Hey everyone, I'm deeply sorry for the long hiatus this time around; moving back to my homeland took up all my attention. I wish I could say that I could update regularly once things settled down, but unfortunately, that's going to be highly unlikely for awhile. I WILL update whenever I can though.
Anyway, a bit of a personal milestone here; with the posting of this chapter, 'The Lost Primarchs' is now my longest fic in both word count (which it had become at least ten chapters back), and chapter count, beating out both ''Á Little More in Common' and the unfinished "The Journal of Edward Newgate".
I am determined that 'The Lost Primarchs' will not remain an unfinished fic.
As always, I hope you enjoy this.
Reunion
The Imperator Somnium was often simply described as the Emperor's flagship. For those who have beheld the vessel with their own two eyes, calling it a 'ship' would be a massive understatement.
The Imperator Somnium was a golden behemoth. In size, it matched the great orbital plates of Riga and Skye, making it visible in the sky of a world even when it was light-years away. It was so massive that its crew had to take care when bringing it in close proximity to a world as it could affect weather patterns and tides. Only the Phalanx, the starship and headquarters of the Imperial Fists truly rivalled the Emperor's flagship.
The vessel was as much a palace as it was a ship. It bore massive structures that were reminiscent of the Imperial Palace on Terra; great halls, minarets, towers, great domes and walls at different levels that bristled with deadly guns. As impossible as it seemed given its massive scale, every inch of the ship, both within and without, was adorned with intricate artwork that was only possible from decades, possibly centuries of loving work and dedication from generations of master craftsmen and artists.
The Imperator Somnium was the symbol of humanity's great potential.
It was truly a vessel worthy of the Master of Mankind.
II II II
Thorondor and Sanguinius watched through the viewport of their shuttle as the Imperator Somnium filled the view; the sight of the vessel was awe-inspiring as always. Thorondor had spent much of his early days in the Imperium on the ship, his adventurous and curious nature leading him to attempt to discover every nook and cranny. By the time they had arrived at Terra, Thorondor had only uncovered a quarter of the ship.
As the shuttle landed in one of the many docking bays of the vessel, Thorondor wondered idly if he would have time to discover more of the ship.
When he and Sanguinius exited the shuttle, they were greeted by a contingent of Custodes; the golden armoured praetorians of the Emperor. With them, was a being that surpassed Thorondor and Sanguinius in size and matched them in presence, outshining even the magnificent Custodes.
The brother that greeted them was nearly a full head taller than Thorondor, but his powerfully built body made him seem even larger. He was dressed in simple brown fatigues with black pants that barely seemed to be able to constrain his massive form. His skin was jet-black and craggy like the surface of a volcanic wasteland and his eyes glowed red like lava. Despite his intimidating appearance, there was a warm smile on his face as he walked towards Thorondor and Sanguinius.
Upon seeing him, Thorondor's smile widened into a grin and he strode forward to embrace his brother.
"Vulkan! My brother, it's been too long!" cried the Storm Lord joyfully as the Primarch of the Salamanders effortlessly lifted him into a rib-cracking hug. Vulkan's body was hot, as though the molten core of a planet was encased within him, and Thorondor marvelled that his clothes did not simply burn to ashes.
"Thor, it's good to see you again," replied Vulkan, his voice like the rumbling of the earth itself, but filled with the warmth of a hearth-fire.
Setting Thorondor down on his feet, Vulkan turned to embrace Sanguinius in a more dignified manner.
"Father summoned you too?" asked Thorondor once his brothers broke apart.
"Father summoned all of us," answered Vulkan. "The two of you are the last to arrive. Come, I'll show you to your quarters."
"You will?" said Thorondor before adding teasingly. "Did Horus ask you to chaperone me because of what happened on Kalaborn?"
Vulkan chuckled, the sound like an earthquake. "No, this time I took it upon myself to keep you out of trouble."
"You wound me, Vulkan," said Thorondor with mock hurt in his voice.
Vulkan led his two brothers to their quarters, easily making conversation as they made their way through the long circuitous corridors of the Imperator Somnium. Much of the journey had to be taken with an interior shuttle; such was the scale of the Emperor's flagship. Despite the long travel, time flew by quickly as the three Primarchs traded stories of their recent exploits.
Thorondor often thought it was ironic that his most frightening brother appearance-wise was the most compassionate of them. He had fought alongside Vulkan and the Salamanders numerous times; and as expected of any Legion, they had fought with courage and honour, never faltering even against the greatest odds. But Thorondor had been impressed by the amount of effort they put into minimising human casualties, both on their side and the enemy. While the Legio Astartes were often described as the protectors of Mankind amongst other things, very few took that particular role seriously, even within Thorondor's own Legion. Vulkan and the Salamanders however carried out that duty with the utmost dedication. Some, like Ferrus, often grew impatient with Vulkan for it, but Thorondor admired his brother for it, and sought to emulate him as best as he could.
