"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
04-03-2015, 06:56 PM (This post was last modified: 04-08-2015, 08:52 AM by Straia.)
She had disappeared near the end of her pregnancy. Being pregnant wasn’t her favorite thing in the world, and the idea of giving birth where anyone was likely to find her (even Warship) was something she liked even less. So she disappeared to her own little hiding place, not quite in the Chamber but close enough, and spent some time to herself.
By the time she comes back, the boy at her side is walking reasonably well (wobbly yes, but he typically doesn’t seem to fall much). He looked unmistakably like his father – all black and stoic and not even remotely like her. But she didn’t care what the boy looked like – just that he was healthy and strong and strangely, hers. But then again, she had always promised herself she’d be a better parent to her own children than Rodrik had to her. Even if her children served the same purpose she had.
She leads him back over the border of the Chamber and into the pine forests, that were finally beginning to look more like trees and less like ashy sentinels. “This is the Chamber, Erebor,” she says, looking down at the boy and moving slowly so he can keep up. “You are a prince here.” A meaningless title perhaps, as princess had once been for her. But still, there was something to being royalty.
They keep moving through the kingdom until the read the heart – the literal heart of the Chamber. Despite the hardened lava that covers part of the area, she can still fee the thump thump, thump thump beneath her feet, and she wonders briefly what became of her panther man. “Feel that?” she asks him, though she does not explain yet. Perhaps when he was slightly older – not because she will ever shelter him, but because she’s not entirely sure he can understand now. He’s a smart boy, but he’s still a child.
She lets out a call for the kingdom then. There aren’t many of them, but still, they had not met since she took over the throne a year ago. But for so much of that year it had been just Warship and herself, and a thousand trips to the field. But the field was empty more often than it wasn’t. But they would rebuild. They would survive this lull and come out stronger for it. But it was time that everyone else threw themselves into the work as well.
In the beginning, back before he can remember, there is the heartbeat.
Perhaps he had imagined it. Perhaps it had been a dream. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Even though Straia was outside the Chamber when she gave birth, Erebor was conceived and largely constructed safely inside the kingdom's borders. And from the moment he could remember – from the moment he could even sense - the rhythm of it has thudded through him like a drum. His own heart beats in time to it, of course; it could not be any other way.
He walks beside his mother with precocious poise, wobbling far less than his youth would seem to warrant. It is a harbinger of things to come: he will always be at the top of his class, always ahead of the curve. He is silent, listening to his mother with careful attention, soaking in everything she says, everything she does. He's been in this world all of two minutes and he's already figured out that she is someone he would do well to emulate. See? Smart.
He pauses for a moment as they step across the border. For the first time, he is conscious and aware and the heartbeat is here. It is a profound thing, a profound sense of coming home – and he feels a profound desire never to leave. It does not surprise him to learn that he is a prince; he knew he was something, just as he knew that Mother was something. Queen seems more than right for her, and prince for him. It is a badge he will wear proudly, as he will wear all the other titles that he will accrue as he grows older. He will display them like an invisible badge of honor, the unseen medals on his invisible dress uniform.
They pause in the Chamber's heart, and here Erebor can feel the thump-thump right up into his bones. It is alive, it is tangible in a way it's never been before, and the boy cannot help but delight in it. The ghost of a smile plays at his lips. He knows what it means (after all, that heartbeat has wormed its way into his body, buried itself somewhere deep within his own flesh and bones). But he does not have the words to articulate it yet, and so (again, precociously) he does not even try. He merely nods to his mother, a gesture out of place on one so young. "It feels like home." his voice is level, measured, not the adorable pitchy, giggly tone of most youngsters. He is like an older horse pressed into a younger one's body.
And then she calls for the kingdom, and he knows that they will come. He cannot wait to meet them (including, he would anticipate, his father). He is not any more sentimental than his mother, but he wants to speak with the stallion whose blood runs in his veins. He wants to learn everything he can about his home, about their past. He is an insatiable student. But for now, he is content to wait, a small black child waiting with an uncannily elegant bearing next to his mother.
i'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell
The change in the air was as thick and heavy as smoke. It clung to the very trees of his kingdom, to the rocks and the mountains and the horses themselves. It was a change brought forth by ancient magic and family discord, and the black warrior relished it. He relished the mark seared onto his flesh. That glowing brand that marked his debt also marked his loyalty to his kingdom, everything that he’d ever strived for burned infinitely into his skin. She owned his soul now in the truest sense, for without her he would wither and die, a mere mortal like the rest of them. But with her hands on his heart he would live. He could live a thousand lives now in her service, should She wish it.
