Ithradine
itarichanAn Angel's Lament
Sekhmetara's State RoomNikaea
The private chamber Sekhmetara had claimed for the purposes of the Council was chosen for its facing, receiving the greatest amount of natural light from the warm Sun of Nikaea’s sky. Large windows looked out over the terraformed world, taking in the great work of the Mechanicum in terraforming the world in preparation for the council itself. While it was no permanent abode, the trappings of the Primach’s stay were already clear. In place of the desk that some may favour, the chamber was dominated by a low table surrounded by seating for both the Primarch herself and any guests or important staff she wished to confer with. Each wall had been decorated with a banner associated with the Primarch, the Tears of Dawn themselves, but also of Mithra and House Khafre, the former holding pride of place in its positioning over the sun-facing windows.
"Out."
For Sekhmetara to be so bluntly direct with those serving her was unusual, but not so alien that her words were not immediately heeded, the spattering of administrative staff, diplomatic aids, and remembrancers who had only just finished setting up their stations within the room rising to leave the moment it became apparent the Primarch of the Tears of Dawn was quite serious. The only one who delayed, the Primarch's own sister by adoption, still rose immediately to her feet, her eyes wide as she regarded Sekhmetara.
"Is...is it true, did Lord Sarghaul really-" The look Sekhmetara's eyes gave her sister only deepened the look of shock, compounded by the vision of Daena following Sekhmetara a short way behind.
"My lady Daena, I am so sorry to hear, I do hope you know that across all the stars you are as admired as any of the sons and daughters of our noble Emperor." Isabis curtsied low before the winged Primarch, bowing her head as she did so. The display of deference from her Mithran sister softened Sekhmetara's expression somewhat, but still, the darker-skinned Primarch waved Isabis away.
"Kind words, Beloved-of-my-heart, but we must confer on the matter in private. Do not stray far, I will have need of you and your order soon."
"Of course, sister-most-loved." Isabis made the sign of the Aquila to them both, although the fingers of her hands splayed ever more slightly than was traditional of the motion before she swept out of the room. The Mithran noblewoman had almost as much dramatic poise as her Primarch sister, and the shimmering gold of her gown flourished around her as she did so.
Only when they were alone did Sekhmetara finally turn to Daena herself, sweeping her into an embrace, her arms holding her sister in such a way as to not tangle with her wings.
"Lies and falsehoods, of the worst kind." She breathed to her in a whisper, her touch gentle and affectionate, yet her tone quivering with second-hand rage for her sister.
Daena strode to the room with her daughters at her side, the robed women she had entered the Council chamber swiftly joined by armored Praetors as soon as they were out of sight of the horde of Remembrancers. Where their Primarch wore the perfectly still face that was her calling card, the Doomsayers had murder in their eyes, the Astartes encircling their gene-mother as they walked. Approaching their destination, her escort formed a none too subtle cordon about the entrance, those unarmored swiftly departing to correct that state of affairs.
Alone with Sekhmetara and her adopted sister, the Angel spoke for the first time since their gene-brother had defamed her. “My thanks, Isabis. You have always been most kind,” Daena said in a monotone, the woman permitting no emotion to taint her mind. Not yet. And then Isabis was gone, and they were truly alone with only the soft comfort of Sekhmetara’s touch. One by one she loosened the restraints upon her own mind, the divinity permitting herself to become human.
“Why?” she whispered, angelic frame collapsing against the far taller Primarch. The life drained out of her as the need for the act was finally removed, Daena’s irisless eyes staring up Sekhmetara’s with as much confusion as anything else, the woman still reeling at the fact that such had been said at all.
“Some of our brothers are weapons, nothing more. They were built to hurt, and nothing in their lives has taught them anything else.” Sekhmetara spoke gently to her sister, one hand reaching up to hold the back of her head, the barest stroking motion across her platinum hair. “But what we can understand, we do not have to excuse.” She spoke with greater fierceness, holding Daena for a few moments longer, before breaking away, moving to sit upon one of the present recliners, pouring a steaming Mithran tea into two cups, placing one towards Daena. “Wine can wait for now.” She spoke almost with regret, before leaning back and taking a sip of her drink.
