WEAVER
At least for the moment, the difference between need and want ceases to matter. Maybe she shouldn’t be so stubborn, because for her brother, need was the important thing. He wanted to be needed. And gods, she did need him. In the same vein she didn’t want him to feel like he had to fall on his sword to help her when it made him miserable. It was a balancing act she couldn’t seem to figure out, but maybe they’d learn. Maybe he’d grow to find his place in the world and his joy while realizing she always wanted/needed him around. Maybe she’d grow to learn how to show it better, to be something other than a cold, glittering weapon.
She closes her eyes, content to curl against her brother, finding him as comforting as she had once found Erebor. Her breathing evens slightly, though she’s not asleep. She’s just calm. Her mind is quiet, and she doesn’t feel like she has to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders.
After a moment, she opens her eyes and picks up a hand to spell in the air again. Maybe he already knows it, but she needs tosay it write it anyway. I M S O R R Y. For what? Well that didn’t really matter, did it? She was simply sorry. Sorry for everything. For all the loss, for all the pain, for all the times she didn’t tell him how she really felt, for pretending when she didn’t have to.
She closes her eyes, content to curl against her brother, finding him as comforting as she had once found Erebor. Her breathing evens slightly, though she’s not asleep. She’s just calm. Her mind is quiet, and she doesn’t feel like she has to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders.
After a moment, she opens her eyes and picks up a hand to spell in the air again. Maybe he already knows it, but she needs to
I was made to be wild, wicked, and free
