He can feel her before she ever arrives, two ships careening towards each other on mad and towering waves. She practically screams at him, though it is not with words. But just as she is, so is he too young to understand the wildness they share. Too young to realize he is a conduit. Too young to understand the way he amplifies everything she (they) feel.
His narrow ribs expand and contract in rapid succession with his breath, blue eyes bright and feverish as he whips his head around to peer at her with an unnervingly clear gaze. Just as she sees, so too does he. But where she pushes without caution or concept, he receives. He sees it all. Everything (or so it feels to him, so small and unworldly as he is).
He understands the weakness though. The way it feels to be small and cumbersome. She radiates her loathing for it and he recognizes it. He had felt it the moment he’d pressed against his stone mother’s unforgiving skin. Without thought, he radiates his own response. The last breath of his mother, redolent with love and comfort and protection, convinced that even in death she would never leave them.
But she had. And perhaps that is why he had become so lost. Why he rages so futilely across half of Beqanna.
She asks who he is, he is confused for a moment. The moment clears however, and he replies breathlessly. “Reave.”
And it’s true, isn’t it? He had stolen so much already. He had stolen the very life from his mother. And he steals sight. Every day he thieves a little bit more.
But so did she. He recognizes it, the way she plunders his vision is so familiar as to be impossible not to recognize. “Do you enjoy it?” he asks without clarification. It doesn’t occur to him that he had not done the same to her and so she may not recognize like calling to like.
reave
@[galadriel]