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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.
