The Fall of Fingolfin
Flame scorched the lands of Northern Beleriand and, under a dark cloud of poisonous fumes, rode Fingolfin, King.
Anger drove him, fear deserted him, courage rode with him and his great steed, Rochallor, bore him without fail. For all the High Elf saw in his mind’s eye was the ruin of his people and his far green country. Already fire licked the northern borders of the realm of the Free, all of Ard-galen was blackened, reduced to ash. Upon the horizon the despairing elf saw the black mountains of Iron and rising taller and more menacing than the surrounding peaks were the towering three chimneys of Thangorodrim, great powers of ash, hollow, from which belched great fumes from the furnaces of Angband.
And with anger and determination he arrived. Before the great gates of iron he raised his horn to his lips and blew, long and loud. Then he cried aloud and all heard heard him, even in the deepest cavern, ‘Murderer! Traitor! Come forth coward, let not thy minions do thou work for thee! I, Fingolfin, son of Finwë, challenge thee Melkor the Constrainer, Craven like no else, lord of slaves, to a duel to the death! Face me! Come forth else I shalt come to thee!’ and with those words he smote the gate and it lay in ruins and then there was silence but finally He answered the summons.
He came robed in darkness with armour blacker than night and shrouding his face was a great helm with a crown of spikes, a presence of terror and a shadow that covered all.
All save Fingolfin.
Robed in silver and gleaming like a star he stood steady before the approaching might of Morgoth bearing a sapphire shield encrusted with crystals and a sword that glittered like ice: Ringil.
But on one arm Melkor bore a vast shield sable unblazoned and in the other he carried Grond, the Hammer of the Underworld, a mace of terror and devastation.
And so Ringil met Grond upon the doorstep of Angband.
For a while there was silence, the two opponents staring at each other, waiting for the other to make his move. But then Morgoth swung his great hammer and nimble Fingolfin evaded it like a fly dodges a swat so that the foul mace struck the earth instead, leaving behind a deep pit. Angered by the miss the twisted Ainur aimed his mace at the Elf once again but the elf rolled aside and into the pit, stabbing his sword upwards as he eluded the blow. Morgoth gave a fierce scream and stepped back and seeing a weakness the High King of the Noldor rose and jumped at Morgoth. However the evil being swung his heavy shield easily at the small elf and struck him and the elf was hurled aside.
Blood oozed from a scalp wound but the King was not deterred. Morgoth came at him once again and many times he attacked and many holes were delved into the earth but Fingolfin always evaded. And Morgoth grew increasingly furious and so his attempts to smite the elf were wilder and so more and more times was he unguarded in places and there Fingolfin stabbed or slash until Morgoth bore five more wounds and cried in anguish five more times.
And there came a point when, plagued with fatigue, Fingolfin was crushed by a blow from his opponents shield and fell to his knees. Morgoth moved closer and hurled aloft Grond so that the mighty hammer cast a great shadow over the elf. And as his enemy brought down his hammer, Fingolfin leapt at his exposed chest, stabbing Ringil deep into Morgoth’s chest so that a spurt of black blood escaped and he drew back with another cry. Confidence pushed Fingolfin to his doom and he went forward to strike again but once more the great shield struck him and hurled him like a catapult casts a boulder.
Fingolfin’s shield lay in pieces at Morgoth’s feet, he was weak and blood poured from a head-wound. But bravely he rose once more and like lightning he darted to his enemy, stabbed - but the shield blocked Ringil and Fingolfin was pushed for the final time to his knees. But he rose once more.
Fingolfin advanced more carefully, unhelmed by the latest shield-bash. Courage, anger and despair drove him to attack once more and as he drew close to his opponent Morgoth swung his hammer and the elf drew back but as he did so his bloodied sword was struck by Grond shattered like glass. Unarmed, the elf retreated and as he did so he stumbled upon the edge of one of Grond’s great pits and fell backward before the feet of Morgoth. Suddenly an iron foot – Morgoth’s left – was set upon the High King’s throat and its weight was like a fallen hill. Choking, Fingolfin grasped around for a stone or something that he could use to aid himself. His hand fell upon the hilt of Ringil, still with a few inches of sharp blade left and with this Fingolfin stabbed repeatedly at the armoured foot of Morgoth until blood poured from the wound and filled the pit in which he lay. Morgoth cried aloud but did not release the pressure upon his foes throat.
First his grasp upon the hilt of his shattered sword weakened until it fell, then his vision failed and he had not the strength to push back the foot from his neck. The last thing he saw was the iron crown of Morgoth above him and the Silmarils glittering in the darkness and a great eagle flying overhead.
Then the blackness took him and then the grey rain curtain of this world rolled back and all turned to silver glass and Fingolfin beheld a far green country under a swift sunrise.
And so Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor, son of Finwë, most proud and valiant of the Elven-Kings of old, departed this world but Morgoth was not yet finished. He took the body of the elf, still warm, and he broke it and went to cast it to the waiting, hungry wolves but at that moment the great eagle who was King Thorondor, swooped down. With anger and valour the eagle clawed mercilessly at the head of the enemy but the helm absorbed most; yet one talon passed through the crown and scared Morgoth deeply and ever after he bore that scar, a twisted feature to add to his already twisted face.
Thorondor took the corpse of Fingolfin and flew south and wounded Morgoth watched with fury. He limped away as he did ever after. The body was laid upon a mountain peak, north of the hidden valley of Gondolin and Turgon built a cairn over his father’s body and none went near it.
And there Fingolfin lay until Beleriand was consumed by the seas.