He moved easily through his kingdom, her paths as familiar to him as the planes of his own body. Though the lava had destroyed them for the most part, it could not take from him that innate sense of direction horses were gifted with. It was an age-old thing, borne of necessity and a thirst for familiarity. While he may have been blessed with speech, he was still a horse, and therefore subject to the base instincts that had kept them alive for so many years. There was new life here now, both flora and equine. A child born wholly of this kingdom, the first in several years (that he knew of, anyways). He himself had been such a child- no love was involved in his conception, at least not the love that most people talk of when mentioning children. Such things were necessary to keep a kingdom striving forward. There must always be new blood, blood born of the kingdom only.
He knew Straia would slip off to birth the child, and he was content with that for the most part. Of course he’d been keeping a close eye on her, but not so much as to smother her. He merely watched her from the shadows, alert to danger and trespassers but never hovering. She could take care of herself for the most part, probably using only that silver-edged tongue of hers. But he notices her absence is prolonged this time, and he feels himself getting on edge. Though he was by no means an expert at child birth, he felt it his duty to offer her help. So after some time has passed, he resolves himself to go after her. But it isn’t long before he meets the spotted mare, an ebony colt tottering at her side. A smile passes over his rough lips, and he gives Straia a bump on the shoulder with his nose. “Erebor. I’m Warship, your father.” he said, his eyes sweeping over the colt as he checked for anything out of the norm. Fortunately, the colt seemed healthy and strong, always a plus in such an unforgiving kingdom. “That thump? That’s your grandfathers heart. You’re a special child to this kingdom, Erebor.” he said quietly, though the infinity symbol at his chest glowed a bright, bright blue. New life, it seemed, helped to fuel his own life. Here is where they would rebuild, here is where they would rise from the ashes.
Straia said the ash would go away eventually, so Shaytan settles in to wait. And wait. And wait and wait andwaitandwait. Patiently (not really, but she knows how to act like a good little girl, so she does). She doesn’t have to wait long; not for the grass and the bunnies, but for something else.
Turns out the pretty lady was Queen. Isn’t that nice?
Shaytan has never been around a Queen before. But in the same way that she knew her father was to be obeyed when he used his ‘don’t fuck with me or i’ll bite you hard’ voice, she knew Straia’s summons should be heeded. She hadn’t heard her ‘don’t fuck with me or i’ll bite you’ voice yet, which was nice, because it was something she was sick of hearing. She liked hearing screams and grunts and whispered things. Not commands. Definitely not commands. Unless they were here type of commands.
The bay-freckled mare (mare? yes, she supposes she’s of age now) has been in the Chamber long enough to acquire the tell-tale light dusting of gray that gives her a very dull look.She’s also been there long enough to discover the pulsating part of the land, and it utterly fascinated by it. She imagines that her own heart now beats in time with it (the follies of the crazy, for sure), and finds that it even invades her dreams, though they take a different form.
Blood and fire and dead bunnies. And oh, the scenes just warm her little heart and make her grin more than a little maniacally.
She ambles rather half-heartedly towards the group, both ambivalent and curious at the same time. She’s never had a default ‘group’ before and half expects them to run away in disgust, as if they’d heard of her from the meadow. As if they bothered themselves with the gossip of meadow-bum children. As if they weren’t all as crazy and full of sin as she is. She says nothing when she finally joins the small group, merely eyeing them all with unusually bright eyes.
Welcome home, Shaytan.
Shaytan
and every time she knocks I can't help but let her in
She calls, and I come obligingly. Already, having only been back a few short months, I sense something extraordinary with my darling niece. She’s of Rodrik, and of Kagerou and Rhaego; we both are of something great, something above our heads which we stretch and grope at but only ever can touch when times are dire. I suppose the Chamber direly needed a new ruler when Straia usurped. Having seen Rodrik, however, I must say that this better be damn worth it.
