Oh look, a quest! Round three (now with results!)

[Erebor]

We are at war. There will be scars.

"Oh no. Another one. Poor dear." the words sound like they're impossibly far away, as though he's at the bottom of a deep pool and hearing others remarking about his limp, deformed body from far above. It's not entirely metaphorical – he is limp and deformed, and this voice is far above him – but it's the melting process that has made him hear as though underwater.

He feels fingers again, and the sensation is a strange combination of numbness and unbearable pain – he can't feel any contact with his skin, just a dull fire that blooms like pain does when pressure is applied to a fresh burn. Semi-conscious as he is, he reflexively steels himself for whatever fresh torture this woman might have devised. Poor thing, the damage from his tea party experience is so extensive that he can't even tell that he's in good hands. His skin was boiled so thoroughly that all sensation of touch has been destroyed, he cannot tell that these hands are larger and rougher. His ears were boiled so thoroughly that he can barely hear her words, let alone pick out specifics of how her voice might sound. And his eyes were among the first to go, melted right off before the kettle had even whistled, so he cannot see that she is not Nerissa.

"She really did a number on you, huh, little one?" He wonders if the voice is talking to him. I'll see what I can do to put you back together. Or…well, barring that, at least turn you into something beautiful again." At last, he begins to realize that, perhaps, at least for now, he has been saved. The hands that touch him may feel like fire, but they don't swing him around by forelegs that aren't meant to be handles. They cradle him, almost gently, as gently as they can - it's not enough, of course, nothing is when you're scalded like he is – but she's trying, and she's speaking soothing words, and the boy wonders if his fortunes are about to turn. He's too much of a realist (and far too broken) to truly hope, but he allows himself to wonder – just for a moment.

She slips him into a place where something cool presses against his sides, and it is nice and cold. He can't see it, but he's against the silky lining in the interior of the purse. The cool, silky material is heaven on his burned sides, and he is as content as a burn victim can be to wait there until he meets whatever fate awaits him next.

To his surprise, he is awakened with a jolt. Perhaps he'd been sleeping, or perhaps he'd finally felt relaxed enough that endorphins and adrenaline (or whatever their substitute is in a plastic horse, or horse shaped object) had finally ebbed away and allowed him to succumb to his injuries and pass out. But now he is moving, and he is instantly worried again. He can still feel the cooling pressure on the sides of his body, and nothing immediately near him is moving- it's as though he is within some kind of case, and the entire case is being moved and lifted. He is immediately concerned about this new development – dimly he hears strange noises, footsteps on a floor, the creaking of a door, far-off night noises that remind him too much of home. He hears it all as though it is in another world, and it might as well be considering how impossible it is for him to reach it.  

A door creaks again, and he hears the voice from before (or at least, he thinks it's the voice from before. He can't be entirely sure anymore). "Lena?" he feels a quick thump, and then the container around him stops moving. "Mama!" this voice is different, but it's still not Nerissa's (or at least, he's pretty confident it's not. "Mama, I've got dinner ready. I made your favorite. And I didn't have to buy a single thing to make it either." No, definitely not Nerissa. Far off in the distance, something metallic clatters. If Erebor had been able to smell, he might pick up the aroma of a hearty stew. Heavy on the spices, less heavy on the vegetables, and light on too-expensive meat, but made with such care and love that it can't help but warm the bones. "Oh, it smells wonderful. Thank you, sweetheart."

Their voices drift into a quiet, relaxing mumble, and Erebor drifts back into unconsciousness.

He awakens to find a blessed coldness running across his skin. It is punctuated by sharp rubbing, and it takes him only a moment to realize that he's being washed. It takes him slightly longer to realize that he's being talked to as he is being washed. "Poor thing. But don't you worry, we'll get you fixed up." the tones are soothing, and he realizes he can hear better than he could before. Fixed up…was she going to heal him somehow? Could he even be healed? What had even happened to him? How damaged was he? He hadn't been able to move since he'd felt as though his flesh was being seared from his bones, and he hadn't been able to see since being dumped into the infernal contraption. Numbed and afire as his nerves are, it's really impossible for him to gauge the damage.