Vulkan led Thorondor and Sanguinius to a section of the Imperator Somnium that was dedicated for the exclusive use of all the Primarchs and after informing them that the Emperor had requested to meet all of them later on in his private dining chambers, he left them to attend to other matters.
Thorondor entered the familiar mansion that he had stayed in when he had first rejoined the Emperor. It had been decades since he last used it, but it was in pristine condition. He looked through a window that looked out over a private stretch of garden containing many plants that had once existed on Terra. Thorondor smiled at the sight, still marvelling at the technology of the Imperium.
With a sigh, he instructed the serfs to help him remove his power armour.
II II II
When Thorondor emerged from his quarters later on, he found Vulkan and Sanguinius waiting for him. Both had dressed in their finest; Sanguinius wore fine white robes with red trim and a belt of gold clasped around his waist. Vulkan was clad in a fine tunic the emerald-green of his Legion and black pants that looked as though it had been made from some reptile's scales.
Thorondor himself wore simple ceremonial garments in the ocean blue and tempest-grey of his Legion. Sanguinius raised an eyebrow at Thorondor.
"I think this is the first time I've ever seen you out of armour, Thor," remarked Sanguinius.
Thorondor tugged at his collar. "I feel…exposed."
"Come now, we're not going to war," said Sanguinius smiling as he and Vulkan started walking.
"I'm just not use to this type of clothing," grumbled Thorondor as he followed.
"Don't tell me you never take off your armour?" asked Vulkan, looking over his shoulder.
"Of course I do; the few times I sleep, for maintenance…I'm usually in my quarters when I take it off, so I go around shirtless," answered Thorondor.
"How undignified," commented Sanguinius with a smirk.
"Careful Sanguinius; you almost sound like Fulgrim," retorted Thorondor, and his brothers laughed.
As they made their way to the Emperor's chambers, they came across another two of their brothers who were already on their way there.
One was of the same height as Thorondor, though his heavily muscled form rivalled Vulkan's. Like Thorondor, he wore a simple ceremonial garb, but in the colours of black and grey. His hair was black, kept short and his dark face was grim. His eyes had no pupils; they were the colour of molten silver. Despite the curious trait however, his most distinctive feature was his arms. They seemed to be made of metallic silver, appearing to be some sort of aesthetically-pleasing bionic arm. However, they moved with the smoothness and fluidity that was only possible in organic arms. This was Ferrus Manus, the Primarch of the Iron Hands.
The Primarch beside him was even more slender than Sanguinius and slightly shorter. Unlike Ferrus, he wore silk robes of rich deep purple with golden trim; clearly of the finest make. His complexion was pale, a stark contrast to the darker Ferrus, but where the Lord of the Iron Hands looked every inch the hardened warrior, he was almost feminine in appearance. His long white hair was bound back into a ponytail, revealing a face that was almost as beautiful as Sanguinius's. His dark eyes shone with delight as they rested upon his brothers, and his full lips curved into a sincere, friendly smile. This was Fulgrim, the Primarch of the Emperor's Children.
"Thor," greeted Fulgrim, walking towards Thorondor. "I see you still have yet to learn how to dress yourself appropriately."
"Fulgrim, my dear peacock," returned Thorondor, his smile widening as he embraced his brother.
Fulgrim returned the embrace and kissed Thorondor on both cheeks. He turned to Sanguinius and did the same. "It's good to see you again, my brother. I'm glad that I'm not the only one who knows the value of taking pride in one's appearance."
Sanguinius smiled. "You taught me well, Fulgrim."
The two of them laughed while Thorondor turned to Ferrus. Rather than embrace, the two Primarchs clasped wrists in greeting.
"Thorondor," greeted Ferrus in a voice like the rumbling of a furnace fire, a small smile on his face.
"Ferrus," returned Thorondor, used to his taciturn brother's ways.
The five Primarchs exchanged pleasantries for a moment before continuing on their way together.
"So I heard from Horus that you and Russ were up to your old tricks on the last campaign you fought together," said Fulgrim, shooting a smile at Thorondor, who shrugged.
"We won the war, that's all that matters."
"Well, plans tend to get more creative when the Wolf King is involved," quipped Fulgrim, and the other Primarchs agreed, amused.
"So Sanguinius, you've only just met Thorondor; what do you think of him?" asked Fulgrim, turning to their winged brother.
