The Other Ones

Anguirel, mate of Túrin’s famous blade, was lost. Forged from the same fallen star, they followed different paths. Both identical, rare, gleaming mutedly, Eöl kept one for himself.  Avarice bloomed in the heart of Maeglin—his son stole the treasured sword and fled.  Gondolin swallowed youth and blade…

Ringil, it burned as brightly as the fierce heart of its master. Ancient tales of a glittering blade, shining like ice, contrast to the darkness of Melkor’s eyes.  Before the gates of Angband they fought alone.  Proud Fingolfin never wavered under Grond’s cruel stroke.  Farewell, High King of Noldor.