Vere Ferreus

Gwaine had never imagined that he and the Storm Eagles would find themselves in their current predicament. More specifically, he had never imagined that Asghar was capable of losing his temper to this degree.

When it became apparent that Ezekyle Abaddon was operating as per usual with no signs of censure, Asghar had raged and again brought up the issue of court-martial for the Luna Wolves' First Captain's conduct in the Wanderer-Antillion campaign. Even Horus' diplomacy had failed to dissuade him, and both Legions were currently in a standoff.

Fearing tensions could lead to violence, both Legions were encamped apart from each other and both their fleets in standoff, with the Storm Eagles' fleet having explicit instruction from Asghar to prevent the Luna Wolves from leaving. The White Scars and Iron Warriors had continued the pacification on the outer worlds, leaving the Storm Eagles and Luna Wolves in their deadlock.

With Asghar back aboard the Eternal Storm to oversee matters, Gwaine had been left planet-side to enforce Compliance on Rohal III. The surviving Wanderers were being rounded into reeducation camps under the protection of the Storm Eagles. Asghar had made it explicitly clear that he did not trust the Luna Wolves for such a task.

Not that the Wanderers were reassured to be under the protection of the Storm Eagles. Gwaine could hardly blame them. The iterators reported only sullen and hostile silence from the native humans. The camps simmered with resentment, kept in check only by the watchfulness of the Astartes of the Second Legion and the Imperial Army soldiers. Gwaine was more than certain that when the Legions departed, low-scale rebellion would likely crop up. The Imperial forces left behind would be putting down these insurgencies for generations to come.

Rohal III was only Compliant in name. In truth it was occupied.

"This wouldn't have happened if Thor had been here," muttered Gwaine to himself.

Azan looked up. "You said something, Commander?"

Gwaine shook his head and returned his attention to the status update. The Captain of the Storm Eagles' Second Company had been recalled to Rohal III, along with the Third and Twelfth Companies to join the First and Ninth Companies on the planet to enforce Compliance. There had been much confusion at the orders, as they had all been in the midst of their own operations, only to be recalled for a seemingly trivial task.

Gwaine had broken it down for what it truly was: reinforcements in the event hostilities break out between the Second and Sixteenth Legions. The three Company Captains that had joined Gwaine and Adalgrim had stared in silence. Azan's face was as inscrutable as ever, though the tension in his jaw betrayed the Second Company Captain's shock at the situation. Third Company Captain Razek and Gunnar of the Twelfth Company were less subtle in their expressions.

"Such a thing is madness," Razek had said. The Terran-born Astartes had the dark, dusky complexion typical of those from the Yndonesic Bloc. His hair were rows of braids, the only vestiges of his past life that he still held on to, and his face was a patchwork of scars from his long service. "What you speak of is impossible, Commander Gwaine."

"I know how it sounds, Razek," snapped Gwaine. "But you weren't there when Asghar was punching Abaddon's teeth in."

Gunnar chuckled, though it was more out of disbelief than actual humour. The Tempestan-born captain had the typical pale skin of those from the Storm World. His hard mouth was hidden under a dark brown beard and one eye was an artificial orb, a replacement for the one that had been lost to an Eldar warrior in a campaign long past.

"You've mentioned the trigger for this," said Gunnar, his voice the sound of grating metal. "But I don't understand why Asghar has escalated this matter to such a degree."

Gwaine sighed. "You weren't there. You didn't see Abaddon and his maniacs massacre the Wanderers. They were out of control. Lord Horus promised to censure Abaddon for his conduct, but it's clear that he's still operating as per usual. Asghar won't stand for it."

"But how is that our business?" growled Azan. "We should move ahead with the campaign and be done with this."

"Because we promised Lord Thorondor that we'd minimise human casualties," said Gwaine. "And we have failed in that charge. Asghar has taken this failure to heart. Not allowing Abaddon to get away with this could be his way of trying to make amends. Honestly, I understand him. I don't know how to explain this to Lord Thorondor."

