05-12-2015, 10:22 AM
She has very little purpose here, truthfully, other than to say hello and introduce Erebor to a part of his heritage. Growing rather far removed, yes, but still, the Jungle was in his blood as well. It was in hers too, though she had never seen the Jungle. Her father’s skill was to keep her as sheltered as possible (though she did her best to run around behind his back and learn what she could). He didn’t spend much time teaching her of her history, on either side. She knew why he avoided teaching her of her mother’s history – that side was the legacy he was trying to kill, except he tied himself to it through her anyway. But she never entirely knew why he hadn’t taught her of his own family – he loved them all so. Simple neglect, probably. Rodrik had been good for that.
Sunday finds them quickly enough, and while Straia’s own smile doesn’t stretch like Sunday’s nor does she necessarily light up like the Amazonian, the corners of her mouth are pulled upward and her face is light and easy, pleasant and natural for Straia. She doesn’t feel any need to fake a larger smile here. This particular Jungle mare knows her well enough, and truthfully, she expects nothing out of the Amazons. She had asked her question, and received a clever diplomatic response. But she’s not stupid, and she knows their choice. She won’t ask again – the Chamber does not beg.
Erebor answers first, ever the diplomat. Such a perfect little creature, really. One day, he will surpass her, and she could ask for nothing more. That’s the point of parenthood, is it not? Granted she didn’t plan to be such a failure that he’d have to usurp her off the throne. She’d step down before that happened. “Sunday,” she says in that smoky voice of hers. “Here to say hello, really. And slightly selfishly, to see the place where my father grew up and where my grandmother ruled.” Little bit of added history for Erebor too.
Sunday finds them quickly enough, and while Straia’s own smile doesn’t stretch like Sunday’s nor does she necessarily light up like the Amazonian, the corners of her mouth are pulled upward and her face is light and easy, pleasant and natural for Straia. She doesn’t feel any need to fake a larger smile here. This particular Jungle mare knows her well enough, and truthfully, she expects nothing out of the Amazons. She had asked her question, and received a clever diplomatic response. But she’s not stupid, and she knows their choice. She won’t ask again – the Chamber does not beg.
Erebor answers first, ever the diplomat. Such a perfect little creature, really. One day, he will surpass her, and she could ask for nothing more. That’s the point of parenthood, is it not? Granted she didn’t plan to be such a failure that he’d have to usurp her off the throne. She’d step down before that happened. “Sunday,” she says in that smoky voice of hers. “Here to say hello, really. And slightly selfishly, to see the place where my father grew up and where my grandmother ruled.” Little bit of added history for Erebor too.
straia
queen of the chamber