She had reached her breaking point that day...
She stirred, awakening in Tham Send. Armor clad, the Noldo blinked dreary eyes open and realized that she was alone.
"Mmph, what time is it?"
Aurthiel sat up on the bed. She looked around; someone must have placed her unclipped weapons and pulled off armor on the table next to the bed, nice and neat. Was it Saranasse? Manadhlaer?
A small grin of amusement crossed her lips. A sad, ironic smile. She laughed. Oh, those two... they thought they could help her.
Even her own niece, Losgliniel, a talented healer of both Vanyarin and Noldorin decent, could not save Aurthiel from the emotional and mental wounds that still bled out. Aurthiel felt stiff, a bit numb. She twitched her bare toes and wiggled her fingers. She had not had a mental breakdown that horrid in... one... two... four...
... Had it been five hundred years?
She sighed, slipping off the bed as the armor still on her clanged. Manadhlaer had taken Aurthiel on as a patient. How long until she gave up on her? All the others before her did...
She sighed, wondering what kindness had befallen her. Most elves were indifferent or even cruel to her. That - that Tolmen most certainly had been! She clenched her fists. Her memory of yesterday was shaky, but she remembered how much he caused her memories of that dreadful First Kinslaying to emerge. She loathed him already, putting her in such a vulnerable place! She could had handled him if she was either drunk or not reminded of such horrific memories! She started pulling her weapons back on her person, might as well. It made more sense than carrying a handful of heavy battle gear across Imladris towards her house. She sighed, bitterness crossing her heart as she cursed herself for the millionth time this century.
She eventually was pulling her shoes and gauntlets on. Grimacing, she remembered faintly that Manadhlaer had told her to find her when able. Yet, Aurthiel also wanted a deep drink. Wine? No. Dwarvern mead? No, still not strong enough. Moonshine? Yes.
Moonshine.
She trudged outside the Hall of Rest, slamming the door open and stalking through the Last Homely House. She seldom acknowledged anyone who came across her. As she slipped down the ramps, she was still torn.
Manadhlaer or moonshine?
Manadhlaer... or moonshine?
Manadhlaer? Moonshine?
She paused close to the door, lifting her hand and grasping her forehead. She wanted healing! She wanted a healer who finally could get to her! She wanted peace! Yet, that was something she had given up on a long while back. One thing drove out another, and she was eternally miserable. Hence, her considering just forgetting this all and grabbing some moonshine.
She smacked her lips, feeling the sweet tormentor that was alcohol on her lips. She loathed alcohol, yet it was one of her few friends as of late. She clenched a fist. Manadhlaer or moonshine? The choice was obvious, yet overwhelming pain made her want to take the usual option. Yet, had she told them she hoped she was not too far gone? Had she already accepted the help Saranasse, a kindred soul, and Manadhlaer, an understanding healer, had given her?
She sighed deeply.
She was going to go home, get changed into more comfortable clothes, then find Manadhlaer. ... That was, if all the wine aging in her basement did not change her mind.
Poor Manadhlaer. What had she gotten herself into with this one?
