a conversation between two friends separated by one state, sharing the same passion for the art of knitwear.

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"Therefore Morgoth came, climbing slowly from his subterranean
throne, and the rumour of his feet was like thunder underground.
And he issued forth clad in black armour; and he stood before the
King like a tower, iron-crowned, and his vast shield, sable unblazoned,
cast a shadow over him like a stormcloud. But Fingolfin gleamed
beneath it as a star; for his mail was overlaid with silver, and his blue
shield was set with crystals; and he drew his sword Ringil, that
glittered like ice.

Then Morgoth hurled aloft Grond, the Hammer of the Underworld,
and swung it down like a bolt of thunder. But Fingolfin sprang aside,
and Grond rent a mighty pit in the earth, whence smoke and fire darted.
Many times Morgoth essayed to smite him, and each time Fingolfin
leaped away, as a lightning shoots from under a dark cloud; and he
wounded Morgoth with seven wounds, and seven times Morgoth gave
a cry of anguish, whereat the hosts of Angband fell upon their faces
in dismay, and the cries echoed in the Northlands.

But at the last the King grew weary, and Morgoth bore down
his shield upon him. Thrice he was crushed to his knees, and
thrice arose again and bore up his broken shield and stricken
helm. But the earth was all rent and pitted about him, and he
stumbled and fell backward before the feet of Morgoth; and
Morgoth set his left foot upon his neck, and the weight of it
was like a fallen hill. Yet with his last and desperate stroke
Fingolfin hewed the foot with Ringil, and the blood gushed forth
black and smoking and filled the pits of Grond.

Thus died Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor, most proud and
valiant of the Elven-kings of old. The Orcs made no boast of that
duel at the gate; neither do the Elves sing of it, for their sorrow
is too deep. Yet the tale is remembered still, for Thorondor King
of Eagles brought tidings to Gondolin, and to Hithlum afar off.
And Morgoth took the body of the Elven-King and broke it, and
would cast it to his wolves; but Thorondor came hasting from his
eyrie among the peaks of the Crissaegrim, and he stooped upon
Morgoth and marred his face. The rushing of the wings of Thorondor
was like the noise of the winds of Manwe, and he seized the body
in his mighty talons, and soaring suddenly above the darts of the
Orcs he bore the King away. And he laid him upon a mountain-
top that looked north upon the hidden valley of Gondolin; and
Turgon coming built a high cairn over his father."-- Tolkien

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