He nodded at the outburst of energy, knowing they would come now like flies to honey.

He entered a long corridor, the door behind him softly closing as he entered, and, looking down its length, knew M'ertan was here.

The hallway was long, with a number of frail wooden doors lining the sides. At the end was only a pool of inky blackness. Out of the darkness stepped M'ertan.

The skull's face that masked M'ertan's visagestared out at him, seeming to float disembodied in the air. The form beneath it was cloaked in black, even the armor seeming to absorb the very light around it.

Though no movement showed on the skull's face, M'ertan's voice resonated in the air, stiff and cold as death.

"You deceived even me, Malagar."

"Aye. That I did. Come to fix your mistake, O hound of Mandos?"

Though no expression showed, Mal felt the anger from the other figure. "The Valar made a decree! You violate it with your every action, and I have no choice but to stop you!"

Mal shook his head, a sad smile showing on his face, and in his eyes. "No choice? That is the difference between us, brother. I was never satisfied to serve. From the very beginning, I set out on my own."

"You served Melkor willingly enough!"

Mal's look hardened, feeling his own anger build. "I served no one!" His tone was harsh, rebuking. "I performed services, yes, for both Melkor and the Valar. I chose no sides, til Melkor turned against me. I very well might have perished then, had it not been for the aid of another."

"Whatever your past actions were is inconsequential. I have my orders!" It was strange for the voice, as chilling and emotionless as death itself, to become tainted by emotion and anger.

"And do they apply only to me? What of this dark one, Y-taran, flitting about and toying with powers he has no concept of? Or of Sauron, rebuilding his power as I have heard."

"The Valar shall deal with their kind as they will. They have seen, all too often, what comes of direct confrontation. Do you plan to join the ranks of those others, such as your old friend Sauron?"

Mal laughed. "Sauron's friend? He was the one who convinced Melkor to betray and imprison me. A threat, he saw me as. His powers of persuasion never succeeded upon me - if he could not control me, he had to destroy me. An alliance between us is impossible."

M'ertan drew his blade out, a gleaming sword that seemed to possess no color, and looking at it was as though one looked into the very void itself. "The time for talk has passed, Malagar. I will do as I must."

Malagar let out a sigh, and slowly drew his own blades. His power encased him, not in a foolish blaze or flashy display, but a simple field of power about him, soft and deadly. In one hand he held a short sword that had shadows leaping up and down its length, and his other hand sported a long dagger that glittered and shone with an inner light.

Mal tensed his muscles, feeling his power building within him, and saw M'ertan doing the same. The corridor seemed to vibrate with deathly menace, as though the very air trembled between the two. Mal's gaze flashed down the corridor, meeting M'ertan's bony visage, and Mal ever so slowly aimed his blades, as M'ertan did the same. No sound came from either of them.

Suddenly, the doors flew open, and ten black armored figures dashed in, grinning skeletal grins, and their leader, seeing Malagar, shouted out in triumph, "Now you are ours! The master will be plea-".

As the figures landed in the corridor, and in the time between a single syllable uttered by the leader, Mal and M'ertan MOVED, power and will driving them at speeds beyond any mortal potential. The two nearest Mal didn't even see the dagger and sword that stabbed through their eye slits, withdrawing before the motion he started had been registered. As he shoved off from the floor, flying into the air, M'ertan was also in motion, blade flying even faster than Mal's weapons, decapitating one and splitting another in two even as he began his own leap towards Mal.

The next two closest to Mal had time to lift their blades a fraction of an inch before both his feet lashed out in midair, snapping both of their necks. In the same mili-instant, M'ertan blasted his sword through another, while his other hand lashed out, pulping another's head against the wall.

Mal and M'ertan slammed into each other in mid air, blades clashing while the two remaining warriors began to turn their heads to look at the fight directly between them. Mal and M'ertan finally flew apart, finally returning back to the ground, their blades slicing through the two distractions on their sides as they spun to face each other once more.

Silence filled the air as the first corpses began to fall to the ground.

Neither Mal nor M'ertan so much as acknowledged those that they had just so blithely torn apart. Their gazes met again, and then they flickered into motion again, M'ertans blade a shining arc that tore through the walls about them like slicing through the very air, the only thing able to stop it Mal's own weapons. Mal's blades glanced off of M'ertan's armor time and again, while M'ertan's sword met either Mal's parries or caught only air.

Finally they both came to a stop, still weaving their blades warily through the air.

Mal spoke, soft and quiet. "What would I see if I removed your mask, brother? Would their be anything there, or simply an empty void, a suit of armor, unthinking, unliving, only fulfilling what it has been ordered to do."

M'ertan's body shook at the emotion racking him, and his voice, no longer cold and stiff blocks in the air, now nearly agonized words hurled across the air, shook with his pent up response to Mal's accusations.

