Sting: Three Masters

Before the darkness, before the coarse voices there had been laughter and songs sung as it was forged.

Then enemies—longing to turn, to slice their rough hands as they carried it away.

Saved after innumerable years. Lifted, its crumbled sheath torn away.  Someone new, small, his hand fit it well.

Snarling goblins. Thin-legged spiders. A name at last.

Barrel-rider.

Years of waiting.

Doom. Fair gold to oppose its steadfast steely gleam.

Wraiths. Hunted.

Ringbearer.

Fear. His hands shaking.

No warrior, but his heart demanded vengeance.

Courage grew.

Blue, flickering flame; spider’s bane.

Samwise the Brave.