"Ah, Sylas, you look utterly miserable!" Gandalf leaned on his staff and dropped onto a rock with a groan, his voice laced with dry amusement. "If Arwen were to see you like this, she'd decide you're hardly worth the trouble!"

Still catching his breath, Sylas managed a faint grin. "You're one to talk, old man. That robe is more rag than cloth. If anyone saw you now, they'd think you were a homeless wanderer!"

At this, Gandalf's hand flew to his bare chin. His eyes widened in dismay. "My poor beard… years of patient growing, all gone in a single blaze! A tragedy beyond words!" He sighed, then patted himself down suddenly, searching with rising desperation. "Blast it! My pipe… and my leaf! Burned to ash. Otherwise, I'd be puffing away right now, savoring a victory smoke."

Sylas gave a weary chuckle. "You'd probably set yourself on fire again."

Once they had rested, the two limped toward the Balrog's remains. What lay there was no longer flame and shadow, but a blackened, twisted husk, still radiating dangerous heat. Sylas gripped the divine spear Aegros and wrenched it free from the demon's chest with a grunt. Yet unease lingered in his eyes.

"Gandalf," he said hesitantly, "its fire has been snuffed out… but if the Balrog's flames are gone, is the immortal fire I sought gone as well?"

Gandalf shook his head and gave a faint smile. "No, my friend. That which is called immortal cannot truly be quenched. The fire you seek lies within its heart."

With urgency, Sylas pried open the Balrog's chest. Instead of organs, it was like tearing into a furnace. At the core lay a molten crystal the size of a great stone, fractured by the strike of the divine spear. Within it, black fire writhed restlessly, so intense that even looking upon it made Sylas's soul ache.

"This," Gandalf explained gravely, "is the Balrog's heart, its crystal core. As long as this survives, so too does the seed of its spirit. Buried in the depths of a volcano, given long years, it could rise again."

Sylas frowned. "And if I use it as Nirvana Fire? It won't corrupt me?"

"Not once it has been purified," Gandalf assured him. "Then it will hold no danger."

Relieved, Sylas sealed the core away. He and Gandalf exchanged a glance, exhaustion heavy in both their eyes.

"We must go," Gandalf said. "Balin and the others will be waiting."

Together they climbed onto Smaug's back, the great dragon lifting into the sky with one beat of his vast wings. The Balrog's husk was carried in Smaug's claws, while Herpo the basilisk coiled lazily around one leg, riding like some enormous, scaly ornament.

Through the clouds they descended, until the jagged valley of Moria's East Gate came into view.

While Gandalf and Sylas had fought the abyssal battle, Balin and his thousand warriors had not been idle. At the East Gate, they clashed with the orcs that had infested the halls, driving them out into the dark valley beyond. There, the dwarves were joined by the archers of Lothlórien, and together elves and dwarves struck with relentless fury, breaking the orc host and scouring them from the valley.

When Smaug's shadow fell over the field, the elves were the first to notice. Their bows lifted instinctively, but then they saw Gandalf and Sylas astride the dragon's back, weary but unbroken.

The valley erupted with cheers.

"It's a dragon!"

"Hold! Don't panic, it's Gandalf and Sylas!" Balin's voice rang out across the valley. Relief and joy lit his face as Smaug's vast form descended from the clouds.

It had been ten long days since Gandalf and Sylas had vanished into the abyss with the Balrog. In that time, Balin had scarcely known rest. He had returned to Durin's Bridge himself, but the destruction there was immense, bridges shattered, cliffs collapsed, and no sign of the wizard, the young warrior, or the dragon. All were thought lost to the depths.

Two days ago, Smaug had clawed his way back from the chasm, scorched but alive, and told them of the battle raging in the deep. Still, until he saw Gandalf and Sylas with his own eyes, Balin's heart remained heavy. The terror of a Balrog was no small thing, far beyond even the dragon of Erebor.

But today, as thunder roared from Silvertooth Peak and lightning split the skies, Balin had dared to hope. And now that Smaug had returned with riders upon his back, he knew his hope had not been in vain.

