“What are you doing?” Fingolfin barely caught hold of the reigns, and waited for an answer from his son.
“Someone has to do something.” Fingon was armored for battle, his sword sharp, his quiver full, his horse grinding the bit.
Fingolfin’s gaze met that of his son. In his heart, he knew these would be their last moments together for some years. “You would stand against him. Alone. No one by your side.”
“Aye.” There was no hesitation.
Fingolfin turned his head and barked orders to those around him. “Saddle Rochallor! Bring me my sword!” He let go of Fingolfin’s reigns. “I ride to Angband tonight,” he said solemnly as he lifted the crown from his head and held it aloft for Fingon to take.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Fingon, Fingolfin; a challenge to Morgoth