“If it means much to you, it is likely such an outburst has hurt their cause more than it could ever hurt you. I do not have the enthusiasm for the Edict that you or dear Micholi possess, but I will not support the arguments against you for as long as they stand by those words.” Sekhmetara mused aloud. Through her two favoured sisters she effectively played both sides of the debate, but allowing either of them to suffer personal attacks threatened that careful balance, even to ignore the true emotion she now held for her winged sister. She would not have it said that Sekhmetara of House Khafre did not stand in protection of her family, even from itself.
“When you next walk out of this chamber you will do so with as much pride in yourself as any scion of our Father, which, firstly, we must get you out of these...robes.” Sekhmetara eyed her sister with something approaching disdain, although it was clearly directed to the grey material rather than her person. “You and our brother might play at being Administrators, but we are not. We are the Champions of the Emperor’s vision, and we should certainly look the part.” The Mithran primarch sipped her tea as she finished speaking, her eyes still watching Daena over the rim.
The Emperor’s Angel resembled more of a doll in those moments, Daena permitting her sister to move her to a seat as her mind grappled with the sheer surrealness of what had transpired. “We were made to be the height of mankind, not merely in might, but in nobility as well,” she murmured as she picked up her cup. “At least, so I was told,” she finished in an even quieter voice before taking a slow sip.
Sekhmetara’s latter comments seemed to take her off guard, the woman nearly spilling her tea as she realized just what her sister meant. “It seemed… fitting,” she said, defensively, though an analytical portion of her mind could not help but be grateful for the distraction. “This is no council of war, my armor would be out of place,” she said, only sounding half convinced herself as both knew what she wasn’t saying.
Through a combination of her sister’s silent gaze, and her own racing mind, the truth eventually came out. “I did not wish to draw attention to myself,” she admitted. “With that plan ruined however... Well, you’ve already seen most of the wardrobe I’m willing to wear in our Father’s halls. I do not think Irkallan fashion will have the effect you seem to desire for me,” Daena went on, anxiety flowing away as she let her thoughts wander. “What do you suggest?”
"That is how we were made, sister, but the circumstances of our upbringing were taken out of the hands of our father. It is not what we have all been raised for." Sekhmetara spoke with an almost mournful tone as she addressed her sister's recollection of the purpose of their creation, interposed the conversation with a sip of her own drink, before her eyes leveled at Daena once more.
"You are a daughter of the Emperor, sister. Even among other scions of his blood, you will draw attention wherever you go. Better to look the part while doing so than disappointing." The porcelain cup of her drink was set down before she continued, her palms settling in her lap across the shimmering feathers of her skirts. "I have heard much about the fashions of your homeworld, and while I find the matter fascinating and you will have to provide me a comprehensive study of them, for now, a skilled tailor of wider Imperial culture will do. Any will leap at the chance to dress one of the Emperor’s children for this event." Sekhmetara spoke with the surety of someone who had just experienced this reality. "We are champions in peace as much as we are in war, the galaxy will see that you bring far more to our conclave than a brute dragged out of the ocean in a lobster trap."
Nelchitl, with dried blood and bruises blooming over her face and fists and her body glove torn in several places, rounded the corner into the main hall that led to Sekhmetara’s chambers. Unsurprisingly, she found herself coming face to face with a formidable blockade of Doomsayer Praetors just before the doors. Her face was set in a grim scowl as she walked to them, waving a single hand for them to shift their wall out of the Primarchs' way. Her scowl only grew as she found that the wall of Praetors remained stalwart in their position. “Make way Nieces.” Nelchitl spoke bitterly as she kept her stride for the door.
Inside the chamber Daena let out a peal of laughter at her sister’s comment on Irkallan fashion, the stoic face she had worn finally melting fully away. Taking a far more confident drink, she slowly turned her head from side to side, reflecting upon Sekhmetara’s words - and the grim task which they were about to embark upon. “You know,” she said, fingers tapping against the side of her cup with a mischievous smile, “It was one of father’s tailors who was the last to see me garbed in such a hideous heathen manner,” she confided, pitching her voice down in imitation of the man.
“He made my dress. The one I wore that night above Praxia, with you and Nelchitl.” The thought of her sister caused her smile to fall, the demigoddess sighing as her gaze flickered down to her tea. “Yes, perhaps more outfits are in order.”
