I have been slumbering undisturbed for years, angled in the dark corner of this great hall. I have been waiting for someone to claim me, someone who could handle the burden of a lifetime. One by one the suitors tried their hands at holding me, each vying for a token of their manhood. All were horrible at it, their grip faltering, their heart faint. I longed for them to fail, to drop me like a sack of wheat. And they did. I could still recall when the creator first gathered my limbs into a taut coil, using me to preserve a kingdom, a dynasty. In my years of solitude, I have endured the rage of dozens of wannabe heroes, jealously bellowing about my height and might. These buffoons amused me with their folly. Strength is not in being the tallest, but in having the most skill. Each suitor’s failure has come to me as no surprise, save for one. I could hear him walking as all the rest scattered, their inadequacies freshly exposed. He was calm, but not overconfident. He was measured in his approach, a man of precision. The other suitors erupted into a roar of cheers when he stepped to my side. It was then that I knew. He knew. He lifted me up, my feet embraced by his masterful hold, and together we rose like the rest. I am more than a trophy to be paraded for all the peasants in this hall. I am a blade of righteousness, a sign of homecoming, a protector of lives. With his help, I am no longer a collection of poles