"But is this the way to do things?" asked Azan. "We are basically in a standoff with the Luna Wolves. What next, we start a war with them right here?"

"It won't come to that," insisted Gwaine. "Lord Thorondor will smooth things over when he arrives. But until then, we are here to ensure the situation doesn't escalate further. Is that understood?"

The other captains murmured their assent, and Gwaine dismissed them. Adalgrim clapped him on the shoulder in sympathy before taking his leave. A feeling of frustration welled up in the Lightning Rider and he suddenly had the urge to feel the wind on his face. He strode off to get his Storm Eagle.

Making his way to the temporary roost for the Eagles planet-side, Gwaine ran into Sergeant Ridvan of the Storm Riders and his squad.

"Commander," greeted the Sergeant. He had been one of the earliest Tempestans to receive the gene-seed following Thorondor's return to the Imperium, and had been a steady, if unspectacular contributor in most of the Storm Eagles' campaigns.

"Sergeant," returned Gwaine. "Off for patrols?"

"That's right, sir," replied Ridvan. "Heard there might be survivors in one of the western cities. Going in to confirm for evacuation."

"Good man," said Gwaine, clapping the Sergeant on the shoulder plate. "Got room for one more?"

Ridvan paused. "Wouldn't want you wasting time on patrol duties, Commander."

"Wouldn't be a waste. I need to see how things are on the ground," said Gwaine. He tapped his vox bead. "Besides, I'm always in reach."

"Then it'll be an honour, sir," said Ridvan, grinning.

II II II

The Storm Eagles flew leisurely in patrol formation, their riders scanning the area below them. The valley below had once been a verdant forest, but had been blasted apart by the war. Enough had survived that the forest could regrow given time, but Gwaine knew the ravenous industry of the Imperium would likely take all that's left.

Like locusts.

The Lightning Rider frowned under his helmet, wondering why he had been having such thoughts more and more often as of late. He pushed it away to the back of his mind.

At the centre of the valley was the blasted remnants of a city. Once it had been built to seamlessly mesh with the forest around it. Human-Antillion structures were almost indistinguishable from the flora as the city seemed to grow into the forest itself, rather than impose its presence.

At least, that was how Gwaine imagined the city to be prior to the wanton destruction inflicted by the forces of the Imperium.

"Commander, we've got signatures up ahead."

Gwaine saw it on the interface within his helm. And he knew the signatures all too well.

"They're not supposed to be this far in on our side of the planet," he muttered to himself. Over the vox, he gave out his instructions. "We'll give them a warning, but under no circumstances are we to escalate anything. Things are tense enough between us on Horus' boys."

"As you command, sir," answered Ridvan. As quick as thought, the squad began circling over the marked locations of the Luna Wolves, gradually descending. Gwaine followed. When they were close enough to make out the pearl-white power armour of the Sixteenth Legion Astartes, Ridvan began to vox them. Gwaine continued to observe, noting that they seemed to be digging through the ruins of a building.

"Luna Wolves, you are in violation of the agreed-upon demarcation zones," voxed Ridvan. "Identify yourselves and state your purpose."

There was a moment of tense silence as the Luna Wolves gathered below. Eventually, they voxed back.

"Storm Eagles, this is Sergeant Nero Vipus of Locasta Squad, Tenth Company. We found survivors here and are trying to extract them."

That was unexpected, given the recent uproar between both Legions. Ridvan's tone as he privately voxed Gwaine clearly reflected the same feelings.

"Commander? What should we do? Captain Asghar commanded that we were to escort any Luna Wolves out of our zones."

A memory stirred in Gwaine's mind. It was so long ago, but he remembered it clearly.

II II II

It had been when Gwaine and Thorondor had still been low-ranked Storm Riders on Tempestas, a far cry from the legends they would eventually become. They had been on a mission with their squad to eliminate raiders attacking an outlying settlement. In the heat of the battle, the lower levels of the settlement had been damaged, trapping civilians inside as the waters flooded in through the damaged walls. The raiders had sought to escape; they would have easily been routed and destroyed, but Gwaine and the rest of the squad had hesitated, torn between completing their mission to destroy the raiders or rescuing the trapped civilians.