Of course, the kindly housekeeper can see how ruined this poor horse toy had been. She doesn't know how it had happened, but the poor thing had clearly been melted. It is still vaguely horse-shaped, but the legs are warped, the ears are more lumps than points, and it no longer has its eyes. Its mane and tail are entirely gone. All detailing – the feathering around the hooves, the nostrils, the mouth – have all melted away. And strangest of all, it seems to have scratches and pinpricks all over it. They aren't sharp anymore, so she assumes that the scratching and pinpricking must have happened before the melting. Even deformed, it's still clear that it was once a pony, and the woman sighs gently.

The door creaks open, and Petunia comes in, still wearing her work clothes. "Petunia, she greets, her voice soft, turning off the water that she had been using to gently clean the scarred pony. It doesn't take a mother's intuition to see that the girl has had a hard day. "Oh mom." Petunia replies, sitting down on a bench across the craft room. "It was awful. She accidentally ruined another toy by boiling it – boiling it! – and then blamed me and threw a tantrum." Petunia buries her head in her hands, overcome with stress. The kindly housekeeper sets the pony down on the counter and embraces her daughter. "I'm sorry dear."

The hold each other for a moment, and when they break the embrace, the housekeeper smiles gently. "How would you like to help me fix up that toy so we can give it to your sister?" Petunia looks at her for a moment in surprise, and then smiles widely – the first time she's smiled today. "Mom, I'd love to." The older woman picks up the pony again, her rough hands still gentle, and sets her down next to her older daughter. "That's good, because I'm afraid we might have our work cut out for us with this one. I re-shaped her ears a little bit and scrubbed off all the loose bits from those little pinpricks, but she's still got a lot of damage."

Erebor is not surprised to hear that his ears had been damaged, and that his ears had been fixed. That would explain why everything had sounded muffled before, and why it was so much clearer now. "It looks like she's still got some of her pretty color. What a lovely shade of red. She used to have her mane and tail navy blue and dark green." He recognizes the girl's voice from that wretched tea party, but she hadn't been the one to harm him there. She hadn't stopped it, but he didn't hold her inaction against her.

"None of these scratches and holes look too terribly deep, but I'd like to get them filled. Do you think nail polish would work? There is silence for a moment. "Yeah, nail polish, let that dry, and then acrylic sealant?" There is the sound of footsteps and movement, and a few moments later Erebor feels something cool against his skin. He wonders if perhaps this "nail polish" is some kind of advanced wound salve. Wherever it touches, the fire in his nerves seems to dull just a little bit. "There we go." the older voice coos soothingly to him. "Looking a lot better. Glad those cuts and such weren't too deep or I think that might not've worked."

"Let's see about the mane and tail while that dries. It looks like some of the original plastic mane and tail got melted in there, so I don't think we can just replace it. I was thinking we could braid yarn and glue it down?" He can feel gentle fingers touching along his crest and his haunches. How had he not noticed his lack of mane or tail? "I think that's a lovely idea Petunia. We could even mix the colors of yarn, that'd look nice." He hears them move away, hears their hushed voices interspersed with the scratching, thumping sounds of different items being shifted around as they search for what they're looking for. "That's very close to the original navy." Petunia comments at one point. The shifting sounds continue. "Oh, and that's quite like the dark green. Let's use those two."

The next few minutes pass in a gentle hum of voices. The two women speak gently to each other, bumping the table every so often, but generally not disturbing Erebor. After a bit, he hears footsteps approaching again, and feels a gentle touch against his shoulder. "Looks like the polish is dry, mom." He feels himself handed over to the housekeeper with her callouses. She presses gently on several injured spots, which now feel more like pressing on a bruise than the extreme fire he'd felt before. "Mm. I wonder if we should sand her down a bit, make sure that she's all nice and smooth?" The two are quiet for a moment. "Probably a good idea. But not too much or anything. Just to even the polish out."

Erebor does not like the idea of sandpaper. The last thing he needs is more aggravation, and just when he was starting to heal. But he knows by now that the people cannot hear him, that he cannot move, and that there is nothing to be done but to stay where he is and hope against hope for the best.

The sandpaper is quick and careful, and although it sets his skin on fire everywhere they use it, he's felt so much worse since he landed in this strange, impossible place. And once they're done, they rinse him with the cool water again, soothing his skin and calming the nerves once more.

