The Birth of Sting

LotR Object: Sting

a musing poem of how Frodo's weapon might have come into being

Once when I was wandering a lonely Age ago
Looking for a way back to the lands I used to know

Through the darking woods north of Doriath
In a place called Nan Dungortheb
I saw a star falling from the inky sky
A shell discarded by celestial tide's ebb

A clearer path I hastened then
In the burning wake of that ill-fated orb
Through a forest as dark as the days before Sun
Which all thought of light did seem to absorb

There I discovered the dark elf's forge
Not welcome was I, but offered bright steel
Softly I pleaded to purchase my life
By offering game I had caught for my meal

His name was Eol, a smith he was trained
By long years of secrets whispered and trial
A wife he had taken of Noldo royal blood
And kept her ensconced in his fair-carven smial

Of little interest was this Lady to me
Of the blue-glowing steel I was entranced
"Make for me a blade", him I did then entreat
For with such a weapon, I'd be favoured by Chance

Two swords he had forged, each wicked and long
With souls that whispered and called in their thirst
"Enough of the metal I have to make another
But you must offer me just payment first"

What coin would he desire? I offered any price
Of all that I owned no gold did he take
Just a trivial thing, an object of no worth
My soul was the barter, that he would I forsake

He bound me up into the blade shining blue
And traced upon me runes to the bane of the web
My hilt fit the hand, like a torch I was lit
When drawing anigh minions of Nan Dungortheb

The Orc and the Spider I slew with much ease
And clove though the webs as a knife slices cheese
But never again will I be free of this blade
My soul is now anchored, until I am unmade