KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
He would have puffed up and preened in proud delight if he knew she found him to be equal to his brother in anything. Erebor always seemed a distant, unreachable pinnacle in his mind, just as Straia was. Even as a kid, he had an easier time of connecting with his father. They spoke the same language, in many ways, even if Korbin had been more loud and rambunctious than his dad. Their values were the same, their roles and obligations similar... Now he wondered how similar they actually were. His memories were so vague, it always saddened him to realize that he barely knew anything at all of his father.
His eyes, that had drooped into a content half-doze, pried open to watch as Weaver spelled out more words in the air. At first, Korbin thought he must have misread. Was she actually apologizing? Why? For what? He drew in breath to raise a storm of protest, but seemed to think better of it. Letting out a slow breath, the young man considered everything they had been through. Particularly recent events, the changes wrought upon their lives. Much was unavoidable. Accidents and turns of events that had nothing to do with them, save for the fact that they happened to them. But of course, there were things she was responsible for. Just as he was responsible for others.
And maybe they were just not good enough at really apologizing for the screw-ups. Too accustomed to defending, that they started to do it to each other as well. 'Us' had somehow turned into 'me', even if only for an instant here and there... and for all that it was human and necessary o consider the own self and develop the ego, they really did work better together.
Perhaps, the trick here was to turn the 'us' into 'you and me'. That might be where the balance lay.
Korbin smiled softly. T H A N K Y O U, he spelled out. Not because he had to - he could just say it aloud - but it seemed somehow wrong, to break this quiet that they both actually shared. Even if it wasn't quite the same, Korbin enjoyed imagining that they were together in the silence too, not just in the moment and curled up on the bed, like small children coaxed into taking a midday nap.
There were so many things to be grateful for. Her kindness, however saw-toothed and blunt it may be at times. The patience, the boundless acceptance, her sheer, stubborn refusal to give up on the things that mattered. He owed all he was to her, and he was honored to be her brother. It was a lot to live up to, but that was the kind of pressure he wanted to rise up to.
His eyes, that had drooped into a content half-doze, pried open to watch as Weaver spelled out more words in the air. At first, Korbin thought he must have misread. Was she actually apologizing? Why? For what? He drew in breath to raise a storm of protest, but seemed to think better of it. Letting out a slow breath, the young man considered everything they had been through. Particularly recent events, the changes wrought upon their lives. Much was unavoidable. Accidents and turns of events that had nothing to do with them, save for the fact that they happened to them. But of course, there were things she was responsible for. Just as he was responsible for others.
And maybe they were just not good enough at really apologizing for the screw-ups. Too accustomed to defending, that they started to do it to each other as well. 'Us' had somehow turned into 'me', even if only for an instant here and there... and for all that it was human and necessary o consider the own self and develop the ego, they really did work better together.
Perhaps, the trick here was to turn the 'us' into 'you and me'. That might be where the balance lay.
Korbin smiled softly. T H A N K Y O U, he spelled out. Not because he had to - he could just say it aloud - but it seemed somehow wrong, to break this quiet that they both actually shared. Even if it wasn't quite the same, Korbin enjoyed imagining that they were together in the silence too, not just in the moment and curled up on the bed, like small children coaxed into taking a midday nap.
There were so many things to be grateful for. Her kindness, however saw-toothed and blunt it may be at times. The patience, the boundless acceptance, her sheer, stubborn refusal to give up on the things that mattered. He owed all he was to her, and he was honored to be her brother. It was a lot to live up to, but that was the kind of pressure he wanted to rise up to.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
