Chapter 10: The End of the Journey of the Jewel

And the minstrels sang in the vast Hall of the High King as the Exile strode, clad in a garment of gold and blue, the jewel resting by a light chain on his breast. Legions of knights saluted crisply and guests from all the known nations rose as the Man with the Jewel reached the foot of the silver throne.

The Exile drew his new sword - etched with flowing runes, Elvish on the left, Dwarven on the right - and swiftly raised the jeweled hilt to his Lord. Sunlight streaming from the high windows that flanked the throne caught on the hilt's faceted ruby and the light split as with the sword itself into rainbows that danced through the room like beautiful maidens called to proclaim joy on the day of the Exile's return.

Now the aged king rose. Flowing silk garment resting like a sigh on his aged frame and a coronet like a string of gems encircling his wizened brow, he was the embodiment of majesty, and as he stepped towards the exile and gazed into his eyes it was not a man gazing, but a kingdom.

"Well done, Bringer of the Jewel."

The voice of the High King, steeped in the wisdom of age and nobility, and clear as the water of the rivers in his land, echoed in the hall like a ringing bell, or the summons of a kindly master of his faithful servant. Few of those present were unaware that they may never hear that voice again, fewer still unaware that they may never see the exile again, but years later it would be said that not one man left the hall without tears in his eyes.