Chapter Nine.

Change of POV. Aragorn


It is the scrape of leather against rough bark that scratches at the creatures of the wood. I make the sound purposefully, watching as they peak and poke from small hovels among the forest. Besides brief hours sneaking away from the Monastery I have not witnessed much of my world. I breathe in the scents of the forest, sorting and cataloging them without effort.

It spins a tale for me, a song sung long before I had ever come and would continue long after I had left to hear the wailing of others. Every creature of the forest responds to the symphony. Every branch crack, every creature call, the dying of aged wood heralding the birth of new life.

The forest sings its melody as I pace under its care. It is an old wood, long left unturned by the manipulations of mankind. But even now there are shifts in its mood as changes come and wrack themselves upon it.

For a time I allow myself to be smothered in the sensory gluttony this place has for me, one part of my mind staying true to the task, while the other basks in this newfound freedom of the senses.

High above the canopy catches the moonlight that cuts through parting cloud cover, separating before my eyes as wind picks up to carry them to new lands. Creatures dance in the slivers of silver that fall from the heavens. Flickers of fur and claws, small mammals with huge eyes and ears that make homes in hollows.

Lightbugs in their thousands shine as rivers of light among the towering forests, their hordes rays of lantern light that magnify the shadows, scattering into a void as their rituals are attacked. The symphony disrupted by the crunching and munching of insectoid flesh.

There are other things that disturb the song. The slight jangle of objects in my backpack, my possessions from the Monastery are not known sounds to the creatures of my woods. The scent of the egg I carry is known and strikes fear in those downwind of us, a path of oppressive silence following before us.

Like a king entering his castle the forest quiets itself for its master, the trees bending to welcome me home.

A smile comes with the ridiculous thoughts, knowing well trees cannot bend nor do they sing and dance for the whims of others, but one could believe, if they had the senses that I do. The forest is filled with them, away from the repetitive stench of burning rock, incense and mortals that suffocated the Monastery. Its constant drilling and mining operations sending vibrations through the stone, waking me often.

I turned my thoughts from the Iron Mountain and instead to the father who I had walked away from. Still it struck me how easily he had let me go. I had expected more of a fight from him, to see his temper rise. I had not been ready for his gaze to turn so somber, aging a century before my eyes.

I could not remember a time when he looked so defeated.

Even after coming back from the war for Rivia, or, the battle over the single city more like, he had been strong, somber, but strong. He didn't share the same fire for war that I had read about in so many books regarding the subject. Those writers praised war as mankind's devotion to the Emperor, to fight back against the darkness and Xenos that threatened its worlds.

I ducked under a branch, one of the strange plants that grew from the massive trees of the world, plucking one of its bright red and white spotted fruits. I had eaten it before, shipments obtained from gatherers came in regularly, but as I bit down and its sweet flesh filled my mouth, it tasted far better having plucked it myself.

With fruit in one hand and egg in the other, I ventured through the night towards the native city I had heard about from the serfs. They talked among themselves constantly when they thought they were alone, all kinds of thoughts and rumors bouncing across the halls.

I ignored most of them, sometimes informing Richard if one had been up to some kind of trouble. While father had been gone, a few mining lasers had gone missing, the Head Serf going on a hunt for the guilty. It had taken an hour, but I had managed to track down the thief. He never bothered the Chapter again.

A change in the heartbeat inside the egg I held close to my chest made my pace slow, tuning out the squeaking of mammals and fluttering wings of innumerable wings to listen closer. Its beat was growing stronger, the fluid inside sloshing slightly as it moved and shifted inside its confines.

"Break your shell soon, I'm eager to meet you." I whispered down to the oval in my hands. It stirred again, moved by my voice. I grinned widely at its motion, this gift, the creature, the companion inside, already the most precious thing I had.

For hours I continued, sometimes straying close to where the forest started to clear and its paths becoming cleaner. As the sun began to rise beams of light pierced through the particles that hung among the forest to dance across the undergrowth. Large leaves above dancing in the winds that came with the warmth.

New sounds came as the forest woke, one world of danger trading itself for another. Light brought no safety upon Tarth.

I hear the crunch of foliage, different from the footfalls of animals or insects, heavier, more purposeful. Without thought my feet turn to the sound, a desire to know what dared to disrupt the opening piece of the morning's song.

Bark moves under my fingers as I press myself against a trunk and peer around its base and attached brethren. Several humanoids move through the undergrowth, clad in leathers and pelts, iron spears held in loose grips. They disrupted the forest natural rhythm, but did not throw off its song. These were mortals well used their environment, perhaps even they could perceive the symphony around them.

They moved with the ease of men who had traveled the forest many times, only pausing to listen at the sounds that heralded danger. From the mouth of one of the warriors in the middle fell a language I had never heard before.

"Stjörnufólkið stækkar aftur, það mun ekki líða á löngu þar til þeir fara að líða yfir veiðilöndin." A few of his fellows nodded, and another continued. Their faces were painted in blue symbols and lines I assumed were of designation or allegiances.

"Það sem við erum að gera þeim er ekki nóg, við þurfum að ráðast á gildi, ýta þeim í ána til að láta þá drukkna." I tried to link their speech to anything I had heard or read about before, but found myself grasping at nothing. The group paused at a fork in the path before they turned left, heading down a trail.

I decided to follow them a hundred or so meters behind , an easy feat given how loudly their feet found the floor, their voices muffled by the forest. They were headed towards the plains, a large herd of the beasts mulling across the green shrubbery and tall uneaten grass that rose and fell before the highlands and mountains beyond them.

With surprising stealth they laid upon their bellies and crawled towards the herd, smothering themselves in mud and other substances from pouches they carried across their chests. It smelled fowl, but covered their scent well.

The beasts were still sleepy, only a few actively grazing as the sun continued to rise. I followed them out, crouching in the tall grass as it swayed and rustled loudly in the breeze, bathed in the morning light, it looked like strands of golden thread. I was eager to witness their hunt, to see how these men would bring down the mighty plains beasts, but they never got the chance.

I hear the softest touch of a paw on grass, hear the snap of stalks as they are pressed down and broken. I have to concentrate to hear it, the brushing of grains against fur, smooth and rasping. I cannot see it, but I can hear it, smell it as the wind changes and brings with it the scent of blood and threat.