The ash which stubbornly floats around the Chamber turns my glorious gold-buckskin coat to soot. It is disorienting to be dulled like this, utterly plain. But I suppose that I needn’t fear. I’ve no damsels to flirt with, no fillies to grow into mares with my words. I’m completely and utterly claimed, as the rose-gold chevron on the top of my right from leg says. I’m absurdly delighted in my takenness, for it is Pomona who holds my heart. And Bergamot, too. So I needn’t fear of ash.
When I arrive at the kingdom meeting, Warship is speaking quietly to Erebor, whom I have had the pleasure to meet. A small smile lifts the corners of my fine lips, for I catch some of what the general says. ”You needn’t forget of your great-grandparents, oh grand-nephew. You have leopard-blood and the patience of a silent warrior within you.” Satisfied with my elusive description of Kagerou and Rhaego, I settle next to Straia, waiting for whomever else may deem the meeting approachable.
A rather dusty bay-freckled mare joins us, though she says nothing. Cocking a brow, I allow my amber gaze to drift across her young, supple body. ”Well,” I chuckle, ”Aren’t you a talkative one.” Eager to know the latest member of the Chamber, I take a step forward. ”Go on now, what are you called? I’m Kavi, if you care to know. I’m the Governor around here, and uncle of the Queen. But titles mean so little, do they not?” Grinning charismatically – I really am quite a fool when allowed to speak – I settle back into a comfortable position, waiting for her name to come.
Shaytan with the too-bright eyes stares at the buckskin, sooty stallion who accosts her (in a very friendly manner, but she takes it as accosting nonetheless). She stares. And stares. And then finally answers, slowly, as if it were some trick question. “Shaytan…”
What’s his angle? Did he know?
She kind of just wants to snap at him, but figures that since he gave his titles along with his name, that biting at some of the ranking members would be a good idea. Any chance she could play it off as the way she says hello?
“Um. I don’t have many conversations.” Unless they’re in her head and with herself. In there she’s awfully witty and full of good ideas. They just don’t necessarily translate into outside ideas. Neither does the inner charisma. So let’s just call her the anti-social borderline sociopath and be done with it, ok guys?
Shaytan
and every time she knocks I can't help but let her in
They come, such a small group still though slightly larger than the last kingdom meeting they had when Rodrik was still here. She would have to go see her father one of these days. The mare isn’t entirely heartless, though she won’t pretend she in a huge rush to go get her head bitten off. Once with Lu was enough, honestly. She’d ripped her own family apart for the Chamber (though to be fair, Rodrik had started that long before she had), and she’d probably tear a few more holes in it before she was done.
Thank God for Erebor. As far as that boy was concerned, if it was good for the Chamber, it was good for him. That was something she could work with. After all, it was the same thing by which she lived. Even though her sister would probably never speak to her again. And probably her father. Though she only found that one of those seemed like a loss.
She waits to speak till they all gather, though Warship of course talks to his son (she would hope so too), and Kavi greets their newest member. And that’s about it. That needed to change. “First, we need to recruit. I expect every damn one of you to be out in that field, myself included. We can’t keep on with this few in number.” She pauses. Not that she hadn’t been out in the field - she’d been working her damn ass off lately – but she’d blame herself as much as them anyway. It reflects her in the end, and in the end, she doesn’t care as long as they fix this numbers problem.
“Second, we are allied with the Valley, as you probably know. But we need to decide what we’d like to do about the rest of the kingdoms. I would like your opinions on what alliances and treaties we should keep. I lean toward keeping the treaty with the Falls, if they will have us, given that we have no healer. But I’ve no set plans other than the Valley.”
The appearance of his father is entirely expected. After all, his mother has called them together, and so they must all come. He greets his father without a smile, all seriousness around his family. They do not need pleasantries, not when it's just the three of them. No doubt others will press close, and then perhaps he'll feel the need to turn on his (rather astonishing considering his age) charm. But for now, he is content to listen to his father explain the heart that beats and his legacy simultaneously. The boy listens seriously, like the most attentive child in church. "Father." He presses his hooves deeper into the earth, and a small smile flits across his lips. "Grandfather." his words are limited by his desire for brevity, because nothing more needs be said, not a foal's inability to speak.
