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.
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]