Lothlórien, Caras Galadhon, within the lord and lady's palace.
Celeborn and Galadriel received Kael and Gandalf.
"The Balrog in Moria's mines, slain by the two of you, that is a deed of great renown," Celeborn said, admiration bright in his eyes. "The upheaval atop Celebdil could be seen even from Lórien. In years to come, songs will speak of that duel upon the peak, of the Grey Wizard and the Black-Robed Wizard who felled the last Balrog in Middle-earth and brought peace to Moria."
Gandalf chuckled and shook his head. "And what would the verses say? Other than keen-sighted folk like Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, those below saw only a summit wrapped in storm and snow. They heard thunder, saw lightning and tongues of flame, and little else."
"Someone always knows," Galadriel said with a gentle smile, starlight deep in her eyes. Her gaze drifted over their garments, robes mended by magic yet unable to hide their exhaustion from her sight. "I feel your spirits are weary to the bone. Go to the Nimrodel and wash away dust and fatigue. I will have fresh robes brought."
They did not refuse. Without escort, they made their familiar way to the Nimrodel.
They sank to their waists in the water. Cold flowed down from the heights, a clean chill that made Kael shiver. Many elven lays praise this river's marvels. It proved worthy of them. Bathed in the Nimrodel, weariness bled away, and a heavy drowsiness came to replace it, the kind that follows long strain.
Leaning on the soft grass of the bank, Kael drifted toward sleep. In his half-dream he heard fair singing, the voices of elven maidens telling some far-off tale.
"Wake up, Kael. Do not sleep too long. You will catch a cold." Arwen's voice, warm and low, drew him back.
He opened his eyes to find her watching him with tender concern.
"Arwen, how are you here?" he asked, blinking the fog from his thoughts.
"Come out now," she said, worry softening her tone. "The Nimrodel eases fatigue, but its water is cold. You will freeze if you linger."
Only then did Kael notice Gandalf had slipped away. It was just the two of them. Perhaps the Balrog's heat still clung to him, for beyond the first shock he had not felt the cold much. Even so, he did not argue. He rose and stepped from the stream.
Arwen handed him a folded set of white robes. "Your clothes are ruined. I sewed these. Try them and see if they fit."
"You made these for me?" Kael's face lit with delight.
Arwen's lips curved, and she nodded.
He took the robes and then took her hand as well. "Arwen, you are wonderful. I cannot imagine how dark life would be without you."
Her lashes trembled like butterfly wings. The eyes that held starlight and running springs bent like young moons, and her smile spilled from them.
"Dress quickly," she murmured. "You will catch a cold."
"Here? No need to avert your eyes?" he teased.
Color touched her cheeks. With a small flick of her wand, she summoned a veil of mist to cloak him. "Do not make trouble, Kael. Change quickly. Gandalf and my grandparents are waiting."
Feigning regret, he dressed behind the mist in the robes she had made.
When the veil faded, he stood in an elegant white robe edged with silver. He looked taller, straighter, and touched with a quiet nobility.
"Well? How do I look?"
Arwen's gaze shone. "Very handsome. It suits you."
They left the riverside, crossed the tall mallorn grove, and came to the Lady's garden.
Gandalf, Galadriel, and Celeborn turned on their vine chairs as the two arrived hand in hand.
"I thought you would come later," Gandalf said, eyes laughing. "Young folk have more energy than an old fellow like me."
Kael and Arwen flushed, just a little.
They joined the tea in the garden, and talk turned, as it must, to the Balrog.
Gandalf told the tale slowly, the plunge into the abyss, the pursuit from the deep up to the mountain's crown.
Inevitably, he spoke of the nameless creatures in the abyssal tunnels.
At that, Arwen took Kael's hand, fingers tightening with mingled fear and relief.
Celeborn's attention fixed on what Gandalf had named the nameless. He did not notice his granddaughter's gesture. "I had thought it only a legend. Are there truly such creatures in the earth's depths?"
Even the memory brought a chill to Gandalf's voice. He shook his head and let out a breath. "I thought so too. Meeting them proved otherwise. I would rather not lay too many details upon your hearts. If not for the Balrog fleeing before us, Kael and I might have stumbled into greater peril. In a sense, the Balrog saved our lives."
Kael nodded at once. Whenever he recalled that gaze, the void-like despair returned, cold enough to gnaw bone. Even without seeing a shape, the fear far surpassed what the Balrog had inspired, an unspeakable terror that pressed on the soul.
"What are those nameless creatures? Why do they frighten you so?" Arwen asked, concern deepening at the sight of Kael's haunted look.
Galadriel rose and walked to the Mirror. She set her hand lightly to the surface and spoke. "They are very ancient, very mysterious. Older than orcs, older even than Balrogs. They existed when Arda first was."
At her touch, the surface flickered with shard-like visions, elusive and uncertain. Then, without warning, it darkened to a pitch so deep it seemed thicker than night, stripped even of light and shadow. Merely gazing upon it through the Mirror stirred a queasy sense of dark terror.
From within that blackness came a whispering, unnamable and ancient, as if heavy with a great horror.
Galadriel held its gaze, steady and clear, then swept her hand to restore the Mirror to calm water before the dark could fully stir.
"Was that the nameless thing?" Arwen asked, unsettled.
Galadriel nodded. "Some beings are not made but born. The eldest Iarwain Ben-adar, whom Men call Tom Bombadil. Ungoliant, a dark power spawned from the Void beyond Arda. And the nameless things at the earth's core. In ancient lore it is said that in the deepest dark, unspeakable things are nurtured. They gnaw the earth's roots until the Music ends, and then they will break the surface and devour all."
Seeing Arwen's face tighten, Galadriel brushed her cheek with a smile. "Do not let it trouble you. The end of days is far away. By elven measure, still long beyond reckoning. By then, perhaps even elves will be gone."
Kael's shock faded into a rueful acceptance. Nameless things. Like the dragon that gnaws the roots of a world-tree in northern tales, or the sea beast in old Hebrew stories. He had not expected Middle-earth to hold such a thought as well.
Doomsday weighed too heavy on a sunny garden. They let it pass and returned to the work at hand.
Kael set the Balrog's heart upon the table, the red magic crystal.
Heat rolled from it. The black flame imprisoned within thrummed with violent, annihilating malice. Its terror could be felt without touching.
A Balrog had been a fallen Maia, once of holy fire, twisted by Morgoth's seduction. Its essence had not lessened, only been polluted.
"Kael, will you use the Balrog's imperishable fire to forge a phoenix's nirvana flame?" Galadriel asked.
He nodded. As a fallen demigod of fire, the Balrog's life-flame held divinity. If that imperishable fire could be turned to nirvana fire, then when his Animagus evolved into a phoenix, it would surpass any phoenix of the wizarding world he knew.
Celeborn frowned. "If you use an evil flame, will it not draw you into darkness? Would you not risk becoming a wraith?"
"That is why we will purify it first," Gandalf said with a small smile. "The Balrog's essence was fire. After its fall, its imperishable flame was tainted and became wicked. If we cleanse it and restore it to purity, we may use that pure fire to forge an immortal phoenix."
He turned to Galadriel. "My lady, your gift of purification is second to none. We ask your aid to cleanse the Balrog's flame."
Galadriel looked at the crystal, then at Kael's eager, anxious face, then at Arwen's quiet plea. She smiled and nodded.