![]() It had been deep black, now years had faded it to a grey that was almost blue, but the scepter and star embroidered in silver thread was as bright as the day it was given to him. Even in the winter, when the cold wind blew from the north, he would wrap himself in his great cloak and sit. Grey and still and old, he seemed to become part of their modest manor, like some sort of guardian statue. Unless he was extremely ill, he would pull his creaking bones from his bed, and sit on the balcony and look east. Baralandir's grandfather always rose well before the dawn.
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