When the little hobbit brought his wine, Reynion drank most of the glass in a single swallow. It burned, but the feeling was welcome. It was a feeling, that was what counted. It was also a feeling that had nothing whatever to do with the faces he couldn't keep from his memory. So many...
He was aware of the eyes of others on him, watching him quaff this wine as if it were water. He also didn't care. They could think what they liked of him; it had never bothered him before and it wouldn't start bothering him now. At least most people didn't remark on his astonishing capability to consume liquor.
He especially saw the younger elves tonight. The ones who shouldn't have even been on that ill-fated mission. Even the one who had annoyed the life out of him. It was strange, but d.eath seemed to instantly confer the status of a beloved friend on those one barely tolerates.
He took another drink. This was most definitely not helping. The wine of Dorwinion was usually potent, allowing him to forget for a little. This was a little disappointing. He lifted his glass again, hoping that this would be the one to bring oblivion.
It wasn't.
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A voice interrupted his reverie, saying, "I am Lira of Ithilien and this is my friend, Esgallhugwen. What, pray, is your name?"
He glanced to the side. "Reynion," he answered morosely. He shifted a little, finding it rather uncomfortable to stand so long, but preferring discomfort to the stares and whispers that were sure to come if he sat. He shook his head. No matter his mood, his manners needn't be so rough.
"I crave pardon, Lira, I am not good company just now. I have had too much to drink, early as it may be for such, and have too many memories for pleasant conversation. Pray, tell me more of yourself." He hoped that would be enough to salve any wounded feelings.
[ August 05, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]
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