Thorondor had not hesitated, leaping off Garuda and diving into the lower levels to initiate the rescue. Gwaine and the others followed suit. Hours of digging later, all the civilians had been rescued, but the raiders had escaped.

"Master Torwald's going to give us an earful for this," said Gwaine, plopping himself down beside Thorondor. Both of them were covered in dirt from digging through rubble. "We were supposed to take them out."

Thorondor shrugged. "If they're stupid enough to strike our territories, we'll get them eventually. These people might not have had a chance if we had gone after the raiders."

"You didn't even hesitate, eh?" said Gwaine, grinning.

Thorondor grinned back, teeth shining in the gloomy rain. "When you're in a tough situation, sometimes making the simplest call is the best thing to do."

II II II

The memory made Gwaine smile under his helm. Master Torwald had indeed given them hell, but given how light their punishment had been, he must have privately approved of their actions.

Thinking back of the memory, Gwaine's decision came easily.

"We can escort them out later. First, let's help them get those people out."

II II II

Several hours later, working side-by-side, the Storm Riders and the Luna Wolves managed to clear the rubble away. They found Wanderers huddled together, pale and malnourished from their ordeal; they had been trapped for a considerable amount of time.

They screamed upon seeing the Astartes, clearly expecting that death had come for them. Sergeant Nero Vipus tried to talk to them, but they scrabbled away, trying to get as far away from the Astartes. Some threw pieces of debris in a desperate, futile bid to defend themselves. Gwaine touched Nero on the shoulder, signaling him to fall back.

Gwaine stepped forward, ignoring the pieces of rubble bouncing off him armour. He set his glaive aside and slowly removed his helm. Mag-locking it to his hip, Gwaine raised his hands to show he was unarmed.

"Please," he said gently. "I mean you no harm."

One of the Wanderers, a woman who looked to be fifty Terran years-old by his reckoning, let out a hysterical laugh.

"How do you think we got trapped here, monster?" she rasped, trying to inject scorn into her voice, but she only sounded frightened. "It was you who brought this building- no, this whole world down on us! And you have the audacity to say you mean us no harm?"

Gwaine stepped closer, keeping his hands in plain sight. The Wanderers collectively flinched away.

"Yes, we did. That was an act of war, and we did what was necessary to end your resistance," he kept his voice even. "You have all fought bravely, but the war is now over. Your leaders have accepted Compliance. There is no need for more deaths."

"You mean you've conquered us," mumbled the woman, standing in front of the others as though trying to shield them from Gwaine. "Call it what you will, but you conquered us."

Gwaine sighed. The woman spoke truly, but there was no use in admitting it.

"Whatever you wish to call it, you are all now under the aegis of the Imperium. We are not your enemies anymore. We came here to rescue you."

"Lies," hissed the woman, shrinking back along with the others. They murmured their agreement with her words.

"I swear in the name of my Lord, the Emperor of Mankind, Beloved by all and by my honour," insisted Gwaine, still speaking softly. "You will not come to harm. We will take you to be reunited with your people. You will be fed and treated. Once you are all well, you will be part of the new world we will build together."

The Wanderers hesitated, their distrust of the invaders who have destroyed their world warring with their need to escape their desperate situation. In truth, they had little choice. The woman slowly nodded and gestured to her people to move. Gwaine offered a hand to help, but she hissed.

"We will accept your aid, but we can walk on our own feet! You've already conquered our world; you will not insult our dignity!"

Gwaine withdrew his hand and stepped aside, nodding to Sergeant Nero Vipus. The Luna Wolf nodded and thumbed his vox-bead, no doubt informing his men and Ridvan of the situation. The Storm Rider squad Sergeant would arrange for the necessary transports and escorts to bring the survivors over to the nearest reeducation camp.

Gwaine waited until the Wanderers were evacuated before he left, first ensuring that there were no stragglers…or traps. Fortunately, he saw neither. Picking up his glaive, he followed them out.

