Finrod stood on the bridge over Narog, watching the last tall ship leave.
In two hours, the docks of Nargothrond would be filled with rubble of stone and gravel - never to open again.
Many things would never happen again.
The bridge would go down soon.
He would never walk past friends or lovers looking up or down the valley,
retelling impressions or making plans for future.
The countryside that fed the city, would definitely go.
The fields would be abandoned and the orchards burn to ash.
No more sweets or wine, that was bearable.
No more people, unless there came a miracle.
That was *not* bearable and hurt.
Nargothrond was already doomed.
He'd sent warning far and wide, and an endless stream of boats
were making their way downstream along the river.
Their choice was fully rational.
To stay and oppose an army built to crush specifically you, was not a smart idea.
Especially if it was lead by a beast that can tell you fall on your sword, with sure effect.
"Why then, am I demanding it of myself? Why do I put the principle of kind for kind - help for help and hurt for hurt...
...above my care for Amarie, above good life, above all? Why shall I throw my good life into fire?"
"And other people's lives... if they agree to be thrown - and many will.
Merely to make a point? Because of defiance?"
Finrod had enjoyed his stay on Arda, he couldn't pretend otherwise.
He had explored thoroughly, even if more remained to find.
He had found many acquaintances, friends and allies, though many remained undiscovered.
That would come to an end.
Because of one stupid dragon intending to come here and meet its end!
Obeying its senseless lord as if he was... some god. Which he was.
The senseless idiot among gods who made a mess of it all,
and diminished others of his kind as well.
That was why.
"Yet he is safe from me.
I know not the words to say in his presence, and had I known,
I'd have not shared them with Luthien."
The dream of Angband exploding had started fading,
but in the depth of his mind, he knew it was possible.
Words existed somewhere. He didn't know them but should.
Finrod had discovered many things, but nothing of the Silmarils.
He went to the mountaintop and spoke again with the crews of the two main observation posts, one overlooking the north face, and the other south.
Both shared a common view east and west.
Both also had powerful tools with curved mirrors to see very far,
but he warned them - to abandon their post once they saw it and took stock of its army.
He trusted Glaurung couldn't project his word of command that far.
The worst thing about Glaurung was that the dragon could sneak up on any ordinary army,
cloaked in his bubble of silence - within which he destroyed all messengers.
It was possible that a mere look at Glaurung through a telescope
gave the possibility for Glaurung to look back.
A seismograph it couldn't have its word with.
Hourly updates came and told the distance, though estimates depended on what the dragon walked on, and how it did.
The dragon came at night, rendering telescopes useless.
It also doomed the first defense plan - a driverless machine running on steam,
moving at the pace of a runner, that could be turned left or right
from distance, using focused mirror-light.
On top of the steam-powered rover, there was a cylinder of glass
with a roof-shade above it to reflect back sunshine.
The glass jar was airtight and contained carefully folded black cloth,
absorbing as much light as could be absorbed.
From the sensor jar ran a thin and flimsy pipe to an actuator cylinder
that extended or retracted with pressure, and a compensator cylinder
that responded to ambient temperature, keeping the mechanism tuned.
The actuator steered a fine clockwork detached from the steam engine,
which steered a stronger clockwork bound to the engine, which drove a valve...
...and the valve distributed steam to power wheels.
To fight a dragon that had learnt to control people from distance (except some short and stubby people made by a stubborn creator - those the dragon had trouble with to this day)...
...to fight it, one needed a weapon that people controlled from distance, and Finrod had it, at the cost of a good chunk of his treasury.
It was useless today.
They disarmed the rover.
Having it needlessly waiting near the gate was a risk too great.
Their fire suppression system was autonomous, that he didn't need to worry about.
As soon as fire broke out, glass bulbs on the ceiling would break.
The entry hall behind the main gate would have constant heavy rain.
Air was already rigged to flow from inside towards out.
As long as Narog flowed, their bellows would see to that.
No trick of mind could switch that off or even adjust it.
