They told me to be who I wanted to be; Straia / any

[Erebor]

We are at war. There will be scars.

He is everywhere, the steel-child, the boy made of iron. He wanders the Chamber restlessly, learning every corner. He is born to do it, sweeping through the trees like fog (or his mother), as present in the Chamber as the air. The heartbeat here is almost his (grandfather, grandfather) and it is loud in his ears wherever he goes. It follows him, echoing off the hollows of the rocks, slipping between the pine trees like a drumbeat.

And so it's no surprise that he is the first to find the newcomer. It is a good thing, he thinks, when he smells the new horse on the wind. He carries a slight whiff of sand and sun and warmth on his skin, mixed with something the young boy can't quite identify (it is god, but he doesn't know it). But the newcomer isn't redolent with it, isn't laced through with it that one truly committed to a kingdom would be. Not a diplomat, the boy decides, and that means possibly a new kingdom member.

Or an invader. But Erebor isn't worried about that.

The man stands right above the heartbeat. The princeling wonders if he can feel it yet, the thud-thud-thud of his grandfather beneath their feet. He notes with interest that this stallion has wings. He is not the first mythical that Erebor has seen, and the boy was not surprised at the first one in any case. Surprise is not an emotion he recognizes; he discerns, he accepts, and he does what is necessary based on that. The rest, really, is just details.

He approaches with an easy gait. He is still young, but there is something ancient about his bearing. He's ever the precocious child, older by far than his years, a true product of both of his parents. And he's the first in quite some time to be born without love, with two parents who came together purely for the good of their home. He is entirely black, sturdily built, but with a kind of grace that befits his position as a prince of the Chamber. Although he is not yet six months old, you'd never know it from the way he looks and acts.

"Greetings." he calls out as he approaches the stallion. His voice is uncommonly resonant and smooth for one as young as he is. He stops across from the newcomer, feeling the heart quake up through his hooves. He has a naturally military bearing, a straight posture that speaks of pride in his home. "Welcome to the Chamber." he offers with an easy smile. He is not normally one for charm and pleasantries, but he wants to welcome the newcomer in proper fashion. He has already learned the importance of charming the new people; only once you're comfortable can you afford to stop wasting time.

"I'm Erebor."

Erebor

Native Prince of the Chamber

warship x straia