So now we return to Thorondor and the Great Crusade.

Now I think it's only fair to give a warning to the xenos-lovers among my readers...on general principle, I dislike all aliens in WH40K, especially after reading Legion...but I hold a particularly strong hatred for the Eldar...and Elves in general (except Dobby...how could anyone hate Dobby?)...

So while it may not seem much in this chapter for now, there will be a fair bit of Eldar-bashing in this fic...I apologise if it causes any discomfort, but I hope that my readers (as in all of you) are as passionate about humanity's right to rule the galaxy as I am...=)

On with the story then...

Eagles and Wolves

The world of Kalaborn was home to four different empires that had coexisted peacefully for centuries. Trade and cooperation were plenty, wealth was abundant and everyone had excess to the basic necessities of life.

Yet its people were unhappy.

That was the first thing that the Imperial delegation had noticed. Beneath the fine clothes, the good quality of life, the people of Kalaborn across all four empires were grim, quiet and stoic enough to rival Imperial Fists, which was no mean feat by itself.

Nevertheless, such a world would have been a fine addition to the Imperium, but its rulers had rejected them outright, refusing to even listen to the generous offers the Imperial delegation brought.

So it was that the Luna Wolves mustered in preparation to take the world by force. As the Emperor decreed, no human civilisation may exist independent of the Imperium, they must submit to Imperial authority, either of their own will, or by force.

On the eve of their assault however, they had received a discreet transmission from the four emperors of Kalaborn.

The truth came to light.

The people of Kalaborn lived beneath the tyranny of the treacherous xenos race known as the Eldar. The xenos had complete control over the four emperors through the threat of massacring its people. The four empires in ages past had attempted to resist, but the Eldar's superiors technology and their own cowardly ways of fighting from the shadows had beaten them. All the wealth and industry generated by Kalaborn had all gone to supplying the Eldar for whatever the xenos filth need. The people of Kalaborn with the labourers who provided for the xenos.

Knowing they had moments before the Eldar detected their betrayal, the four emperors of Kalaborn pleaded with the Imperium to save their people and their world, regardless of the cost to the emperors themselves. The transmission was cut off soon after.

Moved by the selfless sacrifice of the four emperors, Horus Lupercal, Lord of the Sixteenth Legion Astartes vowed to liberate Kalaborn from the shackles of the alien.

Since the priority had gone from destruction to liberate, Horus delayed his assault to gather intelligence and given the size of the world itself, sent out calls to any other Legions nearby to join the attack.

The Second Legion, the Storm Eagles and the Sixth Legion, the Wolves of Fenris had answered the call.

XI XI XI

Sergeant Garviel Loken huddled behind the makeshift barricades that his squad and Locasta squad had erected across the small entrance into the valley behind them. He removed his helm, revealing a handsome patrician face with white hair, taking the opportunity for a few gulps of fresh air in the momentary lull in battle.

"Sir?"

Garviel turned to see a local, a little girl holding up a basket of bread, offering one to him.

He smiled.

When the assault began, the native human population of Kalaborn had swiftly risen against their xenos oppressors. They had dragged the Eldar into the streets and butchered them, they had aided the Imperial Army detachments with information, sabotaging the Eldar defences and providing food and shelter and simply helping in whatever way they could. The Eldar retaliation had been brutal, but the people of Kalaborn had shown great courage and determination and refused to be cowed any longer.

The Eldar had been forced into a retreat and at first; a swift victory had seemed inevitable. But the cowardly xenos had had another trick up their sleeves.

Somehow, they had manipulated an Ork Rok to crash onto Kalaborn, destroying vast swathes of one of the empires along with countless lives. The Orks had emerged like a sea of green beasts, unknowingly acting as a shield for the Eldar.

Horus had been angered by such cowardice, and the Wolf King had been enraged. But the army commanders had reported that it was the Storm Lord's response that had been most chilling. The cold, menacing smile on his face had burned itself into their memories even as he had vowed to render the Eldar extinct.

Sergeant Loken and his squad along with Locasta squad and two others had been accompanying Tenth Company Captain Maximus Pullo to deal with an approaching tide of greenskins down a valley that would threaten the flanks of the Imperial Army and endanger the native population that dwelled there.

Their Stormbirds had been shot down by unknown assailants, killing Captain Pullo and two other squads, leaving Sergeant Loken and his squad along with Locasta. The sergeant knew they should have fallen back and rallied, but if they did, the people living in the valleys would have no one to defend them against the Orks and the xenos would be free to assault the flanks the Imperial Army.