"It looks like between the boiling and the sandpaper most of the gloss is off of her coat. Nothing a coat of sealant won't fix though." He hears  the crinkle of a dropcloth being unrolled, and then a strange hiss. A mist surrounds him, but it is cooling and lovely. It seems to soothe his skin wherever it settles, almost as though it is restoring what had been scalded and singed away. They turn him this way and that, making sure that the mist can cover every inch of his mangled body.

And when the mist settles, he feels almost whole again.

"Now we just need her mane, her tail, and her eyes." Petunia's voice is gentle. Erebor wonders whether anyone in this world knows that horses can be male – a thought that speaks volumes about his recovery.  "And a little bit else, I think." he can hear the smile in the older woman's voice. "I'm thinking we can give her some clothes. Lena would love that, don't you think? And I've got some scraps left over from the last dress I made her." One of the women laughs in delight. He cannot tell which. "That's a great idea! I wonder…do you think we could give her wings? You know how Lena loves the butterflies and birds." Her mother doesn't hesitate. "I think that's a lovely idea. Why don't you work on the wings while I work on the rest of her body?"

He hears a set of footsteps walk away and feels the gentle hands on him once more. He notices that the mist seems to have not just soothed, but healed as well. The surface numbness seems to be gone, and being touched isn't painful. He's not completely as he was before the damage, but he feels as though he can function again.

"All right lovely girl, let's see if we can't get you seeing again." before he can think to object that he is in fact not a lovely girl, he feels a strange tickle on his face, as though someone is gently running a feather across the space where his eyes should be. It tickles for a few moments and then –

He can see. It's blurry, but he can see.

The feather returns, and after a short period of additional tickling, the blurriness is gone and he can see just as well as he'd ever seen before. He can see the kindly face of the housekeeper with the rough hands, smiling down at him. He can see Petunia across the room, her face a mask of concentration as she bends over something that glitters vaguely in the light. He can see the darkened craft room, lit by many small lamps, but windowless and cold besides – a basement room, he figures. The room is tidy, but small.

His other eye is soon restored in the same way. The housekeeper takes one braid of navy with a streak of green and glues it in place along his crest, then takes another longer braid and glues it into place where his tail should be. By this time, Petunia has joined her mother, looking over the housekeeper's shoulder at Erebor. "She looks so good. Lena is going to love her." The younger woman half-whispers with a smile. Wordlessly, she hands her mother the project she'd been working on.

It is a glorious little harness, complete with a delicate set of wings. It's obviously homemade; the wings don't exactly match, and the stitching is exposed and uneven in places. But when the housekeeper slips it over Erebor's body, he finds it surprisingly comfortable. There is a strap that passes around his barrel like a girth, tying underneath. There is another that connects to that one at a right angle, passing around his front across his chest, and around his back, beneath his tail. Attached to the girth-like strap, right at the withers, are the wings themselves. They are made from pantyhose covered with glitter, stretched over pipe cleaners molded in an approximation of wings. They're pretty, but they're very clearly homespun. The wings are green, while the rest of the harness is navy, almost matching his mane and tail but not quite.

The two women step back and look at him, examining their work. The housekeeper smiles and turns to her older daughter. "Not bad, considering how she looked before. You can still see some of the damage, but I think Lena will love her." She pauses for a moment, still looking at her older daughter. "We'll give Lena her pony tomorrow before work. Now, it's quite late. Let's get to bed." The younger woman nods, and the two tidy up, turn off the lights, and leave the room.

For the first time in more than a day, Erebor can move – and yet, finding himself in a place that finally feels safe, all he wants to do is rest. Sleep comes easily.

The next morning, Erebor awakes to footsteps and the creak of the door opening. The two women from the night before enter the room, both of them wearing the maid's uniform that he'd first seen Petunia wear the day of the disastrous tea party. The housekeeper picks him up, but places him firmly in Petunia's hands, smiling at her older daughter before they start up the stairs. As they walk, Erebor drinks in the sight of the house with greedy eyes – now that he can see again, he's eager to see everything. The cottage is tidy but small, and everything in it is threadbare and worn. Obviously clean and well cared for, but a hand-me-down, or something that's been used beyond its natural useful life.

