ApatheticZealot: Thanks for the review...i mentioned a few chapters back its not just the space elves...I dislike elves in general...though the Eldar have a special place in my heart..lol...i guess its because my friends and I used to play Dawn of War: Soulstorm a lot, and while three of us would use Space Marines, the others would use Eldar...and they were so good that it was a pain in the ass to play them...other reasons include several Eldar douches like Slau Dha of the Cabal (really wished that the twins had killed him) and the two Eldar brothers who tried to manipulate the Traitors and Loyalists in Angel Exterminatus into whatever scheme they had only to have the whole thing go FUBAR on them (serves the bastards right).
Majestiq: Sanguinius is my favourite Primarch too! I've always thought that he was one of the most awesome ones, and the more tragic ones as well (followed by Fulgrim, Magnus, Lorgar, Angron, Curze and to a lesser extent, Perturabo and Russ).
Aktis: Thanks for the review and no, no, you weren't nitpicking at all. I struggled with the previous chapter pretty badly mostly because of my own limited understanding of space warfare in most sci-fi stories. That said, the reason I didn't have Thorondor order the fleet to leapfrog into position was something I read somewhere about the difficulties of Warp-jump during battle, and of course, the Imperium aren't the only ones capable of Warp-travel...its one of the things that the Eldar are better at than Mankind. As for the sudden appearance of the Blood Angels, this was just poor writing on my part. I failed to clearly specify that their arrival was purely coincidental (they weren't coming to help the Storm Eagles, they just happened to translate out of the Warp into the Eldar's path, purely by chance; which is possible given the nature of the Warp I guess). So that was my bad. I hope to make for the shortcomings of the previous chapter (which I'm painfully aware of), with this.
As for what you said about Mankind not necessarily being a force for good...I remember someone saying that in Warhammer 40K, there is no such thing as "goody-good" guys...everyone's evil in their own way. Which makes perfect sense, of course.
The Wings of Sanguinius
Thorondor stood in the docking bay of the Eternal Storm, waiting for the crimson Blood Angel Stormbird to lower its landing ramp.
He stood with his honour guard, the first squad from the Storm Riders and the first squad from the First Company. The Astartes stood in formation, as still as statues, their helmets tucked under an arm, revealing the faces of proud, battle-hardened warriors. To Thorondor's right stood Gwaine, to his left was Asghar. Like their warriors, both commanders and their Primarch wore their battle-armour; the Storm Eagles eschewed ceremonial wargear, believing that the only armour and weapons worth displaying were the ones that have known the harsh blaze of war. While their armour was excellently maintained and far from battered-looking, there was no hiding the notches, the dents, the gouges and the general lack of shine that seemed to be the characteristic of every armour that had been through countless battles.
Thorondor smile widened as he could imagine Fulgrim's disapproval at what he would call "an artless display".
The landing ramp of the Blood Angel Stormbird descended. Two rows of Astartes in crimson power armour marched down side by side before taking up position facing each other, forming a pathway. Moments later, two Astartes marched down, one in the blood-red power armour of his Legion with ornate pauldrons and a winged armlet, the other in an armour of gold. They both stopped at the foot of the ramp and waited.
A shadow extended down the ramp.
Thorondor immediately notice that there was something wrong with the shadow; its shape was too big, it was lumpen and misshapen, conjuring all sorts of horrible images in his mind. Was his new brother deformed? But surely Horus would have told him...
The Primarch of the Blood Angels descended the ramp.
Thorondor found himself staring.
During his time on Terra after reuniting with the Emperor, Thorondor had spent his time mostly learning of the Imperium, new military strategies and Terra's ancient history. When he had later met Fulgrim, the Primarch of the Third Legion had shared with him something that Thorondor had never taken an interest in before.
Art.
Fulgrim had gushed about how it marked the advancement of culture, how it was just as important as the advancement of science to better a world. It was probably one of the few things that Thorondor and Fulgrim could not agree on. Thorondor had argued that while fascinating, such things rarely served any practical purpose. Does knowing philosophy help a farmer do his job better? What use is poetry to a warrior? How does being able to appreciate the strokes of a brush on a painting, or the fine carvings on a sculpture help one do one's duty better?
Fulgrim had patiently explained that it was not meant to be practical, but having been brought up on a harsh world with limited resources where everyone had to pull their weight to survive; such thinking ran counter to Thorondor's way of life. The two Primarchs had argued long into the night, but there had been no malice and it was good-natured.
