Trazyn was incredibly happy. Wonderfully, amazingly, gloriously pleased with his life.
So many things were going well. A great deal of work with engram enhancers and various forms of meditation had led Trazyn to recall many tiny details of the lives on the necrontyr. He remembered his favorite soup, a delicious blend of dried seafood and ketla flakes, brewed with just a dash of liquor. It had gone down so easily, even when he was old and finding it hard to eat. He remembered the dress of beads Zefreek had worn when she was young, not a single scrap of fabric to hide the tantalizing flesh beneath. He remembered the pleasures of living and instead of bringing him sadness or longing, it only brought Trazyn fierce joy. Joy that he could finally remember.
Remembering how he had come to walk through the Furnace dampened that joy slightly, but only a bit. Because while Orikan was right that he'd chosen this fate, Trazyn could forgive himself. The Void Dragon had come himself to speak with Trazyn, so old that he could barely walk. The Dragon had praised his work and offered him Solemnance, so he could be the archaeovist of the gods. Trazyn had accepted gladly, to continue his great work. But in the middle of that conversation…
The Furnace though, from what I understand of it, it will not work well on the young. What will be done with the children?
You will take care of them until they are ready to join you.
The Void Dragon had lied perfectly. Trazyn had not suspected a thing and just accepted it, perfectly cheerful with the thought. Ah, he'd gone to the fires like a lamb, so completely innocent and beguiled by immortality. And for himself, Trazyn would never regret it… he only regretted that he hadn't spotted the lie. Some memories did hurt, and Trazyn remembered the children of his underlings, performing small tasks and some of them, the very reliable ones, even cleaning some of the pieces. They were always so proud to be joining his work, so eager to please him. To think they had all been sacrificed… that did truly sting.
Trazyn didn't feel burning hatred over it, though. He'd been so old that he'd outlived most of his children but two, and all of his grandchildren had been old enough for biotransference. His great-grandchildren, not so much but he honestly hadn't known them too well. Trazyn was looking forward to seeing his surviving children again, though. He was saving that for a particular moment.
Despite not carrying a burning hatred over the betrayal, Trazyn was more than happy to stick a shiv between the Silent King's ribs. Szarekh must have known, curse his black heart. How had he justified it to himself? As just a greater sacrifice to the gods, to secure their immortality? Probably, it was only different in scale from what they usually did.
Trazyn was still quite pleased though, and that was due now to his formal invitation to Hope. He would be able to wander around openly, attend the plays and talk to the resouled necrontyr! Perhaps even watch Manric Duleth working with some of them, apparently, he was doing more of the Immortals. King… or rather, ex-King Reinhart would be showing him around and he knew some of the best places. Also, he might get to see a play about the necrontyr in the process of being made. That sounded fantastic!
All at the cost of his Fulgrim clone, but Trazyn was fine with that now. If he was lucky, perhaps he'd be able to finagle a place in the Stormlord's retinue and see the meeting between Imotekh and Guilliman! And even if not, maybe Trazyn could steal a Lychguard or Immortal and spy that way. This would be the first treaty of its' kind to ever be made between their species. History was being made before his eyes! Could he get a copy of the treaty for his archives? He probably COULD!
"Are you as happy with this as I am?" Trazyn asked the clone in stasis. It didn't respond. "Well, you probably will be soon." Trazyn admired it for a moment. It really was beautiful work, in all aspects. The Emperor's original vision had been marvelous and Fulgrim was beautifully proportional with his height, none of the distortions common Astartes often showed. He was easily the handsomest of the Primarchs and Trazyn had a fine appreciation for such things, in an academic sense. Fabius Bile had replicated that work beautifully and according to him, this was a perfect, uncorrupted clone. All of Trazyn's tests supported the claim.
From what Trazyn knew of Fulgrim's personality, and thus the clone, he would probably enjoy Hope. Fulgrim's background was one of technical acumen and innovation, and the clone had been created by Fabius Bile, so Trazyn doubted he would balk too much at the 'heresy' all over the planet. And Fulgrim had a great love for the arts, for music, literature and drama. The one thing Fulgrim might absolutely hate about Hope, though, was the influence of Necron culture on it. Just like Guilliman, he was extremely humanocentric, believing in the manifest destiny of humans to rule the entire galaxy. As a member of a race that had once achieved that, Trazyn found the conceit amusing. What was so good about that anyway? Trazyn sometimes thought the incredible size of the necrontyr's empire had been a large part of what had led it to fall apart.
