inzilbeth: (Default)
When I originally started on this LJ thing I wasn't quite sure what I was going to do with it, but one thing I was planning to do was to share those moments that really grabbed me whilst reading Tolkien's works. Nearly a year on and I'm finally getting to post one of those moments. This is by no means a reflection of the effect the great man's writing has had on me, rather it is to do with the fact that I got side tracked into rewriting and posting 'A of A' and until a few weeks ago, reading had been very much side-lined.

Today though I was reading the Ruin of Beleriand and, goodness, I must have read this at least half a dozen times, but suddenly I found myself almost in tears over Fingolfin's death!

'He passed over Dor-nu-Fauglith like a wind amid the dust, and all that beheld his onset fled in amaze, thinking that Orome himself was come: for a great madness of rage was upon him, so that his eyes shone like the eyes of the Valar. Thus he came alone to Angband's gates, and he sounded his horn, and smote once more upon the brazen doors, and challenged Morgoth to come forth to sigle combat. And Morgoth came.

   '......And he issued forth clad in black armour; and he stood before the King like a tower, iron crowned, and his vast shield, sable unblazoned, cast a shadow over him like a storm cloud. But Fingolfin gleamed beneath it like a star; for his mail was overlaid with silver, and his blue shield was set with crystals; and he drew his sword Ringil, that gleamed like ice.

   'Then Morgoth hurled aloft Grond...and swung it down like a bolt of thunder. But Fingolfin sprung aside, and Grond rent a mighty pit in the earth. Many times Morgoth essayed to smite him, and each time Fingolfin leaped away... and he wounded Morgoth with seven wounds, and seven times Morgoth gave a cry of anguish......But at last the King grew weary....Thrice he was crushed to his knees, and thrice arose again and bore up his broken shield and stricken helm....but he stumbled and fell backward before the feet of Morgoth; and Morgoth set his left foot upon his neck, and the weight of it was like a fallen hill. Yet with his last and desperate stroke Fingolfin hewed the foot with Ringil, and the blood gushed forth black and smoking and filled the pits of Grond.

   'Thus died Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor, most proud and valiant of the Elven-kings of old.....And Morgoth took the body of the Elven-king and broke it... but Thorondor.. stooped upon Morgoth and marred his face....and he seized the body in mighty talons, and soaring suddenly above the darts of the orcs, he bore the King away. And he laid him upon a mountain-top that looked north upon the hidden valley of Gondolin; and Turgon coming built a high cairn over his father.'

Oh wonderful, brave, foolish, reckless, magnificent Fingolfin!


September 2012

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