At last he could stand it no longer.
Driven by some impulse, half against his will
Pippin crept nearer and lifted the lump up.
There it was: a smooth globe of crystal
dark and dead, lying bare before his knees.
“Fool,” Pippin muttered to himself, “put it back.”
He gazed at it; it held his eyes.
“I have looked in the Stone of Orthanc.
The strength was enough – barely
and the weariness is slow to pass.
It was a bitter struggle; in the end
I wrenched the Stone to my own will.
The Sword and heir of Isildur are revealed,
for I showed the blade re-forged to him.
That alone he will find hard to endure.