Fashioned after the cinematic longsword responsible for getting so many of us into fencing, this take on Anduril is simplified for safe fencing, yet unmistakable.
The striking hollow and pierced pommel, along with the simplified crossguard with pierced terminals, maintains the look of the sword's inspiration while also working to keep a low weight and a ready, central rotation.
The pommel is semi-hollow, making the sword more wieldy and allowing the inherent balance of the blade to come through.
The sword is named for Bilbo's riddle regarding Aragorn and Anduril, which concludes, "Renewed shall be blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king".
Please note, we are not currently producing this sword or variants of it.
∴ Specs ∴
Total length: 130cm
Blade length: 97cm
Blade width: 4.5cm
Blade stock: 8mm
Grip length: 14cm
Grip and pommel: 32cm
Quillon span: 28cm
Point of Balance: 9.5cm
Weight: 1520g
Ambidextrous
Blunt edges
Rounded tip
Fencing flex
∴ Notes ∴
The hand-forged and heat-treated crossguard and pommel are polished to a satin finish. The elongated semi-hollow pommel features a pierced centre, matched by the quillon terminals.
The hollow ground blade features a deep central fuller to two-thirds of the blade. The oak grip is half wrapped in linen thread and then black kidskin, and half covered by the extended semi-hollow pommel.
∴ Gallery ∴
∴ A Blade Renewed ∴
Always you dream in fragments. Glimmering white-blue splinters of steel against a field of dark cloth, a shattered pattern that your keen smith's eye can tell was once a fuller. A blade, then. And a fine one, at that.
You wonder how it came to be so broken, shards fine enough to slip into a pocket. Surely the blow that rendered it so was not that of a mortal knight.
In your dream you peer closer at pieces as fine and as myriad as stained glass, and see fire reflected in them. Two flames writhe in the steel, one red and one white.
"Narsil," you breathe, recalling the Quenya word for red and white flame. The sword of the Dúnedain. And as you speak, the fragments rise, moving before your eyes into a new form.
Ghostly threads of red and white knit the pieces together, the blade broad, straight and stately. A slender crossguard weaves itself into being, the ends flaring out into rounded segments. The handle is darkness and light, half of black leather and half of bright steel, and the pommel sits atop it like a crown, pierced with an upside-down tear.
You wake with a start in the soot-black forge. You need no wizard to interpret the dream. A new king is rising - and you have work to do.