Meriadoc Stood There, Artwork

And still Meriadoc stood there, blinking through his tears, unnoticed by those around him. There, on the ground, lay his weapon, its blade smoking like a dry branch thrust into a fire. He watched as it writhed, withered, and was consumed before his eyes. Thus passed the sword from the Barrow-Downs, forged in Westernesse. How joyful the one who had forged it long ago in the North-Kingdom would have been to see its fate, during an age when the Dunedain were young and the dark realm of Angmar and its sorcerer king were their greatest foes. No other blade, no matter how powerful the hand that wielded it, could have inflicted such a wound upon that foe, severing the undead flesh and breaking the spell that bound his unseen sinews to his dark will.