Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
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And my hands are not clean, maybe they never will be
He shot her an unhappy look. Dark thoughts crowded in his mind - thoughts of shifting, of flying off never to return. Thoughts of chaos, destruction and violence that had no place in this house - but though they burned on the tongue, he didn't let them spill. Maybe it would be better if he did. Then she would know exactly what kind of place he was in, how bad it really was.
But then... she would know. And how could he be any strength and help to her if she felt she had to look after him, still? Wasn't that why she went to everyone for help except him? Why she turned to outlanders rather than her own brother? He couldn't make himself even less reliable than she already thought he was.
"I give a shit," he mumbled, returning his eyes on the work.
The hide was nearly free from hair now. It would need to be stretched and worked to keep it soft until it was drier, but soon it would be ready for whatever method of tanning she might have decided on. Woodbark, for a dark and sturdy leather? Ground grain and rocksalt, for a soft and supple leather, pretty but that wouldn't endure damp very well? Or perhaps she would choose to scrape the fur side into suede, smoke it, give it a golden hue and the ability to absorb water.
"What's this for, anyway?" he asked, trying to divert the topic to something that wasn't about him. It struck Korbin that he had no idea what this leather was for, or what his sister was even up to lately, aside from the bar. All their conversation had been about him, and his problems.
It made him feel incredibly guilty.
But they can still carry you home when you are ready to sleep
What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.
She always feels like she has to look after him. That won’t change. She won’t suddenly stop looking after him after a lifetime of it. He’s her little brother, and will always be her little brother. No matter how grown, no matter how capable. And with that, he will always be her brother, her best friend, and the person she turns to. The Outlanders fell into her lap. The Kraai fell into her lap. It’s not like she went asking around for someone to build her a bar. She’d never even really thought about building her own, honestly, until the suggestion was before her and she’d hardly be Straia’s child if she said no. Yet Korbin couldn’t quite see it that way, because he barely knew his mother.
Well stop that, she scribbles, her handwriting getting sloppier as she goes. She returns to the knife, scraping the little bit of fur and flesh away from the hide. They could work it, and then it could be left to dry while she figured out what sort of leather to turn it into. Probably something sturdy, something useful, though Ludo hadn’t actually given her details.
She looks up as Korbin actually asks why she’s working on it. Ludo, she scribbles. She didn’t mention it given Korbin’s rather unfortunate visits to the shires as of late, and it felt like bragging to mention that the herald came for her when none came for him. It was also backward, but life was pretty backward lately between them. Asked it to enchant my scythe. It asked for luxere leather and banshee rags.
And my hands are not clean, maybe they never will be
Glancing up to see what she wrote, Korbin scoffed, his dolor fading for some real amusement. "Sure. The moment you stop caring what I do," he agreed, knowing it wasn't likely to ever happen for either of them. They were just to close; there would never be a moment when he didn't keep her happiness and well being in mind alongside his own. Slightly ahead, would be more to the truth; he'd lived to keep her well-fed, clothed, warm and smiling just as much as she'd done the same for him. There was nothing he wouldn't do - and few things indeed he hadn't already done - for her.
Which was why he helped out around the Kraai rather than torch the place. Why he accepted Loren's offer of a job instead of shifting and flying off, never to turn back. Why he kept trying, even when it felt pointless and the mere sight of people made his hackles rise.
When the hair on his side of the hide was removed, Korbin rose and went to fetch a different tool. Once Weaver was done, they could start stretching and softening the hide, a process that would continue under the tanning process until the leather was completely done.
She replied with another scribbled note, smudged with grime and fat and luxere fur; it made him arch a brow, even as his expression softened into a smile. "It finally answered, then. Good for you," he replied, and meant it. He'd never really cared about having any favor with the gods, which was why the curses didn't bother him more. Her desire for the attention of the Gods was probably more genuine, and more heartfelt; he was only glad for her. "Do you have the rest? Or do you want me to come along to get that Banshee?" He looked rather hopeful, eager for a chance to make himself useful.
But they can still carry you home when you are ready to sleep
What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.
She raises an eyebrow at him, giving him another look. Honestly, after all this time together, they could probably communicate with just looks nearly as well as they could with words, particularly given how well their conversations had been going lately. Hell, maybe they should try that. It might go better. What do you mean? she scribbles, asking rather than just defending, though she simply wants to defend. What does he mean? Since when does she care what he does so long as he does something besides sulk? And if that’s what he means, then she actually will hold the knife to his throat.
