Finally away from the unforgiving sands of the Tal-Gedi desert, Roger and Helene return to Third Corps headquarters. With the rest of the Leopards being taken back into Eldari service, the serjeant finds himself with little to do. But this respite is short, for he will soon meet with his commander, and gets into a conversation he was not expecting...
"Is this really necessary? I was only gone, what, a few weeks? I doubt that anything serious would have changed since then."
Sitting in the medical room of the Cathedral, filled with the most advanced medical equipment in Third Corps, maybe Mekkar or even Haikk, Roger Wessyng sat on the exam chair in the middle, trying to ignore the needles and other equipment of the health trade.
"Standard procedure Serjeant. Don't get too worried, I promise you don't need any blood or lab work," Sister Isabel smiled as she finished a report on the well-being of her latest patient.
"Other than my shoulder wound, which was handled shortly after we evacuated the oasis, I suffered no injuries."
"I saw that. Quite a remarkable work of medical expertise. I take it you didn't use a medicae kit?"
"Yes."
The Hospitaller raised an eyebrow and looked into his eyes.
"Then what did you use?"
"Other methods. I would tell you what, but I'm not exactly sure."
"I… see. Well your vitals and physical strength are in good shape. Next is mental health…"
She pulled out another dataslate and cleared her throat.
"Any visions, whispers, or sightings of people who do not exist to your comrades?"
"No."
"Any thoughts of suicide or harming your comrades?"
"No."
"Sudden urges or interest in violence, plotting, death/disease, or excess of any variety?"
Rogers' eyebrow raised at this line of questioning. It was a new one for him.
"Oddly specific, but no."
"Excellent. Passed with flying colors."
"Am I clear to leave now?"
The Hospitallers smile melted away and she looked profoundly uncomfortable.
"Well, there is one last set of check ups, but neither of us will find it pleasant."
"Meaning?" Roger hesitated to ask.
"I think you know what. Let's just get it over with, drop them and just get through it. Don't be shy, there's little I haven't seen before."
"Is this standard?"
"Special request by Edmund."
Rogers' face twisted in outrage.
"Why, in the God-Emperor's glory, would my commander want to check on my privates?"
"He was curious if you had acted… out of turn."
"What?"
"He wants his people fit in all ways. But judging by your health assessment, I doubt you have anything to worry about. Just drop the trousers and we'll get it over with."
Shaking his head in frustration, but realizing he had no choice, Roger dropped his pants and closed his eyes or avoided Isabel's gaze.
"As I thought. No signs of infection or disease. I had to deal with a case of gonorrhea the other day. Nasty work."
"Tell me that wasn't the Prince."
Isabel laughed.
"One of the knights in the standard regiments. Was too embarrassed to see the medicae, so he pulled strings to see me. Thank the Emperor he did so, might have had to lose everything."
"Charming. Now can I pull my pants back up and-HOLY!"
His entire body cringed and he nearly shot up in shock.
"Was that painful?"
"N-n-no! Sister, w-with all due respect, your hands are freezing!"
"Apologies, I always forget that."
She pushed her swivel chair to the sink and ran her gloved hands under warm water before rolling back.
"Lets try this again."
"Better."
"Good. Turn your head and cough please."
Roger did so, his shock now turned to embarrassment.
"No signs of hernia. Excellent. Serjeant Wessyng, by the powers vested in me by the Medical Schola, I declare you fit for service."
"Thank you Sister. Can I ask something?"
Taking off the gloves and disposing of them, Isabel nodded.
"Why did His Highness add that last part on my check-up?"
She froze and bit her lip, trying to figure out an answer that wasn't as scandalous as what Prince Edmund had asked her to do.
"Do you want the truth?"
"Please."
She sighed and sat back in her chair, rubbing her forehead as she did so.
"Edmund was worried you may have caught something from… one of your troops."
Roger looked at her and then barked out a laugh.
"Oh please! Helene is hardly my type of woman. Besides, Cadians are infamous for maintaining hygiene at any level!"
Sister Isabel looked at him, not saying anything or moving. Then, like a lighting bolt from a clear sky, her statement made sense.
"Are you saying that Prince Edmund assumed I was involved in… that kind of relationship with the Eldar?"
