 We are at war. There will be scars.
He's never given much thought to his siblings. He assumes he has some (mostly on his father's side) but none of them seem to be around, he's never met them, and so he doesn't concern himself with any of it too much. He is terribly concerned with his history – the grandfathers, grandmothers, and even more distant relations that are long dead – but he hasn't thought much about the living.
But to any brother or sister who might wander past, his relation is almost painfully obvious. He is the very image of his father, Warship reborn, every bit as black as the Chamber general. He is well muscled too, built with a fighter's strength and built to be a fighter. He looks nothing like his mother; Straia's genes had been overwhelmed by Warship's simple black. Internally, he's inherited all the best qualities of both. He is his father's warrior, built to protect, defend, and conquer. But he has also inherited his mother's leadership. And he's inherited diplomacy from somewhere unknown- Straia herself has admitted that he's far more diplomatic than she.
He has both his parents' attention, and he wants for nothing. Part of that is because he would want for nothing, even if he had nothing. He does not ask for anything, and he needs less. He is a rugged boy scout, perfectly capable of raising himself if needed. Having his parents available is a plus, not a requirement. And in fact his relationship with them would no doubt appear strange to some. There is very little visible affection; his parents' love for him is largely the unspoken kind, communicated instead by their pride and trust in him. And that is all he needs.
That he should, or even could, want anything else never crosses his mind.
He enters the Meadow with an easy grace. He is still young, not even a yearling yet, but he is already terribly handsome. He looks for all the world like a trained cadet, a young army man standing with military bearing. He is always straight, always at a gentle attention, because that is the only way he knows how to be.
The place is familiar to him by now. It is late afternoon, the light of almost-autumn streaming through the treetops. It silhouettes the horses, casting long shadows as they stand in clusters, speaking quietly, some of them gently touching, each knot of them wrapped up in their own little world. He stands apart from all of them, a part of no knot, tied up in nothing.
He does not know what waits for him here. He is ignorant of his half-sister, unaware of his father's encounter with her in the Chamber. It is odd that he does not know of it – he tries to make a point to know everything that happens within the Chamber's borders, and he succeeds in large part. But even the best guard dog sometimes fails in his duties.
He wouldn't recognize her. He doesn't know her. But perhaps, as she knows the father she has disavowed, perhaps she will see that father in him. And perhaps, as he makes the first move into the meadow, she will notice him and she will know. Erebor Native Prince of the Chamber warship x straia
Like a snake I have hidden myself in the comfort of the forest watching happiness glow from a distance. My oasis known as the meadow has been kind enough to me for the year. I wrap myself in her camouflage at night and periodically wander the shadows when I feel no one will be here to bother me. Perhaps I am born to be a loner—a single wolf, a bachelorette—and not suited for the social aspect of kingdoms.
Today, I am nestled in the comfort of snow in a small clearing that the forest provides. I like it here especially, where the trees make a giant oval wall and the only thing that comes to view with a beating heart is a passing bird and chattering squirrel. Those I can tolerate. They are territorial, talkative, but yet they tend to leave me alone unless I bed a little too close to her nest. I can respect that: looking out for your young.
I certainly never had it, but I can see why it is such a beautiful thing: love.
Has my heart grown a dark shade of grey over this year? Bitterness isn’t what I would call it. I would consider it a past that has shaped my soul. SHE wasn’t there, and Warship wished he had not been there. I was born from a mare that was so embarrassed by my existence she had left me out to die, and raised by a man so bitter from his past that he had seen me the mirror to his mistakes.
Dead to me.
The sun is just hardly rising over the tops of trees and I feel already like the heat is about to melt my skin. It has gotten so incredibly warm lately I can feel the snow around me liquidate into water at the welcome of spring. Soon, maybe a couple weeks, the first blossom of warm weather will bloom before my eyes.
I almost feel entitled to kill it and save her from its misery.
I rise because I feel as though lazing the day away won’t do my figure any favors. My coat is damp on my right side from snoozing a little too long in moistened snow, making my white patches turn a hue of deep grey. I guess I am a two year old now—one year away from motherhood and yet still young enough to have no respect. My mane is thickening and growing at a patient pace, my tail lengthening to the bottom of my hocks. I stretch my back out with two steps forward and then a large bow; feeling my spine and hind end reach.