Sanguinius smiled, glancing at Thorondor. "Our brother is a great warrior and good company. I enjoyed getting to know during our last campaign."
"Indeed, he is a great warrior," agreed Fulgrim. "And he's quite the dashing figure when he swoops down on that giant Eagle of his. Imagine how much more awe-inspiring he'd look if he'd just…"
Thorondor groaned.
"Come now, Thorondor, it's time you gave in to me," said Fulgrim, grinning. "If you'd just listen to me, I could help you look even more the part of a great warrior-king…"
"For the last time Fulgrim, I'm fine the way I am," protested Thorondor. "I like my armour the way it is, and don't you dare bring your brushes and whatever infernal things you use on your hair on mine."
Fulgrim pouted, but his eyes glinted with mirth. "But if you'd just listen to me…"
"I don't see you trying to pretty up Ferrus and Vulkan," complained Thorondor, though he too was amused, enjoying the banter with his brother.
Fulgrim sighed dramatically. "Ferrus is hopeless, and Vulkan is handsome enough as he is. Besides, he has no hair for me to work with."
Ferrus snorted as Thorondor and Vulkan laughed while Sanguinius smiled, shaking his head with amusement.
II II II
Like every other chamber in the Imperator Somnium, the Emperor's dining chambers were huge. It was a built in the shape of a cathedral, great chandiliers hanging from the centre of the arching rafters with alcoves lining the walls in which a Custodes stood guard, as still as statues. A long table was at the centre, lined with twenty chairs; ten on each side. At the head of the table was a throne topped with the Imperial Aquila.
When Thorondor and his brothers entered the Emperor's dining chambers, they found Horus, Rogal Dorn and Roboute Guilliman already there, deep in conversation.
Rogal Dorn was dressed in the same manner as Thorondor and Ferrus, but in the yellow of his Legion. Like Ferrus, he also wore his white hair short. His face was craggy and stern; Thorondor had yet to see him smile in all the years he had known him.
Roboute Guilliman wore the cobalt blue of the Ultramarines. He too, wore his sandy-brown hair short like Dorn's, and while his tanned face was smoother than the Imperial Fist Primarch, they still closely resembled each other. While most of time, Roboute behaved very formally, he was still open and friendly with his brothers; though he had a tendency to critique their methods.
Then there was Horus; the Emperor's favoured son. He was dressed in the resplendent white of his Legion, and his the front of his tunic bore the Eye of Terra on it. His tanned face broke into a welcoming smile when he saw his brothers and he stood; Dorn and Roboute followed suit.
The Primarchs exchanged greetings and Thorondor found himself facing Dorn and Roboute. As always, he found the Primarch of the Imperial Fists as rigid as ever, though he did finally graced Thorondor with a small smile, while after the initial formal exchange of pleasantries, Roboute became considerably more relaxed.
Looking over Roboute's head, Thorondor saw Sanguinius and Horus greeting each other. Sanguinius had a wide smile on his face, as did Horus as the two of them exchanged words in voices to low for even the hearing of the other Primarchs. The bond between the two was obvious; clearly deep and strong from the years they spent had together when Sanguinius had been mentored by Horus.
Eventually, Horus turned from Sanguinius to greet Thorondor. Thorondor grinned when Horus sighed dramatically as he took a step towards him.
"Thor," said Horus solemnly. "If gods existed, then they must be punishing me by making us meet each other so soon after Kalaborn."
Thorondor laughed. "If I am a punishment, then what is Russ?"
Horus shook his head in mock-horror before smiling. "Jokes aside, I am glad to be able to see you so soon."
"Well, we'll see how long that lasts," replied Thorondor, and Horus laughed.
Eventually the Primarchs settled down into different groups, making conversation as they awaited the Emperor. Thorondor found himself with Sanguinius, Horus and Dorn while Fulgrim chatted merrily with Ferrus, Vulkan and Roboute.
As the sons of the Emperor, the Primarchs were superhuman in every way; everything that the ranks of humanity aspired to be, but forever beyond their reach. As a result, they were often viewed as demigods far beyond the concerns of lesser men.
Thorondor wondered what mortals would think seeing the Primarchs together behaving in manner no different from old friends or family reunited after being apart for a long time.
As the conversations continued, Thorondor became aware of an approaching noise; his sharp hearing allowed him to identify it easily: the heavy trudge of armour-shod feet. Listening for a moment, his smile widened as he recognised the rhythm, the weight of each stride and the general aggressiveness of the sound itself. Around him, the other Primarchs became aware of it and they all turned just scant seconds before the doors of the chamber swung open with a loud bang.