Isabel looked at her desk and now tried to avoid his gaze.
"You have to be kidding."
"I wish I was Roger. His exact words were, "Maybe he can be a bit of a guinea pig for that kind of thing." I objected, not only as an invasion of your personal privacy, which I respect for all members of Prince Edmunds retinue, but also for the fact that he essentially accused you of unthinkably heretical acts."
"I don't know if I should feel insulted or honored that he believed I was in that sort of relation with Xenos."
"Personally, I don't even think the Eldar have STD's."
"I'd prefer not to find out. Am I free to go?"
Isabel nodded.
"As I said. Fit for service. Robert will be happy to hear that I'm sure."
"Aye. Thank you Sister."
Leaving the sterile, bright room and entering the damp cellar of the Cathedral was a miniature culture shock, a reminder that the new and old were always forced into one another's way, or co-existed in an uneasy relationship. Roger took a few steps into an alcove when he stopped and thought for a moment. Did she just call Lord D'Uxford by his first name? His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps headed his way.
"There you are! I was worried that Hospitaller had drained you of everything you had!"
"Helene. Actually, I am a paragon of health."
"Yeah, whatever gets you off at night. I thought I wouldn't like coming back here, but guess what? No. Fucking. Sand. None of it. Nowhere. So even being stuck in this basement is better than I remember."
"I'm glad you're enjoying our homecoming as much as I am. Did you have to get a check-up as well?"
The Cadian looked at him in confusion.
"What do you mean?"
"A check-up. You know, with one of the medicae or the Hospitallers."
"No, I just got put in a room, and was told to stay out of sight. At least they give us food. And it doesn't taste like the shit I was scarfing down in the 353rd."
"And you didn't try to go back and check on your regiment, right?"
"I don't think I could take more than a few steps without someone following me to make sure I follow the rules."
"Lord D'Uxford is many things, thorough is one of them. Speaking of which, did he talk to you at all?"
She shook her head.
"Damn. He hasn't said anything to me either. I wonder if something's wrong. I can't think we did anything to piss him off."
"Maybe it's not safe to be around us?"
"Possibly. Speaking of food, did you eat lunch yet?"
"Nah."
"Neither have I. Want to eat over in my room?"
She shrugged.
"Why not."
"I still owe you that talk from the other day," he said.
"Let's forget about what happened back there and never talk about it. Please."
"Fine by me. Come on."
XXXXXX
"...so then the lieutenant throws up, all over the guests of honor. The commissar, the guy before Lucan, was frothing at the mouth. Like foaming. I thought he was gonna have a stroke!"
Roger laughed and hit his hand on the little table the two were using for their lunch.
"That's awful. Thank the Emperor he didn't do so in an Anglerre regiment."
"Why not?"
"Doing something like that, even as an accident, would warrant a duel by sword, a joust, and thirty other methods of solving dishonor."
"Well, he was thrown in the brig for two months. Didn't get knocked down in rank because his dad was a colonel in one of the tank regiments. Fucking prick. Thankfully not our problem anymore. Got transferred to a Whiteshield regiment and sent back to Cadia."
"Whiteshield?"
"Fresh meat. New conscripts. Basically he was given a demotion in terms of honor and status. You'd think they'd want the best of the best training the new guys, but what the fuck do I know. I'm just a dumb Kasr-born bitch."
"Dumb peasant myself. Let's not think of things that are best left to our social betters, eh?"
"Hear hear," she said, raising a metal cup full of some nightmarish homebrew she had held onto, some sort of moonshine that Cadians made with ingredients best unknown.
"Cheers."
Clinking his small goblet to the metal cup, Roger tried to not tear up as the drink burned his throat and left an aftertaste that was best described as a mix of brake fluid and hairspray, with a touch of cinnamon. He had not refused Helene's kind offer to try it, and he immediately regretted it. He watched her in fascination as she chugged the infernal concoction down in one gulp, shivering in horror as she slammed the cup down.
"So what the hell are we waiting for?"
"Your guess is as good as mine. Alwyn told me she needed the Leopards more than we did, and told me to report to Edmund and await her return. Her return or the Leopards? Hell if I know."