Despite that however, there was something that had caught Thorondor's eye. Perusing a data-slate bearing picts of ancient sculptures found on Terra, one particular image had seized Thorondor attention the way that no other had.
Fulgrim had noticed.
"See something you like, brother?" his brother had asked, as he brushed his beautiful white hair back to get a better look, approaching Thorondor.
Thorondor had nodded silently and showed Fulgrim the image. The Primarch of the Third Legion looked at it and a smile had graced his aesthetically perfect face. It was a sculpture of a robed warrior, bearing a sword aloft with mighty wings extending from his shoulders. Thorondor knew from the descriptions of the various ancient religions of Terra what the sculpture depicted.
An angel.
"Why this?" Fulgrim had asked quietly, looking up at his taller brother's face curiously. "Why did this particular sculpture catch your attention?"
Thorondor hesitated, thinking about it. "On Tempestas, the main way to travel was by air, we used aircrafts or the Storm Eagles. When I was younger, I had thought at times how grand it would be if humans had wings...how magnificent it must be to be able to challenge the Eternal Storm under our own power."
He tapped the data-slate. "Perhaps it's because of how integral the Eagles are in our way of life. Their wings carry us over the violent oceans of our world; connects us to each other; they help us so much that perhaps the idea of having wings of our own would be...perfection."
Fulgrim had smiled and had given Thorondor's shoulder a friendly squeeze. "Do you understand now, brother? This is what art does; it captures your imagination and lets it run freely, it gives form to your dreams, to your innermost desires."
Thorondor had smiled back at Fulgrim, and remarked that perhaps that art was not so impractical after all. The happiness on Fulgrim's face had filled his heart with warmth.
But now, upon seeing his new brother, for a moment Thorondor believed that he was looking at one of the ancient sculptures – no, one of the very myths of Terra brought to life.
Wings.
Magnificent, majestic wings extended from the back of the Primarch of the Ninth Legion. The feathers were as white as snow, almost shining in the light of the docking bay. Behind him, Thorondor could hear the surprise and wonder in his warriors' voices. Mesmerised, he broke protocol and walked towards his brother without his honour guard.
Thorondor was so fascinated by the wings that he almost failed to pay attention to the Primarch himself. Looking at him, Thorondor felt a hint of the majesty of the Emperor himself within his new brother. A face which rivalled Fulgrim's in its beauty caught his eye, framed by hair as dark as his own. Eyes as blue as an ocean locked upon Thorondor's own storm-grey eyes, never wavering. The two Primarchs faced each other, the Storm Lord slightly the taller if one disregarded the wings of the other.
"Brother," greeted Thorondor with a warm smile. "I am Thorondor."
The other Primarch inclined his head, smiling, but there was caution in the gesture. "I am Sanguinius; it is good to finally meet you, brother."
Thorondor nodded before turning his gaze upon Sanguinius's wings once more, openly admiring them. However, he noticed that his brother tensed slightly under the scrutiny, as though uncomfortable.
"I must say, brother, Horus said nothing of this," began Thorondor, watching Sanguinius's reaction carefully. "In all my life, I have never expected to see something as magnificent as this...as you."
The tension drained away from Sanguinius and at last, the Primarch of the Blood Angels smiled sincerely. It lit his face with a radiance that reminded Thorondor of the Emperor, but it was warmer, far more welcoming and it made Sanguinius all the more beautiful to behold.
"You flatter me, brother," said Sanguinius, stepping forward to embrace Thorondor.
"I don't need to," replied Thorondor, returning the embrace.
II II II
Gwaine and Asghar both found themselves standing alongside the two officers who had accompanied Sanguinius. Both warriors had removed their helms, tucking them to their hip via mag-lock.
The warrior in the plain but excellently maintained power armour had a clean-shaven face with close-crop grey hair. He had a stern face and a hard mouth that seemed hardly used to smiling, but he had a straight-forward and respectful demeanour that both Asghar and Gwaine found likeable. This was Raldoron, First Captain of the Blood Angels, who also bore the title of Chapter Master.
The warrior in gold power armour was in many respects similar to Raldoron. However, where Raldoron was aloof but cordial and respectful, this warrior was cold, and eyed both Asghar and Gwaine with a certain wariness and suspicion that the two, especially Gwaine in particular did not appreciate. This was Azkaellon, the Captain of the Sanguinary Guard, the elite veteran warriors of the Blood Angels and the praetorians of Sanguinius.
The two Primarchs and the four Astartes were in Thorondor's private quarters. The other warriors had been dismissed, but Azkaellon and Raldoron had been allowed to stay, and so both Gwaine and Asghar had also remained.