She finishes scraping the last bits of fur from her part of the hide, glancing down briefly to the mess that would need to be cleaned up when they were all done. Shame they didn’t get to keep the leather. It would be a good piece when they were finished. Though she could not bring herself to let Ludo down, and she wanted a scythe that transformed into an amulet. Heck, she just wanted Maea’s amulet back. She nods at the fabric, a silent question to see if he was ready for the next step. They certainly didn’t need words for this.
At least he seems pleased at the mention of Ludo, and not sour about his own experiences. She meets his expression with a soft smile and a nod. Though she is not the most devout, there has always been something about being abandoned that bothers her. It’s like an itch she cannot scratch, but of course, she is the type of girl to want the things she cannot have. So she seeks them, trying to find a path even when there should be none. Though, she is hardly the first Abandoned to succeed. Have it, she writes, looking at the almost eager expression on his face with some confusion. Didn’t think you’d want to go killing things if you didn’t have to. Was I wrong? Maybe he’d changed more than she realized. Or maybe he didn’t realize she had to slaughter the creatures he asked for with her scythe. She had left out that piece of information, not for any reason other than writing was annoying, though.
And my hands are not clean, maybe they never will be
Well clearly looks and half spoken meanings didn't come across as they once did. Maybe they were never as good at communication as they believed, or perhaps it had just been easier when all they had to say was about daily chores, of staying safe, of going about their own routines.
Korbin responded to her look with one of his own, a brow arched when she questioned him further. He wasn't sure what part she didn't get; that he would never stop caring what she thought, or that she was judging everything he did whether she intended to or not.
He was still puzzling out what to say when she scribbled out the rest of the reply. It made his face fall in disappointment. The raven sighed and looked down, fixing his gaze on the hide as thoughts churned through his head.
"I would kill a hundred creatures if it helped you," he said at last, voice rough and eyes downcast. "I will help you open however many bars if that is what you want to do. I won't love it, but if it makes you happy, I'll do it anyway. You don't have to protect me from unpleasant tasks, Weaver. It won't kill me to hunt. It won't ruin me to fight." He drew in a deep breath, to keep the voice as steady as he could make it.
"But it just might do both if you keep excluding me and deciding things for me. When was the last time we made any decision together? You go off on your own without telling me where. You decided to make the bar and to change everything about our lives without asking for my opinion. Now you've done this too without even asking if I cared to help. Am I really that unreliable, to you?"
His tone was soft, more so than it had been in a long time. But he sounded sad, and hurt, and resigned. Because... well, the evidence was there, wasn't it. He clearly wasn't enough to keep her happy and content.
But they can still carry you home when you are ready to sleep
What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.
She wasn’t judging him. She was pushing him. Honestly, if he said he just really wanted to become a mass murderer and it would make him happy, she’d probably support him. Question him, yes, because that’s highly unbelievable, but support him all the same. Is she judging him by suggesting that maybe he could be happier? Possibly, but if that’s the case, then fine. She may not judge his choices, but she did judge his lack of action, his decision to just wallow in self-pity.
His response feels like the same fight they have been having in circles. Maybe it’s good he can’t hear, because she’s not going to write a speech back to him. Instead she just listens, pausing in her work with the leather. It could sit a minute before they began to work on stretching it out. She puts the knife down on the hide, turning the paper back toward her to write some more.
You are not unreliable Korbin. Quite the opposite. You are so reliable you forget that you don’t have to be sometimes. But if that’s what you really want, to live in my shadow, then we can keep living like that. Because you almost always say yes to me, even when your heart says no. I want better for you than that. She was his excuse. She was his excuse to hide away and never get to know himself or the life he could live. She was his excuse to barricade his heart away so it would be less likely to get crushed. I love you brother, but understand I will not stop living simply because you refuse to start. Life has changed, and I can’t pretend it hasn’t. She turns the paper to him, waiting for whatever might come.
And my hands are not clean, maybe they never will be
Again, they were back to talking about him, despite his attempt to steer the conversation away to something else. It seemed a pattern they were doomed to repeat until something changed, but the way Korbin was right now, he couldn't see a way out. Not of this, or his own darkness, or what kind of glittering bright future it was Weaver envisioned for herself. Clearly she was striving to get away from what they'd had, the place where Korbin had been happy and content, and it made him feel so worthless.
"I was happy," he replied, voice tight despite his lack of control over it - or perhaps because of it, because he couldn't hear the emotions that bled from it. "I never wanted anything else, never needed anything but what we had. I was living, to the fullest, every second of every day I could spend making sure you would be fed and healthy and safe. It was rough and it was hard but it was good. It was you, and me, and fuck the rest of the world."
