We are at war. There will be scars.
Everything has changed, and yet nothing has changed.He remains as devoted to the Chamber as ever. He still lives and dies for her, breathing in sync with her, his heart beating in time with hers (and beating only for her). But now, he had other memories too, and other powers he can employ to serve her. He doesn't quite understand what is happening in Beqanna; he doesn't have the necessary background to comprehend the full details of what it means for his kingdom to be allowed to have traits (and, indeed, to grant traits). All he knows is that he is different now. His mother is different now. Everything is different now.
Except the Chamber. She will always be there, always a willing mistress, always his lodestone, his guiding star. She is the constant, and no matter how the details may shift, no matter how his life may swirl around and settle in a mystery of a pattern, the Chamber will always be at the center of it.
He walks as he thinks. His strides are long, confident and precise. He walks with an easy grace brought on by strength; he walks without worry, without hurry, without fear. He walks absentmindedly, his thoughts drifting everywhere else, skipping around in time so thoroughly that he is almost entirely disjointed from here and now. He is so deep in thought he almost misses the mare. It's the heat of her that makes him pause. Even though he isn't focusing on it, he still detects her, her heat signature suddenly blazing bright in his awareness (does he see it? Does he feel it? He doesn't know). He's closer than he should be, close enough that she will have no doubt noticed him, but at least he hadn't bumped into her.
Around them in the air, tiny pockets of oxygen become superheated and burst with a tiny "pop". They flare for just a moment, like the world's smallest and least entertaining fireworks. He reins himself in quickly. This is no time for accidental theatrics.
"Sorry ma'am, I hope I didn't startle you." his voice is rich, deep, and pleasant. He stands almost military in his bearing, just shy of the rigidity one would expect from a cadet. It's force of habit, a holdover from some of his earliest fighting training, and it certainly hasn't seemed to hurt him so far. He looks at her with polite conversational curiosity. What would she think of him, in his current state? His coat is a dark wine red, offset by a mane of dark blue and dark green. The color combination is masculine, but it is still shockingly unlike anything that Beqanna typically has to offer. Not for the first time, he wonders if it will fade.
He offers her an easy smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Erebor."
Erebor
Native Prince of the Chamber
warship x straia