The dragon alighted in the dark valley, wings stirring the dust. Upon his back, weary and battered but unmistakably alive, stood Gandalf the Grey and Sylas.

"Gandalf! Sylas!" Balin hurried forward, his grizzled face alight with joy. "By Mahal, you return from the abyss itself! We thought you lost!"

Gandalf smiled warmly, though his robes were tattered and his beard singed away. "And I am glad to see you too, Balin. A few days it has been, but it felt a lifetime."

But Sylas's attention was elsewhere. His eyes widened as another figure stepped forward from among the elves.

"Arwen?" he breathed.

The Lady of Rivendell came towards him clad in a velvet mantle, staff and sword in hand, her beauty shining even amidst the dust and ruin. Her eyes softened with relief as she reached out, though she hesitated to touch his bandaged burns.

"I followed the orcs that fled from Moria," she said, her voice quiet but steady. "They threatened Lothlórien, and I could not stay behind. But most of all, Sylas, I was worried for you."

She furrowed her brow, her gaze full of unspoken pain at his wounds.

Sylas gave a faint smile and shook his head. "It's nothing, only scorches. Once we return, a draught or two will mend it. And besides," he gestured at the charred carcass beneath Smaug's claws, "we slew the Balrog. Hardly a small victory."

Arwen spared only the briefest glance at the blackened husk of Morgoth's servant before pressing a small vial into his hand.

"Drink. It's Ent-draught, I saved it for you."

"You kept it all this time?" Sylas asked in surprise.

"I had no need of it. You did." Her voice was soft, but brooked no argument.

Sylas smiled gratefully, and after taking a draught, he split the remainder with Gandalf. The healing warmth flowed through them at once, easing burns, restoring strength, though not regrowing Gandalf's poor beard.

The gathered dwarves and elves now turned their eyes upon the husk of the Balrog. Even dead, the blackened shell radiated a lingering dread, and none could quite keep the fear from their faces.

"So that," one elf whispered, "is a Balrog of Morgoth."

Their voices fell silent, for even the sight of its corpse was enough to remind them how terrible it must have been alive.

The host of dwarves and elves gathered in the dark valley gazed upon Gandalf and Sylas with awe. None could forget that these two, together with Smaug and their unlikely allies, had brought down the Balrog of Moria, a terror that had haunted Khazad-dûm for a thousand years, sealing the halls away from dwarf, elf, and man alike.

Balin's face shone with admiration, though behind it was a fire of something more: joy and hope. For with the Balrog destroyed, the shadow over Moria had lifted. If the scattered orcs could be hunted down and driven out, the dwarves could at last reclaim the halls of their fathers and reopen the long-lost mithril veins. The dream of Khazad-dûm reborn was no longer a fantasy, but within reach.

"Leave the orcs to us," Balin said, thumping his chest with pride. "We dwarves can finish the task. Our axes and hammers will see it done."

Sylas and Gandalf exchanged a weary look, then nodded. Both had poured out nearly all their strength in the battle with the Balrog, and though their spirits still burned, their bodies demanded rest. They knew Balin's warriors could handle what remained.

Still, Sylas took one precaution. "Smaug," he commanded gently, "fly west and guard the gate. Let no orc escape into the mountains."

The dragon rumbled in approval, his wings shaking the snow from the peaks.

As for Sylas and Gandalf, they turned eastward. "To Lothlórien we must go," Gandalf said, "for Lady Galadriel will wish to know of what has passed in these halls, and perhaps her wisdom may heal what battle has not."

Before leaving, Sylas lent the dwarves a great enchanted chest. Into it they placed the black husk of the Balrog, sealed away so its evil might never seep out again. Smaug also bore up from the depths the petrified Watcher in the Water, and even Herpo twined himself contentedly about the dragon's leg like a strange banner.

Thus, Sylas, Gandalf, Arwen, and the company of elves departed for the golden wood, while Balin and his kin remained behind. With courage renewed and purpose aflame, the dwarves began their great labor: the cleansing of Khazad-dûm.