Leman Russ stood in the doorway, his red hair like the mane of a wild beast and a savage grin splitting his face. Wolf pelts hung from his shoulders like a cape and he bore two huge barrels under each arm. His eyes surveyed the room before coming to a rest on Thorondor and they narrowed.
Setting the barrels down unceremoniously, he moved so quickly, so aggressively that it was like an attack.
But Thorondor, who knew his brother best, simply kept his arms down and his body limp as Leman Russ pulled him into a bone-breaking embrace with a joyful sound that was almost like a snarl.
"Thor!" boomed Russ, shaking him a little; it was easier for him since Thorondor wasn't in armour. He wanted to greet Russ in turn, but the Wolf King's grip drove the air out of his lungs.
"Try not to kill him, Russ," jested Fulgrim as he watched with a smile.
Russ grinned widely and let Thorondor go. The Storm Lord took a deep breath before clapping Russ on the shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. "Always good to see you again, Russ."
Russ laughed; a growling sound, before he turned to greet the others. Once he was done, he went to one of the barrels he had brought.
"Now that I'm here, let the drinking begin," said Russ in his snarling voice.
"We're not here to celebrate, Russ," said Rogal Dorn, a frown on his face. "The Emperor would not summon all of us here if it were not important."
"My goal this time around is to help you get that stick out of your arse," snapped Russ in response, pointing a finger at Dorn. "It so happens that I spoke with –"
"If it pleases you Russ, I'd like to tell them myself."
Everyone turned to the source of the new voice. The newcomers had seemingly appeared out of thin air. There were two of them; one clearly a Primarch, the other a mortal man. Of all the Primarchs in the room, the newcomer was the tallest by far; towering well over the others. His skin was reddish bronze and his red hair was long and wild, not unlike Russ's. He wore a white toga with a long skirt with trim as red as his skin and a yellow spotted cloak reminiscent of the ancient leopards of Terra hung from his shoulders. His most distinctive feature however, was the single eye whose iris flickered with indeterminate colours. The other was a blank stretch of skin.
Though he looked every bit the warrior-king from some primitive world, Thorondor knew that Magnus the Red was anything but. He was scholar, a warrior who possessed deep wisdom, a great hunger for knowledge and wielder of great psychic powers.
He was also, to Thorondor's great sorrow, the only brother he could not claim to have a good relationship with. Magnus wore far too many masks and hid too many secrets to ever truly open up to anyone.
Frowning, Thorondor also realised that the description also fitted the Emperor. He quashed the almost treasonous thought.
The mortal beside Magnus was an ancient man; dressed in plain black robes with a cowl that partially obscured his face. Cables could be glimpsed within the folds of fabric around his neck. He was tall for a mortal; and with his long white hair that hung down his face onto his chest, he looked like a wizard from the various myths of Mankind. Dark eyes glinted from a pale, wizened face, hiding the depth of wisdom and knowledge that all the Primarchs knew to be second only to their father.
Malcador the Sigillite, the Emperor's most trusted advisor and confidant, stepped forward to address the Primarchs. He was perhaps the only mortal that the Primarchs showed deference to; albeit some more grudgingly than others.
"My friends; it as Dorn says," said Malcador, his soft voice carrying throughout the room. "The Emperor has summoned you for an important purpose. But be at peace; it will not be a matter of war; only of celebration and commemoration. The Emperor will tell you more when he arrives."
Malcador had scarcely finished talking when Russ interrupted cheerfully.
"There, that settles it! Now get me an axe and I'll break open the mjod!"
"Protocol dictates that we do not start without –"
"Stuff your protocol up your arse, Dorn!"
Thorondor, along with Horus and Vulkan roared with laughter at that. Fulgrim and Guilliman both shook their heads, but amusement twinkled in their eyes. Sanguinius smile broadly and even Ferrus had a grin on his face as they watched Dorn bristle at Russ's irreverent behaviour.
Subsiding, Thorondor glanced over to where Magnus and Malcador stood. The old man had vanished, leaving only the Crimson King behind. Thorondor watched as Magnus took several more steps into the room, but made no move to stand with his brothers.
Abruptly, Thorondor felt sorry for his psychic brother. Magnus's relationship with his brothers was a complicated affair. Russ had made no secret of his disgust for Magnus's dabbling with what the Wolves of Fenris called 'maleficarum'. Dorn was no different, though he at least showed a modicum of civility towards Magnus. Thorondor was uncertain as to how Fulgrim, Ferrus, Sanguinius and Vulkan felt about their brother's psychic powers, but they seemed guarded on the issue. Horus alone out of all them had a somewhat warmer relationship with Magnus.
