04-08-2015, 08:26 AM
Ah, more diplomats. She’s still wishing they would give her time to talk it all over with her own kingdom. Not that they could possibly know this, and realistically she probably should have talked it over by now. But she had been waiting for her governor to decide if he still wanted to be governor or not. He decided yes, so now perhaps they could get underway, though she’d been too damn busy trying to recruit and give birth and all that good nonsense to really get much else done. Recruiting, truthfully, was top priority.
Though today the diplomat smells of air and trees and water. That is to say, of the Falls. At least she knows that she has no plans of making the Falls an enemy. The Chamber could house no healer, and so she would need their waters. Though of course, for all she knows, they may want to make an enemy of her. Time to find out.
Her son is already there. She wonders what Warship had been like as a child. Erebor takes after her more as she is now (though he’s far more polite and charming than she often bothers with, though she’s capable of both). But as a child, Straia was certainly a child. A clever little thing, yes, without any real need of her parents (good thing too, given that her mother was murdered and all). But she enjoyed acting like a child on purpose – a petulant, bothersome little princess. It had amused her then, and had served her well. Such an act would be terrible now, and so she’s adjusted. But still, her son is all work and no play apparently.
Erebor greets the newcomer just as Straia comes to a stop beside her son. They don’t look particularly alike (Erebor is all Warship in appearance), and so it’s not readily obvious that she’s his mother. Nor does comment on the matter right now. Erebor doesn’t need her support in that way, and so unless it seems useful, she’ll let him act as a diplomat in his own right, young though he may be. “Straia, Queen of the Chamber. What can we do for you?” She bothers with titles. At least Queen. Not because she wants to rub someone face in it, because it saved time. Inevitably he will need to ask if Rodrik still rules if she doesn’t tell him, so she’s just saving a step.
Though today the diplomat smells of air and trees and water. That is to say, of the Falls. At least she knows that she has no plans of making the Falls an enemy. The Chamber could house no healer, and so she would need their waters. Though of course, for all she knows, they may want to make an enemy of her. Time to find out.
Her son is already there. She wonders what Warship had been like as a child. Erebor takes after her more as she is now (though he’s far more polite and charming than she often bothers with, though she’s capable of both). But as a child, Straia was certainly a child. A clever little thing, yes, without any real need of her parents (good thing too, given that her mother was murdered and all). But she enjoyed acting like a child on purpose – a petulant, bothersome little princess. It had amused her then, and had served her well. Such an act would be terrible now, and so she’s adjusted. But still, her son is all work and no play apparently.
Erebor greets the newcomer just as Straia comes to a stop beside her son. They don’t look particularly alike (Erebor is all Warship in appearance), and so it’s not readily obvious that she’s his mother. Nor does comment on the matter right now. Erebor doesn’t need her support in that way, and so unless it seems useful, she’ll let him act as a diplomat in his own right, young though he may be. “Straia, Queen of the Chamber. What can we do for you?” She bothers with titles. At least Queen. Not because she wants to rub someone face in it, because it saved time. Inevitably he will need to ask if Rodrik still rules if she doesn’t tell him, so she’s just saving a step.
straia
queen of the chamber