I've heard of it innumerable times.  In fact, when I was much younger, and (I hope) much more foolish, I used it to my advantage.  Approximately 471 times.  Amost exclusively to woo beautiful elven women, of course.  Oh, to be a Balrog-slayer was to be a king!  Even Gil-Galad himself used to eye daggers at me whenever my little deed was mentioned. 

"Glorfindel! Glorfindel!" they used to cry, "Tell us of when you slayed the Balrog!" And, for a while I was proud and told gladly.  But, only a little while.  It didn't take very long for the jubilation to wear thin, the songs to irritate, and the plays (sweet Valar, yes there were performances!) to horrify. 

Elrond used to smirk, "There goes Glorfindel trying to hide in his chair again!" drat him, he enjoyed it!  I never asked to be a hero, but, I got it.  However, it did take few years until I wore the look that was currently on young Master Gamgee's face.  Poor thing.  I watched, fascinated, as he subtly tried to hide behind the two younger hobbits, who were just as subtly, manuevering him back into the front. 

"Observing the competition?" Elrond must have followed my gaze. 

Curse him.  Talking in riddles! Even Balrogs knew better.

"What do you mean?" I asked. 

Elrond responded by arching his eyebrow to the moon.  I blinked, momentarily distracted.

"...impressive, is he not, Glorfindel?"

"Oh, uh, yes."

"Perhaps we should show our appreciation for his heroism," Elrond smirked.  He knew my adversion to hero worship.  It was at this point that I began to feel a little ill.  Surely Elrond could not be so cruel.  The little one was almost petrified from all the attention as it was. 

He smiled and I winced in sympathy for the torture about to be afflicted upon innocent Samwise.  Oh, but he was a poetic hero!  I must confess.  A simple halfling, untrained in warrior arts, fighting a monstrous spider to avenge his perceived dead master, defeating the creature that not even elven warriors could... Poor thing. He was practically begging for it.  I scrunched up in my seat, wincing as Elrond stood and called for a singer.  The blood draining from Samwise's face as the younger hobbits squealed joyfully was pitiful.

"At least you'll only have to listen to it for a few decades," I muttered.