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Dead, dead, dead, he could bear it no longer. One by one they had all fallen, fallen to the malice of Morgoth.

Fingolfin strode down the hall of his fortress, not pausing to bid a single stone goodbye, why bother with stones when he had not bidden even his own son goodbye.

It had begun with his father, killed at the fortress of his brother, for the sake of three shining jewels. The Teleri mariners were next, killed by the blades of their neighbours, neighbours who were drowning in the darkness of Morgoth, the fallen. His brother, his son, his people followed soon after, killed by the water, ice, fire and metal.

Without a second thought he mounted his horse. Without a second look he rode out to challenge the black foe that had caused him so much woe.

For a time the tide was steamed and Morgoth was held at bay. He should have known it would not last long. He should have known that death would return. He should have known that death would claim more, more of his family, more of his friends, more of his people. Now he was weary, his heart sick from grief, his soul heavy with sorrow, now he knew what it was to have the gift of death. To have the choice to depart from his world with hope or in despair, but either way leave the world and its cares behind.

Like a shift arrow he rode into the forsaken lands, heeding nothing, fearing nothing. Thus he rode to the black citadel and in voice proud and clear bid Morgoth face him here.

What he hoped to achieve he knew not. Perhaps all he wanted was a brave death, a death fighting his foe, akin to his brother Fëanor. His brother Fëanor, now at the end of his time he would call him beloved. Now he could forgive him his inability to understand their father’s pain, his inability to accept Indis in his life, now he could feel his brother’s pain, his brother anguish as being both perfect and marred from the very beginning. He was the greatest of all Noldor but from the beginning he had suffered the most and now at the end of all things, for him at least, Fingolfin could see it all, see things clearly for all that they were, now he truly was Fingolfin the wise.

Morgoth rose from his throne and ascended from his deep dungeons to meet the challenge of the high king Fingolfin. Fear gripped the heart of Morgoth thou he knew today was not the day of his fall. Fingolfin had come here on his last riding.

His heart longed for his father, his heart longed for his brother, his heart longed for his son, his heart longed for the friends who were gone and his heart longed for all who would fall after. Yet he would not go to the halls of waiting yet, not before he had given some small hope to all who remained.

He watched the assent of Morgoth with little fear but a fierce resolution. He would deal him a mighty wound and show to the world that Melkor might have been invincible, Morgoth was not.

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