Reynion sighed as he looked around and the fact that Lira and Esgallhugwen had left finally registered. He supposed that his company was not the brightest. Not the brightest, Reynion?, he asked himself sardonically. You know very well that if it were possible, you'd leave your own company in this mood.
It was a vicious cycle. He had left Greenwood--no, it was Mirkwood now--because there were too many memories there. Not to mention his reluctance to live solely on the charity of his father. He would travel for a while, and the memories would fade a bit. Then he'd wake up some morning in a cold sweat, the last moments of his friends playing over and over in his mind. That's when he'd discovered the solace in wine. Before, he'd drunk no more than was necessary for courtesy, but when the nightmares began to grow worse and worse, he got drunk one night through a well-meaning bartender. The hangover had kept him from thinking about the d.ead for more than a day and the nightmares didn't come back for almost a month. He thought he'd found the answer to his problem...until the nightmares came back, worse than before. So he got drunk again. And again. And again.
He rubbed his temples. All this was not doing any good, neither for his memories, or for his mood. Not to mention the impossible pain in his left leg. He paid for his drinks, and pushed away from the bar, a bit unsteadily. He turned, planning to go outside and see if the air would clear his head, but tripped over Morlathion and fell sprawling on the floor. His staff went one way, his left leg another. His wooden left leg.
Reynion sat up, cursing, and scrabbled for his two supports. The other elf tried to help, but Reynion waved him away, furious with his own clumsiness and with the leg for not staying on. He reached for the staff at the same time as the other elf, and their heads smacked into each other. This did not improve Reynion's mood. Still cursing, he managed to pull his leg to him and stand up with the help of a nearby stool.
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