Trazyn patiently waited through the trip and they made good time. In interstellar terms, Solemnance was closer to Hope than many things, despite its position on the far outer edge of the galaxy. He arrived right on time, six months before the peace talks.
(Imotekh's time frame had been selected with everyone's transit times in mind)
Arriving at Hope, Trazyn hailed the planet and received confirmation, as well as positioning instructions. Then he took a shuttle to the surface, with the Fulgrim Clone and his entourage. They were guided by the AI navigational aides, setting down neatly in the capital city of Hope's Landing. Trazyn looked around alertly as the exited the shuttle. My, how this place had changed in a few short decades!
"Grand Archaeovist," Simokh was present to take control of the clone and nodded to him politely. Trazyn nodded back. "The key?"
"I have it here," Trazyn said before offering Simokh the small device that could be used to activate or deactivate the stasis field around the clone. He could have kept Fulgrim in a tesseract but there was really no need for that. "So do you mind if I show myself around?" Reinhart wasn't there, but Trazyn really wanted to go adventuring on his own for a while, he would look up the former King when he was ready.
"We are resigned to it." Oh, how hurtful! "The navigation systems here are modeled on necron systems, you should have no difficulties." Simokh was so extremely dry. Trazyn had been told he was suffering engrammatic damage to his personality centres.
Trazyn had taken just three Lychguard to serve as personal defenders and body doubles. He was quite confident he should have no problems in Hope. Where should he go first, though? Trazyn opened himself up to the planetary communications, looking for anything interesting. He quickly found something promising and was on his way.
He was going to enjoy immersing himself in the culture of this unique little world.
When Manric set eyes on the clone of the Primarch Fulgrim, he was utterly horrified.
What horrified him was the realization that within the stasis, which should have held him stopped in time, Fulgrim's mind was completely active. Unable to move, unable to take a single action, he could still see and feel what was happening around him.
"Oh my god," Manric said before crossing himself without thought. He went to the stasis cube, resting a hand on it and trying to project reassurance. "We'll get you out of there, I promise," Manric murmured although it scarcely lightened the emotions he was sensing. It was a deep, dark depression, verging on despair and Manric had the feeling Fulgrim was not paying any attention to him at all. What was he thinking of?
"Manric?" Simokh was there and Manric turned to look at him. "Is he aware? That can sometimes occur with subjects who are strong in the warp."
"Wait, Trazyn would have known this was a possibility?" Manric asked and Simokh nodded. "How could he do such a thing?" Manric was appalled by the sheer, uncaring cruelty of it. It was bad enough to pluck away priests and pwi-necrons, but at least they would be unaware of their imprisonment. To inflict this on a living mind was appalling beyond belief.
"He is the Grand Archaeovist. It is his mission in life to chronical the history of the galaxy and such things are beneath his concern." Manric really had no idea what to say. "Manric… there are far worse things in the universe than that, I assure you."
"Are there though?" Manric turned to look at Fulgrim again, the sightless eyes that could nonetheless see. "What the drukhari could do to us would last twenty years at most." From what Manric understood, that was the maximum length of time before the soul itself would reject life, too twisted and broken to continue to exist. "This can last forever. This is what the C'Tan did to some of your Warriors." This was an immense if quiet suffering. A hand gently rested on his shoulder, to Manric's surprise and he looked back at Simokh, meeting eyes of green fire.
"You can only do what you can. Free him then, and help him with his pain," Simokh said and Manric could only bow his head at what felt like great wisdom. Taking the key to the stasis cube, Manric silently evaluated the clone's mental state for a moment. From what he was sensing, there would be no physical danger at all.
Manric released the clone from stasis and not entirely to his surprise, the Fulgrim clone fell to his knees with a clatter of metal on metal. His beautifully made, shining armor glittered as he bowed his head, his white hair falling forward and hiding his face.
"He betrayed me… father betrayed me… why… father, why…" Manric was puzzled for a moment. Was he speaking of the Emperor? But then he understood, the clone was referring to his more recent father, the one who had created him. Fabius Bile, the man who had sold him to Trazyn the Infinite. Manric had to admit that while Trazyn had callously sentenced the clone to insanity, it was Fabius who should have had a true obligation to the young man.
Manric stepped close to the clone and knelt beside him before taking his hands. Fulgrim let him, still locked in his grief and pain. Manric empathized with the feelings, soaking them in but trying to lessen them, take away some of the pain. Impart a feeling of warmth, companionship and ultimately, hope. It was a painful process as Manric took on the burden but he did it gladly. And eventually, it worked, lightening the darkness of Fulgrim's emotions enough that he lifted his head to look at who was helping him. That caused pure white brows to go down as confusion crossed his face.