As for Thorondor, he had struggled mightily with the concept of psykers in general. One curious trait that had been observed on Tempestas was the near nonexistence of psykers. The Tempestans had no knowledge of such powers and had had difficulty coming to terms of its existence.
Eventually, like Roboute, Thorondor had come to see it as another tool, another form of weapon...yet there was something undeniably unnerving about it. He could accept the use of psyhic lightning or fire to burn away one's enemies, the psychic shouts the Astropaths use to hurl messages across the great gulf of the galaxy and the guidance of the Navigators through the treacherous waters of the Warp. What Thorondor couldn't accept was the psychic ability to read one's heart and mind. He held such things to be sacred and private, and any psychic probing into the area he considered to be a gross violation of one's dignity.
As Thorondor watched Magnus stand apart from his brothers, the Storm Lord softened slightly. Perhaps he was being hypocritical; the Emperor wielded psychic powers even greater than Magnus and Thorondor had never had a problem with it. Why should he take issue with Magnus's own powers, especially since it was likely that the Emperor himself had granted him those powers? Thorondor considered using the reunion to try to thaw his relationship with the Crimson King.
As though sensing Thorondor's thoughts, Magnus gazed at him, a small smile playing across his face.
Despite himself, Thorondor flinched, his smile faltering.
Guilt twinged in his heart when he saw the brief flash of hurt in Magnus's eye before it was swiftly replaced with the cool mask of resignation of one who was used to such treatment.
Before Thorondor could take a step towards Magnus, silence suddenly fell and a warm glow suffused throughout the chamber.
As one, the Primarch turned and wordlessly formed a line to greet their father.
The Emperor of Mankind strode into the room, the golden light that was part of his very being radiating from him. He was dressed in simple white robes that, rather than diminishing, instead served to enhance his majesty. His golden wreath rested upon his dark hair and his eyes, glowing like the Sun of Terra, fixed upon his sons, his gaze stern.
When Thorondor had first met the Emperor, the man had been a giant whose size rivalled the Primarch. Indeed, whenever the Emperor wore his ornate golden power armour, he was just as much a giant as his sons. At first, Thorondor thought that it was the power armour that had exaggerated his size, but after seeing his father many times out of armour, he knew that it was physically impossible for the Emperor to be able fill a power armour of that size.
Without his armour, the Emperor was but the size of a mortal, taller than most – even Malcador – but still dwarfed by the Primarchs. Yet his presence, his majesty was no less great, and Thorondor knew that it was his father's immense powers that caused everyone to perceive him differently.
As one, the Primarchs knelt before the Emperor.
"My sons," greeted the Emperor in a voice that was different from his usual deep baritone that seemingly reached into the listener's soul and held it rapt; this voice was soft, a gentle caress on the ear that reached into the heart with warmth.
"I have summoned all of you here so that we may celebrate all that we have achieved in our goal to unify the galaxy under the Imperium thus far. When you have fought as many wars as I have, you realise the importance of celebrating everything you have gained."
The Emperor stood before his kneeling sons, gazing at each of them in turn.
"It has been nearly a century since I had first set forth from Terra and already vast swathes of Mankind scattered throughout the galaxy has been returned into the fold of the Imperium. But my sons, I confess that I believed that you, the Primarchs, the greatest generals and warriors every created for Mankind, were lost to me."
The Emperor paused and affectionately laid his hand on Horus's head.
"But then, one by one, you returned to me. It started with Horus, and I allowed myself to hope. As each of you returned me, that hope grew. Twenty sons I created, and now ten have been returned to me."
The Emperor stepped back surveyed them once more, his stern face softening ever so slightly.
"With you at my side, the Great Crusade has made great progress. When your remaining ten brothers are found – and they will be – the ultimate right of Mankind to rule the stars as the Imperium will be made reality."
The Emperor looked upon his sons with pride and finally allowed a smile to grace his face.
"Stand, my sons. For tonight, let us put aside all thoughts of the future; let us instead celebrate what we have gained thus far. Tonight, I ask that you put aside your burdens and simply be at ease."
The Primarchs glanced at each other in uncertainty. While the Emperor had been known to make grand gestures from time to time in order to send a message, calling all the Primarchs back for a private gathering seemed almost frivolous given the number campaigns being waged across the galaxy. Even Horus, who knew the Emperor best, looked taken aback. Only Russ and Magnus looked unsurprised.
Sensing their thoughts, the Emperor's smile widened. "I can make it an order if you like."
There was a stunned silence, and then the Primarchs – except Dorn – broke out with laughter at the rare jest from their father.