Aiglos

Lost in the end, broken and abandoned.  Its master’s spirit fleeing far from the tortured land; Gil-Galad was defeated, elven-kings can die ignobly too, body sprawled in the dust.  Wielded effortlessly for over an age, only to fall from his numb hands, now, onto the hard ground.  Near to Mordor’s gates, the orc’s calloused feet trample it as they flee. Icicle, Snow-point…names given proudly and cried aloud in battle.  It was once gleaming, the steel point sharp, the shaft polished. Now its wood has rotted to join the bones and flesh of elves and men that fell at Dagorlad.