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Recently I finished reading The Fall of Gondolin, оne of the Tolkien’s texts about Middle-Earth from The Book of Lost Tales, Volume II. I expected it to be a difficult read and partly I was right.

Before the text itself, there was a long foreword by Christopher Tolkien – Tolkien’s son, who edited and published his father’s writings after his death – which tells the reader about the textual history of The Fall of Gondolin and about the three different manuscripts which exist for it, called Tuor A, Tuor B and Tuor C.

The relationship between them reminds one of a very complicated web, and now I understand, to some extent, what those who study the corpus of Tolkien’s texts are all excited about.
After the foreword, the tale itself begins. First we learn about Tuor’s early life and travels, about the will of Ulmo, Lord of Waters and about the Noldoli who taught Tuor their speech and lore and led him through the mountains.

To be perfectly honest, it wasn’t the fastest-moving part of the tale and I struggled through the text as if it were the narrow passage to the cave where we gather for the Nyere. It was just as grueling a passage that Tuor and Voronwë had to follow, but then one sees a light at the end of the dark tunnel and a door which guides you to the Secret Place, one of the seven names of the city of Gondolin.

When I first heard about Gondolin I thought I would like it, as it was the only place in Tolkien's writings where I didn’t feel myself a complete stranger. And when I read about it at last… well, it seems I did fall in love.
And it was love – from the moment an endless plain with a glistering lake from which one sees a beautiful city of carved stone full of artisans and craftsmen opened before me, all the way until the bitter battle of its valiant defenders fought during its grandiose fall.

A story of an epic battle to defend your city, your Home, is one of the most archetypical stories and a one in which I always delighted. It is such moments that show one for what one really is. All around us, the world is full of Glorfindels or of Noldoli of the House of the Hammer of Wrath, who deserve to have heroic songs and legends composed about them, yet it is also full of Meglins whose names deserve to be cursed until the end of time.

Turgon behaved as a real King. He couldn’t live without his city, his shattered lands and people whom he lost. Just as some captains do on a sinking ship, he decided to go down with his City of Seven Names, rather then abandon his beloved creation. And so he chose to stay, and to hand over the leadership of Gondothlim to his sole heir.

Sometimes I wonder... would this great city inspire so many stories and so many hearts if it weren't for its epic fall? And would its valiant warriors be quite so well remembered if it weren't for the ruinous battle they perished in? If it weren't for all the deaths, losses and destruction. Most probably not. It would be a different story altogether.

nayra

The Fall of Gondolin