One evening he asks that a chest be brought to him from his private chambers. Once it is delivered he asks to be alone before delving into it. A tattered book of lore, seashells from a long passed trip, dried flowers that fill the room with their heavy scent, masking the bitter smell of the room, which has witnesses too much death.
Finally his fingers brush the soft folds of midsummer's night blue that is fitted with stars the do not fade come dawn. His thoughts turn to one who he barely remember, save for grey eyes that longed for the sea.
Slowly his thoughts become of the Shieldmaiden, with her sorrowful loveliness and wishes for freedom that is ever just beyond her reach. He wonders how long they must wait and how long he can keep her at his side.
Casting his eyes to the black red clouds that, with malice, hide the sky from his eyes he decides that he prefers the sky that is created by the mantle in his hands.