WEAVER
Perhaps that was how they were made, two halves of one far greater whole. He could temper her fire while she could stoke his. He could remind her how to feel where she would remind him that they learn to move on anyway. They only needed to stop and remind themselves of this, once in a while. Stop and remember they were meant to be together, two metals forged into one to make the blade stronger. They were double edged, so long as it was both of them.
Us against the world. He cannot hear it, and she does not say it, but the truth hangs in the air all the same.
She has not let him hold her like this. The closest would have been after Erebor’s death, when she’d crept into his room to hold him. She’d held him, yes, but it had been for her own benefit, too afraid to let him go in case she might lose him as well. Too afraid to show weakness, because she did not want to give him any more to worry about. It had been easier to lean on Erebor for strength. He’d had it in droves, in excess to simply give away. Besides, then he’d been the oldest, the responsible one. He’d been the one who did not get to break. She wonders now if he would have, if there’d been someone for him.
Strange, how much can be said with no words. How much can be said by the way their arms hold tight to one another. So many apologies, in those arms. So many promises in the beating of their hearts against their chests. So many explanations written into the silence. All the things they could not say or did not want to say, finally heard, when there is nothing to hear at all.
Us against the world. He cannot hear it, and she does not say it, but the truth hangs in the air all the same.
She has not let him hold her like this. The closest would have been after Erebor’s death, when she’d crept into his room to hold him. She’d held him, yes, but it had been for her own benefit, too afraid to let him go in case she might lose him as well. Too afraid to show weakness, because she did not want to give him any more to worry about. It had been easier to lean on Erebor for strength. He’d had it in droves, in excess to simply give away. Besides, then he’d been the oldest, the responsible one. He’d been the one who did not get to break. She wonders now if he would have, if there’d been someone for him.
Strange, how much can be said with no words. How much can be said by the way their arms hold tight to one another. So many apologies, in those arms. So many promises in the beating of their hearts against their chests. So many explanations written into the silence. All the things they could not say or did not want to say, finally heard, when there is nothing to hear at all.
I was made to be wild, wicked, and free
