WEAVER
Funny, how life comes full circle. How she’d told Loren that after Erebor died, after she’d broken in the silence of her room when she was well enough to even understand, truly, what had happened, that she'd simply resolved not to break again. It had been a mask, for a while. Put on for Korbin, and somewhat for herself, to keep them going when going on felt impossible. Eventually that invincibility became a part of her. She doesn’t really know how it happened, or when it happened, only that it did. That at some point she’d gone from hiding the brokenness to simply being hard to break.
She dresses him, and though he is a child in this moment, it isn’t all that strange really. How many times had she helped him dress? How many times had she wandered into his room and told him to unbutton the back of some dress she’d put on for a particular occasion? This is what they did. They took care of one another, even when they didn’t always feel like it. Because in the end, she would never leave him alone.
He finally speaks, his words like a drunken man’s, but she gets the impression. Ah. The cannibal. Someone not really human anymore, someone who needed to die. She can’t make it better for him, not really, so she doesn’t try. Instead she tugs at his hand slightly, encouraging him toward the pillow, encouraging him to lie down. She grabs some furs, planning to toss them over him and at least try to keep him warm. What does she know about shock, about stuff like this? Maybe she should take Loren up on the offer of lessons. For now though, she can tuck him in, and if he obliges, she can curl up next to him and keep him company.
She dresses him, and though he is a child in this moment, it isn’t all that strange really. How many times had she helped him dress? How many times had she wandered into his room and told him to unbutton the back of some dress she’d put on for a particular occasion? This is what they did. They took care of one another, even when they didn’t always feel like it. Because in the end, she would never leave him alone.
He finally speaks, his words like a drunken man’s, but she gets the impression. Ah. The cannibal. Someone not really human anymore, someone who needed to die. She can’t make it better for him, not really, so she doesn’t try. Instead she tugs at his hand slightly, encouraging him toward the pillow, encouraging him to lie down. She grabs some furs, planning to toss them over him and at least try to keep him warm. What does she know about shock, about stuff like this? Maybe she should take Loren up on the offer of lessons. For now though, she can tuck him in, and if he obliges, she can curl up next to him and keep him company.
I was made to be wild, wicked, and free
