We are at war. There will be scars.
Shaytan is a little bit of a mystery to the young prince. She is clearly devoted to his mother, and possibly to the Chamber, and for that he is grateful. Well really, he's grateful for anyone who is a warm body, because the kingdoms of late seem to be so sorely lacking in them. And she is certainly a warm body, brimming with personality in surprising ways. He doesn't know of her bunny-killing past, he doesn't know much about her, but he knows that she's here, and what else really matters?He sees her leave the Chamber and goes to follow her. But she is fast, always a step ahead of him. He would like to chat with her, to make conversation as they move for the Dale, but she is just out of reach. And very fast.
When they finally reach the Dale, he draws up beside her. Only for her to immediately drop to the grass and roll around.
This is something that he has no frame of reference for. He doesn't understand how you can simply drop decorum like that. He has no concept of that kind of joy, of urges that cannot be controlled. He is the essence of control, the epitome of restraint and conscientiousness. And here he is next to Shaytan, who is apparently the opposite of these things.
But he doesn't judge her for it. He isn't much of one to judge, perhaps surprisingly. And perhaps she's done right, because she does look infinitely more presentable when she gets up. He sees her looking around, doesn't miss the shiftiness in her eyes, and wonders exactly what's going on with her. He is sure that there has been no order given to be duplicitous – if there had been, Straia would have included him. Not because he's her child, but because he's one of their best.
But he doesn't address it. Not here, on the border of a strange kingdom. Instead, he keeps his face carefully neutral as they linger on the border And it is not long that they linger, not long before they're greeted. Well, greeted by one who materializes before them easily, and Erebor finds himself forcibly reminded that they are, in fact, in mythical lands.
"Tiphon, thank you for greeting us." The boy speaks with clear, distinct tones, sounding older than his one year of age. "I'm Erebor, and this is Shaytan. We come from the Chamber on a diplomatic mission." There is a diplomatic warmth in his tone, not the closeness of friendship, but the warmth of one diplomat greeting another with nothing but openness. And then, perhaps against his better judgment, he is silent, and lets Shaytan have her turn to speak.
Erebor
Native Prince of the Chamber
warship x straia