"So we're at the mercy of a Xeno witch?"
Roger was about to say something intelligent and more open-minded in reference to the Farseer, but knowing his audience, merely nodded.
"Oh that's fan-fucking-tastic. So we take orders from her now?"
"We always did. Either Prince Edmund gives us orders, or she can. It's a part of the deal in commanding the Leopards."
"Bad deal."
"Beats being dead."
Helene raised her cup.
"Yep."
Roger was about to say something in defense of the Eldar-Human alliance on Haikk when a knock at the door stopped him.
"Who goes?" he said, trying to sound as indistinct as possible.
"A friend of the gold and black."
Helene looked over at Roger in confusion.
"It's one of D'Uxfords men. They only know to say that at my door to let me know it's someone we can trust."
Clearing his throat, he moved over to the door and opened the slot at eye-level.
"Aye friend?"
"Milord calls upon you."
"Where does he wish to meet?"
"Is the Cadian with you Roger?" a new, familiar voice added.
"She is my Lord."
"Good. Both of you come on out and follow me please."
XXXXXX
Passing through the gothic labyrinth of the Cathedral, the small band of noble and soldier moved like shadows along a path even Roger lost track of. D'Uxford was infamous for his ability to find hiding places, unseen ways of moving, and uncovering secrets that even the most tight-lipped and restrained man could be hiding. But worst of all, he was an atrocious choice for anyone interested in small talk.
"You heard I was relieved of command my Lord?"
The bobbing head in front of Roger, topped with close cut black hair, barely stirred, receiving only a disinterested "hmm".
"I suppose Farseer Alwyn gave you as little information for their return to my command as she did for me?"
"Yes."
The attempt at conversation died quickly thereafter, as much from D'Uxfords inability to do so as it was Roger realizing where they were going. They now stood in front of a massive set of doors, guarded by Anglois knights in powered armor, wearing surcoats decorated with the golden pard of Planjou.
They were at Edmunds private chambers.
"My Lord?" Robert asked nervously.
"He wanted a private audience with you two. Keeps the secrecy of your survival intact, and gives him the chance to not be bothered by other members of his court or command staff. I apologize for the lateness in bringing you both here, but he had a nasty interaction with Colonel Hass. Well, the fifth one this week actually, but still. Stay out here. I'll inform him of your arrival."
One of the doors opened and D'Uxford vanished inside. Roger suddenly felt out of sorts again. Even though he had met and spoke to him one on one before, he still felt nervous about encountering someone with as much power, even if it was for one planet, or high in rank as the Prince of Gasceaux. Even worse, he was meeting him with the most crass, foul-mouthed Cadian he had ever met.
"We're meeting His Majesty?" Helene said, obviously unimpressed.
"His Highness actually. His father is the Majestic one."
"Good to know. I've never seen him actually."
Roger turned to her in surprise.
"Never?"
"I've heard about him from Colonel Alera, she sees him all the time. He doesn't like visiting the artillery. Guess it hurts his ears."
"Well here's some tips. Avoid your gaze unless he gives permission. Don't speak unless spoken too. Don't ask questions unless he allows you. And for the God-Emperors sake-"
He turned to her and looked gravely serious.
"Never. EVER. Turn your back to him."
"Why not?"
"Turning your back on someone as high ranking as him is tantamount to treason. Men have been executed for improper deference before, I am not letting you get killed while I am responsible for you."
"Noted," the Cadian scoffed.
"Just follow my lead and we'll-"
The doors opened again and D'Uxford leaned out.
"Come in."
Roger took a deep breath and stepped inside, Helene right behind him.
XXXXXX
The Princes chambers had once been the home to the Bishop of Sayid, essentially everything that stretched from Al-Madin to the marches of West Mekkar. After his sudden fall from power and grace, the finely decorated and comfortable living quarters had housed a local drop-out from the one of the nearby monasteries, who called himself the new bishop. After the Bishop of Chelmster corrected this unapproved promotion with fire and Sororitas provided bolter shells, the newly re-sanctified room had been given to the one most deserving of a place to relax, the commander of the Third Corps himself. He had tried to get the Bishop to take it, but was politely refused as a matter of principle. Privately, Chelmster found the place so hideously decorated and furnished that His Grace would have preferred to stay in a pigsty than something so tacky.