"What are you?" The clone said after a moment, studying him dubiously. Manric knew why… because of the empathic connection he had forged, Fulgrim had instinctively identified him as human. But now he was actually looking at him and seeing a xenos. Did he even know the necrons? Quite likely not, to Manric he felt quite young.
"I am a pwi-necron. Once, I was human but I chose to take this body to protect my family and world," Manric said and held up a hand as Fulgrim was about to say something. "This planet had no contact with the Imperium of Man. Becoming an Astartes was never an option for me." Manric felt sure that had been the objection.
"So you chose to become a xenos?" That sounded accusing but Manric sensed that Fulgrim was mostly just very confused and a bit offended. Why offended? Because they had not come to the Imperium for aide? Ah, he had no idea.
"It is a long story. Would you like to go somewhere more comfortable so we can discuss it?" Manric asked. They were currently in the Tomb World and Fulgrim glanced around, taking in his surroundings with a small frown. He rose to his feet and Manric followed suit. "I can take you to my family estates and you can have tea."
"Tea… yes, I would like some tea." That idea seemed to settle the clone a bit. As they left the Tomb he looked around, very curious but also disturbed by what he was seeing. Manric wondered if it was just xenophobia or perhaps it reminded him too much of Solemnance and his imprisonment there.
Manric took him out of the Tomb and onto the surface of Hope, to the great transit hub of Hope's Landing. It was the work of a moment to hail a transport, the kind for necrons. It might not be entirely pleasant for Fulgrim, needing to stand in a moving transport, but human-style transports would not fit him at all. Fortunately, Manric and his family had anticipated this.
Decades ago at this point, one part of the family manor had been torn down and rebuilt. A new addition anyway, sacrificing it did not detract from the beauty of the older structure and when it was rebuilt, they had made it with necron sizing in mind. Manric could easily enter that part of the manor without ducking, was never in any danger of hitting his head and had some furniture even made to his specifications. The table he and Sehenna used to play their game was like that, meant to be used by two necrons standing. No human would have a use for such a thing.
Knowing that Fulgrim might need accommodations, if they decided to release him from stasis, they had engaged a professional carpenter for a rush job. Custom made woodwork was a great luxury but as Hope continued to expand, there was a market for it and the Duleth family could easily jump the queue. What had been made was fairly basic, not masterworks to last a generation, but solid and well made. There was a bed ready that would be suited to his height, chairs Fulgrim could sit in, and even a comfortable couch built with a ten foot tall frame in mind. Manric wondered a little why the Primarchs had to be so large… could they not have been made in a smaller frame? Bigger was not better… but then he dismissed the idea. From what he understood they had additional organs, perhaps the larger size was simply practical to allow such things to function. That would explain why the regular Astartes were forced to become so large.
As they travelled, Fulgrim was looking out the windows at the scenery of Hope's Landing. Manric felt pride in the city and how far they had come. The industrialization of Hope was well ahead of schedule and they had actually built pollution scrubbers to increase the air quality. There was still a decent amount of pollution, it couldn't be avoided, but no more than most Civilised worlds and Manric thought they would have it all cleaned up in the next fifty years.
"This is the city of Hope's Landing, our capital and the largest city we have," Manric volunteered, deciding to give him some flavor. "It has a population of almost ten million." Manric felt extremely proud of everyone for that. They had come so far, in such a short time! Although recently, they had also been making use of cloning to artificially increase the population. Manric was a bit iffy on that, but as a soldier it really wasn't his business. And it could not be denied that the need for more human life was great, at this stage.
"It's a beautiful city," Fulgrim said and Manric felt like he was being kind. That amused him, what was Fulgrim comparing it to? "You seem to be using xenos technology, however." Fulgrim sounded very reserved and Manric detected some disgust in him at the thought. Well, he wasn't going to hold back.
"Indeed. This planet is the Serf World of Hope, in service to the Uhnashret Dynasty who are themselves sworn to the Sautekh Dynasty," Manric said easily as Fulgrim looked at him. "This is a xenos world, in many ways." There was a brief silence as Fulgrim mulled it over.
"Forgive me, why would xenos bargain with other xenos to have me?" Fulgrim finally said, his tone even but Manric could sense a bit of danger. He was considering taking action. Manric hastened to reassure him.
"We are soon going to be going into negotiations with the Imperium of Man and your brother, Roboute Guilliman. We hope to trade you for some territorial concessions, as well as a few other things. And this meeting will be conducted in six months," Manric said, projecting his sincerity and felt the clone relax slightly.
