Reynion
The lame elf limped down the stairs, silently grumbling about the leather straps holding his wooden leg onto the stump. They chafed, but there really wasn't a better way to attach the leg. At least, the human who'd made the leg for him had done his best, and while in human lands, there wasn't as much choice in how such things were done. The harness was slightly uncomfortable, but by now, Reyn was used to it.
He wondered where Taurewen was, if his ridiculous reaction to her arrival at first had made her rethink her love for him. If indeed she could love someone who was as tarnished as was he. He still though that his soul was darkened, like the clothing he wore. Perhaps he was mad to boot. It certainly seemed that way at times. He was probably the single most broken elf in Middle-Earth. How many others drank like he did, or for that matter, how many others had only one leg?
He hadn't gotten himself drunk in some days, though. Ever since he saw Taurewen again...His memory of her, of her face, of her voice, of her hands, of her heart, had been the only thing keeping him sane for a long time, and seeing her again, he had remembered what he had once been. He wanted to make himself better, like he once was. For her, so that she wouldn't have to be ashamed of him.
He looked around the common room, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs. He was tired of sitting in the room that Aman had been kind enough to let him stay in and doing nothing but thinking. Once or twice, he'd woken up from barely remembered nightmares, but they were a far cry from the horrors that had plagued him for so long. His gaze passed over Hobbits, Men, Elves--more Elves than he'd seen in many years--and roved over the bar--then stopped. She was sitting on a stool, looking down at a mug of tea (not his preferred beverage, even this early, but she was smarter than he was. Always had been).
He stumped over to the bar, and leaned on the counter next to her.
"Taurewen?" he ventured, tentatively...
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Niniel
She hummed a merry tune as she mucked out the stalls, one she'd heard an elf singing the other evening. Well, it was indeed merry, but it also held elements of sorrow. The words, what few of them she'd understood, had seemed to tell of the joys awaiting across the sea, but also of the things the elf would miss here in Middle-Earth. The melody soared higher than a lark and dove deeper than a dolphin by turns.
This was the last stall; most of the horses were out to pasture, and they were surprisingly clean animals. For horses. They still produced a great deal of--ahem. It was rather amazing...
She finished raking fresh straw from the loft into the stall and looked up. There didn't seem to be any more for her to do in the stables, and she decided she should go find Derufin and ask him if there was anything else that he needed her to do. She was determined that he not regret letting her help him.
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