05-11-2015, 09:28 PM
There will be scars.
The walk with his mother is amiable, a veritable tour of Beqanna. As before, he drinks in the history like a thirsty man, glad to learn anything (and everything) that he can possibly soak up. There is no crumb of knowledge too meager for his tastes, nothing that he wouldn't wish to know. And his mother, knowing as she does her son's tastes, happily obliges.And when they reach the borders, she tells him of family that they have here. It's fascinating, really, to learn just how far his heritage reaches. He is child of the Chamber, and never doubt it, but he has met so many to whom he is related that he finds it simply fascinating. And now, perhaps, he will meet another.
He wouldn't understand Straia's feelings that she has let her family down. He's missed much of the importance, much of the sturm and drang of the drama that engulfed the Chamber just before his birth. He knows nothing of the rule of the skeleton king, other than what he's heard as hearsay, and hearsay has never much swayed him. All he knows is that his mother has given him everything he needed or wanted (which wasn't much, he's very self sufficient) and that she has given everything for the Chamber. In his book, these are the two important qualities (although reversed, Chamber before self always), and the measures by which he would judge her. And so in his book, she has been nothing but a success.
"Rhy." he tests the name on his lips when they are still alone. "I hope we'll meet her. It's always a pleasure to meet family." he remarks offhand, as though he were commenting on the weather. It has been a pleasure, but it's been a pleasure in the way that a diplomat uses the word. He feels very little genuine pleasure, little soldier boy that he is. His life is duty and discipline, and he would have it no other way.
It isn't long before they're approached by a mare, and from the way she greets them, Erebor almost thinks that it is Rhy. But when the mare draws closer and introduces herself to Erebor, it becomes clear that this is not the case. His face shows no disappointment – he wears a carefully practiced and rigorously cultivated diplomat's mask at all times, neither pleased nor displeased, pleasant but not too pleasant.
"Erebor, ma'am." his response is brisk, but friendly. His voice is rich and deep, richer and deeper than a child's by right should probably be, even a yearling. "It's a pleasure to meet you Sunday." And it is – it's a pleasure to meet everyone who can help him learn more about the world and learn more about the other kingdoms. He doesn't think it strange how she addresses him. For all intents and purposes, Erebor is a mini adult.
"You seem to already know my mother, Straia." he offers, by way of a transition sentence. "We've come from the Chamber, on a diplomatic mission. How is the jungle faring nowadays?" he knows so little of the place, has never been here, and no doubt his mother might have something more pointed or interesting to say. But for now, his words are enough.
Erebor
Native Prince of the Chamber
warship x straia