KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
He could shed tears for her too. Perhaps that was a role he could still fill in all this. The softer touch, the lighter shade of black. The one that bled red, that couldn't always get back up. The one to hold back, where she dragged them on. The break, to her gas.
It only made for a good team when they worked together, though. Like they were here. A balance lost was found again in the simple act of holding and being held, in allowing some of that core to shine through, to be seen. Korbin found that he couldn't actually remember that she ever let herself lean on him this way. Possibly it had happened, but... Weaver always went to Erebor for that kind of support. Their brother had been a rock, a mountain, so solidly grounded that nothing seemed to phase him. The kind of man you could lean on. Weaver was a fire, burning hot and bright, always moving on, leaving the ashes of the past behind seemingly without a second glance. And Korbin? A feather on the breeze, swept this way and that, as of yet unable to take control over his own fate.
And still she nestled in against him, and his heart bled for the things she didn't say, the things he only understood here because he couldn't hear. Because he had to listen with his heart instead.
Maybe a curse wasn't always a curse. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, too. His grip on her tightened, holding on like he never planned to let go.
And in a very real way, he never would. No matter what happened.
It only made for a good team when they worked together, though. Like they were here. A balance lost was found again in the simple act of holding and being held, in allowing some of that core to shine through, to be seen. Korbin found that he couldn't actually remember that she ever let herself lean on him this way. Possibly it had happened, but... Weaver always went to Erebor for that kind of support. Their brother had been a rock, a mountain, so solidly grounded that nothing seemed to phase him. The kind of man you could lean on. Weaver was a fire, burning hot and bright, always moving on, leaving the ashes of the past behind seemingly without a second glance. And Korbin? A feather on the breeze, swept this way and that, as of yet unable to take control over his own fate.
And still she nestled in against him, and his heart bled for the things she didn't say, the things he only understood here because he couldn't hear. Because he had to listen with his heart instead.
Maybe a curse wasn't always a curse. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, too. His grip on her tightened, holding on like he never planned to let go.
And in a very real way, he never would. No matter what happened.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
