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Pairing(s): Balrog of Moria/Witch-King of Angmar
Timeline: Sometime early in the 21st century of the Third Age
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that show up in my writing. They were invented by J R R Tolkien. I do not know if this happened, I very much doubt it, and Tolkien sure as hell never wrote about it! Not making any money from it.
Archive: Please email and ask.

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A Mission of Diplomacy


"Your Lord is nothing but a servant, pretending to be its Master!"

He almost took a step back from the force with which those words were delivered. This meeting is not going well, he thought, as he looked at his singed robes. He waited until the Balrog had calmed down a little and the flames and smoke were lessening.

"I know that you hold no love for my Lord, and that your allegiance lies with Morgoth, but Morgoth is gone, defeated by the Valar... One of his servants, the greatest of them, stepped into the vacant position as leader of the fell forces..." The Balrog growled, but said nothing, so he continued. "It could have been you that filled that void, if you had not skulked away to the shadows, fled here to hide under a mountain."

The flames flared up once more, and the Witch-King was secretly thankful that he no longer had any eyebrows, because surely they would have been burned off by now. His robes were more resilient to the flames and the burning heat, as they were as much made of shadow as was the body of the creature before him.

"Are you calling me a coward?" the Balrog roared. "I am not the one who was foolish enough to put all of his power and most of his life force into an object. An object that was lost!" The Balrog rose up in its fury and towered over the spectral servant of Sauron, its wings stretched out. The room was filled with a thick black smoke and fires sprang up across the floor.

As he slowly backed away, the Witch-King looked at the blazing inferno about him and realized his error. Insults would not bring him success here; this was not a creature that feared him, nor his lord. But he had his orders: to persuade Durin's Bane to join them, to coerce it into serving the Dark Lord Sauron. Perhaps a different kind of diplomacy would prove a better strategy? He collected his thoughts and what little dark presence he had, compared to this awesome being, and took a step forward.

"I meant no insult; I was merely pointing out that had things been different, and other actions been taken..." The rest of his words were drowned out by the fierce growl that echoed through the hall.

He had to draw on the all-but-forgotten memories of what he once had been: a king of men, a leader, and a diplomat. What he needed was for the Balrog to enter into an alliance with them. But to ensure that this would happen he would have to convince it that it also had something to gain from the alliance.

"Are you not tired of hiding from the outside world, the hordes of puny Men and those pesky Elves? Do you not dream of roaming free, to go whither your fancy takes you? To devour and to rule? Instead you have locked yourself down here in this dark prison, where no one can see your magnificence or cower in the presence of your power!"

The Balrog grinned at him, the fiery pits where eyes should have been brightening with a red glow. "I have you now!" it said as it cracked the whip it held in its hand. The Witch-King recognized the danger and scrambled for the exit but he was not fast enough, and the coils of the whip curled around his neck, pulling him off his feet.

He felt the heat of the whip bite into his neck as the Balrog pulled him closer. The feel of it was almost physical, and he realized that this creature could touch him, feel him, hurt him or even kill him, due to the shadowy existence they both shared. He hid his concerns and got back to his feet and stared hard at his assailant, looking it squarely in the face.

"Release me at once! Sauron will be most displeased once he hears about this; there is no need to harm his messenger. We offer you freedom and the chance to fight with Sauron to rid the world of light. Is this not something you want as well?"

"Nay," rumbled the Balrog. "I have no wish to join Sauron's army. I am no servant anymore. Since Morgoth perished I have been my own lord and I have no interest in giving that up, least of all to someone who has no greater power than myself." With that it pulled at the whip again, reeling in his catch. "Now, is this meeting over, or do you have something more to offer? Something more... personal?"

The Witch-King would have shivered if he could have, at the implication of those words, and at the hand that touched his chest. He could feel the coils of the whip fall away, and the air around them grew even hotter, the Balrog's power expanding and touching him. He gasped as the hand curled around his form, as the Balrog placed the other hand over his face, as he could feel them somehow sinking into him. It was not a bad feeling, just different. But it also made him feel as if he were falling, and he felt somehow less substantial than he had in a long time. It was as if this powerful being enveloped him at the same time as he could feel its presence inside him.

When had he closed his eyes? He opened them but all he could see was shadow and flame. He looked for the Balrog, but could not make out its form anywhere; he was surrounded by a blazing inferno, and the smoke was thick. There was a deafening rumble around him and the flames licked at his robes, burning them until they were no more, leaving him exposed as the spectral shadow of a Man he was. He felt a breath of air from above and looked up, straight into the eyes of the Balrog as it opened its jaws wide and licked him, from the feet up to the crown of his head. The smouldering heat seared him and made him screech in agony. There was only one other being that had made him suffer this much before, and that had been in a different manner.

A cruel laughter echoed in his mind and he heard the voice of the Balrog: "Sweet. Your pain is so much more satisfying than that offered by the tunnel-digging Dwarves."