I am blind about myself and my beauty. While I consider my slender physique a weakness—men see it as a tasty treat. While I see my mane and forelock as a nuisance, I know if I had a mother she would coo how luscious it had grown. My appearance of myself is average, mediocre, alright.
but oh, how others see you.
By the time I emerge from the dwelling of my forest it is late afternoon. I am desperate to turn around, but eventually I must play nice with other diplomats and today might as well be that day. Snow—sticky from melting but not being hot enough to fully dissolve—clings to my hooves like wasted weight. My body stiffens at the sight of a dark charcoal brute—too small and young looking to be Warship but yet an uncanny resemblance. My throat thickens and my eyes burn: we have missed you.
I certainly didn’t know I had a brother to miss. Thank you Warship for your informative conversation. By the way my burden of a daughter Smother, you have a brother who might ocassionally stalk you in the field even after you disown the entire family.
Why, thank you for sharing such informative details father. Even that word still drips with disdain and poison off my tongue.
Part of me wonders how informed this young child is. Does he know who I am? What I said? Though I have no doubt if Warship had failed to tell me, then I would put down my entire life that this poor child had yet to hear of me.
And then it hit me; I like games.
My approach to him is cougar like—I don’t mean to, but it just comes naturally that I am always on offense and protecting my zone. My eyes focus on him like cold stones in the ground—unwavering, steady. He comes so quick into reach that part of me just wants to squeeze his throat and watch blood curl from his eyes and his nostrils wheeze with lack of air.
He hasn’t done anything to you,
Not yet.
“You’re a little young to be wandering from mommy-dearest,” is what I start off with, my tone condescending and no doubt intentionally pushing his buttons. Will he take the bait?
05-02-2015, 10:24 AM
(This post was last modified: 05-02-2015, 10:24 AM by Erebor.)
We are at war. There will be scars. They are perhaps surprisingly alike, Erebor and Smother, but also impossibly different.
They had both raised themselves, but to entirely different effect. For Erebor, raising himself was a choice. He has the use of both parents, whenever he needs them. He can question, he can train, and from time to time he receives praise that he knows means affection. Perhaps he too could feel slighted, not abandoned as she was, but robbed of the love that a mother and a father are meant to provide for a child. Warship and Straia are raising him like a prince, not like a son. But the key thing that differentiates Erebor and Smother is that he would have it no other way.
What she sees as something horrible, he would see as opportunity. Where she is bitter and hardened, he chooses to become a champion. And no, he has not been abandoned – but if he had been, it would be no different.
He hears her moving and his ears flick toward her, his gaze soon following. He sees her catlike approach, her predatory bearing, and he is almost instantly on alert. He is not expecting a fight, not expecting a threat, not afraid – but if she does attempt anything, he'll be ready to fight her off. But he allows her to approach unchallenged, his dark eyes fixed on her, watching, curious to see what she will do. She is looking at him like he is meat, but he is confident in his abilities.
Her tones are condescending, as though she's intending to take her words and drive them deep under his skin. Luckily for him (and unluckily for her) while Erebor has plenty of pride in his home, he has very little pride in himself. He is not easily offended, unless you're going to start offending the Chamber, and so it is not hard for him to let the insults roll off his back. There is no part of him that is disturbed by it; after all, the core of it is even true. He remains young, so young, young enough that most mothers wouldn't be allowing him to wander alone. Thankfully for him, Straia is not most mothers.
He chuckles, low and handsome in his throat. "You don't know my mother." he speaks, his voice carrying just a hint of a smile. "I go where I please." He looks her up and down, as though deliberately appraising – but not gawking, not disrespecting. "Aren't you a little young to be calling me young?" he asks, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, a slight edge to his voice, but no actual malice in it. He notices her curves – he is a stallion after all – but he is a gentleman, a good soldier, and while he can appreciate, he will do no more than that. He is remarkably strong willed, and has a remarkable ability to compartmentalize and focus. Could she use it to her advantage? Perhaps. But it would take a bit of effort.
Erebor won't kill all games, Smother, but he isn't likely to play by your rules. So game, set, match – let's play. Erebor Native Prince of the Chamber warship x straia
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