i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high
It is his blessing and his curse to remember. To see the knotted and tangled lines of the past lain out so clearly before him. To find the many ways in which they fray into the future, creating possibility upon possibility for what might come to pass. The strange ability that had begun in his grandmother had grown, found new corners to unleash, new information to reveal as it surged through him. And he can see how in the future, it might yet be so much more.
A blessing and a curse.
They are so very similar in so many ways however, though the both of them would undoubtedly refuse to acknowledge it. But they each sit housed so precariously in their own skin, as though at any moment the wildness might tear through and free itself. If only they let down their guard long enough.
He can almost feel her gaze on his skin, drifting alongside the slow trickle of blood. Pressing against the ragged edges of bone and flesh. Would it disappoint her to know the rawness would not last? That one day his body (and the bones along with it) would have grown to it’s very peak of health and mortality and would cease to age?
When she replies, her brow furrowed in confusion now rather than anger, Reave cannot help the laugh she startles from his lips. “You wear your rage like armor,” he replies easily, the rich tones of his voice now redolent with humor. “Like my bones.” He reaches forward then, thoughtlessly touching her furrowed brow. He is so used to touch it does not occur to him he shouldn’t. “Except your mask is the anger here on your brow.”
When he withdraws to peer at her, his blue eyes are gleaming with a devilish light. “I am many things,” he continues, finally answering her question. “Anger is only one of them.”
reave
@[galadriel]