Ready to exit his rooms he inspected once again his uniform: it was looking as perfect as the first day he received it and he realized that he was as proud to wear it as he was that day. Many things happened in all this years and he changed much. The elf looking him back from the mirror had a sceptic but confident and ready for anything air to him that he thought lost together with his name and music. He was wearing again a sword, one from Vanimar arsenal, slender, elegant, old and for sure witness to much history both noble and dark, and he was not wearing it just for parade. It was a sword reminding him about decisions and about who he has become. He was neither proud nor ashamed, he was assumed in the path he had chosen. His loss was that of a colorful piece of glass showing the world in perfect colors, a pink piece of glass called sometimes innocence and other times naivety. His gain was that of a home, a kin and perhaps even more.
He checked again the contents of the small velvet pouch he had in his pocket: inside it there was a stone medallion shaped as a flower, made from a snowy white rock with blue-greysh veins within it shining like metal. The stone caught his glance in the mountains expedition a rock from a riverbed, carried down from the heights of the mountains and polished by nature already much towards a flowery shape. It inspired him to take it and play with it, polishing further, there where nature stopped too soon, white-blue petals. The rock was not dour and it accepted his redesign without breaking, even with a poor brimstone and a knife during the guard times. Once back in Imladris he finished it to a glossy, silky shine and he pierced a hole in the thickest petal so that he could tie it on a leather lace. It wasn’t much and it’s beauty remained mostly the blue-gray metal veins. He wondered if she will like the pendant or find it stupidly simple and basic.