Thorondor and Sanguinius were in deep conversation, speaking so quietly that even the enhanced hearing of the four post-human warriors was unable to pick up more than snippets.
Azkaellon was shooting glances all over the room as though expecting an enemy attack. His head kept turning left and right, looking for weak points and potential security liabilities. The constant movements were agitating Gwaine and even Asghar was frowning as he watched the Sanguinary Guard.
"You are in the most secure chamber on the ship," whispered Gwaine at last. "A ship carrying a full company of Astartes along with the elite of a Legion, not to mention a detachment of Imperial Army soldiers. Your Primarch is perfectly safe."
Azkaellon nodded. "I know; I'm just studying the chamber for future security purposes."
"You don't trust us to conduct security, brother?" asked Gwaine with a dry smile.
"Not at all, but as Captain of the Sanguinary Guard, it is my duty to ensure my Primarch's safety," answered Azkaellon. "I must never leave anything to chance."
Azkaellon turned to face Gwaine. "You are commander of the Storm Eagle's elite, yes? Surely you understand?"
Gwaine shrugged. "The Storm Riders fight alongside Lord Thorondor and we watch his back, yes. But he is more than capable of looking after himself. That said, Asghar and I both handle security matters."
"As hard as it is to believe, our Primarchs are not invincible," said Azkaellon tersely. "Every measure must be taken to ensure their –"
"You must forgive Azkaellon, my brothers," interrupted Raldoron. "He simply takes his duties very seriously, but he means well."
"As we all should," said Asghar smoothly. Gwaine murmured an assent.
Farther away, the two Primarchs heard the exchange despite their warriors' best efforts to keep their voices low.
Thorondor inclined his head. "They care greatly for you."
"They are my best," replied Sanguinius, smiling a little. "Azkaellon is rigorous and unyielding in his duties, while Raldoron is more adaptable and he understands the will and the soul of my Legion. They complement each other well."
"Like Asghar and Gwaine," said Thorondor.
Sanguinius nodded. "Despite the gifts our father bestowed upon us, we are still only as good as the people we surround ourselves with."
Thorondor nodded in agreement. "Horus told me you were from a Feral World?"
"Baal Secundus," answered Sanguinius. "It's highly irradiated and..."
As Sanguinius spoke of his homeworld, Thorondor studied him intently. It was as Horus had told him before; the Ninth Primarch did not look as if he belonged to a Feral World. If anything, he seemed as though he had been brought up in a much gentler civilisation. A world tended to leave its mark on its inhabitants, even Primarchs. Russ was the most obvious example, every bit the barbarian king as one would expect from the brutal winters of Fenris. There was also Ferrus, a hard and unyielding man, his general bearing as cold as his homeworld Medusa. Even Horus had not been able to completely shed his rough edges formed from years of growing up amidst the gang wars of Cthonia.
But Sanguinius seemed completely untouched by his world. There was strength in him, as one would expect that from a Primarch. But there was none of the roughness, no hint of the inherent violence that one would expect of a Feral World native. If anything, Sanguinius seemed as though he was cut from the same mould as Fulgrim: beautiful, graceful, well-mannered and practically perfect in every way that had Thorondor feeling like an uncultured savage.
But even as he compared Sanguinius to Fulgrim, he sensed that there was something else; something that he could not quite put a finger on. As he studied his new brother, it slowly came to him. Fulgrim strove for perfection; it was evident from his appearance alone. But Sanguinius...he seemed to achieve it without trying. But more than that, Thorondor had heard it in his voice over the vox, but now, being in his presence, the Storm Lord could feel it beyond a shadow of a doubt; Sanguinius had a presence that echoed the Emperor himself within him.
Perhaps it was the wings, the impossible vision of perfection for Tempestans made reality that had Thorondor thinking that way.
"You're not listening to me, brother."
Thorondor blinked before inclining his head sheepishly. "Forgive me; I couldn't help staring at your wings. As I mentioned before, Horus didn't tell me about them."
Sanguinius smiled, but there was an unhappy edge to it. "Yes...Horus and our father had the same reaction when they first saw them."
"You don't like them?" asked Thorondor curiously. "Your wings, I mean."
The Ninth Primarch sighed, clearly reluctant to discuss the topic. "I'm a mutant, Thorondor. It is only the fact that I am also a Primarch that had spared me from extermination."