He sat the tools aside, very carefully, and that care in itself was a sign of how tense he was. How much he had to focus in order to keep from hurling things across the room.
"I'm sorry that wasn't enough. I'm sorry I wasn't enough. Clearly I wasn't, because you've been steadily inviting the rest of the fucking world into our life one by one. You are the reason I get up in the morning, Weaver, why I keep drawing breath even though I'd really rather not. There is nothing that means anything to me except you. But clearly that's not the same for you."
He stood, stalked across the floor and headed for the door. They were getting nowhere with this. Even Korbin could see how unhealthy his obsession with his sister was, but it didn't mean he could stop it. Sister, mother, teacher, best friend, defender, goal and reason. Somehow, at some point, she had become his raison d'etre, and when she told him to let go and find something else, it hurt. When she gazed off at everything except him, it left him jealous, empty, lost. Set adrift on a sea with no point of reference, no goal or plan or even will to keep moving.
What could could possibly be better for him than her? Nothing.
But they can still carry you home when you are ready to sleep
What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.
She just lets him rant, knife still sitting on the hide, her eyes on him and her hands quiet at her side. It’s really strange to see her like that, so still, as he tries to keep himself together. It’d be easier if he just fell apart, if he finally caved and started screaming and crying and throwing things around the room. Honestly, she just wants him to hit his breaking point, because nothing else is going to change him. Nothing she says, nothing she does. They could try and pretend that the world wasn’t changing around them, but it wouldn’t make them happy. Not anymore. The world was changing, and there was no going back. It would drag her down and he’d see that too, and they’d still be in the same place they were now.
He gets up and heads to the door. She nearly lets him go, honestly. Nearly lets him go wallow in his own self-pity, in this misery of his own making, because he is a blind fool. A blind fool who has thrust way too much on her shoulders. She could not carry his happiness, she could not be his only reason for living. On her darkest days, certainly, the need to hunt to get food on the table for him had been the only thing that dragged her out of bed. Right after Erebor died, she had been tempted not to care, to just let death claim them all. She’d lived for him, but only briefly, till she’d remembered how to live for herself too.
She gets up, wrapping an arm through his and trying to pull him back, to sit him back down to work on the hide. The paper is in one hand, and she writes awkwardly, holding the pen in the hand that’s through his arm. I have been up since the ass crack of dawn waiting for you. To do this with me. I don’t ask you because I don’t need to ask. I know you’ll be there.” Why mention Ludo or ask him to help when she could just find him, just grab him as she’d always done and he’d be there? She didn’t think it required anymore explanation, and he was blind to not realize that she’d clearly been up waiting for him. Yes, she was doing something for herself, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want it to be done with him. She’d do things for him, too, if there was ever anything he actually wanted to do for himself.
Why does it have to be ‘or’, Korbin? Us or everyone else. Why can’t it be us and everyone else? Yes, things would change, but it didn’t diminish their relationship. She didn’t love him less because she could love others. She didn’t need him less because she could also rely on others now. Weaver is made of infinite capacity for love, for kindness, for caring, even if she tries to hide that. But he, of all people, should know who she is.
Remember when I swore That you and I would never die
It would have been easy to tear free of her grip. He was taller, stronger, could no doubt throw her over a shoulder if he wanted to... but as always, all the strength fled from him when she grabbed his arm. Oh, he resisted, but not more than that she could still press him back down on the bench. Couldn't resist her, could never deny her anything.
No, she didn't need to ask; all she had to do was point at a task and he would do it. Not happily perhaps, or even willingly, but he would do it.
So he read her messages and breathed deep the frustration. Held it down, pushed it back; he couldn't unleash himself on her the way he had with Sunjata. Couldn't spill his guts the same way, because the words mattered here. Her thoughts and opinions mattered, his weakness mattered.
"You might have place for people who wind up leaving, but I don't," he replied hoarsely. "I can't let people in and not get attached, you know that. And when they leave - because everyone leaves but you - I... I can't take any more funerals, Weaver. I can't deal with more loss. There's not enough of me left to share with anyone else."
He never did understand how she could remain so self-contained, how she didn't run out of self to give away. Korbin just didn't know how to not pour everything of himself into anything and everyone that mattered. How could he not? If they mattered he would do anything, everything, offer up all he was and ask nothing in return.
What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.
