The Dagger of Westernesse
Sword of the Halfling
In the land of Westernesse, in a time long ago
The first Age of light, Middle-Earth was still young
Crafted hands, never bested in years still to come
Forged a dagger from metal, valiant and strong
It was carried by its owner in honour and pride
And wielded in battle by hands true and bold
But alas! The brave mortal was lost in the fight
And the hands grasping the hilt grew quiet and cold
In a barrow of stone the dagger now had to stay
The brave man that once was held it close to his chest
Both body and mind getting lost to decay
Neither master nor weapon could there find his rest
In the years that followed, a shadow started to grow
Transforming brave spirit into evil wight
Yet one day, cheerful singing was heard in the pit
And the sunlight streamed in as the stone moved aside
Warm, living hands touched the steel once again
The hands of a Halfling, and not just anyone!
The small hands that the dagger was trusted into
Were those of Meriadoc, Saradoc’s son
In the service of the Shire it was now borne
What once was a dagger for valiant Men tall
Became a mighty sword in yet unsteady hands
Of one little Hobbit, courageous though small
And south it was taken, away from its home
Travelling through village and forest it went
Until reaching a ruined and dark weathertop
And there was a brother he had to defend
Wraiths closed in around them with blades foul and black
On stone the sword clattered before taken in flight
It left the true battle to great sword of Man
This battle it was not yet ready to fight
In Rivendell fair was it then laid gently down
When both weapon and master there took their rest
The peace would be short, for it wasn’t too long
Before taken up again to join on a Quest
Once again it went South, and in practice it met
The blades of renowned swords that no one could best
Of Aragorn valiant and Boromir bold
The proud swords of Gondor, the Flames of the West
Cold and warmth, gloom and light, the sword came to endure
In its blade was reflected terror, joy, grief and pain
It passed by the kingdoms of both Dwarf and Elf
Through mine, over mountain, across lonely plain
But even though it was carried, it was never used
Strapped up forever at Meriadoc’s side
As they crossed Middle-Earth in all its beauty and ruin
On their way to the Dark Land to make turn the tide
At Amon Hen, at long last, was it drawn from its sheet
Alongside the Son of Gondor, the Halfling fought well
But the foes were too many, the sword was so small
Then the arrows came flying and Boromir fell
Now Meriadoc’s sword was used to protect
The precious honour of a dear, dying friend
But alas! he was taken, the sword thrown away
After so long a journey, could this be the end?
The Man, the Elf and the Dwarf took the weapon along
In search of its master, to restore the gift
To put it back in his hands, where it belonged
That’s what they would do, in case he’d have lived
And after a long search, they succeeded in this
In the ruins of once beautiful Isengard
That was where the sword found its master again
They were reunited; nevermore would they part
Not long after that was it laid at the feet
Of an old, noble King with eyes that shone bright
To him, Meriadoc swore a loyalty oath
And thus he became a great Rohirrim knight
Soon, they dwelled in Edoras, with Eowyn fair
By Rohan, he was given horse, armour and shield
But to fight for his homeland and his newly sworn Lord
No other than this sword his small hands would wield
It was finally ready to be taken to war
To the Pelennor Fields and the battle so great
At the side of fair Eowyn, the blade of despair
The small sword joined in battle against a foul wraith
And it never faltered, despite the Black Breath
It kept serving its Master, that’s what it was for
It destroyed King of evil, and payed a dear price
The Hobbit was saved, but the sword was no more
Thus perished the dagger of Westernesse old
Proud sword of the Halfling and weapon of right
It was not forgotten: in stone it was carved
Forever where it belonged: at Meriadoc’s side
- Avondster