So Sergeant Loken had warned the civilians to evacuate while he and his battle-brothers erected a barricade along the small entrance to the valley, taking advantage of the bottleneck to hold off the Orks. To their surprise, some of the locals had stayed to fight alongside them while others gave what aid they could in the form of food and water.

Astartes could fight for long periods of time without both of course, but after nearly a week of near endless fighting, they appreciated it.

"Garvi, they're coming again," voxed the squad sergeant of Locasta, Nero Vipus, Garviel's oldest friend.

Garviel nodded and shooed the little girl away as he latched on his helmet. He and his battle-brothers took up positions behind the barricades and rained death upon the approaching xenos. The Orks were tenacious bastards, and it took a few bolt rounds to bring them down and they were running low on ammunition. One of the beasts reached the barricades, only to find Garviel's chainsword tearing through its torso. It fell with a bellow. But more and more were reaching the barricades. Two of the Luna Wolves greeted them with flamethrowers, igniting the beasts with a sizzling stench, but the Orks kept coming.

Garvial swore, under such a fierce attack, there was no way they could hold out for much longer. They had voxed the main headquarters for aid, but their main forces were engaged in fierce battle and had been unable to send any help.

Garviel could see Nero cutting down a particularly big brute, but the barricades were collapsing. Just as Garviel was about order a retreat, his vox crackled to life.

"Luna Wolves squad, this is Sergeant Legan of the Storm Riders, what's your position?"

Storm Riders, the elite of the Second Legion. Garviel inwardly thanked the Emperor before answering.

"Sergeant Legan, this is Sergeant Garviel Loken, we're at –" a vox crackle disrupted their communication. Garviel could hear Legan asking him to clarify, but between the Orks, the noise of battle and the vox disruption, it was all he could do to not swear into the vox.

Abruptly, the crackle ceased and a new voice spoke over the vox. It was deep and powerful, easily cutting over the din and despite the chaos around him, Garviel found himself paying more attention to the voice.

"Sergeant Loken, the coordinates to your location, please."

Slowly and calmly, Garviel recited the coordinates.

"Understood. Hold your position, we will be there momentarily."

Answering in acknowledgment, Garviel relayed the instructions to his battle-brothers. The battle continued and more Orks arrived, pressing the Luna Wolves hard. Garviel fought almost automatically, taking aim to shoot one xenos through the head before running another through with his chainsword and repeated the process more times than he could count.

Just when his bolter gun finally clicked on empty, he heard Nero's voice shouting above the din.

"Look to the skies! It's the Eagles! The Eagles are coming!"

A great cry rang out from above, making Astartes, mortal and xenos alike look up to the sky.

Stormbirds were descending, unleashing their fearsome arsenal against the Orks, but that was not what caught everyone's attention.

Giant eagles were descending from the skies like the Rocs from the ancient myths of Terra. Each eagle bore an Astartes warrior armed with wrist-mounted storm-bolters and long glaives that crackled with power. The eagles themselves had assault cannons strapped to their backs on either side of their riders, each one calibrated to respond to commands issued from each rider's power armour.

It was the first time that Garviel had seen the Storm Eagles, the beasts for which the Second Legion was named, the legendary mounts of the Storm Riders, their elite. The Storm Riders swooped down, the assault cannons mounted to their backs raining death upon the greenskins. As they flew over the confused Orks, their riders would fire with their storm-bolters, while those close enough would strike out with their glaives, decapitating the xenos by the dozens. Some simply had their Eagles dive into the mass of Orks, letting their deadly talons and beaks do the killing before flying above the carnage, frustrating the xenos' attempts to counter-attack.

To their credit, the Ork's tried to fight back against such a deadly onslaught, but they were completely outmatched.

Another cry rang out from the sky above, its power and magnitude drowning out the sounds of the battle itself and Garviel Loken bore witness to a sight that he swore he would never forget.

A Storm Eagle easily larger than a Stormbird descended, its immense body easily blocking out Kalaborn's sun. Unlike the other Storm Eagles, this one bore no weaponry, but seemed all the more deadlier and majestic for it. As it descended, Garviel saw the warrior it bore and his breath caught in his throat.

