A Balrog’s Lunch
A Balrog’s Lunch
Written by Uineniel
Being a Balrog is so lonely.
Just sitting here in boring, dark caverns, and I have slime for a bedroom and creepy crawly things for neighbours. It’s been so dull since Big Mel got himself in the lock-up for all eternity after saying that Elves were a waste of space.
Or something. It’s difficult to keep track of the mad things he does.
And I’m still bored, and hungry.
Sure, every now and then a few Dwarves will turn up. They’re quite nice, crunchy and tangy, once you get all that fiddly armour off.
But I don’t get them often. It’s nothing but Orc, Orc, Orc for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
And you know what Orc tastes like, don’t you?
Maybe you don’t. Well, it tastes like tadpoles, mixed with sewage, mixed with –
What on earth are those?
Ten people just stumbled into my cave. My cave. They’re going to pay for this.
I wonder if they’re crunchy. Perhaps dunked in chocolate…
Oo-er, look at her.
No, on second thoughts, don’t. My eyes hurt. Damn her and her shiny backlighting.
Still, might as well do the old impressive routine…Sigh…
Why is it always me? Hello? Big old what’s-his-name up there, are you listening?
Anyway, these two chaps at the back – the dark-haired chap, and the beardy chap with the pointy hat and the stick – seem to be having a discussion. They don’t look too pleased, and keep looking at her like they’d love to see her dead.
Say, fellers, if you don’t like her, can I have her? She might taste good.
Oh, crap, now she’s running this way. Please don’t blind me. If you blind me I’ll eat you, I swear, shiny or not. Please don’t come here. Please go away and leave a poor, misused Balrog alone.
She’s standing right in front of me. Damn, she’s shiny.
“I am Rain Silverblade,” she cries, “And I am your doom!”
Not very impressive. She’s just a little red-haired scrap of nothing, even if she is very shiny.
Okay, now she’s yelling something in some random language. Dark-haired is running towards her, yelling “Come back here, you – “, and a lot of words that I’ve never heard before. I don’t think they’re very nice words. I shall have to look them up.
Whips make convenient torches.
“What are you doing?” I ask her.
She pulls herself to her full height, which isn’t very large, and her silly hair flies around her head. Can’t think what she’d want with all of it, though it might make a nice curtain.
The dark-haired guy has reached her and is attempting to drag her away. How rude. A Balrog’s got to eat.
Can’t think who he reminds me of, but the expression on his face looks as dangerous as…well, as me.
“Leave me!” she hisses. “I will bravely battle this fiend of demonic darkness so that Gandalf will not fall to the black shadow! Allow me to fulfil my destiny!”
“They’re getting better,” Dark-haired mutters, brow furrowed. “The last few we’ve had wouldn’t even have asked. They’d just have run and wrenched my poor arm off.”
Gosh, he sounds like he’s feeling as lousy as I am.
“What’s the matter?” I ask him.
He looks disgustedly at her.
“This,” he growls. “I suppose it wouldn’t be too much trouble for you to eat her?”
Oh, boy. It wouldn’t be too much trouble? Free lunch is never trouble, whatever-your-name-is.
Say, he reminds me of Melian, just a little bit, back in the old days when she‘d see something icky on the floor.
“Are you related to Melian and that Thingol?”
Dark-haired raises his eyebrows and nods.
“Then I think I’m some great-great-grand-whatever uncle of yours…Say, could I have Rain, if you don’t want her?”
“If you ate her, you wouldn’t eat us, right?”
I think about this. Sure, eating nine of them would be tasty, but on the other hand, this girl is really annoying me…
Eeny, meenie, miney, mo…
“She’s enough for now,” I decide.
‘Rain’ (Stupid name, I think) is happily oblivious to our conversation. She’s glowering at Dark-haired in the prettiest way ever invented.
“A moment,” says Dark-haired, and has a whispered conference with Pointy-hat. They seem to come to a conclusion, and Pointy-hat quietly leaves, with ‘I’ll see you in Rohan.”
“Excuse us,” Dark-haired says, and the eight of ‘em trek past me on the bridge, leaving Rain behind.
Once they’re all off, Dark-haired turns back and waves.
I’m planning to do exactly that. Let’s see, now, how shall I cook this girl? Let me count the ways…
Hmm. Stew? Takes too long. Soup? Too messy. Fried? Bad for you.
How about just raw?
Mmm…tastes like chicken.