Now spartan in its décor, its new occupant had taken most of the art and other artifacts down, replacing it with his few personal pieces and rather unroyal comforts. At least he kept the fireplace. And it was in front of that fireplace that Edmund, Prince of Gasceaux, Commander of Third Corps, son of Kind Edward XVII of Anglerre, sat with his feet resting on an ottoman a few feet away from the roaring flames. There was a heating system in the Cathedral, but Edmund preferred old-fashioned flair over modern simplicity in some things.
Roger, Helene, and D'Uxford approached him, D'Uxford coming to the Princes side, while the two low-born stood at a reasonable distance. With a few whispers into the Princes ear, a handsome face turned from the chair, which caused Roger to reflexively kneel and look down. Thankfully, Helene, with a second or two delay, did the same.
"Roger Wessyng!" came a booming, basslike roar, not a yell, but naturally loud.
"Your Highness," Roger said deferentially.
"Oh damn your eyes man, stand up and look me in the eyes! I want to see if you are still the same man we let run off into the desert all those weeks ago!"
Roger stood at attention, seeing the Prince's amber eyes, a remarkable color that was inherited from his noble ancestors who colonized Anglerre millennia ago. It was said that the moments of uncontrollable rage that plagued the Planjou dynasties many scions turned their eyes, formerly blue as crystal, to red as fire.
"Looks the same to me, doesn't he Duck? And Isabel says you're fit as a fiddle, eh serjeant!"
"I am, Your Highness."
"Yes. Yes. And who is this? Stand up, let me have a look at you!"
Helene stood and did the same as Roger.
"Well I'll be! Is this your side piece Roger? I have no objections if you're worried about answering me. I must admit-" Edmund walked towards her to get a better look at the Cadian woman.
"She is a bit tall for my taste, but I understand the short man syndrome of sometimes wanting what you don't have, ask my father. I have to look down on him whenever we're together. The King of Anglerre has to look up to his own sons and wife, God-Emperor bless him."
"God-Emperor protect him Your Highness."
Roger was facing Edmund now, and realized, much to his private horror, Helene was quite red in the face, and plainly flustered. Was it from the compliments, or the comments about being Roger's woman?
"She is not in any sort of relationship with me other than professional, Your Highness. She was given to me by your order."
Edmund stopped his rather focused inspection and turned to Roger.
"What?"
"You pulled her from imprisonment and near execution, much like me."
"I…did?"
The Prince looked to D'Uxford.
"Duck?"
"I informed you during the feast we held for Sir Roxcter. After his victorious joust with that one fellow from Al-Madin."
The Prince looked puzzled and then brightened.
"I was drunk, wasn't I?"
"Possibly."
"That's why. Well, good thing you got my permission and did so. Would be a terrible waste for a face as pretty as hers."
"It is impolitic to speak of underlings in such ways, Edmund."
"Right."
Breaking off his inspection, he moved back to the chair, motioning the two to come by the fire.
"Now, let me find this report Duck handed me about your exploits."
As the two moved in, Helene slid to Rogers side.
"That's Prince Edmund?" she whispered.
"Yes, he's a bit much, I know. He isn't-"
"He's fucking hot."
"What?"
"He can take me anytime. I'll let him look at me as long as he wants."
"He has a certain effect on women, I've noticed."
"I thought he was like most nobles, fat, inbred, hideous, ya know."
"Well the inbred part might be true, but-"
He nodded at the open chair furthest from the Prince, which Helene took, Roger taking one closer to him, but once again at a respectable distance. D'Uxford took the one next to His Highness. The man himself rifled through a small packet of parchment, reading over the reports of their exploits in the desert again.
"We knew about the convoy ambush, we had a Navy observer craft over you at the time. But now that we have confirmed the facts of the matter, I applaud you on the operation. You ruffled a whole flock of birds in Golgotha over that one. But I'm fairly sure you knew that already, judging by the reaction you got from the other night."
"Yes Your Highness."
"I see. Now during the evacuation you took a casualty?"
"Yes, one of the Avengers in our group. The black armored ones."
