some are lost in the fire; Straia

[Erebor]

some are lost in the fire

some are built from it

He comes to find his mother after his latest trip to the field. He knows that she probably has already discovered the message he brings back, he knows that her ravens are everywhere – he knows it so keenly, knows that she's likely been watching him, knows that she likely knows everywhere he's been. He has no doubt that she knows about the raccoon, and he has no doubt that she approves of it just as he approves of it.

He isn't sure how much she can peer into his mind. He isn’t sure whether she knows how much he's been struggling to handle everything that had happened on the quest. He does an excellent job of hiding it, of keeping it tucked beneath the surface, of playing the good lord and prince – it's hard to tell, even for those who know him best. It's beneath that veneer that the surface of his being is roiling. He had let it bubble up a bit too much, let it sneak up on him and trickle out like smoke from a burning building, and he'd ended up spending a bit too much time guarding the borders, and a bit too little time with the horses of the Chamber. His mother had noticed his absence, he didn't doubt (and the shame of it still burns him up inside) but he wonders if she noticed the why, or just the what.

Perhaps she'll bring it up, or perhaps she won't. He's going to leave it in her court. Having realized that it had almost gotten the better of him, he has been able to steel himself against it, to ensure that it will never happen again. Throwing himself into his duty has been exceptionally helpful too. When he's serving the Chamber, bending himself totally to her will, it's impossible for the thoughts about the girl and the toys and the boiling to come creeping in. It's the healing power of hard work.

A raven caws as he returns from the field into the Chamber proper, and he wonders if it's one of his mother's. He nods absently, and continues his search for the woman herself. Without even thinking of it, he reaches out with his gift and seeks out nearby heat sources. Seeing one alone in the pine forests, the stallion makes a gamble that it's his mother and sets out in her direction.

The branches trail across his back in a pleasant way as he walks. He remembers his youth, when his mother had been the Queen of Ash and Ruin, presiding over a Chamber that was a burned husk of its former glory. My how the fallen have risen – as tall as these regrowing pine trees.

He finds her in the heart of the forest. He knows she comes here less often now as the kingdom demands more of her (a beautiful problem to have, because the amount of time demanded is directly proportional to the number of horses to do the demanding), but today she seems to have sought it out nonetheless. He dips his head to her in his standard greeting.

"Mother." He pauses near her. He's no longer so outlandishly colored as he had once been, but the dark blue and dark green in his mane endure. His black coat is back, but the wine-red remains in an elegantly twining pattern around the top of his left foreleg. Interspersed among twining tribal symbols and swirls, a rabbit, a teddy bear, a Pegasus, and a woman standing upright dance around the limb, a never-ending reminder of the things that he can't seem to forget.

"I suspect this isn't news to you, but I've just learned it in the field. The Valley has a new ruler, a king by the name of Demian." he stands at attention before her, ever the soldier he was born to be. "Have we sent a delegation, or they one to us?" He pauses for just a moment, looking down at the ground and blinking hard before he looks back up at his mother. "I…will make sure that I never have to ask questions like this, questions whose answers I should already know, in the future." As he looks at his mother, it is clear he has already tormented himself for his failure, that he feels a deep shame – and that he has already redoubled his efforts in the name of the Chamber. He doesn't offer up paltry excuses, although he does have them (it's not like he'd just wandered off in the middle of the night like some have done in the past), but he knows nothing can excuse what he's done.

Nothing except perhaps future hard work.

But for now, there's nothing to do but wait and listen, allow his mother to catch him up (if she's willing) and help and support the Chamber as best he can, now and forever. That, and hope that as long as he continues to throw himself into service, he'll continue to avoid the dreams from the quest and everything else unpleasant that tends to come with them.

erebor

heat manipulating lord of the chamber

warship x straia

@[Straia]

[Straia]

She cannot sympathize with her son. It is not that she doesn’t want to, but simply that she has no similar experience, and she will not demean his by pretending she understands. She does not, and cannot. She has her own experiences – the death of her mother, overthrowing her own father – and she does not expect him to understand those either. She can, of course, listen. But she is not the kind of mother to go following her son around asking him what’s wrong either.

The ravens follow him, of course, but they are instructed to follow every Chamber member. It’s not that she doesn’t trust them, but rather it comes in handy to know where they are should something happen or should she need them. She can use a raven easily enough to convey a message. The ravens that follow the Chamber members are rather good at staying a bit out of earshot, only moving closer when the conversation might actually be of use to Straia. They are intuitive, those birds. But she does not know the inner workings of their minds, or the personal words spoken between bed sheets. She doesn’t need those details.

So what she knows of her son is, in large part, because he is her son. He hides it well, but she notices the disappearances, knows he’s wandering through the pine forests more than usual. He knows that leaving his duty behind is not something he does without reason. It is for this reason, and this reason alone, that he is still Lord. Though unless he proves himself somewhat quickly, she will be forced to hold him to the same standard as she holds everyone else, including herself. It is only fair, and despite everything Straia is, she also strives to be fair.