Without, Daena’s bodyguards remained resolute in refusing entry to that same sister as they silently stared her down. But the rage in their eyes was clearly torn, each woman there having fought and bled and killed alongside Nelchitl on 20-63. Among their number included those in whom their mother’s gene-gift had given them her very face, and the confused anger, the sense of betrayal, was strongest upon them.
Before emotion caused any to speak in haste to the Primarch, the sound of power-armored feet rang throughout the marble halls as the robed Astartes returned, now garbed for war. At their head was the Praetor Primus, Asha, the Irkallan looking at Nelchitl cooly. Trailing behind were a pair of short, silent retainers, children perhaps, garbed from head to toe in all-encompassing robes and each clutching a spear far taller than themselves. The gleaming truesilver lengths could be none other than Asha and Daena’s own arms, weapons designed to overawe as much as kill.
“For what purpose would Lady Nelchitl speak with our beloved mother and her most loyal sister?” Asha asked in a measured voice, speaking with formality well and beyond what they had become accustomed to in the fires of war. But this was a different sort of battleground, and it was clear the Doomsayers doubted that the Serpents of the Sun were among their allies upon it.
Nelchitl came to a halt as the strange reality of what was taking place finally dawned on her mind. Astartes were denying her order. She was about to speak again when the power-armored form of the Praetor Primus of the Doomsayers arrived. Nelchitl felt it best she not dress down the legionaries of another Primarch in public and was silently relieved to have Asha arrive to command her Praetors to part. Only she didn’t.
Nelchitl, blood still boiling from her bout with Micholi, turned to Asha, “You dare to imply I stand against your Scion?” she asked incredulously, heat growing in her as she continued, “Part now, or learn how little your armor and weapons mean Asha.” she stated with embers burning in her eyes. It was true she had been in agreement with Sarghaul over the Edict, but for any to assume that meant she agreed with what he had said of her dear sister was nothing short of seditious.
Asha io Qaphsiel quickly took Nelchitl’s measure, the young Astartes maintaining her gaze. “It is our duty to protect our mother from all harm. We have failed once already today,” she replied, unable to keep the bitter disappointment and smoldering resentment she felt out of her voice. “Already there are whispers, rumors. Only Sekhmetara gave her comfort leaving the hall,” she continued, her voice trailing off and her gaze finally faltering at her last words. “She is wounded far deeper than she will admit,” the Praetor admitted in a quieter voice, even as she gestured at her subordinates to finally make way for the Primarch.
Angry as she was that she had even been considered in league with Sarghaul over his words, Nelchitl’s anger melted away as her niece laid bare her thoughts before her. Reaching out, Nelchitl placed a bloodied hand on Asha’s pauldron as she gave her a small smile, “My heart aches that I was not able to be with your Scion immediately Praetor. I had another matter to attend to, but I knew your Aunt would be more than enough until I was once more free.” she spoke only loud enough for Asha to hear.
The Emerald Priestess’ smile grew wider, more sincere as she lifted her head to regard each of her sister’s chosen elite. Her voice became audible to all around her even though it remained in hushed and intimate tones, “The Emperor’s blessing is upon your mother. Of this I do not doubt. She is wise and gifted beyond all of the Emperor’s children.” she hesitated a moment before continuing, “And she is strong. Far stronger than even I. These gifts she has been given by Him for a purpose beyond understanding are proof of it. Your Scion will return far stronger than any could have imagined after the Tartarean’s shame today.” she smiled upon her nieces, a single hand gently tracing Asha’s cheek as she spoke even softer than before to all of the Doomsayers before her.
“You have failed no one today Praetors, so lift your heads, find strength in the purpose that He has given us all.” the Emerald Priestess comforted them as she lifted Asha’s gaze to meet her own, her seemingly gentle grip locking Asha’s face between her thumb and forefinger, “Never will I allow you to be so defeated in my presence again. Make it so Praetor Primus Qaphsiel.” she finished privately between herself and Asha.
The confusion and shame that had marred the faces of Daena’s bodyguards were erased in an instant, the women straightening with both newfound pride and relief that Nelchitl was as fast an ally on Nikaea as Praxia. All of them, at least, save for Asha. With the last whispered words from the Primarch ringing in her ears, the Praetor Primus responded with a curt nod to what was unsaid in Nelchitl’s words. Turning to regard her soldiers, she spoke with renewed vigor in her voice. “Lady Nelchitl speaks true. No Tartarean Lord is our judge, and we shall not glorify him by holding any weight in his condemnations. Who is the final judgment?” the Irkallan Marine finished, bellowing the challenge to the Legion’s old Terran cry.