"Lena, we've got a surprise for you." the kindly housekeeper says. Petunia's gentle hands move Erebor from behind her back to in front of her chest, where Lena can easily see him. "She's all yours." He can hear the smile in Petunia's voice.

Lena, who had been standing at the stove, is staring at Erebor in disbelief. "For…me?" She obviously can't believe it. "But…she looks so expensive…how did you…" the girl's mother moves forward, taking Lena's hands in her own and kissing the girl atop her head. "Don't you worry. She's a gift." Petunia walks forward, pressing Erebor into her sister's disbelieving embrace. The three of them hug, and when they break apart, Lena's face is radiant and smiling. "I can't believe it! She's so beautiful! She looks just like a butterfly, or, a fairy!" even when excited, her voice is still quiet and sweet. And as she holds Erebor, she holds him as though he's a treasure, delicately and carefully cradling him as though she's aware that he can feel. "Oh, thank you both! I've got the most wonderful mother and sister in the world!"

She sets him down on the counter, careful not to jar him, and hugs both of them again. After that, she returns to Erebor on the counter, moving him carefully into a corner so he's out of harm's way as they make breakfast.  "I have to make sure they get all set for work now, but I promise we'll play today once I finish my chores. I'm sorry…it must be boring just sitting there. But I'll be back soon!" she whispers to him gently, before bouncing off to help finish breakfast, pack lunches and all the other assorted duties that need to happen in a house each morning.

It is nearly lunchtime before she is able to return to him. He sees her now and then, sweeping, tidying, doing some schoolwork, mending clothing – and always whistling, always cheery. When she returns for him, she apologizes to him for taking so long. "I'm so sorry, I hope you weren't too terribly bored all alone over here." she pets him gently, running her hand along his spine (or where his spine would be, he's not at all sure how bones work in this form) and he finds the sensation quite enjoyable. "I was thinking we could go down into the cellar and play imagination. What do you think?" She waits, as though listening for his response, and when there is only silence she laughs. "It's okay, you don't have to talk. Let's try playing imagination – if you don't like it, we can always do something else."

They spend hours down there in the cellar, playing in a world made mostly from Lena's imagination. In her world, the carrots in the root cellar are trees, and the potatoes are rocks. Some boxes become a castle, and the small, cold rocks on the earthen floor become a river. She makes Erebor his very own castle, naming him the princess. But unlike the world Nerissa created, Lena's world is perfectly peaceful. There are no tournaments and no tea parties here. Erebor spends the morning presiding over plans for a springtime festival, to be run primarily by the rabbits.

The leader of the rabbits is Lena's oldest (and only other) toy, a rabbit by the name of Mr. Fluffy. Mr. Fluffy is handmade, understuffed, ancient and threadbare with two mismatched button eyes and patchwork spots where he's been repaired, but in the best of condition (all things considered). He is the style of rabbit that looks more humanoid than rabbitlike, with two long legs, a humanesque torso, and a human head and eyes  – but long, fluffy rabbit ears. He has many rabbit friends, who are made of pieces of stuffing that have slipped out from Mr. Fluffy himself over the years, and then been repurposed after Lena has sewed him up herself. Lena explains this all to Erebor when she introduces him to Mr. Fluffy. "And this is Mr. Fluffy, king of all the rabbits. He's my oldest friend. My mom made him for me so long ago I can't even remember." her voice is gentle, softened by the memory. "Sometimes Mr. Fluffy gets a little sick, and needs to be stitched together again. But I've gotten pretty good at fixing him on my own. I just hate to bother mother or Petunia about it – they already work so hard." she looks down at the dirt for a moment, her voice sad. When she looks back up, she is smiling and cheery again. "But we've managed, haven't we Mr. Fluffy?" she pats him gently on the head. "And every time you do get hurt, we get a new rabbit friend!" The pieces of stuffing that escape from Mr. Fluffy are white and fluffy themselves, just like rabbits should be, and with her imagination that’s more than enough.

Looking to Erebor, she gasps suddenly and covers her mouth with her hands. "Oh my goodness, I never asked you what your name was!" You'd think she'd done something truly wrong. "I'm terribly sorry. Will you tell me now?" she leans down, as though expecting to get an answer. And although Erebor knows she won't hear him, because the humans don't hear him, he speaks anyway. "Erebor. I'm Erebor." She smiles and sits back up. "Ellie!" she says triumphantly. It's close enough that he wonders if maybe she did hear him, just a little bit. "Ellie. That's a lovely name. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ellie." She smiles gently, and although they're sitting on the floor, bows to him as much as she can. "Mr. Fluffy says so too."