Thorondor's smile faded slightly. Aside from bringing human civilisations back into the Imperium and driving off xenos from human worlds, another duty of the Great Crusade was to also purify the strands of humanity; which meant the extermination of mutants among the ranks of Mankind that had strayed too far genetically from what the Emperor had decreed to be acceptable.
It was not a duty that Thorondor took joy in. Most of the mutations he had encountered had been caused by circumstances beyond the control of the victims. Putting them to death had been one of the more difficult tasks he had to carry out. He had tried to spare as many as possible, but too many had been put to the sword or burned within the fires of purification. Thorondor had brought up the matter with the Emperor once, but while he had been commended for his compassion, his father had insisted that this was necessary. Thorondor had tried to protest, but the Emperor had touched his shoulder and placed the full weight of his gaze on the Storm Lord, silencing him.
"Sometimes being merciful is not always the right path," the Emperor had said. "You must trust me on this, Thorondor."
So Thorondor had continued to carry out his duty, but it made his heart no less heavy to do it.
Looking upon Sanguinius, Thorondor knew that had it been anyone else, they would've have been exterminated. The thought of putting a being so beautiful and magnificent to death chilled him to the bone.
"You are ashamed of your wings," stated Thorondor and Sanguinius bowed his head.
"I did not ask for them. Father...our other brothers have made no comment...but I see it in their eyes...a sort of alienation," said Sanguinius quietly. "Though they have welcomed me...I am different, something..." He trailed off, unable to find the words to give voice to his feelings. But he looked the Storm Lord in the eye, daring him to feel sorry for him.
Abruptly, Thorondor stood, startling Sanguinius.
"Come with me," said Thorondor. "I have something to show you."
II II II
Caught between two Primarchs, tech-priest Oric Halcum's processors were in overdrive. Part of it was from over-excitement from being in the presence of two of the Emperor's sons; the other was over-anxiety that the Storm Lord was going to ask something outrageous of him again.
Perhaps he should be flattered that Lord Thorondor had such confidence in his abilities to make unthinkable requests of him, but the stress of it wreaked havoc on his systems.
Among them: outfitting an entire warship, namely the Iron Roost to house the Eagles of Tempestas, adapting assault cannons so that they can mounted onto the Eagles back, finding ways to manage the birth-rate of the beasts, genetically modifying so that they were better suited for the Imperium's war, waste disposal, sustainable food production...in short, Lord Thorondor had effectively turned Oric into the keeper of the Eagles. The only part that Oric was not in charge of, to his great relief, was the grooming and general maintenance of the Eagles; that was the duty of the Storm Riders.
On this particular visit however, Lord Thorondor and the Primarch Sanguinius was simply doing that; visiting. Oric hid his relief very badly, and Thorondor smiled with amusement and patted him on the shoulder as he and his brother made their way deeper into the ship.
II II II
"Just what have you done to that poor tech-priest to make him react to you like that?" asked Sanguinius as he followed Thorondor.
The Storm Lord chuckled. "A few requests here and there, nothing much."
"Somehow how I doubt that," replied Sanguinius, also chuckling.
As they stepped through a doorway, it opened up onto a platform that overlooked a vast chamber that seemed to stretch out the length of the ship. Storm Eagles soared everywhere, landing every now and then on various metal structures that imitated the jagged cliffs of Tempestas. Servitors ambled around carrying baskets of food or cleaning droppings and fallen feathers. There was mixture of the metallic scent of the Storm Eagles and the slightly unpleasant stink of their waste in the air.
Sanguinius looked about in wonder as he moved to Thorondor's side; the two Primarchs appearing miniscule when compared to the scale of the chamber.
"So these are the Storm Eagles?" asked Sanguinius, watching an Eagle soar by. "The mounts for your elite warriors?"
Thorondor nodded.
"Which one is yours?" asked his brother, looking around at the Eagles, trying to see if he could spot it.
Thorondor's smile widened as he looked up. "Here he is."
A shadow fell over them as the titanic Storm Eagle landed. It glared down at them both with grey eyes very similar to Thorondor's. After a moment, it lowered its head and allowed the Storm Lord to stroke it beak, which was almost as big as its rider's torso.
"Sanguinius, this is Garuda, the greatest Storm Eagle to ever challenge the Eternal Storm," said Thorondor.
The massive Eagle turned to regard Sanguinius, the huge eyes taking in every detail of the Blood Angels' Primarch. A moment passed before Garuda made a crooning noise in his throat and lowered his beak to the winged man. Sanguinius hesitated for a moment, looking to Thorondor who nodded encouragingly. Sanguinius slowly reached out and ran his hands along the Storm Eagle's beak. Garuda closed his eyes contentedly.