"I am surprised that after a continued bombardment, from a Baneblade no less, Leman Russ', and a full scale infantry assault that you only had one soldier wounded."
Roger shrugged involuntarily before realizing what he did and returned to showing complete deference.
"The Eldar are made of sterner stuff if you ask me."
The Prince nodded slowly and smiled again.
"And how is the Cadian helping you? Worth the rescue?"
"She has proven to be a most valuable asset to the Leopards intelligence and communications wise. I would prefer to keep her with us, if you are pleased with that."
"Of course I'm pleased! You went out into a God-Emperor desert and came out having busted the rebellions fucking kneecaps. You've kept our alliance with the forces of Ducaish here, and you've given us a unit that gives us a better strike capability than any other Imperial unit on this crusade!"
"So I can keep the Leopards? Alwyn permitting of course."
"Why goddamn not? And if you need anything, I thought about this while you were out there, Duck, the little box on my nightstand, if you'd be a dear friend."
D'Uxford nodded and picked up the object, handing it over to Edmund, who gratefully took it.
"A gift for you, Roger."
It was a finely crafted wooden box, almost in the shape of a small chest. Unsure what would be inside, Roger hesitated, but after receiving a grin from the Prince, opened it. Inside was a golden pendant and a piece of parchment.
"What is it, Your Highness?"
"Well-" he pointed to the golden piece first, "That would be a medal specially crafted in honor of your service to the Third Corps. Congratulations, if you somehow are allowed to be shown in public again, it will tell anyone here that you aren't a standard man at arms. More important is the parchment, if you'll read it."
Roger picked it up, and unrolled it. Behind him, Helene leaned over to see what it was, but quickly gave up trying to decipher it. But it took him only a sentence or two to elicit a gasp. He barely even noticed the massive seal, stamped on red and gold wax.
"This is-"
"A Royal Warrant," D'Uxford answered.
The Prince nodded.
"I thought you would like it. Couldn't put your name on it of course, but you're officially under my service and protection. You want any supplies? Show the cunt of a quartermaster that, you get it. Want to get through a picket or a guard post? Flash that seal of mine, you're in. I just handed you the keys to the castle Roger. It isn't something I give out like candy. Duck, His Grace, the Captal, and maybe a few others, now including you, and you're probably the lowest born bearer of it."
"I won't disappoint Your Highness."
The Prince laughed.
"I believe it. Well, I have important things to do tonight, but I wanted to personally welcome you back to our humble abode. And you Guardswoman, I would like to speak to you privately later today, if your schedule allows."
"Yes! Er-Your Highness," she blurted out.
Clapping his hands in amusement, the Prince bowed his head, motioning they were free to leave. D'Uxford opened the door and exited, waiting for the two outside. Helene, much to Rogers relief, exited without turning her back, returning the Princes smile. He silently prayed nothing uncouth would happen at the private meeting between the two. As he began to leave, the Prince waved his hand to beckon Roger closer.
"Yes, Your Highness?"
"Tell me, quickly, what are they like?"
"They?"
"The Eldar? Well, you've had more experience with Alwyn than me, so I would assume-"
"No, no, not like that. What's it like to fuck one of them?"
Rogers' respectful and pious demeanor vanished in an instant.
"What?"
Spluttering in shock and sudden anger, Roger finally blurted out an answer.
"I-I haven't!"
"Are you saying that despite the fact you've been stuck with a force of impossibly beautiful, physically fit, unbelievably wise warrior women, you haven't gone down on any of them?"
"Y-your Highness, even interacting with Xenos is considered heretical! What do you think having carnal relations with one would be seen as?"
"Do you know how many things are heretical?"
Roger slowly shook his head, still comprehending the fact that his highest ranking commander was more curious in knowing such unbelievable topics than his mission or operations.
"Eating meat on Fridays. Singing on sabbath days. Dancing tango counter-clockwise, but only on St. Tito's day on certain planets. Celebrating Ascension Day. NOT celebrating Ascension Day. I can go on."
"Your mother would find such questions-"
"My beloved and most pious mother is far away from here, and I am not indulging in the flesh of Xenos. I merely assumed that you were less strict about such things. I sincerely apologize for any mental anguish my query has brought you. You're dismissed."
