Túveren roused Finrod before the sun rose, and the king strode wearily of his tent and looked upon the shadowy mountains to the East and West and the deep defile of the Pass of Sirion. The sky was the dark blue-gray hue of pre-dawn, and a faint red glow painted the horizon. The fires of Angband burning. Finrod could not find it in his heart to feel grateful that Nargothrond remained untouched; though he loved his kingdom and the caverns he had wrought with his own hands, he would gladly lay down his life for his brothers' sake. He wished he had fallen in their place.
The camp was astir: horses whickered, weapons rattled, tents shook as they were collapsed; fires put out. The Elves whispered amongst themselves. Finrod's servants brought him his mail and weapons, and he girded himself for war, feeling as if his brothers still lived, the Siege had not broken, and this was a dream.
News of the fall of Dorthonion had spread through the encampment like a grassfire, and a grim mood had befallen all Elves in Finrod's company. Even those amongst them who found excitement in battle were melancholy and solemn. The king renowned for kindness and light, the fairest of Finarfin's sons, was grim and withdrawn. All who followed him and loved him could not help but share in his grief.
Guilt for the bleak looks of his people struck him, and he sought to ease their sorrow with encouraging words. "Indeed Dorthonion has been overthrown and it burns my heart as it does yours," he said, leading his horse out before his army and turning to address them. "Many valiant Noldor and Edain have fallen in its defense, and though they be dead, their heroism will ever be remembered in song and story. But Fingolfin and the men of Dor-lómin have not yet yielded to our Enemy and valiantly they fight on. There is aid yet Nargothrond can lend. Beleriand will not fall while those who would fight for it stand." It was not an inspired speech and he had given better.
The host departed the camp and made for the Pass of Sirion. They followed the River Sirion as it cut through the narrow vale between the heights of Dorthonion and the Ered Wethrin. The sheer cliffs were clad with pines and moss, the vale green and lush, the river swift. A mist veiled the defile and cold droplets of dew clung to cloaks, hair, leather, and weapons. Finrod feared an attack from the heights, entrapping an army in the narrow defile with no place to flee or fight. He hoped that Morgoth's eye was fully occupied with watching Fingon, Fingolfin, Húrin and Hador, and the sons of Fëanor, and that the host marching from Nargothrond had not drawn the Enemy's attention. But he knew this was a forlorn hope: the fortress of Orodreth on the isle of Tol Sirion guarded the river, and thus Morgoth would not be blind to the Pass.
Midway up the defile they came to Tol Sirion and Minas Tirith. In spite of the dreary mist and sullen gray sky, the tower and the fortified walls gleamed white. The drawbridges were down and Orodreth had assembled a small host to greet Finrod. Finrod and Orodreth embraced, and when Finrod looked into Orodreth's eyes, he knew that his messengers had delivered their ill news to Tol Sirion.
"My host will ride under your banners," said Orodreth. Wrath shadowed his face, and his eyes shone like a cruel flame. Then they softened and he added, "Oh, Finrod, I know war is not your desire."
"It never was," said Finrod. "But to war I must go nonetheless."
"Vengeance we will unleash upon the forces of Morgoth, and he will learn to fear the banners of Finarfin."
Finrod smiled sadly. He wished he could share Orodreth's rage; he wished for wrath to fuel burning hatred, a weapon against the Enemy, but only sorrow did he feel and he longed for peace and sweet music. But that was not to be his fate, for peace was not the fate of the Exiles, the followers of Fëanor cursed by Mandos.
"Had I not gone with Fëanor, those who followed me would have remained in Valinor," he said in a low voice to Orodreth. A single tear fell from his eye.
"You are not to blame, uncle," said Orodreth. "Fëanor is, for bringing this doom upon us, and so is Morgoth for his treachery!"