There is a burst of motion, a trampling as the beast lunges from its hiding place, a huge mass of black fur and snarling fangs. It catches the hunters blindsides, pounding on one and rapping away the arm he throws up to protect his neck. I hear the screams, smell the fresh blood that sprays across the earth.

The others react swiftly, jabbing their spears into the predators hide. They do not sink deep, the beats yowling as it leaps from the man, cracking rips as it vanishes into the grasses again.

More panicked words fall from their mouths, the wounded one is regarded by his fellows. One moves to help him and his scorned by another. He ignores him, trying and failing to stop the bleeding, to bind the arm. The wounded man, one hand still gripping the spear, fights through his pain and spits out a few words, his teeth pressed together, eyes wide with mortality.

A loud feline growling came from the safety of the field and they know their time is up. Together they stand over their wounded comrade, weapons pointed to the grass around them. It does not matter.

With a flash of black and blood the animal pounces once more, up and over their spears to land among them. They scatter, as much from its scything paws as the huge protruding fangs that hang from its jaws. They scatter and the beast's fangs find the injured mortal, who can only beat at its sides for the few seconds he has.

Beast and prey vanish into the grasses, all over in less than a minute. The iron scent of blood and fear is heavy now, rippling across the grasslands, carried on the winds that were gentle just before. Now it carries sinister tones, the rustling grass is not quite so peaceful anymore.

The bison bellow, thousands of throats rising in startled alarm as the smell reaches its edges. Like the grasses their fear ripples across the herd, the panic spreading as their calls light up the morning air. The ones in the middle, those most protected, do not even know what they fear, only that they do.

The ground shakes as they react to their fear, their instincts from long millennia drive them to act, to survive. They leave a line of dead grass as they go, their backs disappearing over the rolling hills of gold.

The three survivors, hearts beating and fueled by desire for survival, dashed back towards the safety of the woods. They pass only meters from my left but unaware of my presence. I follow back through the undergrowth. Leaving behind the sound of ripping manflesh.

Like the beasts of the plains they run without any semblance of stealth, slapping aside branches and stumbling over grasping tree roots. Their fear makes them clumsy, makes them paranoid of the sounds they should know by heart.

I had not witnessed it before. In the Monastery the serfs did not have much reason to fear. Their protector was an Astartes, their labors were simple. There was little danger among the stones. I filed it away in human behaviors, another note in the book of humanity.

Any semblance of stealth abandoned the trio, slapping aside branches and stumbling over grasping tree roots. I followed behind, easily keeping pace.

For an hour they travel, making it clear they headed back to whatever place they call home, eating and drinking as they walked. Their stamina was admirable, their bodies thick and stout. As their fear bleeds from them, their feet become sturdy once more, their peace with the forest returning.

As the sun starts to just fall, I started to hear new sounds, the granular scrap of metal across earth, the thud of hooves and a growing murmur of voices blending together into incompatible noise. I followed them further, adjusting the careful grip I held on the egg in my hand as the heartbeat within grew quieter, muffled by the dull din of civilization.

I spotted a break in the forest ahead, a place where the mighty timbers had been cut away, their roots torn up from packed earth. Through the growing gaps I could see others, clad in basic cloth clothing that was dirty and stained. Behind tamed plains beasts they tilled the earth, men with sacks grabbing at uprooted vegetables

I stopped a dozen meters into the woods, watching as the gatherers saw the men and waved to them. The hunters made few remarks in return, bruising passed the others towards the city proper.

I frowned at that, wondering if the bonds of brotherhood that I had witnessed between these three did not carry over to the laborers of the field? I observed them closer, eyes dancing across the details of their clothing, their hygiene and posture.

Hunchbacked, a life of picking and hard labor, well worn hands, caked with grime much longer than today. The way they moved to the side for the hunters, bowing in subservience. There was no sound metal on their bodies, small trinkets, the necklaces and braided hair, were absent among those of the field

My mind drew a parallel between them and our own serfs. Simple clothing, hard but acceptable work. Servants then, of those in power among the city.

I raised my gaze from the people to the walls that stood vigil above them. Meters of stone rose from the edge of a wide ditch built around the settlement. The battlements and tall towers were constructed from wood, large wooden spikes capped with iron barbs splayed out in four rows built upon each other, all facing downwards.

Soldiers in iron mail and helm patrolled the gates with sturdy spears.

As the gates opened I was able to see down a street and into the lives of the people there. Homes constructed with wide stone bases, timbers and planks to form the walls of their homes, slanted roofs of thatch and wood slate, symbols of creatures carved into their houses.

Then the iron banded wooden doors shut, the thud of a heavy beam echoing out from its defense.

Having witnessed enough I ease myself a dozen meters again deeper into the forest before finding a small nook in which to rest. I did not need the sleep, not yet as mortals needed to each night. But sleep was not on my mind.

I settled myself deeper into the groves of the root cradle that held me, nestled the egg I had kept at my heart deeper into my embrace, and closed my eyes. For mortals, only darkness would meet them, their other senses were not capable of providing them sight beyond themselves. I was not so limited. I did not need eyes to see.

As light faded the creatures of the world mingled in those brief minutes of twilight, when both worlds swirled to fade in and out of existence.

But life inside the city did not stop with the fading of natural light. I could smell the fires they burned in the streets to light their ways, the wood smoke that carried on it the scents of cooking meat and vegetables, spices and herbs. I could almost taste the stews they prepared, feel a warm bowl in my hands. But it was not these senses I chased down tonight.

I listened, more than all else. My inhuman body catching the dozens of individual conversations had by people of the city beyond. I might not understand their words, but I could memorize them for a time that I did. I forgot nothing.

I stayed in my spot until the last of the conversations around camp fires and hearths died as the people went to their beds. Now only the creak of wooden battlements by stalwart guards heralded human activity among the night.

Mind restless from a day of wonder and found freedom, I refused to pass the night in dreamless slumber, instead rolling my thoughts around in my head as a child would a ball. I was never still, my fingers flexing with the desire to continue this world I would one day conquer.

It was not a question to me as it might have been to my father. I knew what I was, what I had been made to do. It was written upon my flesh and my soul like a brand, invisible to all but myself.