The warrior's black hair streamed out behind him like a war banner and there was a fierce smile on his handsome face as his mount descended upon the hapless Orks. He was clad in the ocean blue and storm-grey colours of his Legion, but his power armour was of greater quality with only some slight ornamentation to distinguish itself from the others. In his right hand, he bore a power glaive of unmatched craftsmanship and his left hand bore a silver wrist-mounted storm-bolter shaped into the form of an eagle's head.

With the warrior's arrival and his mount, the Orks finally broke and were routed within minutes. None of the beasts lasted more than several seconds against them; ripped apart by the massive Eagle's talons and beak or being sliced to pieces by the warrior's glaive or torn to shreds by his storm-bolter.

Garviel had never seen it before, but the description could only match one Storm Eagle: Garuda. And Garuda only ever bore one rider.

Thorondor the Storm Lord, Primarch of the Storm Eagles.

II II II

Garviel stood with his men as they replenished their supplies brought by one of the Stormbirds. Around them, the Storm Eagles Astartes were securing the location and gathering up civilians for evacuation. The Storm Riders were mostly gathered on one side of the valley, preparing to deploy while a few circled the skies above, keeping watch.

There was a small tap at his knee and Garviel turned to look down. It was the little girl who had offered him bread earlier. Garviel kneeled down so that she didn't have to look too far up.

She held up a small flower, offering it to him. She spoke in a language very similar to Gothic, so Garviel was able to understand her.

"Thank you for saving us."

Garviel shook his head. "I only did my duty."

It was his way of saying he didn't need her gift, but the little girl didn't seem to understand it, holding the flower up to him. Not knowing what else to do, Garviel took it. The little girl grinned and ran off to her parents to join in the evacuation. Garviel looked at the flower, so frail and tiny in his massive hands, uncertain what to do with it.

"Sergeant Loken?"

Garviel turned and froze.

Thorondor, Lord of the Second Legion stood before him, staring down at him with eyes the colour of storm-clouds. To be in such close proximity to one of the Emperor's sons robbed Garviel of all coherent thought, so it took him a while to formulate an appropriate response.

"My lord," managed Garviel weakly.

Thorondor glanced down curiously at the flower in Garviel's hand but made no comment on it.

"Did you truly hold this position with just two squads in the last week?" asked the Primarch.

"Yes, my lord," answered Garviel, his voice barely above a whisper. Thorondor looked impressed.

"As expected of the Luna Wolves, you do your Legion and my brother Horus credit," said Thorondor warmly, and pride and humility warred in Garviel's hearts at the Primarch's praise.

"Now Sergeant Loken, my men and I are moving on from this position," continued Thorondor briskly. "You and your men have done more than enough, you can go back to headquarters along with the civilians...but since you've been fighting a fierce battle against overwhelming odds for nearly a week now, another battle on a more even footing should be almost restful for you."

Thorondor smiled down at Garviel. "Would you and your men like to accompany us?"

Garviel and his battle-brothers bowed. "My lord, it would be our honour."

"Excellent," replied Thorondor approvingly. He gave out the necessary orders to find Garviel and his men space on the Stormbirds.

Flushed from the glow of the Primarch's praise, Garviel found the courage to ask the Storm Lord a question.

"My lord, where will we be going to next?"

Thorondor smiled down at Garviel, and there was a fierce edge in the expression that nearly made the sergeant back away.

"You've seen how the Eagles do battle, sergeant. Now let us go see how the Wolves do it."

II II II

A horde of Orks marched steadily in a sea of green towards one of the main cities of Kalaborn. The beasts were led by their Warboss; a hideously savage and brutal monster that dwarfed the other Orks around it.

As the Orks marched however, they found a mass of warriors in tempest-grey power armour in their way.

The Vlka Fenryka, the Wolves of Fenris.

The full strength of Onn, Twa, Tra and Fyf, a full four Great Companies stood ready to battle against the greenskins. At the head of the warriors of the Rout stood a giant warrior that towered over the Astartes of the Sixth Legion.

Leman Russ, the Wolf King, Primarch of the Vlka Fenryka.

As the battle began, none noticed another army watching from a nearby hill. An army that was biding its time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

None, except another army flying high above.

II II II

The Eldar warriors watched as the mon-keigh engaged the greenskins, preparing to attack the humans from the rear.

Their leader, Althran watched with intently with cold eyes that hid the depth of his anger; his people had ruled over the lesser species on Kalaborn for centuries as was their right. When the mon-keigh army that served what was called the Imperium appeared, the Eldar had realised that they were actually capable of defeating them. So the Eldar had prepared to flee, instructing the human emperors they controlled to defy the Imperium, knowing full well what would happen to the human populace. The Eldar didn't care; the mon-keighs shold be honoured to die for the sake of their masters. The fury of the Imperium's attack would wipe out all trace that the Eldar were ever there.

