Turgon watched as his kingdom burned, burned in the fires of the Balrogs that ran rampant in his White City. His troops were falling back to the Square of the King, where the Gondolindrim would make their last stand against the evil of Morgoth.
Turgon had thought he and his people would be safe, deep in the valley of Tumladen, in their secret kingdom. No one entered, and no one left. For ages, Gondolin flourished, the hidden center of beauty. It rivaled Tirion itself, the very one in Valinor, with its great white spires, glimmering in the sunlight. Glingal and Bethil, trees of gold in silver in memory of the two lights of Yavanna: Telperion and Laurelin. His kingdom, his people had been happy. He had been happy, the Staff of Doom in one hand, a coronet of garnets on his head, and Glamdring at his side.
The shouts of a messenger broke Turgon from his thoughts. "My lord," he said, gasping for breath. "A fresh host broke through the western walls. The lords Tuor and Ecthelion are defending it, although Balrogs pour in. Ecthelion has been grievously hurt."
Turgon mouthed a curse. "They can't defend the wall. Order them to fall back to the Tower of the King."
The messenger bowed, running at full speed back into the torrents of battle.
Then it hit the King. This might be the end of Gondolin, he realized, almost staggering backwards with the weight of the idea. He had thought his soldiers may be able to beat back the orcs, but with Balrogs coming in through the western wall, the chances of survival grew slim. Turgon wished he had said a proper goodbye to Idril before coming, but it was too late for that. Already, troops were pouring into the Square of the King. Thinking fast, Turgon ordered barricades to be erected, although he knew they wouldn't stop the forsaken servants of Morgoth.
Most of his soldiers were in the Square now. The sound of booming, beating drums signaling Gondolin's defeat were ringing in the valley. Thousands of iron boots trampled up the white stone to the Square, a frightful din of snarls and yells following. Turgon barely had time to give final orders before the orcs broke through the shabby barricades as a knife through butter, and piled into the Square. The King turned around to his soldiers.
"For ages we have stood strong and secret from the face of our enemies. They have found us now, but let us show them though we are a hidden people, we are strong!" His voice reverberated through the square.
The orcs came barrelling through the Noldor defenses. Never before had Turgon seen so much war, so much blood. It ran through the streets, turning the pristine white fountains into a murky, dark red. One by one, the great lords of Gondolin were lost to the Enemy.
"Gondolin is lost," Turgon whispered to himself as his heart broke for his people. He ordered his captains to fall back once again into the tunnel which Tuor and Idril escaped.
Deep in the tunnels, running, running for their lives, Glorfindel passed Turgon.
"My liege," he said.
"What is it?"
"I sense something dark and terrible ahead. Allow me to lead the people," Glorfindel said, wary.
"Permission granted," Turgon answered, still running, steadying his pace for the long journey away from all he had ever worked for.
Glorfindel turned away, toward the front.
"Glorfindel!" Turgon said, halting his captain. "Don't get yourself killed. I'm coming with you."
The two sprinted towards the front. After a while came a roar. Far away in the tunnel, Turgon saw the glow of red flame.
"The Balrog of Morgoth," Glorfindel said with derision.
"It must be lying in ambush," Turgon said, heart sinking. "We have led our people from one disaster to another."
"Not if we kill it first," Glorfindel said, eyes steeling, drawing his sword.
"Agreed," Turgon said, drawing his.
The Balrog was strong. Strong enough to kill both of Gondolin's best warriors. Turgon went down as the Balrog tossed him to the wall with a strength enough to break the skull of a mountain troll. The craftsmen of Gondolin had strengthened Turgon's armour, but it was not enough. He was losing too much blood. Damning it all, Glorfindel rushed to his King.
"I should have helped my kin," Turgon said with a raspy whisper. "Instead of walling myself in, I should have helped them. And this is my price."
"Turgon…" Glorfindel said.
"I shut myself in the hidden walls of Gondolin. Now the world of the Noldor is falling," Turgon said, eyes glazing over. "I go now back to Elenwe. Glorfindel. Protect the Gondolindrim." And with that, the King of Gondolin died.