Meriadoc stood there, tears blurring his vision, while those around him paid no heed. Before him lay his weapon, its blade seething like a dry branch flung into a fire; he watched as it twisted, withered, and was no more. So ended the sword of the Barrow-Downs, crafted by the skilled hands of Westernesse. The craftsman, long gone, would have found solace in its destiny, forged in the early days of the North-Kingdom when the Dunedain were but fledgling warriors, set against the malevolent realm of Angmar and its sorcerer king. No other sword, even in mightier hands, could have pierced that foe so fiercely, severing the undead flesh, unraveling the spell that tied unseen sinews to his dominion.