She waits for him to seek her out. He is lucky, because today she is actually alone. She would never admit it, but she has come to have a particular favorite tree. It is not the magic one that burns (though she loves that tree as well, enjoy’s watching it’s progress through the years). No, rather it is a rather unassuming tree, a tad older than the rest. Why? Because Weed simply made it older. Made it for her. And she cannot help but enjoy the gift, just a bit.

She smiles slightly at her son, a quiet smile that is far more genuine than the mischievous grin she often wears. “Thank you for actually telling me. Everyone else just assumes I know and they never bring me news at all.” Which was true. She’d have to hunt each and every one of them out if she still had to rely on her kingdom for information. The ravens were far better at actually reporting back. “They sent a foolish girl and a slightly more worthwhile mare. I intend to go and meet their King, since he couldn’t be bothered to come to his only ally. But I admit, I’m biding my time.”

She hasn’t decided what she thinks of the new Valley King yet. She hasn’t heard much that interests her, but perhaps he simply isn’t making his real plans known quite yet. Perhaps he will prove to be fun, but she thinks he might just prove to be soft. Though she’ll give him the benefit of the doubt for now – he has a whole kingdom to build.

She gives him a moment to voice any opinion he might have. She doesn’t know what he’s heard, if anything, other than there’s a new king. But then she moves on, because at the moment, she’s not entirely bothered with the Valley right now. They were not a very powerful ally. “The Amazons has a new Queen as well. Lagertha. Apparently Camrynn is visiting.” The ravens would tell her what comes of that soon enough. But that alliance could potentially be devastating to the Chamber. They could not stand against both kingdoms without a strong ally themselves. And who?

Maybe they can snag one of the kingdoms away. Shame both the Deserts and the Amazons tend to be upstanding.

She pauses for a moment, again, giving him time to give his opinion. She respects his view of things, though they often share the same view. Still, it is good to get other opinions, and she knows he won’t simply plow into a fight that would destroy the kingdom they have just rebuilt.

When he is done, she adds, “I know you are Lord, and I am Queen, but you are also still my son and I your mother. If you ever want to talk, Erebor, I am here.” Her voice may not be as soft as a cuddly mother’s might be, she might not wrap him in her embrace. But she loves her son, in her own way. And she would do what she could. But the colors in his mane and the tattoo on his leg speak of far more than she knows of her son’s endeavors.

straia

the raven queen of the chamber

image © Squirt

[Erebor]

some are lost in the fire

some are built from it

It is a relief to be talking of kingdom matters. He finds that the more he immerses himself in everything that the Chamber is, the more he emerges from everything that threatens to drag him back into infinite sadness, from the clawing bite of the memories that sometimes stop him from sleeping. To be here, talking politics with his mother, it's clearing his head delightfully.

He isn't surprised that they have sent representatives. The Chamber is still the stronger of the two, no doubt about that, and he nods in agreement when his mother says that she's been biding her time. "A new monarch always means a groundswell. They're more powerful than they were when I visited a few years back, when the land was practically empty, but how much more powerful, and for how long? That remains to be seen."

She speaks again, and he continues to listen. He's genuinely taken aback. He hadn't thought the Deserts and Amazons alliance particularly close the last time he was there, but a lot of things can happen when rulers change. "Interesting." he says, thinking it over in his mind. "We'll know the outcome of that once it happens, I assume?" he's still not entirely sure how the mechanics of the ravens work. He assumes that telepathy is part of the package, but he doesn't know for sure. His thoughts stray along the same lines as his mother. Perhaps that alliance could be broken before it even begins – assuming that it will, in fact, be beginning. There's still so much unknown. "Depending on the results of that meeting, perhaps we should do some visiting of our own." he pauses for a moment, considering. "Although I'm not sure which of those would be the better ally. We've been historically aligned with the Amazons, have we not? Before I was born? They are likely the stronger of the two kingdoms right now, although the presence of two magicians in the Deserts is not to be discounted."

He is surprised when his mother speaks again, and the topic turns to something altogether different. He stiffens unconsciously, aware that she's been aware of his failings, and all the more shamed for it. It's not that he thinks she's trying to shame him; on the contrary, he knows that she means well, but it burns him up inside (heat manipulation and all) to know that his failings have been so tragically public.

For just a moment he is at a loss for words. He doesn't stand there gaping stupidly, but instead watches his mother silently, quiet for a moment as he tries to make sense of what he's just experienced. Theirs has never been a relationship of typical tenderness, and even now, she's not doing anything even close to wrapping her neck around him and pulling him into a horse hug.

"Thank you." he says at length, his rich voice heavy with emotion. It is so many things: the feeling of love from his mother (that bedrock, unquestioned love that he'd always known was there, made manifest in a way he's never seen it before), the weight of his failures (and the fact that others were, must be, noticing), and the memories that inevitably swirl up whenever he thinks about it for too long.

But does he actually want to talk? He isn't sure. It's been improving as he avoids talking about it, but even he knows that improvement could be simple repression masquerading as healing. Perhaps it would do him good. "I…" he begins, before pausing and frowning. "This is not something that I know well." he explains, bluntly. He's the soldier, the dutiful servant, he doesn't know how to let true trauma wash over him. "This is not something I know at all." he says pensively, and the truth of it echoes around their little pine thicket. He doesn't know how to grieve, how to mourn. He is rigid, so stuck in his own image of the perfect soldier and perfect servant that he often forgets to be human – or equine, if you want to be particular. His mask is exquisite, so perfectly wrought, but what can you do when the face beneath the mask is crying? That's not intended, that's not what is meant, the player must always succumb to the part. But what happens when that careful order fails?