Outside, Sergeant Ridvan's men were providing the Wanderers with water and some first aid, which they took after some hesitancy. Gwaine shot Ridvan an inquiring look.

"Transports are inbound. ETA 25 minutes," answered the Sergeant promptly.

"Very good," replied Gwaine. He was about to put his helm back on when his eye spotted movements in the ruined building.

"Movement," he called, and the Storm Riders were immediately on guard. But Sergeant Vipus raised his hands placatingly.

"It's alright, Commander," he said. "It's the rest of my Company."

Given recent events, Gwaine hardly found that reassuring, but he signaled his men to stand down. Squads of Luna Wolves emerged from the ruins of the city, herding surviving Wanderers and carrying the wounded. Upon seeing each other, the Wanderers cried out and rushed to each other, embracing surviving friends and family, weeping in a cacophony of shared joy and grief.

Despite the noise, Gwaine heard a small shuffling sound and turned. It was the woman from the ruins. Though she looked less hostile, her expression was still grim.

"I thank you, warrior," she said stiffly. Before Gwaine could reply, she went on. "But none of this would have been necessary if your Imperium had even a sliver of tolerance. You say you will help us build a new world, but was there was nothing wrong with the one you tore down."

Gwaine had no words for that.

"All this death and destruction…" continued the woman. "I hope this new world your Imperium believes in with such zeal is truly better for my people than the one we already had."

She bowed her head stiffly and went to join her people.

Gwaine watched the Wanderers and the surrounding ruined city. He sighed. In truth, he wondered if what the Imperium would bring would truly be an improvement on what the Wanderers and Antillions had built together. He was dismayed to find that he could not say that with certainty.

He was shaken out of his thoughts when he saw Nero Vipus approaching. Beside him was another Luna Wolf. He was unhelmed like Gwaine. His hair was a shock of white just like his armour, and his face would be what most would consider handsome, if Gwaine was one to notice such things.

"Commander Gwaine," greeted Nero. "This is my commanding officer, Garviel Loken, Captain of the Tenth Company."

Garviel Loken made the sign of the Aquila which Gwaine returned with a fist to his own heart, the old sign of Unity. The Captain's name was familiar to Gwaine, but he could not place the face.

"I apologise, Commander Gwaine," said Garviel Loken, his voice a deep baritone. "I did not realise we were on the wrong side of the demarcated zone. We would have voxed you, but time was of the essence to extract the civilians."

"You did the right thing, Captain," answered Gwaine. "I thank you for that. But now I'm afraid I must ask you to leave. The Storm Eagles will take it from here."

Loken nodded. "Very well." But the captain seemed to hesitate which did not go unnoticed by Gwaine.

"Is there something else?" he asked.

"My apologies, Commander," said Loken. "I just want to say…I regret the tensions between our Legions. I had the honour of fighting alongside Lord Thorondor on Kalaborn and for something like this to happen after the countless campaigns our Legions fought together…"

Then it clicked for Gwaine.

"Ah…so you're that Garviel Loken," said Gwaine, smiling. "The Luna Wolf Sergeant who held the Ork horde with his squad-mates in the valley at Kalaborn. We never met face-to-face, but my Lord spoke highly of you, Sergeant." His eyes fell to the red-plumed helm mag-locked to Loken's hip. "Apologies. I should say Captain. You've come up in the ranks since Kalaborn, I see."

Garviel Loken smiled. "It was thanks to Lord Thorondor, I believe. Apparently the good word he put in for me with Lord Horus was enough to convince Lupercal that I was fit to replace the late Captain Pullo."

"Your merits are your own, Captain," said Gwaine. "That's what Lord Thorondor said of you. He said Lord Horus would have recognised it even without his input."

Garviel inclined his head, his smile almost shy. "I'm honoured that the Storm Lord sees fit to discuss me." He smile faded. "I had hoped to be able to thank Lord Thorondor in person during this campaign."

Gwaine nodded understandingly. "I don't think that would be possible, given the recent uproar between our Legions. But I well pass on your gratitude and regards to Lord Thorondor when he returns. He would be pleased with your promotion I think, and he could use some good news when he gets here."

