"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
It had been ages since Sheppard had returned to the meadow. For months he had crossed over the lands of Beqanna visiting each and every kingdom to see which area may suit him best. The other abundance of pleasantries and occasion rough goings had been overwhelming to say the least. It had been as though each group were willing to spill blood in order to have him stay. Promises of health, satisfaction, eventual high rankings... Yet not once was it just simply said "we would enjoy your company for a while. Why not just stay and see?"
You would think if they were so eager to get him to stick around they wouldn't stop trying the moment they thought they didn't have a chance. But who knows. Maybe he just hadn't met the right ones. Yet. Standing at the creek bed, Sheppard looked down towards the water watching the small minnows dart inbetween the light strands of grass poking along the edge. Beautiful they were, but all Sheppard could see in the action was skilled movements of creatures aimlessly living a life that only consisted of sex, feeding and simple survival.
Slowly looking up the young man glanced around being sure to take note of his surroundings. He was always on alert, ready for whatever life may bring at him. His dark eyes finally rested on a small blue bird hopping at the base of an ancient oak and with a soft sigh he shifted his weight. Wings brushing against his side he tilted his head slowly wondering what it must like to be so tiny. And then without blinking he was suddenly stomping his hoof, causing the bird to tweet nervously as it took flight towards the closest branch
With a soft chuckle he looked up at the bird before tsking softly in disappointment. He never had liked such fragile creatures and not only that but they occasionally loved to find their way above just to shit on ones back and let me tell you something, Sheppard was not a fan and never will be of free falling poo.
Clearly, he’s never met Straia. She doesn’t waste time with pleasantries, or promises of power. I mean sure, there’s power to be had if you want it. Or you can laze around, though she might yell at you occasionally, she won’t bite over that one. Mostly, she just says to come look, take a dip, and leave if it’s not for you. In the end, she was loyal members in the Chamber. A bunch of useless faces are worthless. A few loyal members who will lay down their life? Priceless.
Yea, apparently the Chamber’s a MasterCard commercial.
But she’s not actually in the field today. She’s not feeling all that lucky in the field today, so she decides to hit the meadow. Not the place for recruiting, necessarily, but often the place for meeting interesting and useful horses. It’s where she met Eight. It’s how, eventually, she got her crown. She probably would have gotten her crown with or without Eight – it just happened sooner with her help.
And in this particular scenario, she didn’t have to kill her father for it. Just sell him. But then again, he sold all his children. Wasn’t it time he knew what that felt like?
She’s pretty sure Erebor’s not all that far behind her – she invited him to come if he wanted, or to stay if he didn’t. She would make her son do certain things, mostly if she thought they were beneficial to him or the Chamber. Eventually she’d take him to meet Rodrik, because Rodrik couldn’t be mad at his grandson even if he hated Straia. She’d make him attend kingdom meetings and caste trainings and such as well (though he seemed to do these things all on his own).
She wouldn’t make him come to the meadow. Not that she’d be surprised if the boy did. But she doesn’t walk next to him, doesn’t hold his hand. He knows the path – or at least knows where she’s heading – and he’ll find more if he’s left a bit to his own devices than if she shows him every step of the way. It’s a form of a love, sure, but it’s not an overbearing one. That’s just not her style. It’s not his, either.
Eventually, a stallion catches her eye as he stomps his foot and freaks a bird out. She hears the chuckle, and she can’t help the smile that tugs the corners of her lips upward a bit. Lu used to chase birds. Oh Lu, who would also probably never speak to her again. But hadn’t Atrox warned her? The Chamber is a cruel mistress, and it would take everything.
And so far, it was taking everything. Despite that, she loves it still. Always will.
She makes her way over, stopping a polite distance away with a slight nod of her head. “My sister used to chase birds,” she says with an amused toned, the quirk of a smile still there. “Straia.”
The meadow had been one of the best places for conversation in his short lifetime. He could still remember meeting Nera and learning about her a bit. For some reason she stuck in his head after all this time and he never knew would know why. She must have just been one of those personalities that was strange and or vibrant enough to remember.
It was on days like today that Sheppard almost wished that there was someone worth having an interesting conversation with. He hadn't heard his own voice in ages and he was curious. Curious to how he'd sound when he finally let himself speak. Would his voice break? Would it be hoarse? Or would be unable to say anything at all. Trapped in a world of one sided silence?
For the last few months the world had been so very quiet and frankly he was tired of it. Despite his social awkwardness he could definitely go for a bit of normal conversation right about now. Too bad the bird couldn't talk. Though as he thought about it more he realized the most they would probably end up discussing was that stupid blue feathery ball's morning meal and how she threw it up into her children's mouths.
