In the realm of Hithlum, bluesky was buzzing with the latest gossip: Dorthonion had bitten the dust, the sons of Finarfin got a rude awakening, and the sons of Fëanor found themselves evicted from their cushy digs. Fingolfin, witnessing the total dumpster fire that was the Noldor's situation, couldn't help but channel his inner rage monster.
Mounting his trusty mustang, Rochallor, he rode off into the chaos, fueled by a cocktail of fury and despair greater than that of a thousand nerds hearing Firefly was cancelled. Seriously, it was like watching a one-elf wrecking crew in action. Folks were running for cover, thinking Oromë had decided to crash the party. Fingolfin's eyes were practically shooting sparks, giving the Valar themselves a run for their money.
So, he pulls up to Angband's front door, blows his horn, and challenges Morgoth to a little mano a mano. And what do you know? Morgoth actually shows up. It was like the showdown scene in every epic movie ever made, except Morgoth was like an off-brand Thanos with a bad attitude.
It was the last time Morgoth dared to step outside his safe space. Rumor has it, he wasn't exactly thrilled about it, being the only Valar with a fear factor. But hey, when you're called out in front of your whole squad, you gotta save face, right? So out he stomps, decked out in his signature black armor, looking like the grumpy old man he is.
Meanwhile, Fingolfin's shining like a disco ball, armed to the teeth with a sword that's more sparkly than your aunt's jewelry collection.
Morgoth swings his big bad hammer, Grond, but Fingolfin's got moves like Jagger, dodging like he's playing a game of whack-a-mole. Every swing from Morgoth's side, Fingolfin's ducking and weaving, leaving the dude with more scars than a battle-scarred veteran. The Angband trolls and stalkers' jaws hit the floor as their boss starts howling like a wounded puppy.
But even heroes get tired, and eventually, Fingolfin takes a tumble. The ground's all cratered around him, and Morgoth's all like, "Checkmate."
But wait! In a last-ditch effort, Fingolfin sticks it to Morgoth with a sword in the foot, causing blood to gush like a busted water main. "Too slow child" he chuckles as he dies.
And that's the end of Fingolfin, folks! The OG Noldor king, gone in a blaze of glory. The Orcs keep their mouths shut about the whole thing, and the Elves are too emo to sing about it. But you bet your bottom dollar, this epic showdown's gonna be talked about for ages.
Thorondor, the Eagle King, swoops in to spread the news to Gondolin and Hithlum, making sure Fingolfin's legend lives on. And as for Morgoth? Well, he's left nursing a scar on his face, courtesy of Thorondor's talons and seething like Trump after losing the election.
Fingolfin gets a VIP burial on a mountaintop, courtesy of his son Turgon. And you can bet your bottom dollar, no one's messing with his final resting place. Not until Gondolin's got traitors in its midst, anyway.
Yep, Hithlum's mourning alright. But hey, at least they've got one heck of a story to tell at the next elf barbeque. And I wouldn't be surprised if Hollywood picks up the rights to this saga. And you can bet they'll CGI Morgoth to look even more like a wannabe Thanos.