His eyes meet his mother's, and their brown depths seem suddenly endless. "It's the sequence of events that led up to me obtaining my new power." he explains, even though that probably didn't need explanation. "They were…somewhat difficult." Understatement of the century. He'd been burned and remade and scratched and broken and tortured in ways that no horse should ever experience, let alone while made of plastic. "It is difficult not to dwell on them." he seems to be slipping deeper into the habitual intellectualism that had so characterized his youth. "It is easier when I am serving the Chamber. But it is still…not easy." His usually confident, smooth, polished voice is almost quiet, and as he says the last, he sounds almost tired – entirely uncharacteristic for him.

Sharing. He's sharing.

"I have hope that it will pass, in time. It has gotten better. It was...quite a lot worse, once." when he'd first retreated to the forest, he'd been all but lost to it. Thoughts of the lot of them had haunted his every moment. Could he have even been of use to The Chamber then? In time they've faded, and in time he's become more adept at handling it when things creep into his dreams, or when he sees something that triggers a memory - and even when memories come unbidden, rising up like ghosts in broad daylight. Oh yes, it's better, but it's not gone - not by a long shot.

erebor

heat manipulating lord of the chamber

warship x straia

[Straia]

They have spoken more of kingdom than personal matters in all of Erebor’s lifetime. For them, kingdom matters were personal matters. Neither mother nor son knew how to separate the two. They were the Chamber, and the Chamber was them. Straia has never existed as a separate entity outside of the Chamber, and neither has her son. It’s always baffled her that others actually can live and simply serve themselves.

And for this reason, they fall into talk of the various kingdoms easily. She doesn’t mention his absence. She’s aware that he knows that the ravens tell her everything. And besides, she may not be the world’s most attentive mother, but she isn’t absent either. She does notice when her son goes missing.

“The ravens squawk about a few new horses. The peace caste is led by someone who won by default, so in essence it is currently led by no one. They have no general as of yet, and more horses calling themselves residents than anything else. Though their king is, apparently, active in the field.” She rolls her shoulders slightly in a shrug. Eight has let his kingdom die, and had left her without an ally. She thinks that whatever debt she might have owed him is just about null and void now. He’s just lucky she didn’t take over the Valley with the Chamber when he failed it so epically.

“Assuming Camrynn doesn’t block the ravens, yes, we will.” Straia is not as powerful as the magicians. There is much she can do, certainly, but of course there’s the obvious limitation that she cannot simply do whatever she wants. “Rodrik was from the Amazons, so yes. Though I don’t know that there has been much love between the Amazons and the Chamber other than that connection. And while Scorch may have held me in at least somewhat high regard for being related to Kagerou, I don’t think Lagertha will care.”

She pauses. She isn’t sure which she’d prefer either. She’d prefer, as it turns out, the Valley. But they were proving themselves worthless. “Camrynn seems more like to play dirty. Though I gather Lagertha simply wants a raid, so she might be persuaded.” Though persuading Lagertha and persuading the rest of the Amazonian women would be two very different things. That was not a kingdom of sheep.

The topic switches though, and it is strange ground for both of them. She’s not terribly good at having feelings. Once upon a time she had them, and then she locked them away rather tightly. What good did it do for her to dwell on sadness or loss? If she felt either of those things, how would she ever rule the Chamber? She cannot care about the girl that was killed as an experiment. It was necessary. She cannot worry about the bunnies that Shaytan kills, or what being captured as a young prince and surrounded by wolves might do to one’s psyche. Why? Because if she cared about any of these things, she could not serve the Chamber.

But of course, sometimes she pities the girl that died for no reason. Sometimes, she wonders what her life would have been like if Frostweaver had not been murdered. Sometimes, she misses her mother.

It takes him some time, the words coming slowly and uncertainly. But for once, she is not impatient, not annoyed. She gives him the time to find the words, aware that her son has always been intellectual and introspective. He’s too aware of himself for his own good sometimes.

When he finishes, she does soften his feelings with some nonsense. Does not tell him it will be all right, that he’ll get past it. Will he? He seems to be, certainly, but likely there will nightmares. Less frequent, but how can she say that they will go away? How can she say that it will be all right when it never really will be. No, it will only fade, made easier by the passage of time but never gone. You cannot un-live experiences.

Instead, she says, “Did I ever tell you that your grandmother, my mother, was murdered? I was only a year or so. Her sister, half dragon at the time, landed in this kingdom in a rage over it.” She doesn’t go into details. The point is simply the point, and she knows he’s smart enough to get it. Her experience is not his experience, certainly. It is rather just an illustration that the past becomes the past, eventually. Mostly. And then she adds, because if anyone can know, it is Erebor. “I believe, though I do not know, that Rodrik killed her.”

straia

the raven queen of the chamber

image © Squirt