Glamdring

I woke with clear memory of a dream from the night.  I had rested with Glamdring across my chest, my hands on her hilt, due to my weakened condition.  And she spoke to me. I saw where she has been.  As in most ancient myth and legend there is truth and there is fiction.  She is not a sword of the great war to destroy the elves. Far from it. She is a sword of the elves.  And through her eyes I saw a glimpse of  far more ancient world than my own.

In the dawn of time the elves where here before men but so was evil.  And war was made against that great demonic evil.  Some elves were taken and twisted by this evil into horrible things, orcs.  They were nothing like the orcs of today.  These were terrible stunted creatures driven by hatred and desire for blood and death.  In these days was Glamdring born forged by the hands of a mighty elvens smith.  And she had magic.

For an age she rested in the hallowed grave of a dead elven warrior until discovered by one of the seven ancient guardians sent to this world to overcome the evil that remained from that first age.  And by first age, I do not mean the first age as we consider it in our annals of the history of Tamriel.  No, our world is far older.  There is an ancient land where life first stirred.

I saw Glamdring as a great dragon flew overhead being destorying all.  This mighty monster, nothing like I've ever seen.  It defies even the dragon I saw over Helgen and makes the dragon that defeated the demon Dagon in the imperial city look like a child or a pet.  I saw armies of men, elves, and dwarves make war on this dragon and drive it away.  But then came the orcs seeking for the rumored treasures of the dragon and mighty war of five races.  And Glamdring dripped in blood.

I saw her last great battle against a demon.  A mighty horned goat of fire and smoke and ash, an ancient demon from the time before whose whip of fire sought out the mighty guardian.  I saw them falling so deep into inner caverns below mountains so mighty that they make the great throat look like the hills of the south.  I saw the guardian stab Glamdring deep into it heart with his last strength and she gave all she had.  She gave her life and the magic was drained out of her to destroy this mighty foe.

Lost in time below the mountain she lay. She does not know how she was found.  She awoke in the hands of a young elven warrior in this land.  She lived though merely a shadow of what she once was.  But her soul is still there. She was with this young elf as he made his life, as he and his kind were sought and slaughtered by my kind for land and for glory.  And she wept for the days when elves and men were friends and the enemy was known as the enemy.  This young lord fell in battle and the sword taken with many others. And passed down amongst humans as a trophy, one of many, unrecognized for what she is.  But I know.  She speaks to me. 

This sword is alive.

This sword is living breathing sword.  And I have to wonder if the words inscribed in her could make her power live again if somehow they could be infused with truth and spirit.  I will have to ponder this.