There will be scars, Straia.

[Erebor]

We are at war. There will be scars.

He doesn't wish for traits. He doesn’t wish his mother had traits. To him, they're more trouble than they're worth. They are power, no doubt about that, but they're also a distraction. True power comes from giving your life for something you believe in. True power comes from commitment. Perhaps his thoughts in this regard stray dangerously close to being a light; perhaps his belief in the power of the heart comes across as something that is, itself, light-hearted.

But he values the power of the heart in the same way a black magician does. The power of the heart can be used to bind. It can be used to manipulate. In his mind, the heart is not some light, white construction. Instead it is dark and red, fresh and raw and bleeding and utterly useful and not anything classically beautiful at all. Certainly nothing that a light horse would ever consider. To Erebor, the heart – like everything else – is just a tool to be used for the glory of the Chamber.

"Rodrik." he says, as though testing and tasting the name on his tongue. He's come so far and learned so much, but he is still more or less in the dark about that side of his family. He has learned plenty of Atrox from his father, and that grandfather's heart beats in the floor of the Chamber, but what of his other Grandfather? Who is Rodrik, apart from the king who ruled before Straia? Surely there are secrets there that he should know. Surely there are things there that he should be aware of.

He opens his mouth to ask, but then is silenced by a sudden, strange smell and sound.

He doesn't recognize it at first, but he thinks it smells like death, like something that is rotten. The stench is followed closely by strange noises that simply shouldn't exist, noises like a skeleton moving through the trees. He looks to his mother, his expression quizzical, knowing that she must hear it too. It is coming from the vague direction of the kingdom border and seems to be pressing ever deeper into its heart. Curiously, he notes he doesn't hear the cracking of branches and the other noises of destruction that usually accompany a newcomer trying to trespass. Equally oddly, this thing (whatever it is) doesn't smell like trespassing either. It smells a little like Valley, and a lot like death.

Wordlessly, he looks to his mother, and they move to pursue the thing.

Erebor

Native Prince of the Chamber

warship x straia

Lookit me ending threads like a bawss before we run into space-time continuum problems! If it wasn't obvious, in my mind they both heard Rodrik come in and went off to go see wtf was making that noise/smell. If you aren't cool with this, just let me know and I'll edit!