"I see… although, meeting my brother like this, I wonder what he will think." That was quietly terrifying to him, Manric could feel. He nodded sympathetically while reflecting on the fact that to him, the clone felt terribly young. He knew from Trazyn's information that Fulgrim had all the memories of the original, up to the Heresy, but that was more a burden to bear than anything. It did not impart actual age.
Did the clone realize that?
Manric filed the thought away for later, suddenly worried about something. He was not wearing his gauntlet, it was on the weapon rack with his spear, but he would have to meditate on it later. It had little awareness compared to the spear, being only a soul fragment, but it could still gift him with insights.
"Forgive me, I meant to ask. I know you are a clone… do you prefer to be called Fulgrim, or do you have another name?" Manric suddenly asked and the clone tensed a tiny bit, that question rousing an intensely negative feeling although not at him.
"I prefer to be called Fulgrim and someday soon, I will make sure I am the only one to wear that name." …Oh dear. He really needed to meditate on the ruby and see what should be done about this. Manric thought he knew, but he would confirm it with Sanguinius.
Manric put all that aside as they arrived at the mansion, setting down on a private landing pad within the grounds. Fulgrim glanced around, taking in the natural beauty of the place and again, Manric felt that he was not terribly impressed. What WAS he comparing it to?
Fortunately, Fulgrim was rather impressed when he saw the wing of the house he would be staying in.
"Oh, thank you, I do appreciate the effort you've put into this," Fulgrim said sincerely when he saw the furniture and found he could stand without bumping his head. He had to duck a little to get through the doorframes, but only a little since they were already meant to let in a full Overlord.
"It is nothing. This is the wing where Sehenna and I stay," Manric said and Fulgrim glanced at him curiously. "Sehenna is also a necron and my close companion." Manric wasn't sure how else to describe their relationship and Sehenna found that description pleasing. "Let me get that tea." He could not brew it himself, Manric barely remembered how and there was no kitchen here. But he didn't need to, the servants always had some hot water available.
A short time later, one of the servants, a pretty young girl in the Duleth summer uniform came in with the tea. The summer uniform was a modest but comfortable top of lightweight material, and a matching skirt, with the emblem of the house embroidered upon the chest. Fulgrim looked at her with interest as she poured the tea and thanked her quietly, making her dimple. Manric watched the interplay with fascination, wondering… he knew the Astartes had no sexual desires, but was that true of their Primarchs? He was getting the feeling it wasn't. Still, that wasn't really his business and Manric stayed standing, locking his joints in the necron version of taking a seat.
"Let me tell you the story of Hope," Manric said easily before launching into the tale. He was not as good a storyteller as Revalt, but he was not bad either and the clone listened with interest, sipping his tea. He sometimes asked questions and they were intelligent and insightful. Manric could tell he understood perfectly well what a strain the constant drukhari raids had put on their society. It still did not particularly please him, when the necrons entered the story, but Fulgrim accepted it stoically and even had the grace to look down into his tea when Manric detailed Ahmakeph's rescue and the knowledge he had given them.
"I do not know how things are now, but I must admit that in the time of the Great Crusades he would have been correct," Fulgrim said quietly and Manric could sense a miasma of… not guilt, precisely, but uncertainty. Questioning if perhaps, just perhaps, they had been doing the wrong thing. Manric decided it was time, perhaps, for some understanding.
"The galaxy is a harsh place and the Time of Strife was harsh on humanity. We do not particularly judge the Imperium for that, although we wish it had been otherwise." It was so hard, when you understood what they had been through. Manric knew a bit of the history now and knew that Hope was far from the only human world to be used as a larder for the drukhari. Not to mention all the other xenos races who had seen the once mighty Terran Confederacy brought low, and gone to loot its' bones. Oh, those opportunists had been legion and they had not been shy about massacres of their own. Then humanity had repaid them a hundred-fold, the innocent with the guilty. Ah, there was no fairness in it and Manric could understand those who needed to look to God for comfort. "For myself, with my gifts, I can find value in most xenos." It was hard not to, when he could relate to them so easily.
"Most xenos? Can you even find value in orks?" Fulgrim meant it as a joke, to lighten the mood, and Manric buzzed a small laugh. But then he took it seriously.
