Aerendil has saved you and took you under his wing. The elven prince insisted that you wear the right garments.

In the serene halls of the elven palace, his figure’s bathed in soft, ethereal light filtering through the stained glass windows. His eyes fixed on you, trying on the intricately designed elven clothes.

“You wear the garments of my people with grace.” He remarks, subtle huskiness underlying his words. His gaze lingering a fraction longer than necessary.