"I am grateful," said Garviel and he clearly meant it. "I deeply regret that the rift between our Legions. Our histories, victories and glories are so intertwined that it is hard to separate us. I hope harmony can be restored between the Luna Wolves and Storm Eagles."

Gwaine clapped Garviel on the shoulder plate. "I hope so too, Captain Loken."

II II II

The air in the embarkation deck was thick with tension as the shuttle landed. The Storm Eagles stood still at attention, ready to welcome their returning Primarch. However, instead of the joyous occasion it should have been, there a sense of foreboding, as though they were waiting for the hammer blow to fall.

Asghar felt it most keenly of all, though to all outward appearance, he was calm. If his jaw was set harder than was it usual wont, no one commented on it. Not even Gwaine, who stood just beside him, face as still as a statue.

With a whirr, the shuttle's doors opened and the majestic figure of Thorondor emerged from it, flanked by Squad Arturas.

"Storm Eagles," barked Asghar. "Salute!"

As one, the Storm Eagles banged their fists against their hearts.

Thorondor did not acknowledge the salute. He strode forward, his steps slow and deliberate, each one clanging against the floor, echoing with power.

Filled with menace.

The Storm Lord came to a halt before Asghar and Gwaine, staring down at them. Storms were brewing in the grey of his eyes and he stared in silence.

Beads of sweat formed on Asghar's head in the face of Thorondor's gaze. An inkling of fear, so alien to him, crept down his spine as he tried to meet his Primarch's eyes.

The Storm Lord was not smiling.

Unable to bear it any longer, Asghar's knees buckled, intending to kneel and beg forgiveness. "My lord-"

"Enough."

The word froze Asghar in place and Gwaine winced. In that one word, the Storm Lord had conveyed his displeasure, and every Storm Eagle in the embarkation deck bowed their heads as though they had been personally rebuked by their Primarch.

Thorondor walked past Asghar and Gwaine. "Come, we have much to discuss."

II II II

Despite its simplicity, Thorondor's quarters aboard the Eternal Storm had always been a welcoming place. It was the informal Strategium and a sanctuary of reassurance.

Not now.

Asghar, Gwaine and the other captains stood in silence, waiting for their Primarch to speak. Thorondor was standing at the viewport of his quarters, looking out at the Vengeful Spirit. He had not spoken a word since they had all entered, but anger was radiating off him, powerful and suffocating.

Azan, Razek, Gunnar and Adalgrim stood just behind Asghar and Gwaine, tense. None of them dared to speak. Though Thorondor was nothing like that rage-filled Angron or the unforgiving ruthlessness of Perturabo or mass of insanity that was Konrad Curze, there was a sense of danger coming from their Primarch that they had never experienced before.

Without turning, Thorondor spoke.

"Explain."

Asghar did. He kept his voice low as he explained everything from start to finish. The initial meeting with the Wanderers and the early positive development. The disaster that followed with the discovery of the Antillions. The devastating war that left the Wanderers and their worlds ravaged. The loss of the ancient terraforming technology. The atrocities of Abaddon and his Justaerin, and Asghar's subsequent rage.

Asghar told everything with Gwaine interjecting to add a point and clarify every now and then. The Storm Lord remained silent, keeping his eyes locked on the Vengeful Spirit. When Asghar finished, Thorondor still remained silent, letting it stretch on and on.

The former Legion Master was once again on the verge of kneeling and begging for forgiveness when the Storm Lord finally spoke.

"Everyone else, you may leave."

Azan, Razek, Gunnar and Adalgrim didn't hesitate, quickly saluting and leaving just as quickly. Gwaine hesitated for a moment, before he sympathetically clapped Asghar on the shoulder before turning to leave.

"Gwaine, stay."

The Lightning Rider stopped, turning back. Thorondor was finally looking at them. The anger was gone from him, what was left was worse. The Primarch looked weary.

"Well, this is quite the mess," said Thorondor, moving to sit, indicating that Asghar and Gwaine do the same. After a moment's hesitation, they both did.

