Chapter Text
They had been aboard the ship for two weeks when it exited what Selene had called the Webway. During those two weeks, they’d had little time to speak to one another, and while he’d seen her -- seen all of the crew of the Spirit of Uthlwe -- without their helmets, he never had the chance to ask the questions that burned in his mind.
Who are you?
What are Eldar?
How did you find me?
What happened to me?
Why are you the moon?
Of all of them, the last is the one that stuck out as bizarre, even in his own mind, but he couldn’t help it. The mysterious woman, whoever she was, made him think of a full moon, bright and silver in the sky, from his visions and dreams.
If it hadn’t been for the others, he would have been driven to distraction.
He had asked for all three gangs to be brought onto the Spirit with the best of intentions, but it had quickly become something of a severe inconvenience. Never friendly at the best of times, the Luna, the Silver, and the Shadow were forced to remain in close confines for the trip.
People nursed their injuries as they healed, and with them, their grudges. Sejanus had done his best to keep the Luna away from the others to protect them, while the Shadow had moved among the other two gangs, attempting to convince them or convert them to Targhost’s way of thinking.
Aximand, for his part, sulked.
“Hsst,” Eleanor said, sidling up to him. “Hsst, Horus.”
“You don’t need to keep doing that,” Horus said, and looked up. He was sitting in a corner of one of the rooms that had been opened to them. Their hosts avoided the rooms and, on the edges of his perception, he could hear them complaining about the smell. “You can just say hello.”
“Why would I do that?” she asked, and sat down in front of him. “We need to talk.” Eleanor’s appearance, to Horus, was always striking. Her hair was dark and long, pulled up into a tight black tail. She had explained once, long ago, that warriors from other cultures wore top-knots, and she had tried to style herself similarly. It was not in shining armour that she clad herself, instead wearing a dark, shapeless shirt with the sleeves ripped off, showing off her tattooed biceps, and a threadbare zip-up hooded sweater over top. Her trousers were loose and battered, and covered in pockets that either zipped or buckled.
The Eldar had taken her prybar, and she was still annoyed about it.
“Of course, what is it?” Horus said, and hesitated. “Is it Sejanus? Is he sick again?”
“No,” Eleanor replied. “But it is about him. He wants to know what we’re going to do about the other gangs. You invited them onto the ship.”
“I couldn’t…” Horus looked away, and then back. “I couldn’t leave them. Aximand’s an ass, and Targhost is… weird, but what was I supposed to do, leave them to starve? Cthonia Primus was falling apart. Someday, we’ll go back for the rest, but right now… it’s all of us, together.”
“That’s noble of you, and pretty much what I expect to hear, but it’s not practical, Horus,” Eleanor said. “You can’t expect people who used to hate each other to live together peacefully in this tin can. There are going to be fights. If they’re bad enough, someone might get killed. Then we’ll all be ejected into space.”
“They’re not going to eject us into space,” Horus said, though anxiety stabbed through him. “They can’t.”
“It’s why they put us all in the area of the ship they don’t care about,” Eleanor said gloomily. “It’s why they took my prybar.”
[We took your prybar because we didn’t wish for you to cause damage to the ship,] sounded Selene, and both of them started. The strange woman approached them, still clad in white wraithbone, though she had left her helmet elsewhere. [It will be returned to you when we exit the Webway and you are safely on a world that might sustain you.]
“Thank you,” Horus said sincerely. Abaddon rolled her eyes, but Horus and Selene both ignored it. The Farseer took his breath away every time he saw her, with her long, silver-white hair and blue-green eyes. She was pale, and the blue tattoos on her forehead and cheeks felt oddly out of place, as though imposed on her by a hostile force. “Eleanor was just telling me that Sejanus is worried that the gangs will come to blows if kept in close confines for much longer.”
[They will not,] Selene said, and gestured with one hand. [Before that happens, we will neutralize the threat. Out of respect to all of you, we do not use our psychic gifts except to communicate, but we will not hesitate to preserve harmony. The Warp-Singers must not be disturbed.]
“We are very grateful for that,” Horus said, and put his hand on Eleanor’s arm. “How do you intend to deal with it?”
[Imposed slumber is proper protocol,] Selene said. [They would not be harmed. They would simply sleep until we reached our destination.]
“What is our destination?” Horus asked, realization dawning on him that they could speak now as he’d wished to for two weeks. “You’ve said little--”
[You will see when we get there,] Selene said. [I must go, there is work to be done. I urge you to encourage your comrades to cooperate and resolve your differences.]
“Well I encourage you to--” Eleanor snarled, and lunged up. Selene didn’t move, nor did she look away from Horus, but simply crooked the first finger of her right hand. Abruptly, Eleanor fell bonelessly, and rolled slighty. Horus knelt at her side, only to hear the first, loud sounds of her snoring.
[I did warn you,] Selene said, and her expression became shuttered, closed. [She will wake in time.]
“I’m sorry, Eleanor tends to be short-tempered,” Horus said. He removed his overshirt and draped it around her shoulders, baring muscular arms and a long, broad back covered only by thin cloth. “She meant you no--” He glanced up, and found himself alone with his sleeping friend. “--harm.” He sighed, and moved to sit back, resting his head against the wall. Well, so much for that.