For what else could I have the strength to crush mortal bones, know libraries and understand the sciences of Octavian with ease.

The urge for more gnawed at me at all times. It was the itch under my skin when I sat idle for to long, the anticipation that gathered in my muscles. I could feel each one, every muscle, every fiber.

I filled my lungs with air, feeling the three organs stretch alongside the others inside my fused ribcage, the steady beating of my primary heart, pushing blood sloshing through my veins.

I had read of the organs of the Space Marines, templates of my own genetic code. I flicked my gaze to the Iron Mountain far in the distance, its peak visible through a thin break in the canopy. Would those of my own blood await me when I returned?

Through the night hours I keep my own company, pushing my thoughts around and around until something fluttered to my side. A small bird, of brilliant blue and red feathers, a wide beak for picking seeds opened as it began its opening song.

Mortal eyes would not have seen the difference in the changing lights. But I could see on more levels than the average man. The birds could sense it well, more and more gathering upon the high branches to welcome the coming light of a new day.

It was only one of the rituals of the forest.

This ancient song was disrupted by the shifting of the egg in my hands. The drake inside sloshing in its liquid, shifting with the lucidity of coming consciousness.

A muffled squeak came from within its oval confines, the hard outer casing flexing and cracking in spider webs across its upper half. The bird spooks and flies away.

"Push." I encouraged my coming companion, grinning as it squeaked louder and pushed harder, the thin film that separated fluid and shell flexed between the cracks, white upon grey.

"Push." I say again, and it does, flexing and struggling until at least the barrier breaks, the egg tipping over as its treasure was freed into the world.

He is covered in birthing fluid, blinking and scratching at the remains around his eyes and nostrils. I scoop him up in my arms and use my clothes to wipe it away, joy striking my hearts as our eyes meet, electricity dancing across my spine as our souls joined, the being, my eternity, molding and melding itself with the drake in my arms.

In a nauseating rush I was overcome with secondary sensations not of my own. The world was darker, the smells sharper, my body covered in scales and shoved into angles my limbs would not go.

A low groan left my lips as both drake and I wobble on the roots, fighting for identity and senses. My drake suffered too, his own infant mind struggling with senses and knowledge his kind was not meant to experience.

Teeth grinding I went inwards, turning my attention upon the connection that bound us together. It was wide open, memories, emotions and senses twisting as a whirlpool, dragging us into blurred individuality and sense of self. I held my friend to my chest, refusing to let him go, refusing to lose him in the maelstrom of twisting souls.

Slowly, oblivious to the world and unknowing of time the valve was narrowed, our sense of self solidifying.

I opened my eyes slowly, weighted down by an exhaustion not of the body or the mind. I went to the drake in my arms. He was sleeping, equally exhausted as myself.

Blinking away my drowsiness I force myself up and onto my feet. I tilt on the uneven roots under my feet, stepping on the dew covered bark to the damp earth below.

Soggy leaves squish underfoot as I seek out something to break my fast. But it is a secondary concern. I cannot shake the feeling of wholeness that infects me. As if I spent my life one handed only to find the other released from some prison.

"Did my father go through this?" I ask the still dark woods, the night creatures scattering as I wander aimlessly. Plucking a berry I sink my teeth into its sweet flesh, savoring the flavors that explode across my tongue.

A gathering of lightbugs dances overhead, illuminating the shadowed drake in my arms. With the light provided, I can see red touching the edges of his scales, as if each had been dipped in blood before being fastened to his body.

"I will call you Ignis." The name rings among the ancient wood, a declaration, a name that would carve itself upon the very mantle of the world.

I ponder and wander this new electric connection until I hear the far baying of moved beasts and the chatter of voices once more. Suffocated by the canopy the first light of day breaks upon the horizon. The humans rise with it, some to tend their fields and start their fires.

I return to watching the city and its people, Ignis still slumbering peacefully in my arms. The growers are putting lengths of leather cord upon their beasts of burden, preparing to return to their labors in the fields.

Hours pass before Ignis opens his eyes, they are slitted as all his kind, pupils expanding and contracting in the light. He looks at me and I smile at the comfort that radiated through our bond.

"Welcome to the world Ignis. I have been waiting to meet you." He has a name, and imprints it upon himself in understanding. My memories, our initial flood of information has gifted him with a second hand understanding of our world.

The moment is broken by the rumbling of his stomachs, his nose turned to the air to scent out potential prey.

I find us meat in the form of a rabbit, slain with a smooth stone I find upon the forest floor. I pull away its skin and tear away chunks of flesh with my fingers, feeding them to Ignis. He devours it chunk by chunk, stomach expanding as he gorges himself. Finally, with only bits remaining, he lazily slumps back into my arms, my smile never falling.

With Ignis awake and fed I turn my attention to the city once more. I step out from the treeline, and into the view of gatherers. The sun is high overhead, beating down on their backs while cool winds ease their burdens.

They see me quickly and are confused, calling to me in their tongue. Frowning when I do not respond. They speak among themselves before a few walk towards me. I am almost as tall as they are, perhaps mistaken for a young adult or large teen.

When they are close enough to see my features they stop and hesitate. They share the looks of many mortal serfs. Bewilderment, fear, amazement.

Some grasp their tools as fight and flight instincts touch their hearts. Their pulses grow quicker, the scent of fear starts to grow upon the wind.

Then one of them steps forward. He is old, his face wrinkled by the sun and a thick white beard. His back is hunched and his hands are thick and rough. He comes only meters from me, using his farming tool as a walking stick. His head tilts in confusion as he looks upon me, eyes trialing my form until they land upon the drake in my arms.

"Hann ber fjallbarn!" I knew the words, but had no idea what they meant, as more and more farmers gathered around us, I picked Ignis off from around my shoulders and held him up for them to see.

"Drake." I said slowly, and to my surprise, many of them nodded, and repeated the word back to me.

"Já, Drake." I nodded and put Ignis back on my shoulders, by now a pair of guards were coming from the gates, having seen the happenings and been summoned by the noise. They looked confused under their helmets but didn't level their weapons at me. The front one, with lines of paint under his eyes turned to the old man.

"Hvaðan kom þetta barn? Af hverju er hann með Drake um hálsinn?" The elder could only shrug in response.

