The Balrog
reached the bridge. Gandalf stood in the
middle of the span, leaning on the staff in his left hand, but in his other
hand Glamdring gleamed, cold and white. His enemy halted again, facing him,
and the shadow about it reached out like two vast wings. It raised the whip,
and the thongs whined and cracked. Fire came from its nostrils. But Gandalf
stood firm.
'You cannot pass,' he said. The orcs stood still, and a dead silence fell.
'I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. You cannot
pass. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun. Go back to the Shadow!
You cannot pass!'
The Balrog made no answer. The fire in
it seemed to die, but the darkness grew. It stepped forward slowly on to the
bridge, and suddenly it drew itself up to a great height, and its wings were
spread from wall to wall; but still Gandalf
could be seen, glimmering in the gloom; he seemed small, and altogether alone:
grey and bent, like a wizened tree before the onset of a storm.