Second story of the Laurëlumenyárë Tales. A drabble of High King Fingolfin seeking to do battle with his long time foe Morgoth.
Author's Note: This drabble is an oneshot that is (but doesn't have to be) an offshoot from Chapter 45 of my story /Eternal/.
The sound of the mighty horn echoed across the burned, charred lands of what once were the plains of Angband that had recently been renamed Anfauglith, the Gasping Dust. Riding forward without cease, High King Fingolfin continued to blow into his horn to signal his challenge, alone, to the Dark Lord Morgoth. Trying to keep his fast pace but also not wanting to disturb the dead's remains, Fingolfin steered around the bones and blackened bodies of those who fell victim to the unexpected flames and fire that consumed the plains and nearby hillsides.
Aegnor and Angrod were already dead. Finrod, their brother, had already ridden forth to avenge their deaths. The many sons of FÃ«anor still fought a losing battle in the east. Fingolfin's firstborn, Fingon, commanded his own troops as well as his father's in the High King's absence. Turgon sat safely in his Hidden City with possibly the last chance Elven-kind had if all of them failed. For those who struggled and fallen was why Fingolfin rode to meet Morgoth. Ereinion Gil-Galad, Fingolfin's newest grandchild, who was still just a babe and barely out of his swaddling clothes, was also the reason he sought to end this war once and for all.
Masses of Morgoth's armies stood in Fingolfin's way as he approached the Gates of Angband. The evil creatures shielded their eyes and growled at the shining form of the Elda king. His silver-clad armor was a light in the darkness and destruction of the wastelands. His golden hair brightened his image spilling out beneath his helm, as if Fingolfin himself emanated the lost light of the Two Trees from Valinor. His sword, Ringil, was drawn upward in the sky as Fingolfin cried his demand for Morgoth to face him, its icy gleam cutting the smoky sky. A rainbow cascade of colors also burst out from his shield from the gems placed within the metal and silver.
Fingolfin sounded his horn once more as his faithful steed reared in the air, also as if calling the Dark Lord with his neighing. Morgoth had heard the horn before when Fingolfin had brought his army from Valinor and the battles thereafter. Never, though, did he come himself but instead cowered in hiding among the pits and caves of his fortress. The High King knew this time that Morgoth would not be the craven fool as before; especially after his winning assaults against the Eldar and Edain, the Noble Houses of Men.
The ground trembled and shook with heavy footsteps and Fingolfin knew Morgoth was heeding his challenge. As the gates opened for its lord, Fingolfin knew it would be his death but if he stopped Morgoth by defeating him or at least dealing a horrible injury, it would be worth it to the High King. His death would resound and light the flame of anger in his people that would keep this enemy from ever triumphing over them all.
"A laita Eru!"