"Hann gekk út úr skóginum fyrir nokkrum mínútum, við höfum aldrei séð hann áður." The soldier turned to look at me, running his eyes across my face, lingering on Ignis for a moment.

"Talaðu, barn, hvaðan kemurðu?" I could only shrug back at him, gesturing to my lips before I opened my hand in a hopefully confused gesture. I made sure not to speak any more of the low gothic I had learned from my adoptive father and serfs who worked at the Monastery. I knew that some of these people had been attacking the Capital city, but I wasn't sure if it was this settlement or not.

The blue painted guard frowned and conversed with his fellow watchman for a minute, a flurry of words that I added to my growing list.

He then gestured for me to follow, each guard flanking as we walked through the gates and into the city itself. I had spent some time in Ildrian before, the city spreading from the colonists and refugees we had taken in. I had no comparison other than the books I had read and the paintings and pictures I had seen, but this place was simpler, an accumulation of carved wood and chiseled blocks of stone. It was missing the gothic symbolism and cookie cutter beauty that made up the fabricated buildings of our imperial settlement.

Carried with it was the scent of smoked meats and open pit fires, many of the buildings we passed had sloped wood or thatch roofs, supported by thick beans of wood with had clay or stone chimneys that rose high above them, wisps of gray smoke lazily being blown about by the breeze.

The people on the dirt streets looked curiously as we traveled towards the large castle atop a small hill in the center of the city. They didn't follow us, but a trail of whispers carried behind us like vapor.

The guards said nothing as we walked, sometimes giving Ignis a sidelong glance of concern or confusion, the small drake sitting up on my shoulders peering around curiously at all the new sights and smells. He was particularly interested in the fresh meat hanging from a market stall.

At the walls that protected their keep a second set of guards stood, clad in better armor and wielding axes and shields. They were larger, tougher looking men who the two beside me. My guides nodded to them in respect before they went into a flurry of conversation, gesturing to me a few times.

The two guards left me with their betters, one jerking his head to follow. I do so, walking with him inside the courtyard. I hoped they would be able to bring me to a library or some scholar who could teach me their language. Being unable to understand what was being said around me filled me with irritation.

Large wooden doors covered in banded iron were pulled open by metal rings, revealing a hall that stretched onwards a dozen meters, ending at a rising throne of intricately carved wood. On it sat an old man, graying beard tucked into a tunic lined with chainmail. Atop his head there was no crown, just a simple band of gold with an onyx gemstone resting against his forehead.

The soldier beside me saluted by pounding his fist against breastplate, motioning to me before he went into what I could only assume was an explanation of my appearance at their walls.

During it all the king sat there, listening, his only reaction a flickering of his eyes from me to Ignis then back to his warrior. After the mortal finished the king leaned forward on this throne and spoke at me.

"Svo þú veist ekkert af tungunni þinni?" I kept his gaze at him until he removed his stare. He turned his attention to the side where another man stood in plain white colored robes. He took a step forward, younger, a short beard trimmed to a point with uncertain brown eyes.

"Þú ert með Drake með þér, hvernig komstu að því?" I only understood one of his words, but when I said nothing, he took another step forward, eyes now locked on Ignis.

"Er þér sama hvort ég snerti hann? Ég hef aldrei séð einn svona lítinn." He kept walking until he stood next to me, looking from me to Ignis, before he tentatively reached out a single hand. Ignis watched him get close, leaned out to smell it before he sprung into action, jaws snapping out to catch fingers before he could jerk them back. He yelped in pain and surprise, clutching the small goudge that was cut into his middle digit. From his throne, the king chuckled and motioned another over.

"Ef hann kann ekki tungumálið okkar verðum við að kenna honum. Komdu Edgar, mig langar að vita sögu hans." From out of a side door a aged man came forward, heralded by the thunking of a wood staff worn down by years of use. Like the other, he wore white robes, yet the edges of his were lined in a red color, head covered by a deep hood.

"Hvað ertu að bjóða konungi mínum?"

"Þessi drengur kom úr skóginum, kenndu honum hvernig á að tala tungu okkar svo að við getum talað við hann sem jafningja." The old man nodded to his lord and then looked to me, a kind smile coming across somewhat blackened teeth and receded gums. He gestured me forward and after a moment's glancing around the chamber, I followed him deeper into the castle.

The old man's heavy white robes drug across the stones as we walked, bits of dirt staining it brown. I could see the gouges he left in the dust line, swirling in our passing.

The halls were smaller than I was used to, made of wood and brick instead of smoothed stone. There were some attempts at grandeur. Paintings and statues were placed at junctions, iron torches burning and curling up thick black smoke, flittering out of slits cut into the ceiling.

The aged mortal led me to a small library filled with scrolls, lit by an open window. The room was filled with the scent of paper and charcoal, ink and wax, a few thin cylinders of it resting on a nearby desk.

The man got up on a stool and grasped at a thick scroll, his bones aching and groaning slightly as he did. Shuffling over to a chair he sat down and patted the one next to him, not even turning around to look.

I sat down beside him, watching as he unfurled the paper before us. It crinkled as he did, the fibers groaning after being at rest for so long. It was a large collection of symbols, each separated from one another. I scanned over them as he pointed to the first and spoke.

What followed was an hour of him teaching me his native alphabet. Its root was very similar to the High Gothic I had learned under my father. With this realization I eagerly listened to the soft words of the mortal teacher, copying the way he formed each sound and letter. Learning new collections to make out full words and connecting their meanings. I learned the name of the man beside me was Edgar. A scholar of the people here. I enjoyed the look of surprise on his face when I spoke in his tongue.

"A change, but not one I am unable to overcome." Edgar blinked for a moment before he responded in a hushed voice.

"You can speak the tongue? But we just started." It was clear to see that he was impressed by this development, and I tuned my dialect again to better match his own.

"There are similarities to another that I learned in the past. Once I realized the similarities, it was simple." After a moment the old man chuckled and started to stand, leaning heavily on his staff.

"If that is true then my work here may be done. Come, you can speak to the king in the morning. For now, let us get you to some guest chambers." He carried with him the candle he had lit, its wick half burned, rehardened wax pooling at its bowl shaped bottom.

