When he heard that the Siege of Angband had broken, Finrod Felagund had prepared his army to travel from Nargothrond to aid Angrod, Aegnor, and their Edain allies in his northern vassalage of Dorthonion. But he did not know how badly they faired until Thorondor, king of the eagles, had flown to Nargothrond on the eve of his march bearing messages warning of rivers of fire destroying the forests of Ard-galen, of dragons and Balrogs and thousands of Orcs pouring from Angband. Morgoth's attack was sudden: flames were bursting from the mountains and from fissures in the earth, and Orcs were bursting from the gates of the Thangorodrim with nigh no warning. Dagor Bragollach they were calling this, the Battle of the Sudden Flame. The Noldor and their Sindar and Edain allies, who had emerged from the Dagor Aglareb victorious, were overwhelmed by the renewed might of Morgoth.
"Your brothers and the Edain precariously hold the front lines on the slopes of Dorthonion," said Thorondor. "But they have not the numbers to withstand Morgoth. The North is falling."
"My forces in Dorthonion have never been great in number," said Finrod as he prepared to hasten with his army from Nargothrond. "We have always trusted the cliffs and heights to ward off the Enemy. Well did they serve us during the Aglareb and the Siege."
"But they are not unassailable to the dragons and Balrogs and thousands of Orcs," replied the eagle gravely.
Many leagues lay between Nargothrond and Dorthonion, and Angband could overwhelm Dorthonion long before a host from Nargothrond could reach it. Finrod asked, "Can Fingon and Fingolfin in Hithlum not aid Dorthonion?"
"I do not believe so, my lord Felagund," said Thorondor. "Fingon and Fingolfin have been driven back to the Ered Wethrin and barely hold their own realms. They cannot come to the rescue Angrod and Aegnor."
Finrod pulled shining mail tight across his breast and bound the vambraces upon his forearms. "What of Hador's people?"
"They are trapped behind the Ered Wethrin with Fingon and Fingolfin."
"And the sons of Fëanor?"
"Maedhros barely holds the Pass of Anglon, and Celegorm and Curufin do not fare well in their realms to the East of Dorthonion. I do not know more than that. I bid you farewell, lord. Though your path seems dark, may a star light your road nevertheless." Then the great eagle dipped his head to the king, a brief gesture of farewell, and leapt skyward in tempestuous flurry of feathered wings, startling the horses.
"It is through the lands of Fëanor's sons that Morgoth will besiege Beleriand, for from that direction little more than rolling downs lie between his lands and ours," said Finrod to his chieftains, Túveren and Edrahil, as he watched the eagle circle lazily into the sun until he vanished beyond Elven-sight. "I should hope they hold fast with all their strength or we will lose more than Dorthonion."
"If things in the north are as grim as Thorondor makes them, do you believe that Maedhros can hold the pass?" asked Edrahil glumly.
"We can only hope," Finrod answered, and he had little hope. After all, Thorondor himself, lord of the Manwë's eagles, flew in bearing tidings, and only in the direst of dangers did the eagles suffer to be messengers. Fearing what he would find in the North and grieving for the fall of the Noldor that he knew had arrived, he thrust his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over the cantle. His silver cloak and golden hair streamed behind him like a mantle of fire. On his brow he bore a bright jewel of amber hues that captured the rays of the sun. His face was gray as he spurred the horse to the head of the army that had gathered before the great gates of Nargothrond and prepared to march across the long leagues of Talath Dirnen to the Pass of Sirion, but his host did not see the darkness in his eyes. To them he seemed a Vala come to Middle-earth to lead them, the youngest and fairest of the great lords of the Noldor, and their hearts were lifted.
But his was not. How much he would rather be elsewhere: playing his harp and wandering in peace in the woods or exploring the wonders of unknown country – anything other than going to war! For two hundred years after the victory of the Dagor Aglareb, peace had endured, but the princes of the Noldor had already known a taste of the strength and malice of Morgoth, and they knew peace would not last forever. Indeed Finrod had known it would not, for the Curse of Mandos would fall like a dark thundercloud on all the great Noldorin lords. Slain ye will be, and slain ye shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief. Finrod reflected sadly that the noontide of Beleriand had passed and night would soon fall, and this was the beginning of the long and hard road foretold by Mandos.