For the nights are dark [Straia / Any]

[Erebor]

We are at war. There will be scars.

Perhaps, in another world, Erebor and Davos could have found themselves reversed.

Perhaps in another world, Erebor could have been the boy stranded in the field, courted by recruiters who saw him as something far older than he actually was. Perhaps they would share a sense of purpose, a knowledge that they were made for something more. They both push themselves toward their destinies, hurling themselves into adulthood with an astonishing frenzy.

Perhaps, in this world, two growing boys can find common ground. Perhaps, even for the serious Chamber-prince, there could be friendship.

He smells the newcomer before he sees him. Erebor has honed his ability to smell non-Chamber horses as they cross the border; it's a handy ability really, especially when you're the kingdom's self-appointed border guard. He is wandering not too far away from the path that winds its way into the kingdom from outside, sliding amongst the remnants of the pine trees that he and his mother both love. They are slowly growing back to their full majesty, their branches a little fuller, more trunks sprouting up from the ground. The volcanos came, but the Chamber is rebuilding.

He emerges through the trees, not silently, but with the practiced ease of one who obviously knows this place. These are his trees, by his hard work as much as his birthright. He may be a prince, but he earns that title just as much as he claims it through his blood.

Ironically, he looks nothing like the queen. He and Straia may share much when it comes to the ways their minds work, but when it comes to external appearances, he's entirely his father's son. He has Warship's pitch-black coat, his fighter's muscles, honed by the practice that father and son had begun mere days after Erebor's birth. It is hard to say whether Erebor or Warship had been more eager to start; both shared the idea that there was no such thing as too early to be training.

He is a yearling now, and he is turning handsome, the devastating kind of handsome that a good boy scout can be – clean cut, impressive bearing, as though he's wearing a uniform. Such is Erebor: constantly on duty, always aware of the Chamber above all and everything else.

Erebor feels no fear as he approaches the newcomer. Here in the Chamber, Erebor is at home – he does not doubt that his mother or his father may be nearby, although he is equally confident in his own ability and willingness to defend if the circumstances called for it. But part of his training has been how to read other horses, to look at them and know their intentions purely based on how they move. And while he's no expert, he is a quick study, and this man seems far from threatening. And so a small smile plays on the black boy's lips and he calls out a greeting as he heads toward the boy.

"Good morning." his greeting is crisp, even, friendly enough. Reaching conversation range, he comes to an easy halt."Welcome to the Chamber." he pauses for just a moment, still smiling slightly. His acute senses catch that his new companion is slightly out of breath, that his coat is perhaps a shade darker than it might otherwise be, telltale signs of a long journey. "I'm Erebor."

Erebor

Native Prince of the Chamber

warship x straia