But the unthinkable had happened, the mon-keigh emperors had rebelled and instead revealed the truth to the Imperium. They had died, as all disobedient pets must, but their actions had finally roused their people to fury. For all the Eldars' technology and prowess in war, they were severely outnumbered by the local populace, and with the might of the Imperium arrayed against them, the Eldar lost battle after battle.

That such animals dared to rise against their masters angered Althran even more than the death of his kin. So they had punished them by luring the filthy Orks onto Kalaborn. At first, it seemed to have worked, and the Imperium's progress had momentarily stalled. But then, they had rallied and even the strength and ferocity of the stupid green beasts was found wanting.

Let the mon-keigh foolishly charge the Orks from head on, it was not the Eldar way to confront their enemies directly. They would strike from the shadows and melt away before the enemy even realised they were dead. The Orks would be the bait, and the Eldar will strike the mon-keigh from behind.

Watching the battle's progress, Althran nodded. "Let us begin."

The Eldar had been on the back foot in this war long enough. It was time for them to reassert their place as the dominant species.

A great shriek echoed from above them, and the Eldar army turned as one. Their mouths dropped as great winged beasts descended upon them, bearing the mon-keighs from the Imperium.

II II II

Thorondor led the first wave against the Eldar army; the Eagles swooped down upon the xenos, inflicting casualties with their assault cannons, their beaks and talons while their riders did the same with their own weapons.

Thorondor himself leaped off the back of Garuda, landing among the Eldar. The xenos had a reputation for being fast, but before they could even react to him, Thorondor had slaughtered many with a single swing of his glaive.

Before the Eldar could converge on the Primarch, a second wave of Stormbirds bearing Storm Eagle Astartes descended. Legionaries leapt from open holds, descending on fiery jump-packs upon the xenos, dealing death with roaring chainswords. Stormbirds bearing tactical squads and Devastators landed at assigned points, and the Astartes aboard deployed, firing upon the aliens. With the Eldar forces reeling from the attack, the Storm Riders circled and swooped in to deliver the killing blow.

Thorondor was at the centre of it all, a smiling avatar of death. His glaive tore through xenos flesh effortlessly; his storm-bolter rendered the Eldar into unrecognisable pulps of pulverised flesh, bones and blood. The Storm Lord was the epicentre in a raging storm of death.

To an observing outsider, it seemed as though Thorondor was losing himself in the thrill of battle, fighting with reckless abandon, but his focus never once wavered. He was aware of every minutiae detail of the battle going on around him. He was aware of the Devastators pouring their fire into the rear of the Eldar forces where the xenos were bunched together as they struggled to either escape or counter attack. He was aware of the tactical squads picking off Eldar stragglers isolated from their kin or dealing with their dangerous cybernetic combat walkers; the hideous alien parodies of the honoured Dreadnoughts either with well-placed grenades or well-aimed missiles. He was aware of the Storm Riders circling above, raining death or swooping into the battle as birds do when hunting. He was aware of Sergeant Loken and his battle brothers engaging the Eldar leader's honour guard. He was also aware that the Eldar leader had left his honour guard to battle the Luna Wolves and was now behind him, seeking to plunge his blade into Thorondor's back.

The Storm Lord whirled around with supernatural speed, blocking the blow. He smiled mockingly into the hate-filled face of the xenos leader. The Eldar leaped back to regather himself and launched himself at Thorondor.

Though Thorondor hated the Eldar passionately for their duplicity, the callous way they manipulated and toyed with human lives and the cowardly way they waged war, he acknowledged that as individual warriors, they were formidable foes. The Eldar leader fighting him was among the better opponents that he had fought before.

Still, he could not hold a candle to the might of the Storm Lord.

As they locked weapons, the Eldar leader hissed at Thorondor. "Mon-keigh."

Thorondor laughed. Every Eldar champion he had slain had always uttered the same insult. He shoved the xenos back and launched a kick into its face, sending it sprawling onto its back.

"This world belongs to the Eldar," snarled the xenos, getting to its feet, its nose and mouth bleeding.

"This world belongs to humanity," retorted Thorondor.

The Eldar spat. "You are nothing but animals! Inferior beasts whose only use is to serve your betters!"