"My lord," said Asghar softly, eyes still on the ground. "Forgive me, this was my failing."

"That you let things escalate between us and the Luna Wolves? Yes." The Primarch's blunt agreement made Asghar recoil as though struck. "But I understand, Asghar. I'm just surprised that you let it go this far; you're usually so level-headed."

"I…I just…" stammered Asghar. He wanted to explain to his lord that he was outraged by the fact that Abaddon had massacred prisoners of war and allowed to simply walk away on the excuse he had let his passions get the better of him, like a child throwing a tantrum. Not just that, Asghar recalled what Balak had called them.

Kinslayers.

"It was murder, my lord," said Asghar finally. "They didn't want to fight us, but they fought bravely. When we finally convinced them to surrender, they were massacred because Abaddon and his maniacs couldn't control themselves."

Asghar looked up at Thorondor. "We have never baulked at killing because it was our duty, whether in war…or the purges." A chill went down Asghar's spine as the Storm Lord's face darkened at the mention, but he ploughed on. "But you always taught us the difference between killing because of duty and flat-out murder. That was what Abaddon did. I couldn't let him get away with it, not even if Lord Horus asked it."

Thorondor stared at Asghar for a long moment in contemplation. Asghar couldn't tell what was going on behind the storm-grey eyes of his lord. Would he be sanctioned? Perhaps, but Asghar was prepared for anything…

A small smile curled at the edges of Thorondor's mouth.

"Well said, Asghar."

Asghar released the breath he didn't realise he had been holding.

"You are right, of course," said Thorondor. "There's a difference between in killing in war and murder. We are not the Night Lords or World Eaters. I will stand by your actions."

"I…thank you, my lord," said Asghar gratefully. Gwaine clapped him on the back.

Thorondor abruptly stood up. "Let's go, then."

"My lord?" asked Asghar, frowning.

"Where are we going?" asked Gwaine.

Thorondor looked back out of the viewport.

At the Vengeful Spirit.

"I must pay Horus a visit."

II II II

"Thor, welcome back!"

Horus strode forward, resplendent in his pearl-white artificier power armour. His teeth gleamed white as he grinned, pulling Thorondor into an embrace. The Eye of Terra on their chest plates banged together.

"I'm glad to see you again, brother," said Horus sincerely.

Thorondor drew back, his face expressionless. "As am I, Horus. I only wish it were under better circumstances."

Horus' smile faltered and his gaze turned wary. His eyes briefly flickered to where Asghar and Gwaine stood, exchanging looks with Hastur Sejanus, Tarik Torgaddon and Horus Aximand. Abadddon's absence hung heavy in the air.

"Shall we talk in private then?" suggested Horus and Thorondor nodded. The Primarch of the Luna Wolves turned to the rest of his Mournival. "Keep Asghar and Gwaine company, will you?" The unspoken warning in his voice was clear.

"Of course, lord," said Sejanus as Aximand and Torgaddon nodded. Even the jokester that was Tarik Torgaddon could not seem to find any humour in the situation.

Thorondor turned to Asghar and Gwaine. "Behave."

They both nodded, Asghar looking red-faced. Both Primarchs departed, leaving the five Astartes together. They stared at each other awkwardly for a long moment. Finally, Gwaine spoke first.

"So…where's Abaddon?"

A short pause, then Torgaddon snorted with laughter. "Cheeky bastard."

II II II

"I assume you already know everything?" asked Horus, offering Thorondor a goblet of wine. The Storm Lord refused, settling himself on one of the couches in his brother's quarters. Unlike Thorondor's, Horus' quarters were more akin to a stateroom. It was decorated in a calculated manner, not like the lavish work of art that was Fulgrim's quarters. It was a much more subtle affair, with every ornament in the décor designed and placed to psychologically project the magnitude of Horus' position as the Emperor's favoured. The most powerful was the mural of the Emperor holding the stars in his palm, under which Horus now sat.