Roger bowed, and facing the Prince, moved to the door.
"Roger?"
"Your Highness?"
"If it ever happens-" his face turned into a wicked grin, "Let me know what it's like."
"Certainly, Your Highness," Roger growled through clenched teeth.
XXXXXX
Bridling over this unwanted line of questioning as he went into one of the numerous alcoves to sit and try to relax, Roger tried, and failed, to read a book he had picked up while in Al-Madin. Something about a knight, or whatever the local culture considered them, noble and honorable, falls in love with a beautiful maiden, has to fight to earn her love, standard garbage you could find in the trillions, maybe quadrillions, in the cheap bookstores of the Imperium of Man. He didn't even remember picking it up. Maybe he got it from the dead agent that D'Uxford had sent him with, whose name he couldn't remember, and judging by the fact his commander barely questioned about his demise, wasn't alone in doing so.
"Throne this books goddamn terrible," he grunted before standing up and throwing the tripe into a garbage bin.
Walking through the deserted halls, Roger pondered what was taking so long for the Leopards to not be returned to him. It had only been a day or two, but it was the longest he had gone without being in command of them. Something serious must have happened. His thoughts were interrupted by a group of approaching men at arms.
"Serjeant," their leader respectfully replied, noticing his rank insignia.
"Keep up the watch."
"Aye serjeant."
Roger watched them pass and felt a bit of sadness past over him. He was like them once, a footslogging lower member of Anglerres contribution to the Imperial Guard. He remembered Davie and all his friends from his former command. He had been away from them only two months, and who knows where they all could be now? Maybe they were off burning, raping, and destroying as part of the Chevauchee. Maybe they were only a few miles away, resting, drinking and laughing in camp. Maybe they all had perished in combat, fallen to disease, or Emperor knows how many ways to die. There was no end to the amount of… ends, that one could find in the Guard. Finally reaching the door to his room, he stopped when he heard footsteps approaching him. He saw it was Helene, entering her room which was right next to his.
"Helene. How did the talk with Prince Edmund go?"
She looked back at him with more than a bit of frustration.
"All he wanted to do was talk about my time in the Guard, life on Cadia, what I thought of the Xenos, it was big fucking disappointment."
"How so?"
"I had a different idea of what a private talk with a Prince would be like."
Roger sighed and rubbed his eyes.
"I see."
Helene looked around for anyone else walking through the hall and lowered her uniform pants a little bit, showing a rather thin looking set of underwear.
"Got all dressed up for nothing."
"Why do you have lingerie on your person?"
She shrugged.
"Never know when you need it. Helped me more than once."
There was an uncomfortable silence. She then whistled and opened her door.
"If you want-"
"Not interested, thank you. I have things I need to take care of. Appreciate the offer though."
"Alright. Guess I'm doing it solo. Again."
Roger nodded and silently prayed that the walls between her quarters and his were thick before stepping inside.
XXXXXX
The room was dark, the dual moon's light entering through a small, glass stained window. It had been empty for a few hours, and he had left the lights off. Closing the door behind him, he rolled his head, hearing a crack as his neck finally relaxed after standing at attention or being suitably deferential since he was last inside. He took off the red and blue surcoat, freshly laundered, revealing a rather plain set of clothes. There was no real uniform for the Anglerre regiments aside from the surcoat, a rarity among the Guard regiments. But Anglerre was Anglerre, and liked doing it their way. Throwing it over a chair, he fumbled for the light switch, spinning the wheel like button so the room gradually brightened. Always a bit paranoid, or safe as he called it, he scanned the room. Then he saw it.
Spread out on his bed was the largest cat he had ever seen. It was massive, not in the way it was fat, but the sheer size of it was baffling. Three feet long from nose to tail, at least, but about a foot and a half from foot to ear. Its fur was a strange blend of orange and black, its ears having pointed, thin tufts on top. Roger stared at it for a minute or two, trying to figure out what it was, and how it got into his room. It raised its head, opened its eyes, and looked straight at him.
"Mrow," it announced.
"Hi there kitty," Roger said cautiously.