She doesn’t try to force him back. Just encourage, just get him to stop running from his problems as if that will make them go away. Besides, she knows she doesn’t have to force him, knows that he’ll stay simply because she said so. After all, he’d given away all his cards in that last speech, though she’d known at least some of it before anyway.
Gods, it was a heavy burden to bear. Did he realize? Did he understand how much weight he had thrust upon her shoulders? It was not that she would not try to bear it, as she has always done. He speaks of keeping her fed and alive and yet forgets that she was half, if not more, of the equation. That’d she’d been keeping him alive far longer than he was ever responsible for her. That even now, apparently, she was the only thing keeping him alive. Though she loves her brother, she wishes for more for him than just this.
You think it doesn’t hurt, to lose them? she writes, sitting back down at the hide to begin stretching it, giving his hands and his mind something to do, even if he didn’t want to do it. He said he’d kill all the creatures for her if only she asked. Well, she is asking him to do this, and it is an easy task. It had been time, she’d hoped, to simply spend together, doing something familiar and comfortable to them both. It always hurts, but I’d rather have them for a time then not at all.
There’s a pause, and she adds to the paper. Maea died. She’d never actually told Korbin. She’d grieved with Loren, with Sunjata, with those who had known Maea. Perhaps Korbin was right, in some regard. She hadn’t meant to leave him behind, but she had. In trying to force him to live his own life she’d left him to rot instead. We can find a middle ground, you and I.
Remember when I swore That you and I would never die
Of course he knew it hurt. But there was a difference in their ability to pick themselves up and keep walking. Or perhaps in how much they gave to those around them. Maybe Korbin was just weaker than her, unable to recover that spark of will to move on; he didn't just drop it with every loss, it went out. And rekindled slower and slow, less bright, less... everything.
She'd rather have them for a time. He'd rather not have them at all, if the inevitable conclusion would always be pain. Nothing brought by others seemed quite worth it.
He watched as she resumed working on the hide, more focused on the scribbles than the work. When she told him about Maea, Korbin sighed and nodded. "I know," he told her quietly. Quite ignoring the grime on his hands, the work before them, he reached out an arm to wrap it about her shoulders. He remembered how she'd talked about the girl, the hope and joy and enthusiasm... had seen the notes posted by her in the Hollowed Ground, and met one who claimed to be her family. Korbin couldn't say he was sorry to have missed someone who left that much impact on others - he didn't care to share their grief. Had too much of it already - which was the whole point.
But he was grateful that Weaver told him, all the same. Even if it was late, even if it only mattered to her; at least he was given the chance to be there for his sister when she was hurting. "May she burn brightly," he said simply, paying the usual quiet respect for the dead.
"How do we do that?" he asked then, prepared to hold her if she wished, or get back to the work if that's what Weaver preferred. "I don't want to be like this, you know. I just don't know how to stop."
Letting go had never been something he was good at.
What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.
She leans into his hug. Though she is not as sad as she had been, she is thankful for his quiet comfort, for the arm that he wraps around her simply because it is his arm. Because for a moment, maybe they feel a little more like them, even if they only managed to catch snippets of that anymore. They had such different personalities, and she understands that, but it’s still hard for her to relate sometimes. She cannot imagine curling in on herself simply because life might hurt. She could curl in on herself all she wanted, but life would still find a way to slip a knife into her ribs all the same. Why fight it, then? Why not just embrace it, and find the light amidst the darkness?
Weaver nods at the words, a small flame springing to life before them, though she snuffs it out quickly. Her head stays against his shoulder a bit longer, the grime from their hands probably on her clothes, but she doesn’t care. Being dirty hardly seems like something worth caring about. She stays a beat longer in his arms, finally extracting herself when he speaks again so she can write.
She hums a thoughtful sound, not that he can hear it, and then starts listing things on the paper. I will leave you notes before I leave. I will tell you what I’m doing before I do it, though you know I never ask. Which is entirely true, she has never once asked for permission and she wasn’t about to start. What else? she writes, open to whatever suggestions he has that will make him feel better, so long as he understands she cannot stop being herself.
Remember when I swore That you and I would never die
He savored the touch, the closeness. It was something that had become rare as of late, and Korbin knew it was just as much his own fault. By trying to close out the world, he inadvetently shut her out as well. And possibly that was part of the reason for his misery. His methods of coping weren't working, and he seemed incapable of finding a new plan.
When she withdrew, he straightened up and waited, leaving the work to sit until they were done. It wouldn't do to make mistakes with the gift for a god, and this conversation was really more important. The leather could wait; she could not.