The passages in the evening were empty, only a few of the heavily armored guards making their rounds. Ignis was still on my shoulder, more patient than I had thought compared to how Despair had been around the same size. He was in a shallow rest now, his steady breathing a comfort.

We passed through the shadow filled hallways and up a set of stairs, being shown to a small comfortable room with a bed and desk, drapes pulled across a small window. Edgar set the candle down and stood near the door.

"I will come for you in the morning for your audience with the king. I'm sure he will want to hear more about where you have come, as will the rest of us." I set Ignis on the bed and turned to him.

"No questions from you then?" The man shook his head, gripping his staff loosely as he leaned against it.

"I'm sure my own can wait. But I would ask, what is your name?" I set my pack down on the desk, chinking slightly with the few items I called my own.

"Aragorn." He rolled the name silently across his tongue before nodding once and closing the door behind him. Ignis rolled a bit in the sheets behind me, catching his claws on the fabric and tearing small holes in their surface. He tried to back away from the material but failed, dragging the sheets along with him as he backed up against the wall, limbs flailing.

I chuckled and helped him free himself, the fabric ripping again until he freed himself. With a soft thump he went to the ground, looking at the bed as suspicious came across our bond, dulled by my own mirth.

"Its just a bedsheet Igins, no danger there." The drake came to stand beside the bed and narrowed his eyes a bit, throat muscles twitching a bit before he started to gag a bit, mouth opening and a small bit of flame came falling out. It didn't hit the bed, instead limply flowing across his teeth to dribble to the ground.

He looked up at me, confusion both physical and mental apparent. I reached an arm out and grasped the small companion to my side, grinning widely.

"It seems I made a good choice in your name." I set him on the bed as I made my way to the window to draw back their drapes.

The moon was passing behind a thick bank of clouds, stealing away the silvery coating left on the world, leaving behind a consuming darkness.

It wasn't a problem for myself. The limited light was more than enough for me to peer out over the top of the wall and into the city below. I closed my eyes and opened my ears, tapping into the din of conversation. A small smile crossing my lips as I listened to the slow heartbeat of a sleeping city.

I could hear the idle conversations of guards as they walked across the walls, passed the welcome torchlight and rubbed fingers together as a chill wind swept down from the mountains. Beyond them the city started in earnest, muffled tones of families sharing a meal or shadowed figures discussing ill hearted plans.

I stayed like that till morning, leaned against the window to eavesdrop on the people below. Ignis stayed in the bed for most of the night, only as the sun began to turn the horizon purple, its first rays spiking out across the sky.

The drake crawled up my leg to rest across my shoulders, sharp teeth glinting in the light of the morning as he yawned wide. A few blinks and he was looking out towards the city below us, questions rolling across our bonds. I see the old man who taught us to read, his image a ghost across my mind's eye.

"Edgar will be here soon, then we will meet the king and find our place among these people." I see the Monastery, my father, the serfs. The Iron Mountain.

"I don't think you would have liked my old home as much as you think you would. It's fairly boring there. All there ever is to do is train or study, practice." I stood up from the window, stretching stiffened muscles.

"No reason I can't do that while seeing more of the planet we will one day rule." I could hear footsteps on the stairs, softer than the clunking sound of soldiers' boots.

"The next time father goes to war we will make sure we go too. I've read about what planets look like from space. I've heard its amazing." I trailed off as the footsteps stopped in front of the door and the rasp of flesh on wood came through instead.

"May I come in?" Edgar's voice is a soft request to which I open the door, revealing the weathered visage of the scholar. He smiled at me warmly as he came to stand just over the threshold.

"The king is ready to meet with you, he is most interested in you." There was something more there, some kind of weariness that I was sure I hadn't been meant to hear. I raised a hand to scratch at Ignis.

"Lead the way." Together we passed back through the passages, the wood creaking slightly from our weight.

"I trust you slept well?" It was an honest question, dispersing the air of silence that followed after us.

"I did. Even if the bed was slightly lumpier than I had expected." A dry wheezing sound came out of the mortal beside me, transforming into a chuckle as the scholar laughed.

"They are a bit lumpy, I recommend slashing open the top and moving the straw around before sewing it back together." I raised an eyebrow and looked at the man beside me, seeing his small smile as the doors before us were opened, the same wide hall from my first day. Unlike that day the chamber held a few more occupants.

There was the same younger scholar from the day before, a bandage of white cloth wrapped around his hand. He looked from me to Ignis, no hostility there, just that same curiosity from before.

The others were nobility of some kind, clad in fine yet sensible tunics and furs. The king himself sat on the throne of twisted wood, just as I had seen him the day before. Our eyes locked and he speaks again.

"Edgar tells me you have already mastered our tongue, is this true?" All eyes present shifted to me, an itch forming on the back of my neck.

"It is." A wave of audible murmurs drifted from the onlookers, surprise coloring each voice. The king cocked his head to one side, again looking away as he tried to hold my stare.

"Then I will introduce myself properly. My name is King Crongrul, and I rule this city and the lands beyond it." He stood from his throne, the slightly creaking of his bones denying the strength that remained in his limbs.

"Tell me, Aragorn, where do you come from, why do you have such a beast around your shoulders." I thought about his question for a moment, listening to the blood pumping through his chest. He comes to stand only a meter away, slightly taller than I was.

I wondered if I should tell them I came from the mountains, that I was the adoptive son of a Space Marine, that I had descended from the sky and been found by a kind old man, taken in and cared for. Before the screaming and scent of blood, before the Chapter Master had found me.

I decided to go with a version of the truth, knowing the hostility between these people and my own.

"I come from the mountains, the tallest peak where the Drake Queen resides. It was there I was given Ignis." I moved my shoulder, making the small reptile rise and fall. "I felt it was time to leave, to see what else these lands had to offer. That is what brought me to your gates." The lord rose a hand to let it fall down his beard. He keeps trying to meet my gaze, but continues to fail, eyes landing on Ignis instead.

"From the-?" He trailed off, brow furrowed in thought. "You aren't from the invaders? The men who ride metal beasts into the sky?" I shook my head, keeping my expression neutral.

"I know of them, but I never lived in their city."

"Who did you live with?" I could smell the scent of cheese and meat on his breath, filling the space between us.

"A warrior monk, who taught me to fight and of the world." Lord Crongrul's gaze flickered to Edgar, but the old man gave a small shake of his head.