It continued watching him, but seemed to not feel any hostility. He slowly approached it, sticking his hand out. It stayed still, watching his outstretched hand. When his fingers were an inch away from its head, it nuzzled them and pulled back, closing its eyes again. He could swear it was purring.
"Where did you come from?" he wondered, sitting next to it before petting its head a few more times.
He stopped when a sudden chill went through the air.
"His name is Cadwyn," a familiar voice answered from a dark corner.
Turning to face the voice, Roger hummed in amusement.
"Farseer Alwyn. I take this cat's yours?"
"Gyrinx, actually. But you are correct. He is my familiar."
"Understood. Interesting name."
"It is in honor of a lover I once had. He reminds me of him."
"Always by your side?"
"Being rather insolent and lazy, actually."
Cadwyn raised his head and looked at her, seeming to understand the insult to his namesake.
"Aw, poor thing. Don't listen to the lady. She's just jealous she isn't as pretty as you."
She chuckled and approached.
"I apologize for the sudden visit, but I wanted to speak to you personally."
"All right," he said, continuing to pet Cadwyn to his pleasure, judging by what seemed to be a deep purr rumbling through his hand.
Sitting down in one of the chairs near the fireplace, she turned it to face him, resting a spear, a rather new addition, on the side of the armrest.
"I wish to keep this news simple, Roger. What you need to know right now, is there are many reasons we are on Haikk, and are supporting Prince Edmund. While you were in the desert, we found one of those reasons."
"I see. Is that all you'll tell me?"
"Of course," she said with a slight smile.
"What does that have to do with me?"
"I have need of a special group of warriors that can fight together effectively. And yours is the best I have."
"So you're taking them from me."
"For a short period of time."
"How long?"
The Farseer closed her eyes for a moment and opened them again, trying to equate the complex and antiquated way of determining dates and times from their Eldari form into the standard Imperial system.
"Two to three weeks. Subject to extension or premature cessation."
Roger stopped petting the animal and looked into her. His first thought was how long he would be without a command, and have very little use. It was going to be a long few weeks ahead. On the other hand, he found it remarkable how similar Anya looked like her mother.
"I understand that you will not be in use for a short while, but it is part of the agreement allowing you command. And I am flattered you think I look so similar to my daughter, given the massive gap between our ages."
Roger started.
"You can read minds?"
"A little bit. I am more adept at seeing the future. And it does not look too bleak in your case."
Roger shrugged.
"A deal's a deal. They're yours as long as you need them. Have you informed Lord D'Uxford or Prince Edmund?"
The Eldar shook her head.
"No. I preferred to speak to you first, seeing how you will be most affected by this news."
"I appreciate that."
With a smile, Alwyn stood from the chair, grabbed her spear, and outstretched her hand. Roger, a bit surprised at the gesture and took it. She lifted him up gently. He had to slightly strain his neck to look up to her.
"I had taken a large gamble in letting you command our warriors. You more than proven my decision a wise one. There are more than a few members of my Guardian Council very embarrassed about your success in fact. I take a rather… inappropriate pleasure in such. That, and I seem to have finally found an individual who can keep my daughter under control."
Roger blinked in confusion.
"What?"
"Cruniach could keep her out of trouble, but she was never one to take command from anyone higher than him. You have done so quite well. For that, and keeping her out of too much trouble, you have my thanks."
"I try."
Alwyn bowed her head in response before making a quick, slight move of her hand. Cadwyn stirred, stretched his back, and jumped off the bed, moving to her side.
"When you are needed, or your Leopards are able to return to you, I will let you know as soon as possible."
"Thank you Farseer."
She walked with a gentle grace away, before stopping and turning back to him.
"Anya says hello by the way."
"Tell her I said hello back. How is Morgyn?"
Alwyns face turned from polite to somewhat restrained.
"Her wounds will heal, but I fear it will be a good amount of time before she will see combat again."
"I see."
"Is there anything else you wish to say?"
"Tell Kallen to stay out of trouble."
Alwyn smiled again.
"I will inform him. But I somewhat doubt he will listen."
Now Roger smiled and bowed his head. And then, another chill, and once again, he was alone. The smile vanished and he blinked.
"How the hell did she and the cat get in here?"
