And still Meriadoc stood there, his eyes clouded with tears, unnoticed by those around him. In the midst of silence, he saw his weapon lying before him, the blade steaming like a dry branch thrust into a roaring fire. As he looked on, it twisted, shriveled, and was consumed. Thus ended the sword of the Barrow-Downs, a creation of Westernesse. The one who painstakingly crafted it long ago in the North-Kingdom, during the early days of the Dunedain, would have taken solace in its fate. In those times, their greatest enemy was the fearsome realm of Angmar and its sorcerer king. No other blade, regardless of the prowess of its wielder, could have inflicted such a grievous wound, severing undead flesh and breaking the dark enchantment that bound his invisible sinews to his malevolent will.