Thorondor said nothing, knowing it was pointless to bandy words with the alien. He raised his glaive and brought it down on the Eldar. The xenos raised its sword to block the blow, confident the alien-forged metal could withstand it.

If Thorondor had been wielding the glaive he had brought from Tempestas, the xenos might have even been right. But that glaive, which had served Thorondor throughout the war to unify his homeworld and other battles in the Great Crusade, had met its end a long time ago, shattering upon the skull of an alien warlord. The glaive that Thorondor now wielded bore a similar appearance to its predecessor, but it had far less ornamentation. The current glaive had been forged by the cold, metallic hands of Thorondor's brother, Ferrus Manus, the Lord of the Iron Hands. Ferrus had once stated proudly that the only weapons that could break the weapons he forged were other weapons that had been forged by him. Unless it had been forged by Vulkan, Primarch of the Salamanders, whose skill and craftsmanship rivalled Ferrus's.

Primarch-forged weapon met xenos-forged metal. Wielded by the skill and strength of another Primarch, the xenos weapon didn't stand a chance. Thorondor's glaive cut through the sword, before cutting cleanly through the Eldar leader. The xenos fell in a pool of its alien blood.

All around him, the Storm Eagles were massacring the Eldar army.

Thorondor nodded approvingly, knowing that the battle had been won. The Storm Eagles would not suffer the xenos to live.

Thorondor marched over to Sergeant Loken and his men, who had dispatched the last of the Eldar honour guard.

"You fought well today, Sergeant Loken," said Thorondor.

"I am honoured, my lord," answered the Luna Wolf.

Thorondor inclined his head. "Walk with me, sergeant."

Around them, the last of the Eldar was already being killed and the Storm Eagles were already celebrating. The Storm Riders circled above, raising their glaives triumphantly while their mounts screeched victoriously.

"My lord, where are we going?" asked Sergeant Loken.

Thorondor's smile widened as he made his way to the top of the hill, where he would get a clear view of the battle raging below.

"To see how my brother is doing, of course."

II II II

Garviel felt honoured that the Primarch of the Storm Eagles had asked him for his company, but he still felt awkward at the situation. He was a man of action and watching silently while a battle raged at the foot of the hill did not sit well with him. Thorondor stood silently, the ever-present smile on his face as he watched the Space Wolves do battle with the Orks below.

"My lord," ventured Garviel. "Should we not go and aid our brothers?"

As impossible as it was, at first it seemed as though the Storm Lord did not hear him. Garviel was about to ask again when a shadow fell over them. Garviel swiftly turned, bolter at the ready, but it was Garuda; the gigantic Storm Eagle landing behind his rider. The Eagle glared reproachfully at Garviel and the Astartes slowly lowered his weapon.

"Tell me, Sergeant Loken, have you ever seen the Wolves of Fenris fight?"

Garviel turned to look at the Primarch, and again had to fight down the overwhelming urge to kneel before him. The Storm Lord was not looking at him, his eyes watching the battle, but from his body language, he was clearly expecting an answer.

"I have, my lord," answered Garviel, keeping his gaze on the Primarch's shoulder plate. "Several times."

"Have you ever seen them fight alongside the Wolf King?"

"No, my lord."

Thorondor nodded and gestured to the battle below. "Then watch closely, sergeant. See for yourself if the Vlka Fenryka need any help when Leman Russ stands with them."

Garviel obeyed.

The battle below seemed very chaotic, a hallmark of the Sixth Legion's way of battle. But Garviel's practiced eye could make out the cohesion between units, how they worked towards an objective even in the midst of the carnage. If Garviel was a poetic man, he would have described it as the rapids of a river flow: like fast-moving water shattering chaotically on rocks, but never straying from its path.

"The Sixth Legion's way of battle might seem crude," said the Storm Lord. "But the truth is they fight smart. With all due respect to the Luna Wolves and my own Legion, in a straight up fight, the Wolves of Fenris may be the best among all the Legions."

Garviel continued to watch the battle and his eyes were inevitably drawn to the Wolf King. Even from the distance, the Primarch's presence was breath-taking. Garviel watched as he carved a bloody path through the Orks, noting how his savage style of combat differed to the Storm Lord's deadly grace in battle.

"Watch, Sergeant Loken," said Thorondor. "Watch how the Wolves become an unstoppable force when they fight alongside my brother."

Garviel saw it. How the more savagely the Space Wolves fought, how more passionately they fought. The honour and glory of fighting with their sire filled them with a vigour and energy that Garviel cannot imagine anything stopping them.

