there will be scars; warship, diplomats, any

[Erebor]

We are at war. There will be scars.

He nods at their pleasantries, expecting nothing else. He might be new to diplomacy, still fairly new to everything, but he's growing quickly and learning much. And so he waits, his face a mask of diplomatic respect, his posture the straight, upright bearing of a cadet throughout. Diplomacy might be somewhat new to him, but it's an oddly fitting suit that he slips into with great ease.

Quiet, she says, and he hears the truth of it reflected in every nook of his own home as well. Are they not all quiet? Especially those who are not home to the mythicals? No horse (well, few horses) want to live somewhere that will eat their gifts, that will consume anything that might make them special. He's not one of those horses – he serves the Chamber with unwavering devotion, entirely content to be entirely plain. But he is the minority, and he knows it.

"I am sorry to hear about the wildfires, but happy to hear that you are recovering well." he smiles earnestly. "The Chamber is much the same. We were hit by volcanos rather than by wildfires, but a lot of our land burned all the same." the pine forests are regrowing, nature returning, inevitably rising up and claiming the land as its own again. "We are growing as well." Both the land and the ranks. They have almost healed, but it's taken so long.

"Well, I don't mean to keep you both from the business of the Gates. Did you have any other questions I might answer about the Chamber?" he pauses for just a moment. "If not, thank you for your time, and please give our regards to your ruler."

Erebor

Native Prince of the Chamber

warship x straia