"Consider yourself a fighter?" I nodded and saw a small bit of fire ignite in his eyes, dim and smoldered, but strong, steady.

"I must be, to protect what is mine." The old king chuckled a bit and smiled.

"Its good to see the warrior spirit continue, even if the blood does not come from us." Those in the chamber glanced at one another, unsure of where their lords questions were leading.

"So, what do you seek, young warrior? Are you here to join my army? To battle the other Clans to win glory from the gods?" My eyes snapped to his own, narrowed to slits. He stepped back, the pungent smell of fear wafting off him. My aggression makes Ignis rise. He bares his fangs at the old king.

"What gods do you worship?" I knew some about Chaos, the names of the gods, their attributes and ways they could manipulate mortal men, even Astartes. My brother Horus had been felled by such temptations, casting the entire Imperium into thousands of years of darkness in reward for his madness.

"Perhaps I can be of assistance here." A voice calls out from the small crowd. I turned my head to see a middle aged woman, long dark hair falling out the front of her hood. Dark green globes filled with fervor bore into me trailing up and down my form. Her lips blood red, white teeth as she smiles. Tattoos dance across her skin, a more twisting pattern than any I have seen so far. They start at her eyes, trailing across her cheeks and throat before disappearing into the folds of her robes.

She walks with grace and power, a woman well used to telling men what to do, when to do it. She comes barefoot before me, silent beside the pad of flesh across cold stone.

"I am Barbesa and I have the honor and privilege of being the high priest for this city and its temples. Allow me to answer all of your questions."

She stops just outside my reach, walking in a slow circle around me. The crowd of the rich and powerful watch in eager tension, looking to her with equal respect as their king. Perhaps more, for fear crawls along their faces

She pass in front again and stops, shifting until we are eye to eye, grey and green, mixing in the light of the morning.

"We worship the Four, the beings who have lived since time began." She spoke slowly and dramatically, like she was beginning a story for a child. Around us the muted whispers of the mortals faded away as they were drawn into the story.

"In our oldest legends it says we were a strong people, made this way by our gods. They gathered wood from the Tree of Beginnings, water from the deepest well, stone from the core of a mountain. With these they made us, poured into us their love and power. They shaped us into images they found pleasing, taught us to make fire, shape metal and cut rock." Her eyes glowed and the temperature around her shifted ever so slightly, the room darkened.

"They pulled our ancestors from the caves and showed them how to build cities. We prospered, spread across the lands. We grew strong. We started to build greater and greater things. We started to forget the gods." The room grew darker still, many of the nobility and soldiers shifted uncomfortably as their shadows grew.

"Our people fell into decline, lost our grandeur and power. We lived in squalor, fighting one another over scraps to survive the next winter. We fell far, forgot much, almost returned to the caves where they had found us. But find us again they did. Whispering in the ears of the faithful and nourishing us back into stability." Her hand, pristine and pale, drew back the robes covering her right arm. Tattooed into her flesh was the symbol of a Drake, crude, but it matched the horns and spines that grew on Ignis.

"The Drake, the lord of wrath and honor." She pulled her sleeve back farther, uncovering her other arm as well, showing more symbols.

"The Eagle, always searching for new things to bring to its nest. The Bison, unchanging, coming and going with the seasons in an endless cycle. The Serpent, covered in brilliant scales that bewitch sailors below the depths, flashing beautifully under the waves." I realized then where I recognized the look in her eyes. I had seen it before as an infant, after the attack when my father and I had lived in the city. A priest in white and gold robes had stood atop stacked crates and proclaimed all day long the glory of the Master of Mankind.

I remember looking out the window to the small crowd gathered, each of them with heads bowed and hands clasped, following along in the prayer. When the priest opened his eyes he looked out and our gazes met. I will never forget how thick the blood around his iris's ran

Barbesa had the same bloodshot eyes, behind which a mind that had looked upon the abyss and welcomed the whispers that drifted out. Ignis hissed and she smiled at him too, two long nailed fingers came forward and scratched at his chin.

"Ever since we have walked in their shadows, keeping to the path told to us in dreams, visions." Ignis recoiled from her touch and shifted himself to my other shoulder, displeasure curling inside him, resonating with my own.

"I know of these gods. But they are not mine." Barbesa didn't look angry by my statement, if anything, her eyes stayed locked with mine as if to pronounce she had already known.

Her heartbeat was elevated, as were every mortal in the room. The display of power had stoked their fear. Their fear had stoked her excitement. She loved having these men under her heel. Her gluttony for power oozed off her skin.

"That is fine, as long as you are in this city, you will have a place to sleep at the temple, and every temple where the four are worshiped." She reached into a small satchel inside her cloak to pull out a small curved blade. Along each side of the blade the four were carved in perfect imitation of the tattoo's she bore. She slips it into my belt.

"Show this to any member of a temple, they will show you assistance." Lord Crongrul cleared his throat slightly, and welcomed himself back into the conversation.

"I believe that's enough religious talk for now. You still have yet to answer my question. Why are you here?" I frowned and for the first moment wondered if I should have made less of an entrance. I had hoped to be seen, taken in, learn the language so that I could communicate with these people, learn how they lived, see how easy it would be to integrate them into the population under Iron Drake control.

But these people were like scavengers, each picking at something greater than themselves.

"I sought to see the world below the mountain." I answered simply. Crongrul mulls upon it before nodding his acceptance and spreading his arms wide.

"Our Clan has been known for its hospitality in the past with strangers and travelers from afar. I will offer it to you, Aragorn, son of the mountain." The other nobility murmured among themselves, every whispered word caught by my ears. I nodded to the lord.

"I accept your offer. I will enjoy staying here and learning about your people and history." Crongrul beckoned forward Edgar, who had stood silently at the edge, the perfect servant.

"There will be a feast held tomorrow to welcome you properly as a guest of my Clan. Edgar will answer any questions and be your guide." The old scholar came to stand beside me, a small smile before he looked at his master.

"It would be my honor, my lord."

"Good, then does any have a matter to bring before us concerning our new guest?" The mortals around us, each in their small groups of power, looked between themselves. None had anything to say. Barbessa had yet to take her gaze away from me, hovering just meters away. Eager, the urge to stride forward and speak more all but vibrating through the air.

