Therefore Morgoth came,
climbing slowly from his subterranean throne, and the rumor 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 lighting 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 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.
The Silmarillion, pages 184-185.