Unmoving.
For what good it did him, he was moved from the bedroom to the Main Hall by his father and then put back like a bookend after the dinner where his sister came in to care for him once more. All through the meal and the discussion he sat, staring vacantly at the far wall or apparently sleeping, completely unphased by the world around him. Nothing seemed about to wake him from his sleeping world. Not sweet Bilbo, back from the beyond, dressing him up and colouring on him nor Elanor's soft singing or gentle words, nor even his mother coming in to check on him in the still of the night and fretting over his condition.
Perhaps he was going to be a motionless, sitting vegetable for the rest of his life . . . but it seemed things didn't need to be so. Something had to happen to bend him back, just like something bent him to break in the beginning.
Perhaps there was still someone missing in his life whom he hadn't seen yet . . . someone who had been missing for a while now, in one form or another . . . perhaps . . .
Then again, those people were pain and hurt, and here inside his little fuzzy world it was sweet and warm and painless and so maybe he just stayed of his own free will, because it was so much easier here.
Perhaps he was going to be a motionless, sitting vegetable for the rest of his life . . . but it seemed things didn't need to be so. Something had to happen to bend him back, just like something bent him to break in the beginning.
Perhaps there was still someone missing in his life whom he hadn't seen yet . . . someone who had been missing for a while now, in one form or another . . . perhaps . . .
Then again, those people were pain and hurt, and here inside his little fuzzy world it was sweet and warm and painless and so maybe he just stayed of his own free will, because it was so much easier here.