The Witch-King, now stripped to his bare essence, realized that this was a being of the same magnitude as his own lord. They were both of the Maiar, and he himself was nothing more than a shadow of a Man, once a proud king, but easily deceived and broken by the power of Sauron. Compared to the Balrog he was insignificant. How could he have been so foolish as to believe that his status would have any impact on this creature? That he could in any way convince it to do what it clearly had no interest in doing... "Please," he whispered, not sure what he meant or what he wanted.

He felt the presence of the Balrog inside him like tendrils of smoky darkness. There was a power in it that made his mind reel and lose its grasp on both allegiance and mission. It consumed and drained him, and he was afraid that there would be very little left of him to bring the news of his failure to the Dark Lord. But a part of him felt at ease, taking delight in this feeling.

There was pain, yes, pain and agony, and broken cries, and scorching heat and utter humiliation as the demon continued to dismantle his essence. But there were no threats, no indoctrination, no whispered orders or instructions. There was only the enjoyment of his tormentor.

As the Balrog continued to torture him, invading him, its touch alternately crushing him and caressing him, both actions inducing agony in very different ways, he could feel the lust and the terrifying arousal in the energy of his tormentor. The mixed sensations of pain and lust unravelled him, he gave up all pretence of individuality, and his essence shattered into a million pieces as a reaction to the increased assault. All that mattered was now, all he wanted now was more, all that existed was the Maiar and what it was doing to him.

The Balrog straightened up in its terrible might, the Witch-King enveloped in its darkness, and it left the hall carrying the shattered remains of the wraith with him, further down under the mountain. It settled down and began its probing in earnest. It wanted more of this weak creature's agony, what little emotion he could still feel, and all of his knowledge. It had been many long years since he had had someone to abuse that had lasted for so long, and it saw that if it did things right, it could make this last a very long time.

It continued to invade the broken form with its own essence, in the shape of hands and tongue and wisps of darkness. The Balrog saw fragments of memories still present in the mind of the Witch-King. Memories of family, sons, and... a mate! A growl escaped its throat as lust built up again with renewed force. A mate! The fiery form of the Balrog answered these emotions and it reshaped itself to accommodate for this new sensation and need. The Maiar grinned and decided that it liked this new addition to its features. It enjoyed the feel of genitals, throbbing with heat and lust.

A mate! It knew that there was no other like it left in the world, so this pitiful shape before it would have to suffice. It let the size of its frame shrink down a little, and grabbed the wraith, pulling him closer. It pulled his legs apart and with one swift stroke the Balrog buried its new member completely in the body of the Witch-King.

The tortured form of the Witch-King writhed and he screamed in anguish as this new pain overwhelmed his mind and body. It was a pain unlike anything he had ever before experienced. He tried to regain enough composure as to be able to see, to understand what was happening. He opened his eyes and what he saw made him groan in defeat and humiliation. Not only had his mind been invaded and used by the Balrog, now it was invading and using what little body he had as well.

There was lust, there was even a fierce pleasure, he was surprised to notice. But the searing heat and the blazing power of the Balrog's darkness was ever present. As the Balrog increased the rhythm of its strokes, the different sensations blurred and they were one and the same.

He had not thought it possible but he could feel the last remnants of his core shatter into even smaller fragments, and he was lost as the power and the inferno of the Balrog's lust burned its way into the very place that had at one time harboured his human soul.


There was darkness.

There was a crackling.

There was a red glow.

There was pain.

There were memories.

Oh! There were memories... How long had he been unconscious? In a way he was surprised that he was still in this spectral shape between life and death. He tried moving to see what was left of his form.

"I have a message for Sauron."

The Witch-King looked up at the figure that towered above him. A message... Words that would seal his fate, proof of his inability to carry out his orders. Sauron would crush him and then have him replaced by that annoying nazgūl that ranked just below him. He stood up, resigned to his fate. Why not? The Balrog had broken him in ways that the Dark Lord had not even thought of, but it had also given him something, something that he knew would cause him pain until the day he ceased to exist: a wish for his existence to end.

"Yes, Lord?" He did not realize what he had called the Balrog until the rumbling grew louder, strangely resembling a chuckle, but he could do nothing about it. It was the truth. This was a Lord, a self-exiled one, but a Lord nevertheless.

"Tell your Lord that I will not join his army. I will stay here, but he is free to send more of his orcs to me. I will make sure that they stay strong and united, and I will guard the mountain and the mines. If any forces of light should come this way, I will deal with them. That is all."

The Witch-King looked at the Balrog in surprise. What had happened? He knew he had failed in convincing the creature, had in fact only angered it - the torture it had inflicted upon him was proof of that - and now it offered a compromise?

"Tell him that I fully enjoyed the gift he sent!" With that the Balrog turned and left the hall, leaving the Witch-King of Angmar standing alone.
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