The message was clear, Horus spoke with the Emperor's authority. It was a calculated move designed to psychologically intimidate visiting dignitaries.

It had absolutely no effect on Thorondor.

"Why is Abaddon still not being sanctioned for his conduct?" asked Thorondor, cutting right to the point, keeping his tone light to invite his brother's reasons, not defensiveness.

"Ezekyle acted in the heat of the moment, Thor," answered Horus, keeping his own tone light. "Those deaths were regrettable, but he acted in a moment of passion and in a show of loyalty. I have already censured him as necessary."

"What did you do?" asked Thorondor, smiling at Horus. "Confine him to his quarters? Chastise him verbally?" He made it sound like a jest, but the barb was clear. If Horus' strained smile was any indicator, he understood exactly what Thorondor was saying.

"Ezekyle Abaddon is a hero of campaigns beyond count, Thor," said Horus. "He is renowned throughout the Legions. He is as much a symbol of the Great Crusade as the Primarchs. Even among other heroes like Sigismund, Merir Astelan, Raldoron, Asghar-" Horus inclined his head to Thorondor at this. "- Ezekyle's reputation is preeminent."

"I am not denying Abaddon's reputation and accomplishments, Horus," said Thorondor gently. "But hero or not, he committed war crimes on a scale severe enough to be judged by the War Council. If you're not willing to personally censure him out of fear of harming your Legion's morale, then let the War Council do it. We have to show that we are not above the law."

"It's not just the Legion's morale, Thor," retorted Horus. "A hero with Ezekyle's reputation going on trial before the Council cannot be kept under wraps. It will get out and imagine the harm it would do to the morale of the Great Crusade as a whole? Or to the reputation of the Legiones Astartes? The mortals look to us as inspirations to fight the battles that would break them. How could they trust us if they know that a champion among their champions is on trial for war crimes? Throne of Terra, how could they trust us if they knew the two most celebrated Legions were at each other's throats? It would harm the cohesiveness between the Army, Navy and Legions."

"The World Eaters, Night Lords and the Wolves have a reputation for brutality," countered Thorondor. "They seem to be handling it fine."

Horus exhaled, his irritation showing as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "That is different. The World Eaters, Night Lords, the Wolves…they have cultivated that brutal reputation. The Army, the Navy, they know to expect nothing more than absolute destruction from them. But the Luna Wolves, the Storm Eagles…are different. Forgive me this arrogance, Thor, but our Legions are held to different standards from the rest. We do not inflict wanton destruction, we liberate the worlds of Mankind and shepherd them to a better future-"

Thorondor laughed. For Horus Lupercal, who had shared countless laughter with his brother, the noise that came from the Storm Lord was the most terrible thing he had ever heard. It was full of scorn, sarcasm, contempt, and incredulity.

"'We do not inflict wanton destruction'?" echoed Thorondor, still laughing that terrible laughter. "Forgive me for this, Horus. With all due respect to the Luna Wolves, wanton destruction is all that our Legions have done! We are nothing like the Ultramarines, the Imperial Fists or the Word Bearers, who leave the worlds they take a better place. We leave behind only death, Horus."

Horus stood, as did Thorondor. Anger rolled off the Primarch of the Luna Wolves in waves as he strode forward to stand face-to-face with his brother. Their eyes, both the same shade of grey, locked onto each other.

"You do my Legion and yours, a great disservice!" growled Horus. "How many worlds have our Legions freed from the yoke of xenos, tyrants and sorcerers? Together! We did it together, Thor. How many have we saved from a life of darkness? How many of my sons and yours died fighting side-by-side to bring illumination to worlds lost to the darkness of this galaxy? Have you forgotten Kalaborn? Have you forgotten the worlds that cheered our sons in the streets because of the freedoms we brought them?"

Storms brewed in Thorondor's eyes, but his voice remained calm. "And how many more have we put to the flame, Horus? How many worlds to whom we have brought death simply because they would not submit to us? Many of them didn't even want to fight us, Horus! They just wanted to be left alone. But we brought war and death to them anyway! And for all the worlds we've 'liberated', how many have still died by our hands, simply because they had been considered unworthy of life by our laws? Like what I have done on Giant's Land and countless before. Like what you have done here."

