And yet Meriadoc stood there, eyes shimmering with tears, unnoticed by all around him. Astonishingly, his weapon lay on the ground, its blade smoking like a parched stick thrust into a flame. As he observed, it twisted and crumbled, consumed by its own demise. Thus ended the sword of the Barrow-Downs, forged in Westernesse. Joy would have filled the heart of its ancient creator, who crafted it meticulously in the early days of the Northern Kingdom, when the Dunedain were still young and the fierce realm of Angmar and its sorcerer king reigned as their greatest enemies. No other sword, regardless of who might wield it, could have caused such grievous harm to that foe, slicing through the undead flesh and breaking the spell binding his invisible sinews to his will.