The mechanism to collapse the bridge was of course a decoration, a practical ruse.
Enemy spies needed something to focus their mind on, he had given them that.
Finrod had begged Celebrimbor and Faldin to waste some work.
To create the real thing.
It was entirely capable of collapsing the bridge, if given time.
Time was not given.
From minor tremors of sneaking, the dragon-steps grew to a thundering run.
The seismograph exceeded its limits and the operator signaled emergency.
Finrod already waited where he must.
Most kings fought at the front.
This one fought from the telegraph central, whence a mesh of fine steel wires ran across the city.
Their telegraph used bells, round dials and simplified Cirth, with half the letters gone.
TC to GATE: COLLAPSE BRIDGE
GATE to TC: STARTED
The guards sprang into action, spinning the gear reductor.
Fast they spun the wheel, yet slow the cogs turned.
Earth started shaking around them.
Water made waves in glasses, lamps on walls swung wild.
GATE to TC: COMING IN TOO FAST
TC to OBS1: GO
TC to OBS2: GO
OBS1: AYE
OBS2: GO
Crews ran upward along stairs towards the abandoned observation posts,
as Glaurung rushed across the darkened field at Nargothrond's main entry,
shedding its army instantly from its tracks.
Truly if anyone saw it, they would be scared out of their mind. Balrogs could run a healthy fifty kilometers per hour, but Glaurung, when it made a real effort, could reach one hundred and fifty. A small mountain in size, it could outrun a slower eagle.
Elite orc-troops barely hung to the dragon's spikes. Never in their life had they experienced such a ride... and never would they again.
"It's good we didn't try the rover," Finrod sighed.
"You can't know all things," Gildor said.
The crews of the two observation posts had rather odd instructions.
"Calm yourself.
Run upstairs.
Push the trigger in.
Aim, lock the aim (try not to think too much).
Run for your life downstairs.
Once fire starts, go up again and take control of it."
The gate-crew had opposing instructions.
"Panic! Fear! Think aloud of what is coming!
Think of bringing the bridge down faster."
There was nobody at the gate who knew of the real plan, and the gate itself was locked with a mechanism that took minutes to wind open. So it happened that Glaurung rushed unhindered onto the stone bridge, and firmly snapped Celebrimbor's ruse of a mechanism in half.
The bridge exploded underneath him like a shooting star hitting ground.
When Glaurung fell, he was merely wounded to his belly.
In a few seconds however, with their triggers pushed, batteries of iron, vinegar and copper awakened weapons on the observation posts, picked up power and resistive wires started glowing, one by one.
Once the rover was deemed unreliable, the main effort of the elf-smith, dwarf and elvenking, and their countless assistants and suppliers, had not been the mechanism to pull the bridge down. It had been finding reliable propellant, ignition and detonators.
They had settled for zinc mixed with sulphur to cast their rockets, batteries of twin metals and acid to give current, high-resistance steel wire to ignite, and crude mechanical compression fuses to explode the warheads.
Glaurung had brought his mind down hard on the gate crew, who were paralyzed.
Rocket launchers however needed nobody and cared for nothing. One after other, the rockets spun up and flung themselves down into the canyon, some missing the dragon, some hitting by chance.
When ten barrels of twenty had emptied, their elvish crews took aim. Upon hitting the dragon, the projectiles flew a good kilometer per second, and the dwarvish blasting-powder burst them then. Glaurung, before losing consciousness, sent his thought to Melkor, but didn't manage to say a word.
Melkor demanded answers, but there was emptyness.
The great dragon lay at the bottom of the canyon, damming Narog with its body,
consumed by fires of its own and fires of Nargothrond, torn up thoroughly,
slowly extinguished by the river crawling upwards.
Glaurung's army however, was great and confident.
Led by fifteen balrogs in addition to the dragon, it marched steadily across the field,
shaken by the great explosion and its aftermath, but not understanding fully.
When they reached the canyon, a gruesome sight awaited.
"He's dead."
"What do we do?"
"Gothmog is next in command."
"I won't decide this alone.