The Diary of the Forgotten

Fingolfin

I remember fighting Morgoth. I remember losing the fight. I remember how much dying hurt.

Don't think about it. Just don't.

Mandos thanked me for trying to fight Morgoth himself. He said I did what Feanor was too afraid to do. I did what I had to do.

I didn't have a choice.

It was me or the freedom of the free people of Arda. How could I possibly walked away and let my people to die in the wars of Morgoth?

They say Morgoth tore my body to pieces before Thorondor saved my body.

Now I'm wandering in the Halls of Mandos, trying to be patient.

I cannot be patient. Too often I see new faces here. Too often I find more and more of my people.

It hurts me to know that they sacrificed themselves to the madness of Morgoth,  to the insanity of war.

Everyone wants to thank me for my valiant fight against Morgoth.

Everyone except my brother.

Feanor looks at me with hatred in his eyes, like I was the enemy. Like I had done something bad to him.

I remember him before this insanity began. Remember him how he used to be.

Then came the Silmarils, Morgoth and war. Feanor's Oath. The kinslayings. The burning of the swan ships of the teleri.

I remember how Feanor left me to Helcaraxe. He left me to die. My own brother left me to die without any mercy.

He must have been under the spell of Morgoth.  My brother could never have done something like that.

Why is he so desperate for the crown? What have I ever done to him when he treats me like that?

How can Morgoth destroy the lifes of the free people just by a couple of rumours? 

Now I cannot do anything to save them.

I'm as lost as they are.

My people is losing this fight for freedom, for survival, and I cannot do anything to help them.

I can just watch them lose and die, watch my friends being tortured in the dungeons of Morgoth.

I cannot help,  I can only watch and feel their pain.

And I am sorry, so sorry.