04-03-2015, 10:04 PM
We are at war. There will be scars.
In the beginning, back before he can remember, there is the heartbeat.Perhaps he had imagined it. Perhaps it had been a dream. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Even though Straia was outside the Chamber when she gave birth, Erebor was conceived and largely constructed safely inside the kingdom's borders. And from the moment he could remember – from the moment he could even sense - the rhythm of it has thudded through him like a drum. His own heart beats in time to it, of course; it could not be any other way.
He walks beside his mother with precocious poise, wobbling far less than his youth would seem to warrant. It is a harbinger of things to come: he will always be at the top of his class, always ahead of the curve. He is silent, listening to his mother with careful attention, soaking in everything she says, everything she does. He's been in this world all of two minutes and he's already figured out that she is someone he would do well to emulate. See? Smart.
He pauses for a moment as they step across the border. For the first time, he is conscious and aware and the heartbeat is here. It is a profound thing, a profound sense of coming home – and he feels a profound desire never to leave. It does not surprise him to learn that he is a prince; he knew he was something, just as he knew that Mother was something. Queen seems more than right for her, and prince for him. It is a badge he will wear proudly, as he will wear all the other titles that he will accrue as he grows older. He will display them like an invisible badge of honor, the unseen medals on his invisible dress uniform.
They pause in the Chamber's heart, and here Erebor can feel the thump-thump right up into his bones. It is alive, it is tangible in a way it's never been before, and the boy cannot help but delight in it. The ghost of a smile plays at his lips. He knows what it means (after all, that heartbeat has wormed its way into his body, buried itself somewhere deep within his own flesh and bones). But he does not have the words to articulate it yet, and so (again, precociously) he does not even try. He merely nods to his mother, a gesture out of place on one so young. "It feels like home." his voice is level, measured, not the adorable pitchy, giggly tone of most youngsters. He is like an older horse pressed into a younger one's body.
And then she calls for the kingdom, and he knows that they will come. He cannot wait to meet them (including, he would anticipate, his father). He is not any more sentimental than his mother, but he wants to speak with the stallion whose blood runs in his veins. He wants to learn everything he can about his home, about their past. He is an insatiable student. But for now, he is content to wait, a small black child waiting with an uncannily elegant bearing next to his mother.
Erebor
Native Prince of the Chamber
warship x straia