Editing /tg/ Heresy Writefaggotry (section)

===Gray and Gold===
“Brennus! I must admit I was surprised when you called me to your ship while the planet is yet won, but here, to this forge? This does not seem like one of your celebrations.”

Brennus shook his head. “It is no celebration, brother. A...matter has arisen which I must call to your attention, privately.” He gestured to a small table near the wall, away from the massive bellows and the clutter of tools that dominated the workshop.

Aubrey sat, still puzzled. “Have my men shown some defect, or given offense?”

“No, hardly,” Brennus chuckled, sitting himself opposite his brother and pouring a measure of pale wine for both of them. “Your men are exemplary. You do not shy away from battle, but nor do you rush in as did the Emerald Doom. And giving your squad leaders medical training is wise indeed; the men to be healed must trust their healer, and you have made them close to the warriors they will treat.”

“You would not have called me here like this to pay compliments that could be spoken before any ears.” Aubrey took a draft of wine, and shuddered slightly. “This is powerful drink, brother. Do you wish me drunk before you reveal your purpose?”

Brennus sighed, drained his flagon, and gestured to the corner. “No Aubrey. But it may ease the blow. Sergeant?”

As Aubrey turned, Brennus noticed the way his brother's jaw seemed to nearly unhinge itself. The unhelmed Space Marine sergeant stepped from the dark corner he had occupied, along with his squad mates and a small group of the Horned Gods. But the marines were not what was so stunning about this gathering; surrounded by the wall of ceramite that was the Thunder Kings were a handful of strange, reptilian beings, each bearing a cloak with the sigil of the Eternal Zealots. They were unarmed, but the guns carried by their escorts were clearly not of legion make, and the damage sustained made it clear that these were the erstwhile allies whose corrosive fire had so piqued the High King's curiosity.

Brennus had, however inadvertently, discovered the presence of the Tarellian Auxiliary.

“Are you MAD, brother?!” The goblet flew into the wall, shattering into a thousand pieces, as Aubrey expressed his displeasure with his sibling. “Could you not simply leave well enough alone? Who have you told of this?! How many in your legion know that we have been shadowed by the Tarellians during this campaign?! Answer me!”

“Aubrey, my friend, be at ease.” Brennus, his hands out in a placating gesture, approached his brother. “As of this moment, none know of the incident save for you, I, and those of my legion here.” He indicated each member of the assembled legionaries in turn, finishing the movement at Ferdiad. “These are all men I know I can trust; you should know well to trust Ferdiad, given the amount of time you two have worked together.” He flashed the lopsided smile that would baffle so many, and placed a friendly hand on Aubrey's shoulder. “And I assume your own men know of their presence. But this can be kept as close to my chest as it needs to, brother. I have no desire to spread your secrets. But...”

“But what, Brennus?” Aubrey turned from his brother and toward the others in the room; Ferdiad caught a look in the primarch's eye that could have been anything from relief to terror. “Unless you wish to chastise me as did our father, I can see no purpose to this...confrontation.”

There was a deafening silence as Brennus collected his thoughts. “Brother, I...I simply do not understand. You know our father's beliefs on this subject. You must know of the history of our galaxy, and the depredations we have suffered at the hands of fomor like these. What could be your reasoning for associating with them? Do you not fear betrayal?”

Aubrey finally cracked a smile. “Fomor, brother? I am afraid I do not know this word.”

“Ahh. My apologies. On Alessia, the word is used to refer to a race of daemons of ages past. Their leader was a great monster, whose eye cast death wherever it glanced.” Brennus returned to the table and fetched another goblet, bringing it to his brother. “The hero who slew him became the god the tribes believe sired me. I will tell you the tale in full, another time.”

“So I see.” Aubrey sipped at the wine, and sighed aloud. “Imagine, brother, that when our father had come to Alessia, he denounced the race who raised you, who taught you everything, who sheltered you. He had no praise for the world of your founding, only admonishments against the only beings you had ever known. Would you so easily cast the men of Alessia aside? Would you give them no leave to prove themselves, to show that not all 'fomor' are treacherous, or monsters?”

His brother drank silently. These were not questions to which he had the answers.

“Brennus, I can tell that you do not approve. Do you feel no sympathy for these beings, who are but men in another shape?”

“Brother...” Aubrey turned to face Brennus as he continued to speak. “I will not chastise you for this. It is not my place to criticize, or scold you; I am not as Alexandri, with a heart of ice and stone. If you wish, I shall say nothing of this outside these doors, and nor shall my men. But, brother, if you will not cast these xenos from your service, then do me this favor: be on your guard. I should not like to see any of my siblings betrayed. Least of all those I would count as friends.”
	
Aubrey smiled, and returned his brother's earlier gesture, his hand lightly placed on the other primarch's shoulder. “I shall heed your words, my friend. Now, if we are finished, I would quite like to return my auxiliary to the surface with none the wiser.”

“I have but one more item, Aubrey.” Brennus strode over to his workbench, and selected a finely tooled leather belt from the clutter; as he returned, the Surgeon could see that there were two scabbards, each occupied by a combat knife, scaled for a primarch. “I have forged you a pair of rune blades. I call them Liath and Óir, or Gray and Gold in Alessian.” He held out the belt to his brother, showing the ornate buckle depicting the two fighting side by side on Centia, in the first battle of their campaign. “It would do me much honor if you would wear the blades in battle. Perhaps if you lose a sword, one will serve as a backup.”

Aubrey readily buckled the belt about his waist, adjusting the scabbards to rest just behind the hilts of his swords. “A precious gift indeed, my brother; many thanks. I shall strive to use them in a way that brings honor to us both.” As he drew Óir from it's sheath, and flipped the blade into the air, he grinned wickedly at his brother. “And now, Brennus, I believe that you and I have a planet still to conquer.”

Brennus smiled his lopsided smile once again, as his dear friend caught the blade and returned it to the sheath. “Lead on, Surgeon,” he laughed, slapping Aubrey on the back. “Lead on.”