Leman Russ continued to cut his way through the Orks until he reached their Warboss, a monster that dwarfed even the Wolf King. The Primarch's roar could be heard even over the great distance over the cacophony of war. Garviel watched in disbelief as Leman Russ overwhelmed the Warboss and finally took the beast's head.

With their Warboss dead, the Orks lost all cohesion and were swiftly routed by the Space Wolves.

Thorondor chuckled. "Quite the sight isn't it?"

"It is, my lord," said Garviel in awe.

Thorondor nodded and turned to Garuda. He nodded his head and the Storm Eagle immediately lowered his head so that Thorondor could climb onto his back. When the Eagle straightened up again, Thorondor looked down at Garviel.

"It's been good fighting alongside you, Sergeant Loken," said Thorondor. "I'll be sure my brother Horus knows of your deeds."

With that said, Garuda took off, heading towards the Space Wolves.

Garviel released the breath he hadn't realised he had been holding.

II II II

Leman Russ sat on the decapitated Warboss's head, stabbing his sword into the ground. His warriors were still routing the Ork stragglers, but the battle had already been won.

A familiar shadow swooped over him and he grinned. He didn't turn around even when he heard the familiar noise of a gigantic eagle landing behind him. He didn't turn around when he heard the sound of trudging power boots walking until its owner stood beside him.

"I suppose it was you who took out the Eldar on the hill?" asked Russ with a grunt.

"I suppose," answered the familiar voice of his brother nonchalantly.

"Hmph," snorted Russ. "Well, I suppose you saved me the trouble of having to fight on two fronts."

"You're welcome."

Russ couldn't hold back the laugh that bubbled from his heart. Though he would never admit it, Russ had grown very fond of the Primarch of the Second Legion. Unlike his other brothers, Thorondor took his continual baiting and posturing in good humour, and he liked that his brother not only saw him and his Legion as more than just simple barbarians, he also treated them as such.

Russ stood up and embraced Thorondor. "You bastard! I never could get a rise out of you!"

Thorondor chuckled and returned the embrace. "This was a good war, brother."

"Aye," agreed Russ. "Many deeds done, many stories made. The skjalds will have plenty to tell by the fire when we feast in celebration."

"The war's not quite over yet though," said Thorondor, his tone darkening a little. "Because of the damned Eldar, the Orks are still a threat to the people here."

Russ grunted in agreement. "But manageable now. I'm leaving Fyf Company to help mop up."

"I'm leaving Adalgrim's company as well," said Thorondor. "But apparently the Eldar have fled to one of their craftworlds. They used the Orks to buy them time to evacuate."

The anger and disgust was evident in Thorondor's voice even though his face still bore a smile. Russ noticed it.

"They can try to run, but the Storm Eagles are going to show them what happens to xenos who toy with human lives," vowed Thorondor and Russ grinned.

"I don't suppose I could tag along? In case you need help?"

Thorondor turned to Russ and his voice was warmer. "Of course, killing Eldar is always more meaningful when we beat you to it."

Russ laughed. He nudged the Ork Warboss's head with his foot. "Think you can top this?"

"I killed an Eldar champion up on that hill," answered Thorondor.

"The head?"

"I cut him up too much, there wasn't anything left for me to bring."

"So it's my win this time," said Russ with a self-satisfied grin.

Thorondor inclined his head. "Of course, dear brother."

"Good," said Russ, grabbing Thorondor by the arm. "Then come back with me to my command post. We'll share a few drinks and compare both our deeds and our Legion's."

Thorondor shook his arm free and turned away to march towards Garuda. "Maybe later, Russ. I left my main army without telling Horus; I'd imagine he'd be a little upset with me right now. I should go back and report..."

"Horus might be father's favourite, but he has no authority over us," grumbled Russ. "Now come and drink with me."

"Really Russ, we should…"

"Thor."

Russ drawled out Thorondor's name in a voice that told he wouldn't take no for an answer. Thorondor halted and turned to face the Wolf King, his expression at once amused, exasperated and resigned.

Leman Russ grinned, his fangs glinting in the sun. "Let's drink."

Thorondor chuckled and gave in to his brother's demand.

Windphoenix: Thank you for the review, and if I had been offering a prize for guessing, you'd have won it. =)...this chapter holds the distinction of being the longest so far, so I hope you're cursing at the screen a lot less this time around.