Congrul stood and dismissed his court, Edgar turning, staff clacking on the ground.

"To the library then?" I asked quickly before the priest could take a step. Her face twisted into a frown, but she bowed out when I refused to glance her way.

"History young lord?" He asks as we cut back through the same side passage, the dull echo of voices following me across the stone.

"My father imparted the importance of knowing history least one repeat the mistakes of ages passed." Edgar's head tilted in thought, a few moments passing in easy silence.

"A wise man, your father. A desire for knowledge is an admirable trait, unshared by many." He grumbled good naturedly, hanging upon the edge of polite criticism.

We entered back into our sanctuary of ancient paper and ink. There Edgar lit a new candle and surveyed his stacks of scrolls. After a seconds deliberation he reaches up to a high shelf and pulls at the wood cap. Dust falls upon his head as he does so, but ignores it and turns, holding it out for me.

"While not the origins of our settlements, I believe you will find this collection of stories of an interesting point of beginning."

Gently, containing the great strength of my hands I unroll the scroll upon a table and begin to read.

It lasts me only minutes, my gaze stripping the words of their secrets, flashing across the runes and symbols of their language. Edgar has just sat and brings a cup of water to his lips when he sees me roll the scroll back up.

"Not to your liking?" He says, surprise coloring his voice. He had assumed, correctly, that I would enjoy the stories within.

"No, your choice was good. I'm finished." He threatens to choke on his water, but contains himself.

"I see. Another then?" He makes to rise but I raise a hand to stop him.

"Sit, I will manage." I go to another shelf heavy with knowledge and pick a nugget at random. Upon my shoulder Ignis breaths in the dust and sneezes powerfully, claws gripping at the fabric of my clothing. I smile and scratch his chin as he glares at the books. He mistakes it as their doing.

Such is how our next few hours pass, book after book, scroll after scroll. Soon I begin to read multiple at once, the table before me covered in aging parchment. Edgar watches in open curiosity, his own book long forgotten as he answers the questions I present to him.

"It says here that a thousand years ago the grand sorcerer Ranthas was slain, and his empire broken. How far back does your people's history go?" The old man paused in his work to sit down, patting down his clothes with a knowing smile.

"That depends, do you consider the manuscripts to stop after the current age, or do you believe the ones found, that date back thousands of years more?" My curiosity was instantly quipped and I gestured for him to continue.

"In my youth I traveled to the Tower of Ashes, A gaudy name for a library. It was the center for learning under the old Empire, before it fell into ruin. The men there defended it from the chaos of the war, and its current ruler lets them be. It is an ancient building, its tenders unified in their desire to preserve the knowledge of our history, our world." He lost himself in some memories then, slumping deeper into his chair.

"They hold ancient records, tales of great battles and monstrous overlords, natural disasters and ages of peace. Dating back thousands of years." He started to chuckle then, a hacking sound that made me wonder if he was about to keel over and die.

"While I was there two scribes got into a fist fight over an old scroll, each had a different interpretation of the words, changed as the language has."

"I will have to visit it one day. How far away was this place?"

"About a year's journey, I made the trip with a few companions at that time, all of them dead now. We were young and foolish. But what a trip it was." Again he lost himself in the unfocused gaze of old memories, I pushed him for more.

"But what did you learn about? What ancient history was there to know?" He took a few seconds to think.

"O it would take an age to discuss Aragorn, I wasn't able to read every scroll there, there were too many." I felt the smallest bit of irritation build, across my shoulders Ignis rose up to scrape the side of his chin against my face. I reached up and scratched at it before I spoke.

"Tell me anything then, what was the most interesting thing you came across while you were there?" I already knew that one day, I would visit this place and scour its contents for everything it contained, but for now, second hand knowledge would have to satisfy..

"Well, in the lower levels I came across the most particular of passages, it had been rewritten many times, the pages almost crumbling away under my fingers even then. It was a restricted section you see, we were not supposed to be there." He took a moment to take a sip and ease his throat, before he went on.

"I found a passage that claimed our most distant ancestors came from a place far far away, across a great bridge that connected the stars." He chuckled again and waved a hand in dismissal.

"But there are also passages claiming we crawled from the great rivers or were molded from the stones of the mountains, in truth, we do not know, only the gods hold such knowledge." My mind whirled, wondering when during the ages of the Imperium these people had come to Tarth.

Had there been a colonization effort that had failed? Whatever planetary leader is thrown down and their technological levels declining to iron and steel?

I drew inwards for a moment as my thoughts raced, where had these people come from? Did ancient structures that linked them to the past still exist? Built over or covered by the passages of time? Were they a lost world from before the Imperium? Never found and rejoined with humanity during the Great Crusade?

I wanted to know more.

"In your readings, have you ever come across information about ancient structures? Strange and different from what you build now? Where did the people of the planet first spread out from? What is considered your oldest city?" I asked quickly, almost leaning over the scribe. He shrank back a bit, the scent of fear rising from his pores and I frowned before taking a step back. Mortals were so fragile. He answered after taking another drink.

"I know that the old Capital of the Empire is considered ancient, but much damage has befallen the city in its history, many records lost… Its name is Akure, a grand place, or so I've heard. I never got the chance to visit I'm afraid, and it is very far away. As for your other questions, I do now know. They tell me there are entire kingdoms on the other side of our world, but I have never seen them. That is all I know, I am sorry." I didn't let my disappointment show too greatly on my face, knowing it wasn't Edgar's fault.

"Its fine, I'm curious about your people's history. I do not mean to be so demanding." At that, Edgar chuckled a bit.

"Somehow, I believe you mean to be exactly that demanding Aragorn." He paused for a moment, and looked outside as raindrops start against the window. We lapse into silence then, the daylight dimming with the coming storm as I return to my reading of their scrolls.

The next morning I opened my door to find clothes made for me in their rustic style, woven from plant matter with a vest of animal hide. A belt with an iron covered end and loop. I discarded my other clothes, dirty and torn in some places from my time going through the forest to slip into the new garments. They were slightly large, but I knew I would grow into them quickly, and them beyond.