A strange mare appears next, but says nothing, and before long Kavi arrives too. "Uncle." he greets the stallion solemnly. He has considered using great-uncle, or perhaps some other term that would more accurately describe the familial relation, but he feels that 'uncle' conveys all relevant sentiments well enough. He makes a note to ask more about that side of the family; he certainly wishes to learn more about leopard-blood and silent warriors. But he knows that now is not the time.
He observes his uncle with interest as he talks to the quiet mare. His uncle's brand of charm is perhaps a bit…different from what Erebor himself might strive to have, but there is no doubt much that he can learn. And since she introduced herself, clearly it's working.
His mother's voice cuts through again, and he listens to her with absolute attention. She speaks of recruiting, and he nods. He is planning to try his hand at it, and to do so very soon. He understands he might be a bit younger than is traditional, but the Chamber needs new life to help fuel its recovery.
She begins speaking of alliances, and he feels shame that he knows so little of their world. Granted he's just barely been born, but still, he should know more. He should be able to help them shape their strategy, to have well-considered opinions on everything. It was his duty, and currently, he is failing. "What are our options, beyond an alliance with the Valley and the Falls?" he asks, with a maturity clearly beyond his years. Precocious. "Do we have the best information on what alliances other kingdoms may have?" He is not trying to pepper her with questions; he trusts her judgment completely. He is simply calmly stating a few key points that would need to be covered in order for their kingdom to make an informed decision. "Regardless, I can't see healing ever being a bad thing, so long as the price for it doesn't hurt us."
Do you believe you're missin' out?
That everything good is happening somewhere else?
”Shaytan, is it?” I reply to the girl with too-bright eyes. Another chuckle rumbles from my broad Arabian chest at her explanation to why her talking skills seem quite unhewn. ”Well Shaytan, if you’d like to practice talking with a silver tongue, I’m always available.” The offer is given with a shrug, but there is honesty, too. As governor, it is my responsibility to teach the new generation, even if it is simply teaching them how to speak in a crowd.
Straia interrupts the friendly chatter, which I daresay is direly needed considering how much we’ll have to work together if we want the Chamber to get anywhere. However brusque my niece may be, I know the woman beneath the suit of iron. And her words are rather true – we do need to be recruiting. Just as she pauses, I look to the others too, addressing them in a clear voice.
”Any who successfully recruit a member will be promoted. And any who attempt to steal will be promoted, too. Activity pays off, my friends.” Though I am as serious with my words as Straia, they come out far more smoothly. I am no dictator, but I’ll be damned if I lead a caste full of useless donkeys.
My ears twitch to Straia’s voice as she continues. Her son pipes up first, but I am soon to follow. ”We will earn nothing but healing water with the Falls – their lands are empty besides it. As I see it, we have no war on the horizon, and thus, no need for such niceties. Otherwise, we need to know more about the other kingdoms. On that note, I’d like to organise kingdom visits with what small numbers we have. If each of us visit one kingdom, only some of us will need to visit two. Volunteer now, or be assigned to a kingdom at the end of the meeting.”
What is this nice shit Kavi’s got going on? She supposes she should appreciate the offer, appreciate that someone was accepting of her idiosyncrasies and do her best to fit in with the other Kingdom members. But she’s also inherently distrustful and she doesn’t know him at all, so instead, she kind of just shrug-nods and mumbles and assent that she has no intention of following up on. Shaytan could have sworn it was an evil kingdom, and like an ignorant meadow bum chid, she was expecting to find the stereotypes. That? She didn’t know what to make of that, and the result was making her seem incredibly incompetent (don’t get me wrong, she probably is) and awkward. Take Straia, for instance. She seemed like someone who could be an Evil Queen… kind of elegant and slightly mysterious. Demanding. Like she might bite your head off if you took a step in the wrong direction.
It was hot. In a potential girl-crush-hero kind of way.
Well damn. Shaytan wasn’t expecting that.
“Send me somewhere with grass,” she says suddenly (cryptically), though she throws no opinions out about the other kingdoms. Shaytan doesn’t know shit about them. Why pretend to? But she an act nice. She can play the part. She might be a royal fuck up, for all anyone knows. Then again, what else should they expect from the Chamber except a creepy, potentially lesbian bunny killer with terrible social skills? It’s par for the course, right?
Let’s be honest, she’d be an awesome recruiter.
Shaytan
and every time she knocks I can't help but let her in
