Title: A Mission of Diplomacy
Author: LdyBastet (ldybastet@nightmares.co.uk)
Pairings: Balrog of Moria/Witch-King of Angmar 
Timeline: Sometime early in the 21st century of the Third Age
Rating: R ?
Summary: The Balrog was the servant of Morgoth, and so was Sauron, and they are both 
Maiar, so by definition, it is way higher on the food chain compared to the WitchKing of 
Angmar.
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!



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 that those words were 
delivered with. This meeting is not going well, he thought as he looked 
at his singed robes. He waited until the other 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 empty position as 
leader of the fell forces…” The other growled, but said nothing, so he 
continued. “It could have been you filling that void, if you had not 
skulked away into the shadows and fled here to hide under a 
mountain.”

The flames flared up again, 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 shadows 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 stupid enough to put all 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 
here and there.

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

“I meant no insult, I was merely pointing out that had things been 
different, and other actions been taken at the time…” The rest of his 
words were drowned by the fierce growl that echoed in the hall.

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

“Are you not tired of hiding from the world out there, 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 here in a dark prison, where no one can see 
your magnificence or cower in the presence of your power!”

The Balrog grinned at him, fiery pits where eyes should have been 
getting brighter 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 door 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 other being 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 of them both. He hid his concerns and instead got 
back up on his feet and stared hard at his assailant, looking squarely 
into its face.

“Release me at once! Sauron will not be pleased 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 goodness and 
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 any more. Since Morgoth perished I have been my own 
Lord and I have no interest in giving that up, least of all to someone 
who is no greater than me.” 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, at the implied 
meaning of those words, and at the hand that touched his chest. He 
could feel the coils of the whip fall away, and a stirring of the air as 
power was being used. He gasped as the hand curled around his form, 
as another hand was put over his face, as he could feel them 
somehow sink into him. It was not a bad feeling, just different. But it 
also made him feel as if he was falling, and he felt less substantial 
than he had in a long time. It was as if the other enveloped him at the 
same time as he could feel its presence inside of 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 too 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 that had made 
him suffer this much before, but 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 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 
anything 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 loose 
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 other 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 kept torturing 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 the other. 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 a long time 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 do. 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 experienced before. 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 other’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 sound.

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 towering over 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 nazgűl 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 about, 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 it to end.

“Yes, Lord?” He did not realize what he had called the other until the 
rumbling grew louder, strangely resembling a chuckle, but he could not 
do anything 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 here. I will make sure that they stay 
strong and united, and I will guard the mountain and the mines. If any 
forces of good are coming 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 was offering 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.