Fingolfin

A heavy, cold, icy veil of dread covered the fair city of Ondolinde, the sky colored steel grey barely let any sunlight in, clouds black as storm loomed ominously near, yet no sound of thunder could be heard. Even the wind stopped blowing and the Echoriath looked like jagged teeth of steel. The only gust of wind the people of Ondolinde felt all day had been Thorondor, the King of the Eagles bearing the body of High King Nolofinwe to them. He deposited their late King on a mountaintop overlooking the city, telling the tale of his bravery and recklessness to Turukano.

For a moment, memories arose…

More than six thousand years ago, in the age of the Noldor, they had dwelled in Beleriand, the mighty realm between the Ered Luin and the grinding ice of the Helcaraxë.

Dear diary,

King Finwë was slain, the Two Trees were destroyed and the Silmarils were stolen. Darkness can be felt on every side of Aman. I saw a kinslaying with my own eyes. I, my sisters and my mother and father fought against the kinslayers who desired to steal our ships. My father was slain in front of my eyes. Many of the Ñoldor left Valinor, following Lord Fingolfin and Fëanor. Lord Finarfin would start a march as well, though he returned to Valinor. But I and my sisters and mother went on and caught up with Fingolfin.

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