Silmarilion Shorts

Fall

His thoughts were empty as he rode. No thought. No hope. His only conclusion was that this was the only way. As he neared his destination, his head cleared and anger swamped him. He dismounted, and leaving Rochallor behind walked up to the gate. He unsheathed Ringil, the blade glowing with cold silver light. It appeared that if the sentries had seen him they had let him be, and with good reason. He could kill them all without a glance. And yet, he could not stop the slaughter at Dagor Brollach. At this, his eyes blazed and all around cowered away.

He smote the gate and the loud boom echoed ominously. He heard no sound of the gate opening, but heard whispers of fear from the orcs.

"It is Oromë!" He wanted to laugh, for he was certainly not a Vala, but instead stated his challenge. As soon as he said his name, all went silent.

"I, High King Fingolfin, challenge you, Morgoth Bauglir, to a duel!" His powerful words shook the gate, and the mandarin of his anger was enough to send his sons flying back as he had ridden here. There was another moment of silence, and he glowed luminously like a bright star on a cloudy night. No answer, yea or nay, came from the lord of all things evil and twisted. Fingolfin did not turn however, but instead smote the gate again, this time putting a large dent in the iron. It shook the earth, and yet he was unafraid of summoning the enemy.

"Morgoth! Do you fear me!! Come and FACE ME!" His voice turned unbearably loud as he hit the last word, and then he got his answer. After another moment of silence, the gate slowly opened. The shape that walked out was the very definition of terror. He was like a mountain, dark and terrible. His eyes burned like fire and yet were cold as ice. His hands were black, horribly scared with burns. Above his head the clouds swirled darkly, and three bright dots, like stars, shone with divine light. Fingolfin instantly knew who this was. The Dark Lord spoke, and in his voice he found there to be fear and cowardice, though the words were spoken with contempt.

"King Fingolfin. How very nice to meet you. I accept your challenge. I am your doom in your madness. You shall be crushed like your father." Then, like lightning, he brought his weapon, the giant hammer Grond, down upon him. Instead of parrying, which would have gotten him crushed, he leaped aside. Grond stuck heavily in the earth, and he darted in and sliced a deep line on the back of Morgoth's calf. The fallen Vala roared in anger and pain and swung around, bringing Grond with him. Dodging again, Fingolfin jumped up high and cut deeply into the breast of the Dark Lord. And so it was that again, the elven-king had smote the fallen Vala and gotten away. This enraged Morgoth. So, when Fingolfin had again struck him, this time on the quad, he brought his hammer down on the king. Hard. Fingolfin stumbled back, his shield rent and cloven in. He had blocked it, but only barely. So when Morgoth thought he had won, he snuck behind him and slashed his Achilles' tendon. Morgoth roared so loudly that the very air shook with power, and the mountains around him erupted. Now his enemy was disabled, but he was still wary.

Even as this was registered, whilst in great pain and in a frenzy, Morgoth searched the ground for the irritating elvish king. He found him, and slammed his fist on the king's head. Fingolfin stood his ground though, and now that his helmet was also cloven, he tore it off. His shield did not leave his side though. He slashed Morgoth once more, twice on the torso, each time Morgoth got closer to capturing him. The last strike he got in was on Morgoth's back. It cut to the bone, and Morgoth growled in pain. He shook Fingolfin off, and as the king fell, he slipped in one of the large holes carved out by Grond. Quickly, Morgoth placed his foot on top of him and pushed. Fingolfin gasped as he felt himself being crushed. Knowing death was near, in a last desperate strike, he struck Morgoth's foot. The black blood of the dark Vala poured out of the wound and would have choked him, but the king was already dead. Morgoth shouted in glory at the king's defeat.

"The king is dead! I killed him, Morgoth Bauglir!" At this, Fingon, who was watching from afar, went white and his eyes welled with tears.

"No...no..." His close friend, Maedhros, patted him on the back and gently whispered.

"He is with Anairë now. He is at peace in Mandos." But there was little he could do. Morgoth turned to the orcs who were watching and smiled cruelly.

"What are you waiting for? Go to him, we must bury the king. Scatter his remains all across Arda. But leave his children the biggest piece, we must show them our power." When no one stirred he shouted. "Go! Mutilate him, feed him to the wolves if you wish!" At this the orcs growled in delight and sprung upon the king, but before they could start an ear piercing screech ripped trough the air. Throndor the great eagle swooped down and grabbed the king from them, and as he flew away he slashed Morgoth's face open. The eagle bore the great king's body to his son Turgon who wept over his father's death and buried him in a cairn over Gondolin.

"That is what I see Nana, when I look at this." The young elleth looks up at her mother in fear. "Nana, Morgoth scares me! Look, he appears to be so real!" She had no idea. I had been there when he attacked us the first time. I had seen him at Formentos. My son had a great feud with him. The elleth's mother smiles and pats her head whilst whispering sadly.

"Then it is only that Míriel did a good job weaving it." I smile at the compliment, but there is nothing I can do to stop the pain of losing my son. He was my everything.- Told by Míriel Serindë