“We are the final judgment!” rang throughout the hall, Daena’s daughters flush with pride as their furor was focused by their commander.
“Our mother would be gladdened to see you,” Asha said, turning once more to face Nelchitl.
As the matter outside the meeting room reached its crescendo, one of the armoured forms of Sekhmetara’s guards approached the primarchs within. While still gene enhanced and taller than a standard human, they entirely lacked the out-of-proportion build of the Astartes, their armour a hazel brown accented by the flowing orange of Mithra. The being, still helmed, bowed their head respectfully to both Sekhmetara and Daena, before speaking.
“Ezulkiyo, Lady Nelchitl seeks entry.” Addressed to Sekmetara, the unfamiliar title held little mystery as Sekhmetara nodded and smiled in turn.
“Of course, she is always welcome.” The Mithran primarch turned her features to regard Daena before the armoured figure had even moved, swiftly striding to inform the other daughter of the Emperor of her permission to enter, not that she had ever required such.
“We are greater than our differences, that is the true strength we have over the rest.” Sekmetara’s words were kind but forceful, seeking to ground Daena in the same thought.
Nelchitl released the Praetor from her grasp with a smile as the woman took to the business of fixing their damaged pride. Without a word she stood before the assembled Doomsayers as they found the sun’s fire in their hearts, as they embraced the strength that had always been there. “I am proud to call you my Niece.” she said softly to Asha. With a turn, Nelchitl left the Praetor Primus’ side and met the approaching Mithran guard.
Nelchitl nodded to the guard as he approached, “Emehlweni elanga, Qhawe” she greeted in practically perfect Mithran as she strode past the bowed form of the genehanced guard and through the doors from which he had exited the room.
She took in the sight of her two sisters, one sanguine and resplendent where she stood, the other drab and timid. She felt a pang of regret that she hadn’t spoken up after Sarghaul’s words, but she pressed the emotion away as she quickly crossed to Daena. Hands raised toward her sister and smiling, Nelchitl took her into an embrace.
“Of all the things I had thought could cause divide…” she started before pulling her sister into a near crushing embrace, “the Tartarean was never an option. I do not stand with his words, this I pray you realize Sister.” Nelchitl released Daena from her embrace, taking her firmly by the shoulders and keeping her at a comfortable distance, “I brought such hurt upon you, and for that I am sorry.” she finished, her tone sincere.
Daena gave Sekhmetara a nod as she took in her words, the Primarch making ready to greet their youngest sister. Yet even still, she was unprepared for the sudden crush as Nelchitl held her close, standing still in shock for a moment before returning the hug. Confusion was writ upon her face as they released one another until realization dawned upon her. “No, it is I who must apologize. My daughters distrusted you, did they not? Forgive them sister, and me. They are overly protective of me,” she said, but the Emerald Priestess had known the Angel long enough to be able to recognize when her sister was hiding her emotions behind her all too perfect visage. And then the moment passed as she looked her sister’s wounds over and then let out a deep sigh.
“Please tell me Micholi is still alive.”
Nelchitl’s smile grew wider as Daena asked of Micholi, “He sees half as well as before I started with him. But he still draws breath.” she proclaimed boastfully before her smile once more withdrew from her features, “But it is not me that I am here for, or our dear Brother Micholi. You hold back Daena, speak true.” she pleaded far softer than her earlier boasting.
The damage, physical or otherwise, that Nelchitl had done would have to wait - Daena somehow doubted her impetuous sister was in the mood to reflect on it at the moment regardless. Even the restrained woman would find it difficult under the best of circumstances to ignore such a plea, and these were far from the best. “Perhaps my daughters are more attuned to my moods than I would like to think,” she slowly admitted, sitting herself down beside her tea and gesturing for Nelchitl to join her.
“It is not the insult itself that stings,” she explained, gaze flicking from Nelchitl to Sekhmetara. “It is the who and the where and the why. We are be- we are meant to be better than this. But we clearly aren’t. And that fills me with the same fear I felt all those months ago, on the Ultis-Solis. Something is… wrong. Rotten.”