"Right now brother, you stand before a living legend of Tempestas," said Thorondor. "Storm Eagles usually live up to a hundred years, but Garuda has been soaring the skies of my homeworld long before I arrived. No one knows how old he truly is, but even the most ancient greybeard I have talked to spoke of seeing him as children. Tempestas has never had a king, but Garuda has ruled her skies for so long...he is the closest thing to one."
Thorondor joined Sanguinius in patting the Storm Eagle's beak. "It was by his wings and his strength that helped me ascend to lordship over Tempestas; to unify the factitious Storm Rider orders across her oceans...to bring order. Know this, Sanguinius, without Garuda; there would have been no Storm Lord."
"Why did you bring me here, brother?" asked Sanguinius, looking up at the Storm Eagle.
"Garuda is a symbol, the legend of the Lord of Eagles given form," answered Thorondor, looking at his brother. "Just as you are an embodiment of the ancient myths of Terra's angels. I'm sure you know what they stood for; steadfastness, devotion to duty, unwavering loyalty, bringers of enlightenment and hope...everything good that Mankind had striven for. Seraphim, malekat or angels, whatever they were called, they all embodied these qualities."
"Why are you telling me this?" asked Sanguinius quietly, not looking at Thorondor.
Thorondor smiled and gently touched his brother on the shoulder. "I'm telling you this so that you know that father didn't spare you just because you're a Primarch...it's because he sees all this within you. The ancient religions may have no place in the Imperium, but father knows very well the importance of symbols...and that is you, Sanguinius. You are symbol of everything Mankind would strive for."
Sanguinius turned to face Thorondor at last, his blue eyes clear. "Is that all I am? A symbol to Mankind?"
"Not just to them, to us," answered Thorondor, his smile widening. By 'us', Sanguinius knew his brother meant the other Primarchs. "But no, you are not just a symbol; you are a warrior, general, leader, son, brother...an angel."
Sanguinius stared at Thorondor for a moment longer before looking away, an embarrassed smile on his face. "Horus didn't warn me that you were a flatterer."
"That's because I'm not," replied Thorondor. "I say what I think, tactfully of course, but I try to be honest."
Sanguinius looked at Thorondor with a smile. "I appreciate your words, brother."
Thorondor gestured at Sanguinius's wings. "You have no reason to be ashamed, Sanguinius. Your wings are beautiful. You might not have asked for them, but they are a gift; a gift from the Storm."
Sanguinius raised an eyebrow. "A gift from the Storm?"
Thorondor shrugged. "An old Tempestan saying for those with the gift of flight...you can fly, right?"
Sanguinius grinned and leaped off the platform, his wings spreading wide. He soared up high, scattering surprised Eagles as he did, circling high towards the roof of the chamber, his wings beating strongly and gracefully.
Thorondor's smile widened into a grin as he watched enviously.
Eventually Sanguinius landed, and Thorondor clapped, shaking his head.
"Magnificent, truly magnificent," he said. "I am a little jealous, brother; I wish I had wings of my own. Then I wouldn't have to depend on this bad-tempered old bird to fly."
Sanguinius laughed as Garuda squawked reproachfully and thumped Thorondor lightly with his beak in admonishment. After a moment, both Primarchs fell silent, but there was warmth between the two of them now. Both brothers knew that they had a friend in each other now.
Sanguinius stepped forward and embraced Thorondor, his wings curling around them both protectively.
"Thank you, Thorondor," whispered Sanguinius into his brother's ear.
Thorondor returned the embrace. "Please, call me Thor."
I hoped you liked that.
I already planned right from the start the Sanguinius was going to play a role in this fic...so I've been thinking of ways to introduce him to Thorondor well.
I got the idea for this chapter when reading Betrayer if I'm not wrong, where Angron described Sanguinius as a 'mutant' and Lorgar mentioning something about Sanguinius fearing the reason he has wings or something to that effect. In any case, given the Imperium's policy towards mutants (I know there were mutants who were tolerated within the Imperium then, but I believe there was some sort of scale of tolerance that they were measured against), I figured Sanguinius would be somewhat uncomfortable about his wings in his early years with the Imperium.
Another note, given the irritating discrepancies between the visual depiction of Sanguinius and the literary depiction (blonde hair vs black), I decided to go with the literary depiction of him having black hair. In any case, I dislike most of Black Library's visual depiction of Sanguinius (did anyone see him on the cover of Unremembered Empire? I nearly cried with horror when I saw that).