Rirrym turns beet red at the compliment, so that the freckles that splotch his nose and cheeks seem to look even darker. "Thank you for the compliment, but I'm not really that great. My father and his father could, if they were here, both put me to shame with the first note they played." He sighs -- at times, he hated his family and the stress they could still manage to put on his life, even from hundreds of miles away. It's not your family who are to blame... It's yourself. You're the one who constantly compares yourself to them.. If you'd only put that aside, perhaps you could be happy with who you are.
That piece of advice was true at least, but how could he put his past behind him when it was still such a large part of his everyday life.. The horse that he rode and his flute both came from his family. Even his clothes, weathertorn though they were, came from his homeland. I even introduce myself as coming from Gondor... he admitted to himself.
He smiles at Cromthal, suddenly remembering that the handkerchief was still being offered out to him. He takes it, fingering it lovingly before he places it into a pocket on the inside of his cloak.
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