Sekhmetara allowed her sisters to discuss matters without interruption, watching the pair with no input of her own other than a few notes of laughter at Nelchitl’s humour over her recent brawl. Daena’s final words, however, drew her attention and could not be left to hang in the air, Sekmetara leaning forwards as she made to speak.
“Some of us, perhaps, dear sister, but we do not all do….strange things, to our own gene-children, nor attack our siblings when we should be trying to unify our father’s domain.” While her tone was still calm and considerate of Daena’s emotional state, there was something of an edge to her words now, as if something foul had occurred near to her that she couldn’t reference directly. “The matter will be addressed, and our father will, we hope, finally deal with his errant son properly.”
Nelchitl followed her sister to the cushions and listened as she spoke. Concern adding itself to her eyes as Daena spoke of her own misgivings.
“We bicker and we disagree. We fight with each other, we take eyes and call the others vile names and traitorous oafs.” Nelchitl paused as she realized just how much of what had happened was likely her fault, “But we are siblings, kith and kin. We will correct our paths as He demands it.”
She sighed and continued, “Daena we have gone over this once and I’ll do it again if I must. Your visions are nothing more than possibility, and I intend to cast these possibilities aside.” she stated seriously, “The Tartarean is an… abnormality… a necessary part of our Father’s plan. He is but a single pawn as you or I.” she shrugged and turned to Sekhmetara, “When the time is right, if our Father deems it so, I will correct his existence.” she finished easily, the idea of killing one of her siblings on the Emperor’s word came so naturally, it didn’t even give the Emerald Priestess a moment of hesitation.
Daena’s face warred with itself as she struggled to find the words for her fears without offending their youngest sister, the Primarch steadying her nerves by taking another sip of tea. “We, all of us, have already deviated from his plan. Swept away across the galaxy as mere babes, stolen from our cribs. Our Father’s plan has been broken for centuries now, and I wonder if it is beyond even his ability to repair. And do not think that this is due to my visions, sisters. I have seen the houses he made for us upon Terra, the homes in which we were to grow. Nothing has gone as intended.”
“Perhaps some of us are worse, but I believe others of us are greater for it,” Sekhmetara responded, sipping her tea with the sudden desire that she had selected wine from the outset. “It may well be a task too great for any one person to rectify, but our father is not alone, those of us who have risen higher than we could have done so in his shadow on Terra must now rise greater still, lifting our siblings with us where we can, and excising the rot when we cannot.” Much in a similar tone to Nelchitl, if perhaps lacking the overtly violent tone, Sekhmetara spoke her words with unquestioned belief and no hesitation, a slight sense of heat rising from her eyes as her innate gifts began to let themselves be known. “Do not fear, sister, all is not lost, the mountain is steepest before the summit, but we will forge the future together.”
Nelchitl sat and listened as Daena spoke. Some deep part of her ached at the missed chance to step upon Terra and wanted to agree with her sister that, perhaps, they had been too far scattered for Him to correct. But the rest of her wouldn’t have it. A fire built in her belly as she listened to the dejected conjecture of the Emperor’s Angel, the intervention of Sekhmetara the only thing keeping the Emerald Priestess from causing a second tragedy in the presence of the Angel.
“He knows what must be done. He has gathered us all, taught us the ways of war, armed us with knowledge of all there is. That we were once set wrong, we are now corrected. And if there are any that require further correction, He is aware of it no doubt.” The Emerald Priestess leaned forward and took Daena’s hands in her own, “Have faith in His plan sister.” she urged, the conviction in her words mirrored by the hope in her dark eyes.
Daena had seemed comforted, if not entirely convinced, by Sekhmetara’s voice, settling down to drink her tea with an expression which if it was not happy was at least not distraught. And then Nelchitl spoke, realization dawning upon the Primarch as she gazed upon the warrior. Her doubts seemed to vanish at a stroke, her pale empty eyes meeting the Serpent’s own. “Twenty of us were made, each with their own purpose,” she said, echoing the words that the strange mortal she had ushered into the Council chambers had uttered. “You are correct, of course, the both of you, forgive me for ever losing hope,” the Angel said even as she placed her cup down and clasped the Emerald Priestess’ hands in her own. “But what I would have given for you to have been found all the sooner,” she whispered, equal parts prayer, lament, and curse.