Just as he was about to make a grimace in response to such disgusting mental imagery he heard the soft pats of another and his head shot towards her, a slight look of surprise just barely passing over his face for a moments time. With a tiny smirk he nodded back at her before glancing towards the bird. "I'm sure she enjoyed herself. They're flighty behavior can be quite amusing." As he spoke he noticed his voice had become considerably deeper over the period of silent travels.
Looking back at her, he turned his head slowly careful notn to prick the mare the horn standing out from his forehead. "Straia," slowly he spoke her name letting it roll inbetween his lips with only a slightly gentle tone. "I'm Sheppard." His smirk grew slightly as he caught her eye and shrugged lightly. "Any reason for torturing yourself by coming to a place like this on such a nice day?" with a slight chuckle he looked back towards the bird as it flew back down to the ground to continue what Sheppard had so rudely interrupted.
He follows his mother because her travels often lead to something interesting.
He has no concept of needing protection, no fear, no desire to be sheltered. He is animated by the Chamber, his heart beats for the Chamber, he strives to be better – to be best – because she deserves nothing else. He is like steel, not yet fully tempered (he is still so young) but strong, so strong. Unflinching, brave, a heart of iron and a soul of steel.
He has never been to the Meadow before, but he picks out his mother's trail well enough. By the time he reaches the Meadow, she has already found someone to speak with. He watches the horse for a moment, seeing the wings, the horn, the undeniable mythical traits. This is his first time seeing another horse who is more than just equine, at least as far as he is aware, but he takes it in stride. He observes for just a moment longer than he otherwise might, but he observes with a distinct dispassion. He does not feel particularly about mythicals one way or the other. He does not fear them, he does not envy them, he simply accepts them as one would accept the weather. He accepts them as a fact, just as he accepts the new breeds of trees that ring the meadow, the strange blades of grass beneath his feet.
With no more delay he makes his away across the grass to join his mother and the stranger, walking with an unnatural grace for one so young. He is barely a few months old, but he is astonishingly precocious. He pushes himself impossibly hard, and he achieves impossibly much. He is entirely black, and will remain so throughout his life, never changing, never greying. He will be steady and constant, always ahead of the class, always serious by nature and charming by necessity. He will be a prince in the most classic sense of the word.
He halts gracefully beside his mother, but at the distance that one would expect from two unrelated horses who happen to be meeting in the meadow. He does not need her support, nor does he feel she needs his protection. He arrives just in time to hear Sheppard introduce himself, and his lips quirk upward ever so slightly at the stallion's question. "Why, for the company, of course." he answers, the ghost of a smile still playing on his young lips. "Either that, or for the bird chasing." He very clearly is not the kind of foal who chases birds. Clearly he's inherited the genes to be serious and hardworking from both his parents, because he has almost no childishness in his young body. "I'm Erebor." It might be incongruous, words like this from a not-even-yearling, but, well, that's Erebor.
She knew Nera. The mare was a memorable one, certainly, though Straia mostly remembers her for not sticking around. Not surprising, though somewhat disappointing. Nera would have been the link to the family history that Straia did not know, to Frostweaver and Tatter and the legacy she was born to tie her father to. Instead, she was mostly her father’s legacy, because he had been rather masterful wiping out the previous dynasty.
Except for her, of course. She was technically still both.
But she didn’t have any family on that side anymore. Her half sisters were gone, her aunts, her mother. Or at least, any that she knew of, and she didn’t even know how she’d find the rest. Except through Nera, who hadn’t stuck around long enough to give Straia anything to go on.
So perhaps she would never know. There’s a possibility that her only real legacy will be tearing herself from the family her father created and then creating her own family. She was used to starting from scratch, used to having to do everything on her own. And so she would. She’d start with Erebor, and unlike her father and her, she’d be certain to teach him everything she could.
And it’s no surprise that he’s not far behind her. She smiles at him slightly, though there’s no extra touch of motherly affection. The boy doesn’t seek it, and she’d rather let him explore the world as independently as a young child should be allowed to. Well, as independently as she thinks they should be allowed to, which is probably more than the average.
”Torture?” she says with a grin. ”Is this torturing you? I can leave, if so.” She doubts her presence is torture, unless you happen to be Lu or Rodrik. But she’s beautiful and wild and bold and typically witty enough to hold an intelligent conversation, and she’s unlikely to rip your throat out. That’s basically a win in Beqanna. “What brings you were Sheppard? That question works both ways.”
straia
queen of the chamber
so sorry! that took me forever and ever and ever...