Edgar, like the day before, came to me and we spent the morning wandering the city, its streets turned to mud from the night's rain. We visited its craftsman, shops and market stalls. Salted fish was sold alongside flat breads and meats. The people stared as they had before, the drake around my neck drawing their gaze. But they seemed more comfortable now that I wore their garbs.

I stopped in the street and looked into the open building beside us. There, a forge sat, a muscular man with an untamed beard and brown eyes hammering on his anvil, forming a spear head into shape. Edgar came up beside me.

"Vesnar, the best smith in the city, or so many claim. He has been working the anvil since he was a boy, and his father before him, six generations of metal workers." Vesnar took the glowing metal off the anvil and proceeded to submerge it in water. Around the blade it bubbled as steam rose and curled around his hand, sweat clinging to his arms. From there he continued his work, beginning to clean and give the spearhead an edge.

We left the smith behind and continued to explore the city, midday rolling around and a running coming to summon us back to the castle for the feast. We arrived to see the hall had been changed, large sturdy tables and chairs or the rich red wood of my world. Lord Crongrul was already there, seated at the front of the table as others laid claim to seats up and down the table based upon station. Edgar patted my shoulder in a goodbye as the lord motioned be to sit beside him. Already I could smell rich food and drink wafting from the doors where servants darted in and out. The lord of the city clapped his hands once to get everyone's attention.

"Welcome friends and allies, today we feast in welcome to a new member of our city. Aragorn, son of the mountain and drake tamer." The hall went up in polite cheers, the lord sitting before turning to me.

"I was told you went and saw our city properly today. What do you think of it?" I wondered how honest I should be, thinking of the muddy streets and unwashed populace. Not that I had bathed in the last week, something I needed to change.

"Your people seem happy, and well fed. Is there much else one could ask for?" Crongrul seemed pleased by that, and took a gulp from his goblet, the remains clinging to his beard.

"It is important for a king to see to the needs of his people. The old Emperor ignored the growing disapproval of his council and vassals, only to pay for it with his life. I do not plan on making similar mistakes." The room continued to fill, Barbesa claiming a seat a few places down from my own, flashing me a wide smile. I didn't return it, to her disappointment.

As the nobility finished jockeying for placement food was served, platters of slow roasted haunches alongside fruits picked from the forest. Ignis climbed down from my shoulder and started over the tables edge, eating from my plate. The man beside me recoiled from the sight, leaning away, tone condescending.

"Do you always let that beast do what it wants?" I paused in my drink, setting it down as Ignis turned and bared his fangs at the portly noble. In a glance I took in his fine clothing and gold clad fingers.

"I must have misheard, what did you call him?" The table quieted

"You will apologize, now." Sweat started to bead on his brow and his eyes flickered from me, to Crongrul behind.

"I-I mean no offence, it is a beast, they are anim-" His words died on his lips as my lips curled back, revealing the short fangs inside.

"Apologize." He looked from me to Ignis. Most of the hall had fallen silent now, all attention upon our scene. A few seats down, Barbessa was grinning viciously.

"I," He swallowed, fumbling with the words. "I am sorry I called your companion. What, what I called him." Ignis coughed and a small puff of flame came searing out his mouth, my snarl turning to a wide grin.

"Good, now go." The mortal stumbled out of his chair and fled the hall, a damp mark spreading across his loins. The nobles watched it and whispered among themselves before Crongrul started to laugh. Shattering the silence.

"You and I must go on a hunt Aragorn, I've waited some time for that fat swine to be put in his place." The room's conversations resumed, the old lord reaching out to feed Ignis a scrap off his plate.

"If you dislike the man, why do you tolerate him in your court?" I asked, Ignis allowing him to run a finger along the horns on his head. Crongrul was fascinated by it, wonder claiming his attention until he snapped back.

"Because he's a wealthy land owner, and controls a number of businesses inside my city. His Clans levies make up a fair slice of my army."

"And you can't just take his businesses because it would cause the others to think you a tyrant?" Crongrul nodded.

"Exactly, it is a balance, I am their lord but I cannot do everything alone, my vessels, my soldiers, the townspeople, it is all a scale that must be maintained."

"And if it came under threat?" Crongrul paused at that before he grabbed the knife beside his plate, and twirled it in his hand.

"Then I crush it, I am only good to those who are good to me. My enemies deserve no mercy." At least with that I could agree. Another round of aromatic meats brought from the kitchens. The chair beside me creaked and I looked over to see Barbesa had occupied the space.

"I saw the way you dealt with that oaf Aragorn, well done." She whispered into my ear, and reached out to grasp from a nearby platter. I squished down a wave of revulsion as she smiles again.

"I don't tolerate people insulting Ignis." Her eyes gleamed.

"So he does have a name. Hello Ignis." She said to drake, who curled around my shoulders so his head was opposite her.

"I don't think he likes me very much." I snorted.

"The feeling is mutual."

The witch only grins, falling into easier conversation with those around me. A noble across from Crongrul, his steward from the symbol on his chest and fine dress, took some pleasure answering any questions I had about the running of the city.

Upon the top sat Crongrul, the king of the city. His Familia, his blood kin, were the most powerful in his Clan. A Clan was a group of families tied together by marriage, oaths of kinship or service. Most every person in the city was tied into a Clan in some way, dozens making up the powers of the city. Some were minor, nothing more than a group of families with loose ties, to Crongrul's, who owed major businesses and presided over the largest army of levies and professional soldiers.

These Huscarls were families whose sole purpose was the protection of the Clan head, generations of warriors who swore service. Only the wealthiest clans held them, some Familia's making it as mercenaries to the highest coin.

As my questions waned the feast rounded to a close. The bellies of nobles filled and their veins saturated with ale. I received many a clap on the back or words of brotherhood from many of the Familia heads and Clan leaders. The man I had chased out was unliked by many.

I suffered them without complaint, knowing these men would one day be my vessels. As Crongrul had said, it was better to have them on your side. So I allow their rowdy words and hands to touch me.

Excusing myself I escape down the side passages and back to my room. The door shut to drown out the still bellowing voices from the hall. I turn to my bed and am surprised to see a scroll placed upon its center. A small note tucked under its twine bindings.

I brought this back from my visit to the Tower of Ashes. It contains some history of the old Empire, I hope you enjoy- Edgar.

I untied the cord, opened its aged pages, and began to read.