Horus backed away, eyeing Thorondor like he couldn't recognise his brother. "That…this…this was different, Thor! The Wanderers had consorted with xenos! We gave them the chance to abandon them and return to the Imperium's embrace, but they refused!"

"The Wanderers were not conquered or enslaved by xenos, Horus. I read all the information. The Antillions had saved them from death and helped them start life anew here. The Antillions didn't enslave or manipulate our kin here. They were…The circumstances of the Wanderers and Antillions were different from anything we had ever encountered before. It was unprecedented! We could have found a different way..."

"It doesn't matter, Thor," insisted Horus. "You know father's decree. We cannot suffer the xenos to live. Nor can we allow humanity to be corrupted by them, no matter how benevolent the guise! We had no choice! It was father had commanded of us."

"Perhaps father is wrong."

The weight of those words, spoken so softly, seemed to hit with the force of an orbital bombardment. Horus stared at Thorondor, eyes wide with shock in disbelief at what his brother had uttered. As for Thorondor, he knew the moment he had said it that it was something he had believed and kept silent about for too long.

"You don't mean that," whispered Horus, grabbing Thorondor by the shoulders and raised his voice. "You can't mean that."

Thorondor sighed wearily, suddenly feeling very old. "We've been doing this for so long, Horus. Have you ever thought that there could be a different way? A more holistic approach? Yes, we have liberated worlds. Yes, we have brought many into the fold peacefully. But we have brought just as many by force, and those worlds are not willing participants in the Imperium, Horus. They have just been subdued. The moment an opportunity presents itself, they will turn against us."

"We will not let that happen, Thor," insisted Horus. He stared his brother in the eye for a long moment before withdrawing.

"What you said earlier…it never happened," said the Luna Wolf Primarch. "No one else heard it, so it stays between us. You understand me?"

Thorondor nodded, but he knew better. Something had cracked. Something undeterminable had cracked with the words he had uttered. Horus was trying to salvage whatever it was, but Thorondor knew better. What he had said had sowed doubt and cracked the belief in the absolute righteousness of their cause. Of course, Horus being Horus, would not accept it as it is.

"Very well," was all Thorondor said, leaving the rest unspoken. He paused for a moment. "And Abaddon?"

Horus looked at Thorondor thoughtfully. "The only ones there were your men and mine. There were no other witnesses and I already promised to censure Ezekyle personally. Let that be the end of it."

"That's it?" asked Thorondor. "Three thousand prisoners of war slain in cold blood and the perpetrator only gets a slap on the wrist?"

"I give you my word, Thor," said Horus. "Ezekyle will make amends for what he's done."

"Make amends, you say?" repeated Thorondor, looking away from Horus. He sighed. "I'm disappointed in you."

Though he did not see it, Thorondor heard a sudden movement, as though Horus had recoiled. He turned to look at his brother.

"You were supposed to be the best of us, Horus," said Thorondor quietly. "You were the shining example the rest of us were supposed to follow. But here you are, keeping up appearances instead of doing the right thing."

"Of all people, I can't believe it's you who's saying this to me," whispered Horus, looking hurt.

Thorondor shook his head. "I understand your reasons. But I thought…I believed you were better than that."

He looked Horus in the eye, resigned. "I will keep my men quiet on this, out of respect for the past our Legions share. If that is all, I will take my leave now."

"Thor."

Of course Horus couldn't leave it at that. He'd have to try to make it better, to ensure they parted on a good note, but Thorondor wanted no part of it. Disappointment hung heavy in his heart as he turned to depart.

"Thor, please."

Thorondor paused for a moment, looking back at Horus. "My Legion will be departing as soon as possible. I believe you have things well in hand here. Farewell, Horus."

"Thor, don't…"

"Farewell, Horus," Thorondor repeated firmly, walking out of Horus' quarters. He could hear his brother call out to him one more time, but the Storm Lord walked on, not looking back.