~ * ~
[Cousin, why do you persist in spending time around those mon-keigh?] Yvain asked as Selene returned to the bridge of the Spirit. He was the sort of person who walked around with a perpetual sneer on his face, and despite the lightness of his tread, he left a heavy mark wherever he went. [We should simply deposit them on one of their filthy worlds and be done with it.]
[If you recall, I am one of those mon-keigh,] Selene replied, her tone deceptively mild. [And wouldn’t it be a shame if we were forced to duel, and risk disturbing the harmony of this vessel when throwing you into the Webway would be so much more efficient?]
Yvain laughed, though a muscle in his cheek twitched. [Such violence, they are a bad influence on you.]
[Enough,] commanded Ghislaine. [Yvain, you may ignore it at your own peril, but one among them is not as the other mon-keigh are. He is special, as is Selene. They are both different from other mon-keigh, just as we are from them. Do not ignore facts simply so you can feel superior about yourself.]
[Apologies, Archon,] Yvain said stiffly, and bowed. [I will be mindful in the future.]
[Good.] The Archon shifted her gaze to Selene, boring into her with great emerald eyes. [And you are easily provoked. What troubles you?]
Selene considered, taking a moment to wet her mouth. [They are… very primitive, Archon,] she began. [But intriguing. I would have liked to speak to them more.]
[You know that we can speak of nothing to them that is private,] Ghislaine admonished. [Not without authorization from your father. We agreed to bring all of these mon-keigh out of respect to you, but not to reveal the Craftworld’s secrets. It is for the best to keep to yourself for now.]
Is it truly? Selene wondered, but bowed as Yvain had. [Then I will take my leave of you to meditate on these matters.]
The Archon made a dismissive gesture, and Selene turned, wending her way through the Spirit’s corridors until she reached her own room.
Like much of Eldar aesthetic, it was simple and yet elegant, constructed of long, elegant lines that combined the organic feel of Maiden worlds with the realities of living on a space-faring vessel. Much of the room was white, trimmed in the darkest green before black and accented with dark greys. Slowly, Selene removed the pieces of her armour, finding them yielding outside of combat. Once each piece had been placed onto an arming stand, she slipped out of her bodyglove and dressed more comfortably in long, flowing white robes. She toyed with her hair, staring into her mirror as her fingers moved automatically.
I have never felt so much like an outsider in all my years.
It was strange to feel envious of the Cthonian gangers; they were desperately poor, and one meal away from starvation by Selene’s reckoning. She had forced herself to be absent from their meals, lest they sense the pity and anxiousness that rolled from her psyche in waves. Even their leaders had hollow cheeks and dark eyes that had seen too much for their limited years.
Only Horus seemed healthy, and he was starved in other ways.
Where is his gift? Where is our psychic power? she wondered, and not for the first time. Why does he not speak mind-to-mind with me? I know that he is different, I know that he has strength. So where is it? What is it?
She finished braiding her hair and tied it off, then sat on her bed, scooting until her back was pressed against the wall, and she could let her head fall back a little while she toyed with her braid. She had felt something from Horus when they’d first met, when he had stood up for the other mon-keigh -- humans -- that had been with him. There had been a flare of strength, of purpose temporarily fulfilled. She had felt it in the skeins of fate itself, which is why she had agreed to Horus’ request to bring them to the ship to begin with, despite knowing her father would not care for them.
So where is that purpose now? Where is it hiding? Was it anchored to Cthonia? Did we forget someone in our haste to be gone from such a filthy, ruined place?
If Selene were honest with herself, if she put aside childish visions of a solar warrior clad in green and gold, of a hand offered to her to lift her gently from the kindly, but primitive origins she’d had before her family -- her true family -- had found her on Arcadium, she would have seen it again the moment she had put Eleanor Abaddon to sleep.
He… he cares for that uncouth girl. He protects, defends. He cares for those others too. The smallest ones and the oldest one, the violent and the hollow-eyed. Those he does not call friend, but instead enemy, he was unwilling to leave behind. His gift is tied to the people he cares for, and you, Moon Child, are not one of them.
Selene let a hand drift under her robes, resting her fingertips lightly against her skin. Horus was handsome, larger and more solid than the Eldar she had grown up with. He had muscle, despite the perilousness of his upbringing, and there was an attraction there, raw and primal as the humans themselves. It left her wondering what he thought of her, if he believed her too pale and strange to bother with.
We two may be the only beings of our kind in all the galaxy, but I do not believe so, Selene thought, and began to stroke, just gently. It would be unfair to impose my ideas on another for any reason, and the chances of mutuality are… insignificant at best.
She closed her eyes and sighed, her fingers creeping upwards, attempting to push away the idea of a moon pursuing a sun through the sky, reaching for it and never quite managing.
There will be time enough for pining later, she thought to herself, and slid her hand upward. For now, we must simply get through this journey and speak to Father on the Craftworld. Once we know more of them, there will be time to talk.
As her fingers wandered, she sucked in a breath, and imagined the hand reaching out for her once more. This time, she embraced it, and let her mind drift towards happier thoughts.
End
