[His armor and shield, although robbed of their former splendor, are not wholly lost: there they stand in one corner of the chamber, as a reminder of the lashing his pride had suffered, a reminder that even that which is created by a deathless god is not impervious.]

Be not so modest, my friend - I shall bear this shield with pride swelling my heart. So too shall I proudly clad my feet in these boots, which although heavy shall not slow my swift feet. Are such boots meant for the battlefield? I must confess that I am accustomed only to wearing sandals when into the bloody jaws of war I must march.

[He cannot help the dubious look that is plain upon his features. Well versed as he is in the art of battle, he is reluctant to make even the smallest of changes to his approach.]