As Fire and Tempest by Zdenka  

Chapter 1

Gwindor walked slowly away from the council chamber. He paid little attention to where he was going, only taking the less-travelled ways, for he wanted to avoid others’ sight after having his words rejected.

Someone called his name from behind, and Gwindor startled.

“Sorry,” said the same voice.

Gwindor turned around, trying to calm his racing heart. It was Celebrimbor, who must have followed him from the council.

Celebrimbor covered the distance between them with long strides, until he was even with Gwindor. “I wanted to say, you were right about the bridge.”

“Was I?” Gwindor said slowly.

Celebrimbor let out an impatient huff of breath. “First of all, if you have a Vala giving you advice about the future—clear and actionable advice, at that—it might be wise to listen. ‘Cast the stones of your pride into the loud river’—you can’t get much clearer than that.” 

“Agarwaen did not wish it so.”

“It’s a good bridge. I helped build it myself, I should know. But one should prepare for defeat as well as victory. The Narog is a powerful last defense, if need be.”

“You said that the destruction of the bridge could be held in abeyance—that workers could be stationed ready to destroy it at a signal, if the enemy approaches. Can the bridge truly be cast down so quickly?” The bridge was firmly built, as Túrin wanted—strong and solid as the walls of Nargothrond. Gwindor could not see it being removed so easily.

“Yes, or I wouldn’t have said so. But it can’t be done in an instant! We would need to place the explosive charges in advance. And Orodreth won’t authorize it if the Mormegil is against it.” Celebrimbor’s fingers twitched in frustration. “Never mind winning or losing the battle, what if the dragon charges straight through our lines and makes for the gates? Who will stop him then?”

Gwindor could imagine it too well. The Orcs coming onward and onward, ever more of them, like a great mountain poised to fall. Fighting until his arms were leaden with weariness, his companions dying beside him one by one, and then grappling hands tearing his sword and shield away from him. And the dragon, unstoppable, advancing toward Nargothrond. “Faelivren,” he whispered. Or perhaps he only thought he did; his head was whirling with darkness.

Gwindor came back to himself leaning against the wall. Celebrimbor was looking at him with concern, but thankfully without making a fuss. Celebrimbor had learned that Gwindor didn’t like to be touched in those moments or asked if he was all right. “I—I’m back,” he said inadequately. He rubbed unavailingly at his forehead, trying to force the last of the dizziness away. “Go on.”

“The Mormegil can’t imagine defeat,” Celebrimbor said more quietly. “But he will not pay the cost.”

“The cost of defeat,” Gwindor said hoarsely. “I know it too well.”

“Yes,” Celebrimbor said. “The Mormegil is wrong about that too, you know.”

“About what?”

“You are no coward. Far from it.”

“Valor is not enough,” Gwindor said, his thoughts once more growing frantic. “If I cannot protect Faelivren.”

Celebrimbor looked thoughtful. “Orodreth listens to her counsel. You could bring it up with her—perhaps not the bridge, but at least leaving part of the host behind to guard Nargothrond.”

“Faelivren too,” Gwindor said heavily, “she too heeds the Mormegil’s voice above all others.”

Celebrimbor sighed. “If the Mormegil leads us to victory, and all our fears prove false, I will be glad of it. I only hope we may not be caught between the boulder and the mountain, as the Dwarves say.”

“He will lead us into battle,” Gwindor said gloomily, “wearing that hideous dwarf-mask.”

“No, no,” Celebrimbor said thoughtfully. “I think the dwarf-mask may be the only good idea he's had.”

Chapter End Notes

"Cast the stones of your pride into the loud river" - quoted from the message sent by Círdan to convey Ulmo's warning to Nargothrond. (Silm, "Of Túrin Turambar")

Agarwaen (meaning Blood-stained), Mormegil (meaning Black Sword) - two of Túrin’s many names.

Faelivren - Gwindor's name for his beloved Finduilas.

caught between the boulder and the mountain - an attempt to make "between a rock and a hard place" sound more Tolkienish.