Of course the Queen would venture on to say that perhaps the colt had lived at least ten years. If this would have been an honest and truthful answer, he would have thought nothing of it. Instead it was an amused speculation, without an ounce of validity. That, now that did confuse him. What a very strange thing indeed.
In time it was the Prince’s turn to speak. To perhaps provide him with answers. The answer he gets however, is even more of an anomaly to him. As the black responds that it had only been one that he knew of, the cogs in his cranium are evident to be working themselves. In truth, he was never quite the studious sort of man. Rather more brawn than brain if he were to be honest, but it didn’t stop him from having one hell of a go trying to figure things out for himself. His brow creased as he sought to make sense of the conundrum that was Erebor.
He finds relief soon, as the conversation turns to himself once more. He had an odd sense that the trees were indeed directing the dialogue. They felt to be more than just totems sprouting from the earth, they seemed aware. Aware, of Killdare and all that he was, talk making him seem like they wanted him to bare himself. Make himself known, strip away all that he selfishly concealed, and lay himself before them as a vassal. Was it odd he felt so compelled to do so? So utterly inclined to give himself to them, for them, for her, for the boy, for them all? It was alien feeling, had he lacked in the training he had received he may very well have turned and bolted. Instead, he stood rather stoic for a moment, concentrating on his breathing.
Then turning in stride, he shakes his dial to the Prince’s inquiries. A curious sort of boy or man or manchild he was. “In truth, not so much as you might think,” he began, “On your 3rd winter in Calcordia, the land where I was foaled, you can choose to leave or to stay. Most stay to be honest. My father is a General there, or the commander however you like to put it, he’s very interested in breeding a top notch army. I have countless brothers and sisters, most of my sisters, end up exchanged for another stags sons, or pawned off to be breeding stock for his men. A few choose to join the ranks, like Killgore for instance. I’ve never been close, per say, with most of my kin, except her. Perhaps it is because our mothers got along so well, we spent much of our time as foals, and weanlings together. She irritates me ceaselessly, but she insisted on coming. Said she ‘needed’ to get away. From what, I don’t know, she didn’t see need to tell me. We travelled only directly from there to here, Killgore rather insistent on the choosing. My father was…disappointed, not in my leaving no, he finds me an irritant. She, she was one of his favorites, more like him in other ways than just force. I do my killing as my duty, I won’t begrudge either of you the need of that.” He looks at them both rather seriously, if nothing else Killdare could do his duty, whatever that might be. Even if that meant taking life, it was what his Kingdom asked of him and he would do it, and he would not feel shame or remorse. He again returned to his tale, “Killgore kills, for Killgore. She kills to kill, and prolongs the process unnecessarily in my opinion. There’s no honor in it, it mere butchery.” No honor in murder? What a funny way to look at things. “So my request for leave was permitted, so long as I stay with Gore, or within the same vicinity. Keep an eye on her, something she doesn’t need me around for. I agreed, I did I wanted to prove to him that I was more than an irritant, that I was better than him.” Why did he say that? How much was he going to tell to them? He hated himself, if but a small shred for divulging so much.