KORBIN
But what does it take to break you, to awake you?
To make you bow and spit it out?
To make you bow and spit it out?
It was emotional dependency at it's most profound. Beautiful, loving, dangerous, like smothering vines that wrapped so tight around its host tree that eventually it would have smothered it, becoming naught but a hollow imitation of what had once been there. Maybe that was where they would have ended eventually, if Weaver had lived. Or maybe they would be like two trees seeded so close to one another that when they grew, their bark merged and they fused into one being. Co-dependent, needing one for the other to survive. Weaver had always been Korbin's reason to keep going, and he had been hers. She had crawled into his bed the night she came home after Erebor died and together they had laid curled in the darkness, pressed against one another. Frightened children in a world that tried its best to kill the weak, and there a pact had been made. Together they would be strong. And they would survive.
Was it weak, to depend upon another for safety, for support, for meaning and purpose? Then Weaver was just as weak as him. Better at hiding it, her heart larger and more willing to let others in, but she was just the same as him. He had been strong too once. Able to carry the burdens when she needed to be saved. Able to offer support and comfort. In a house that no longer existed, she had leaned her head on his shoulder and let herself be weak so that he could feel what it was like to be strong, and he had relished the feeling.
But it was ashes now. A dragon had cut the trees apart with claws of ice, and fire had ravaged what remained. This sapling was supposed to have burned too, but careless water had put out the flames.
So many metaphors. There were so many different ways to say it, but it did not change the simple fact that she was gone and he remained, and it was so profoundly wrong.
"Yes," Korbin replied in a broken sob, a shuddering whisper, when Chulane's words tried to cut him, tried to make him react again. "I thought she would survive forever. I had her back. We were good. I leaned on her and she leaned on me. She was strong and carried me, and because she was there I could be strong too and carry her. I never mattered."
And he believed it. Genuinely, without making excuses. His existence was pointless. "I never belonged here. Never fit in. Too soft. Too weak. I could not hunt, because seeing the animals crumpled and dying gave me nightmares. I wasted away, couldn't eat, or sleep, so Weaver took over the hunting. I couldn't fight well... landing a blow on her turned my hands to water, and it was like hitting myself, or tearing my own heaet out. We kept sparring, but I was always afraid, and she did not push me to change. I did the other things. Traded pelts and bones, tanned hides and split firewood, I cooked and cleaned and kept the house while she was out hunting. I did everything to put food on the table. I worked until my back broke and my hands bled and when it wasn't enough I stole and I fucked to get hold of what we needed anyway. It was fine. It was for Weaver, and she did things for me too, more things than she ever said, things she thought I would never know about. She sold Halo secrets for the booze in the Kraai, did you know? My secrets, your secrets, her own secrets... because it was better than the Tundra. Better than ursurs, and freezing your hands off, and what could I really say when I couldn't step up and do the job for her? I never belonged in Halo but she gave me a place anyway. Weaver's brother. The younger brother. Was I a chain around her neck that held her back? Was I her reason to keep going too? Maybe it was both. I wanted to turn raven and never come back, but she was still here, so I could not. Sometimes I hate her for that. Sometimes, when we laugh together and she looks at me with crinkles around her eyes it all just makes sense. Yes. This is why. This is the good. This is enough of a reason to keep waking up."
Like a ruptured dam, the words just poured out. Monotone, colorless, at some point it became unclear if Korbin even knew that he was talking out loud. An internal monologue that was stuck on repeat, spinning brokenly. Unable to stop, or move on.
What was the question again? Did he ever try to exist for himself? To be his own reason?
Well, no. He was alive only because she made it so he could survive. Without her he was nothing. His place was gone. His existence a moot point.
Was it weak, to depend upon another for safety, for support, for meaning and purpose? Then Weaver was just as weak as him. Better at hiding it, her heart larger and more willing to let others in, but she was just the same as him. He had been strong too once. Able to carry the burdens when she needed to be saved. Able to offer support and comfort. In a house that no longer existed, she had leaned her head on his shoulder and let herself be weak so that he could feel what it was like to be strong, and he had relished the feeling.
But it was ashes now. A dragon had cut the trees apart with claws of ice, and fire had ravaged what remained. This sapling was supposed to have burned too, but careless water had put out the flames.
So many metaphors. There were so many different ways to say it, but it did not change the simple fact that she was gone and he remained, and it was so profoundly wrong.
"Yes," Korbin replied in a broken sob, a shuddering whisper, when Chulane's words tried to cut him, tried to make him react again. "I thought she would survive forever. I had her back. We were good. I leaned on her and she leaned on me. She was strong and carried me, and because she was there I could be strong too and carry her. I never mattered."
And he believed it. Genuinely, without making excuses. His existence was pointless. "I never belonged here. Never fit in. Too soft. Too weak. I could not hunt, because seeing the animals crumpled and dying gave me nightmares. I wasted away, couldn't eat, or sleep, so Weaver took over the hunting. I couldn't fight well... landing a blow on her turned my hands to water, and it was like hitting myself, or tearing my own heaet out. We kept sparring, but I was always afraid, and she did not push me to change. I did the other things. Traded pelts and bones, tanned hides and split firewood, I cooked and cleaned and kept the house while she was out hunting. I did everything to put food on the table. I worked until my back broke and my hands bled and when it wasn't enough I stole and I fucked to get hold of what we needed anyway. It was fine. It was for Weaver, and she did things for me too, more things than she ever said, things she thought I would never know about. She sold Halo secrets for the booze in the Kraai, did you know? My secrets, your secrets, her own secrets... because it was better than the Tundra. Better than ursurs, and freezing your hands off, and what could I really say when I couldn't step up and do the job for her? I never belonged in Halo but she gave me a place anyway. Weaver's brother. The younger brother. Was I a chain around her neck that held her back? Was I her reason to keep going too? Maybe it was both. I wanted to turn raven and never come back, but she was still here, so I could not. Sometimes I hate her for that. Sometimes, when we laugh together and she looks at me with crinkles around her eyes it all just makes sense. Yes. This is why. This is the good. This is enough of a reason to keep waking up."
Like a ruptured dam, the words just poured out. Monotone, colorless, at some point it became unclear if Korbin even knew that he was talking out loud. An internal monologue that was stuck on repeat, spinning brokenly. Unable to stop, or move on.
What was the question again? Did he ever try to exist for himself? To be his own reason?
Well, no. He was alive only because she made it so he could survive. Without her he was nothing. His place was gone. His existence a moot point.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
