And still Meriadoc stood there, his vision blurred by tears, unnoticed by those around. Before him, his weapon lay, the blade emitting wisps of smoke like a dry branch thrust into a flame; as he watched, it contracted and crumbled away. Thus ended the sword of the Barrow-Downs, crafted in the North-Kingdom when the Dunedain were young, facing the dark menace of Angmar and its sorcerer king. Yet the one who forged it, with painstaking care, would have been glad to know its destiny: no other weapon, no matter how strong the hand that wielded it, could have inflicted such a grievous wound upon that foe, severing the undead flesh and shattering the enchantment binding his secret sinews to his terrible will.