"Good, I'll do the same," he agreed, not planning on setting rules that wouldn't apply to both of them. Or making her ask permission for anything; it would irk him just as much. "What else... I would like to get a chance to be involved in what you do, Weaver. Be given the option of saying yes or no to participate, before you assume what my answer will be." That was where things had gone wrong with the Kraai; before he knew it she was already doing it, smiling and assuming he would be as delighted as she. If he'd been invited in the deal from the start, not just a sidekick tagalong to leech off her success, then maybe he wouldn't resent it as much. But the way things stood now, he felt redundant. Unnecessary, because he was only there to help. It did not belong to him, however much she claimed the opposite.
"You gotta realize too, that your life is not just yours. And my life is not just mine. As long as we are family and share this space, your decisions will affect me. Just as mine affect you. I'm not sure when we stopped, but somewhere it feels like we lost the respect for that. Your decision to open the bar... I know you had the best of intentions and it's what you wanted, but it still turned everything about how we do things upside down. You effectively fired me from my part or the job in keeping us afloat, and threw me the Kraai as a replacement. One that I'm not even needed in - you're too good at doing what needs to be done." And he was too proud to accept that kind of thing. He needed to be needed, to have a role, a purpose. Being 'the brother' who decorated the space behind the bar just wasn't enough.
There had been a balance, in their responsibilities. Weaver brought home game, and Korbin made sure to turn it into more than food. They each had a role, and even if the weight of them had been too skewed, it could have been shifted to lighten the load on her if she'd wanted it to. But now that balance was gone. Their sole income had become the bar, because without the game, Korbin had nothing to trade for other things except his labor. He had to help her make it work... and when he wasn't actually needed there - except for sentimental reasons - it left him without a role to play. A freeloader in his own home. And even though he accepted the Grand Healer's offer for a job and could contribute more on his own... the connection was gone. They weren't working together anymore, not like before. In a single blow, they'd become separate entities sharing the same too large house, barely seeing each other as they went about living separate lives.
It was a change he resented, a distance and division he never wanted or asked for.
"I know we can't go back. You wouldn't give up the bar even if I asked you, and I won't do that because I know you want to stay off the tundra. I just... I'm not as quick to adapt to change as you as, sis. I know I've been an ass lately, and I'm sorry for that. But I can't change any quicker than I already am. I need time, and space. So... please stop pushing me to do things, or accept people. It won't work, and it won't help." Mulishly stubborn when he didn't want to do something, it rather had the opposite effect. The more people pushed to be let in, the tighter he closed himself off. The harder she campaigned for the world to be part of their lives, the more he would reject it.
All Korbin craved was quiet, and solitude, and space - to mope, yes, and lick his wounds. Some small familiar routine while his nerves settled and repaired, until he was ready - and willing - to face the world again. On his own terms.
What matters most is how well you walk through the fire.
She listens as he talks, sitting back down at the leather though she doesn’t pick up the work again. It can wait, for it would still be sitting here in a few minutes or a few hours, as long as this conversation took to have. It was just vastly easier to write while sitting down then trying to hold the paper and the pen in the air.
He brings up the Kraai, again, and she keeps her face calm and neutral even though she just sort of wants to scream. Gods is she tired of this fight. She’s not even sure what else to say to him about it. It’s one of those things at this point where she’s damned if she does and damned if she doesn’t. She’s damned if she asks him to help and she’s damned if she tells him he doesn’t need to. She’s damned if she suggests he use the Kraai to play music. She’s damned if she pushes him because it annoys him and damned if she leaves him alone because he feels neglected.
Boys. Seriously.
Still, she waits till he’s done and takes a deep breath, turning her attention to the paper, not entirely sure where to start and skipping over any defense of herself. He knows she would have opened the bar regardless, so what’s the point in arguing over it? It’s not like she was going to up and close it because her brother was annoyed. And the fact that they didn’t talk before clearly has nothing to do Korbin not being played at the time or otherwise they would have.
You have the option now, but you say neither yes nor no. I asked you to help and you hated it. I told you you didn’t need to be at the Kraai if you didn’t want to, and you hated that too. I suggested you play music at the Kraai and use it to do your thing, and you asked me why you’d bother. The choice is yours Korbin, but I don’t know what to tell you anymore.
There’s nothing left for her to say. He wants to make a choice, and she’s given him every single one she can think of. It was not her fault he wouldn’t make one, and so she leaves it on the table for him. He could decide. She’d never been stopping him from that.