And so they continue on through the afternoon. The rabbits explain to Mr. Fluffy and Miss Ellie what they intend to do for the festival. As they describe it, Lena makes it happen as much as she can using the items from the cellar – dried herbs for the garlands of flowers they're going to set out, canned jams and jellies for the tables and the chairs. "But," she explains, speaking for one of the fluff-balls that is actually a rabbit, "The best part of all is going to be the singing and the games." She smiles. "There will be so many of them. We'll have a maypole, and we'll have a campfire. There will be tag, and hide and seek, and all the children of the realm will be able to play together. It'll be marvelous, you'll see."

Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimes, and Lena gasps and looks toward the stairs. "Oh my gosh! Mom will be home soon! I need to get dinner ready!" She looks back to the assembled toys (and non-toy things standing in as toys). "Mr. Fluffy, it's not good for you to go up to the kitchen. Can you wait down here for me? I'll come get you before bedtime, I promise." she kisses him gently on the top of his head. "Ellie, would you like to come help me cook dinner?" she picks him up gently, holding him at eye level and smiling. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you don't get hurt." Still cradling him gently in both hands, careful not to so much as graze his wings, she carries him up the stairs back into the small kitchen.

She places him on the kitchen table, in a spot that allows him to watch her as she works. The table is tucked into the far corner of the room, with walls to the "north" and "west side", the stove and cooking area off to the "east" side, and a heavier, exterior type door (which he assumes goes to the outside of the house) on the "south" side. He figures this table must have been where he was set down the night before.

From his current position he can see almost the entirety of the kitchen, including her and the door. She talks to him excitedly as she warms up the soup from the day before. They don't have a microwave, she tells him, but their stove works just fine most of the time. You just have to talk to it nicely, and it'll do right for you. Having seen what Nerissa has, and now seeing what Lena and her family have, Erebor begins to understand a concept that is usually foreign to horses: the idea of richness and poverty. He finds himself wishing desperately that he could take everything that Nerissa had and give it to Lena. He is certain it would be better for the toys in Nerissa's toybox – look what Lena's mother and sister had been able to do with him, and he'd been more badly damaged than any of them. Playtime with Lena was pleasant, even for Erebor, who is not a toy at heart and doesn't value playtime like the rest of them. With Lena, no toy need be afraid. And perhaps if Nerissa were suddenly to have less, or to have nothing, she'd start to appreciate-

The exterior door bursts open, and Lena turns around "Mother, you're- "WHERE IS PETUNIA?! The voice is not her mother's. The voice is not her sister's. The color immediately drains from Lena's face and she seems to shrink into herself. Erebor has seen it before – it's exactly how Samaine had behaved when confronted with danger. Exactly how  Samaine had behaved when confronted with-

"Nerissa." Lena's voice is small, meek, mousy. Erebor feels panic rise in his throat, both for himself and for Lena – what happens if Nerissa sees him? Surely she'll recognize him, and he does not want to be taken away from Lena. "I ASKED YOU A QUESTION." Nerissa sighs theatrically. "Ugh, you're so thick. Honestly I don't know how you can even do anything." She is casually cruel, and Erebor can see how it stings his new friend. "Let's try again. Where. Is. Your. Sister." she accentuates each word as though Lena were hard of hearing, or found it difficult to understand. "I..I…She's up at the house somewhere. She hasn't, hasn't been here all day." Lena's voice grows quieter still. Nerissa just sighs in exasperation "I'm sorry." Lena apologizes, despite having done nothing wrong. Erebor wishes he were able to trample Nerissa then and there. "Whatever. Dummy." Nerissa harumps, turning to go. And Erebor thinks that perhaps he's made it, perhaps her fury has made her so focused on finding her nanny Petunia that she didn't even notice. But he isn't so lucky.

He isn't so lucky because as she turns, Nerissa catches sight of him on the table.

He hopes she doesn't recognize him, but the look in her eyes tells him that hope is futile.  

Erebor

Native Prince of the Chamber

warship x straia