"I serve the Valar! That is my role in existance, my part in Eru's Creation!"

"And do your actions here follow serve the Valar?"

"I have my orders - I enforce the decree of Manwe himself!"

Mal laughed, softly, bitterly. "Do you? Did you not see Syntia here?" M'ertan looked back at him, no recognition on his face. Mal continued, "She had another name upon the western Isle. One of Manwe's finest, she was. She is. So why is she here, now? I am sure you sensed the fight between here and the rogue Istari, Marondras."

M'ertan's response was hesitant and unsure. "She may have come of her own will..."

Mal shook his head. "She was sent by Manwe, surely. Perhaps not openly, perhaps the Valar still proclaim non-interference, but they have their own agents here all the same. I doubt Syntia was meant to be as open as she had been, and likely was sent in the same role as the Istari, to be a silent and steady force to oppose the enemy, but who could have foreseen what she would have to face?"

M'ertan was silent, doubt plain to Mal's discerning eyes.

"Go back to Mandos, M'ertan. Go back to your lord, the doomsman. Go back to the isles of death. Middle Earth shall live on its own. I have made my choice, and Middle Earth is my place now. It is not yours, brother. You have no part here any longer, decree or no decree. Your time here is done."

Silence filled the corridor. M'ertan stood still, unmoving, and Mal tensed, wondering whether he had succeeded or not. Then, without a sound, M'ertan was gone, as though he had never been there. Slowly Mal leanded against a wall, breathing heavily, letting the anxiety he had felt show now that M'ertan was gone. He eventually sheathed his blades, and fell back into calmness.

He went in search of the others, hoping they were still alive, and behind him he left the corridor, still filled with dead bodies, and the tangible feel of the power nearly released there mere moments ago.

Agravigan and Slythre's separate groups soon had cut away the last troops between them, and the two forces faced each other.

Slythre and Agravigan faced each other in the dark passage, their men behind them.

"I'm sorry," Slythre began. "I . . ."

"There'll be time enough for explanations later," Agravigan said briskly. "Right now, we will fight together, as we did before."

Slythre motioned her group forward, to join Agravigan's.

"Then you have the lead," she said, and drifted back amongst the others.

Agravigan swung his arm forward. "Follow me! There is still much to do before this is ended."

*I didn't really appreciate the history given about the Balrog. It is supposed to be a fallen Maia, a powerful servant of Morgoth, not someone who can be defeated with such relative ease. And Balrogs don't really betray their commanders. But I guess some explanations would be that he hadn't entered the flame in a long time, and had been using up a lot of his power on his creation from the Book of Secrets.*

The Balrog tore into the room with indescribable fury and power, his claws tearing apart Unvar's men before they could even start to make a defense.

Unvar fell back before the racking claws, and everyone who stood in its way was incinerated.

His sword flashing, Unvar leapt at the creature. It instantly batted him away, claws ripping into him, and only his chain mail armor saving him from being destroyed. He tumbled to the floor, blood and fire spattered about him.

Counting him among the other dead, the Balrog left the chamber, moving up to join its other hosts above.

*Well, the thing is, very few Balrogs survived the battle between the Valar and Melkor - those that did, did so because they ran away or fled into the tunnels of Angband. Also, the creation of such as the One Ring is no simple task - it took near all of Sauron's power into it, and he was far more powerful than a Balrog (who were among the least powerful of Maia, I would hold, as theyhad been bested even by mortals at times.) So if the Balrog was somehow able to even approach creating such a ring, it would, at the least, utterly drain it of power, if not destroy it entirely. It probably would have been a bit harder for Mal to kill the Balrog, even though he had the advantage - which is why he let it run off for others to deal with.
Anyway, thats my take on things, and the reasons behind what I posted.*

*Okay, but the balrogs that survived that battle fled after the fight was just about over, not before. By the way, that was a great post about M'ertan. Added quite a bit of interesting plot information, at the same time as explaining him. Well writ!*

"Men! Gather in the courtyard! Everyone off the walls! Quick!" Arved shouted frantically at his men, beckoning to them and ordering them quickly to prepare for the fight against the escaping slaves that he knew would be coming.

He wiped his hand across his forhead, getting rid of the sweat. Then, the first of the men jumped from the tunnel, swarming out at his soldiers.

Too many! He moaned and stepped back from the battlefield. Most of his men were off the walls, and what few remained were already climbing down to join the fight.

Then, Arvec had an idea. Quickly climbing to the top of the walls, he shouted out towards the corsair army below. "Come and join us! The battle's in here!"

The corsair commanders quickly took charge of the situation, sending a couple squads up as they collected the rest of their men.