"As individuals? Yes. And I can admire their attitude towards the world, their cheerful dedication to destruction and the simple pleasure they take in it. It is almost uplifting and as an empathic telepath, I must be careful fighting them… it is possible to lose myself in their WAAAAUGH!" Manric let his tone turn wry, as much as it could. "I would make a terrible ork." Fulgrim snorted into his tea. "Alas, orks as a whole are inimical to all other life and must be mercilessly destroyed. It is the way of things." It really didn't matter how much Manric might like the few he'd spoken to, the orks were simply unbearable in large groups. "Do you want my opinion of the other major xenos factions?" There weren't many, it wouldn't take too long.
"Actually, yes. This is fascinating," Fulgrim said and he did sound thoughtful. Manric paused for a moment before detailing his impressions.
"The aeldari, the eldar, are not a naturally evolved species. They carry that in everything they are and do… they follow different cycles from any species that must raise itself from the dirt." The eldar were truly unique in that and Manric knew they took pride in it. They had been created directly by their gods. "They are fundamentally not human, but I can relate to them as they are. Their emotions are, by and large, understandable… the way they look at the world, though, is fundamentally different. I am sorry, I know this is vague." Manric was working solely from his impressions as a telepath. "For a normal human, without my advantages, I would advise never to trust them. They will lie easily to those not of their kind. For myself, that is not an issue and makes matters much easier." It was nearly impossible to lie to someone like Manric and the aeldari knew it, so they did not try. Also, the Spear would have been quite annoyed if they did.
"That sounds like a harsh judgement. And you find worth in them despite that?" Fulgrim asked and Manric tilted his head to one side. Had that sounded harsh?
"They are worthy, despite their… eldarcentric view of the universe. Truly, is it any different from most of humanity?" Guilliman's humanocentric worldview was actually enlightened, for the Imperium, and quite close to how the eldar felt with just the species switched. Perhaps that was how he seemed to get along with them quite well. They would at least understand him. "Now, the Tau." Did Fulgrim even know about the Tau?
"They are a young and vibrant race. While with the eldar, I would caution humans not to trust them, the Tau need a good cautioning not to trust us," Manric said and Fulgrim lifted an eyebrow as he sipped his tea. Manric admired that he had the ability to do that, he'd tried to learn how to lift one eyebrow and failed, when he had a body. "They almost always bargain in good faith and appear to also be naturally evolved… their life patterns are even more alien than the eldar, in some ways, but they are worthy of respect." Manric paused for a moment. "However, I do not like or trust their Ethereal Caste. I believe there is something wrong there, although we have yet to fully investigate it." Nuhkes had yet to travel to the Tau empire, still exploring the little world they had settled the Tau on.
"Lastly, the necrons." Manric ran a hand over his chest cartouche. "They are, paradoxically, the race I would say is closest to humanity." Fulgrim looked at him like he was insane and Manric could not really blame him. It did sound absurd. "Before they took up these bodies of metal, they were a naturally evolved race, raised on very harsh conditions. Beset with war and religious fervor, they embarked on their own version of the Great Crusade. I am told they ruled the entire galaxy." Fulgrim did not wince at that description but he did look at his tea and Manric felt that malaise of 'perhaps we were wrong' from him again. "Once you master the art of spotting their emotional signs, it is relatively easy to understand their logic… they reason as humans do, in virtually all ways." There might be differences but if so, they were too subtle for Manric to pick up. "Of course, just as with humans, they range all the way from those who are trustworthy and true, all the way to those who are complete scum. For a human, it can be hard to tell the difference." You never entirely knew what you were dealing with, with the necrons.
"It is utterly bizarre that the race of eight-foot, metal killing machines is the one you single out as being closest to humanity," Fulgrim observed and Manric nodded. He did see the irony in that as well. "Well, I will think on it… for now, I should probably rest." And it was getting late, so that was convenient. "Ah… I hate to impose, but are you aware that without nutrient paste, we Primarchs eat quite a bit?"
"I actually didn't know that, but I will make sure to let the cooks know. Let me show you to your room," Manric said. Fulgrim wasn't asking for food, so he thought he could assume the Primarch had been confined after a meal.
When Fulgrim saw the furnishings of his room he was quite pleased with the bed, and even moreso with the clothing in the closet. Manric had used his memories of Guilliman to have it made and tried to make it a bit baggy, so it would fit even if his memories were a touch off. From how the clone reacted, Manric was sure he had many memories of dealing with regular human sized accommodations from the memories of the original Fulgrim.
Leaving Fulgrim to his rest, Manric went to find Sehenna. He was sure she had essentially been hiding from the Primarch and he made a mental note to introduce them tomorrow. For tonight, though, they could play their game.
Tomorrow, he would see what Fulgrim wanted to do with his time on Hope.