there will be scars; warship, diplomats, any

[Erebor]

We are at war. There will be scars.

The Gates is lovely in a way the Chamber has never been, his mother had told him. And as he stands on the border, he thinks that it is true. The noises of the birds, their quiet songs, the gentle branches of the large tree he sees in the distance – these are not things the Chamber knows. He is intrigued by them, although in his heart the rough and tumble beauty of the Chamber will always come first. He can enjoy the softness of the country, but he is a child of ash and smoke and rubble and ruin, of hardscrabble and fighting to scrape by. And that's exactly how he likes it.

He isn't alone long before a stallion approaches. Erebor feels something, a quiet tingle, that he's learned to associate with a horse who is more than he or she appears. But the boy does not fear, and he doesn't judge. He simply offers a respectful nod. He's about to speak and introduce his business when a second horse emerges from within the Gates land. This mare is smaller, he notes, and he observes the strangeness of her face without judgment – in fact, without any kind of outward response to it whatsoever. He gives her a nod, his face diplomatic and gentle, exactly as he'd been with Jason.

"Jason, Fiasko, it's a pleasure to meet both of you. Thank you for coming to greet me so quickly." his voice is deep, deeper than a child's probably should be. But he is no child, at least not inside, not in the ways that matter the most. "I am Erebor, Prince of the Chamber. I'm here on diplomatic business, just a friendly visit." There is no ulterior motive here, nothing sinister in him. He's just here to chat, to touch base. He looks back and forth between the two of them, calm and collected. "How does the Gates fare?"

Erebor

Native Prince of the Chamber

warship x straia