*a box arrives to thorin, inside- the circlet returned.*
That’s how the elf wants to be.
The numbness is still there. It felt much like when he watched his grandfathers head roll to his feet, the moment his father bade him to stand back and then was never seen again.
Exhaustion filled him but was dulled by the numbness of disassociating. Of trying to distance himself from himself. The circlet was held before just being dropped and falling to the ground. Something in him felt broken.
Looking around his rooms he saw his clothes, his tools, his cloaks, papers, books, a roaring fire, food and drink, so much that he needed yet all of it garbage at the same time. Turning back he just walked. Boot crushing the delicate crown as he stepped on it and walked off.
No one would miss him.
Right?
