Chapter Text
As the Kampe Chapter fulfilled its duties, many of their vassals prospered to the point where many even celebrated the accomplishments of the Marines, but not that many of these celebrations went according to plan.
...
Tavin felt naked without his Terminator armor on, but it was a social occasion, so a more social garb was required of him. The towing obsidian weapon of war forged from humanity wore a leather robe with golden embroidery meant to simulate the scale pattern of his armor, as well as a simple iron shoulder pad with his Chapter's heraldry on it. And in his hand was a small goblet that looked like a child's glass in his massive hand; the wine inside of it was supposedly a fine vintage, but he preferred more mundane pleasures.
The celebration that was taking place was one of significance to the local Terran's: the reclaiming of their Empire's core systems from the vile Xenos Alliance. Much of it was due to Tavin and the 1st Company; the 8th and 9th did more than their part as well, but he and his men were the only ones invited to this celebration.
"Ah! First Captain! So good to see you!" None other than the Emperor himself, Gregory Quinn, said with a joyful laugh as he walked over. The man wore a rather lavish suite with all manner of gold pins and silks of blood-red; at his side was a scantily clad Vulcan woman in similar colors. "Are you enjoying the party?"
"Not really. No."
"Really?" Emperor Quinn commented with a raised brow. "I had heard that your Chapter took to revelry quickly. Drunkenly tossing heads into bonfires and extracting the charred skulls to adorn your walls, bear-handed. Dancing around, and even in, the flames while screaming like beasts."
"Our blood runs hot with the thrill of battle; our victory rituals are meant to both honor the fallen and to burn out the rage inside us so we do not unleash it upon our allies."
"Oh really?" The little Emperor said with a chuckle. "Does a Dragon's rage truly burn so hot that drink and fine company cannot quench it?"
"I suppose such things can help." Tavin said as he took a drink from his glass, an unimpressed look on his face as he looked down at the meager beverage. "But not the kind you mean."
"I see." The Emperor looked like he might have been getting annoyed with the First Captain. That was fine with him; Tavin was annoyed at having to call the ridiculous little man an Emperor rather than the fool he was in the Space Marine's eyes. "Well, if there is anything I could get that would possibly meet your high standards, please let me or one of my slaves know." Tavin then had a rather petty idea, turning his attention to the slave woman at Quinn's side.
"Xenos, does this palace have a kitchen?"
"Yes, my Lord." She said it in the usual Vulcan calm. There was no part of Tavin that didn't want to crush her skull in his hands and wipe out her entire race for daring to share a name with his Primarch. But that would have to come later; for now, he would play his game.
"What manner of deserts does it have available?"
"My master's pantry is quite vast, my Lord. And can fulfill any desire you have."
"We'll see about that. Have a desert table prepared, with as much on it as possible, and have it brought here. See to it personally, Xenos. If we are not pleased, I will see you tossed alive into the nearest pyre." She looked to the Emperor for confirmation, which he gave with a reluctant nod. The sour look on the pompous fool was sweeter than anything the Xenos could possibly put together. Seeing him languish subtly without a consort to cling to him was perhaps a petty joy, but he was bored, and the little man did not have the good sense to leave him be.
"I had not realized you're kind had a sweet tooth."
"It is something me and my Battle Brothers picked up. Sugarcane grows like weeds around the forge fortress, and mixed with the many local fruits, it can make a delightful treat as well as a strong drink." Tavin said, looking down at his glass, allowing his disgust for what he was served to be seen on his face for the first time. Every minor complaint and expression of dissatisfaction was like a hot nail being driven into the petty Emperor, and Tavin took as much satisfaction as he could from the encounter.
Just then, a loud gong went off, and the Emperor became more joyful and energized, something that rather soured Tavin's fun.
"Perhaps this display will be more to your liking?" All of the first company followed the little man to a massive pit in the middle of the room. Beamed into the pit were a well-armed Gorn, Nausicaan, Orion, and Klingon, all looking around confused. "Gladiators!" The Emperor laughed out. "Fight for the amusement of your masters, or die without honor!"
"I can do you one better." Tavin interrupted, ripping off his robe, only a rather revealing set of underclothes covering his body, and earning the lustful glares of the noblewomen of the petty Emperor's court. Then, jumping down into the pit, an almost naked Space Marine stood between four well-armed and armored alien warriors. "Entertain me with a good fight, and I might not kill you when I'm done."
"Arrogant cur!" The Klingon said, as he charged first, Bat'leth healed high for a strike. Tavin grabbed the weapon by the blade, tossed the Klingon, and then broke his weapon in half with his bare hands.
"I hope the rest of you can do better than that."
"WRAW!" The Nausicaan screamed as he charged, fallowed by the Gorn. But Tavin's attention was not focused on them, even as he fought them barehanded while they swung swords and axes at him. The Orion was up to something, taking apart pieces of her outfit, various badges and clips forming together in her hand into a weapon of some kind.
"For the Alliance!" She screamed as she aimed for the Emperor and fired, only to have hit the Nausicaan Tavin threw up into the air. Her second shot hit the Gorn, and she did not get a third chance, as Tavin grabbed the weapon and her hand, crushing both.
"You could not have smuggled that into the pits without help." He said as he glared into her green eyes with his crimson ones. "Who helped you?"
"You mean, *groan!* Who helped, us?"
"AAAA!" The Klingon! Tavin saw him scaling the walls fast, then shifting into a new form; he was a Suliban in disguise. A tentacle arm formed to reach the Emperor, only for him to be crushed as his accomplice was hurled at him at terminal velocity.
But it wasn't over quite yet, and the carts of deserts were brought in; the covers over them were removed to reveal armed Xenos. Tavin recognized them as servants that labored in the palace. This operation was well planned; even some of the Starfleet guards joined in the attack, gunning down nobles and Admiralty left and right.
But the rebels were not at all prepared for the Kampe's speed; no one ever was. Space Marines always seem so bulky and brutish; most forget that they were fast enough to duel swords with Eldar. The 1st Company moved like a pyroclastic flow, ending all life they touched with brutal efficiency. At the back of the formation, Tavin could see the Vulcan slave woman firing a Terran phaser at full power, missing her mark every time but getting closer than any of the other assassins to hitting her Astartes targets. Marking her as a trained commando, but her training did not prepare her for this fight. And soon enough, Tavin swatted the weapon from her hand and grabbed her by the throat, lifting her high above the dead bodies of her fellow assassins.
"I'm afraid you have failed to satisfy either our appetites or our bloodlust." Tavin then fulfilled his promise, tossing the alien into the nearest ceremonial brazer. The 1st company followed his example, tossing any taken alive into the decorative fire. Some were so overwhelmed by the Dragon fire ignited within them that they began to scream, beat their chests, and stomp around the screaming Xenos as they burned. The Terran nobility and Admiralty got a first-hand account of one of the Kampe's post-battle rituals, some looking on in shock and horror at the brutality, others cheering and raising their goblets. As some of the 1st Company began to reach into the flames, ripping off the flaming limps of the still screaming assassins to eat, flames and all, Tavin reached into the fire and took the head of the Vulcan woman, using the fire to clean it, and then turning to the crowed, holding the charred skull in his hand high.
"This is what happens when you show the Xenos even the most minute levels of tolerance!" He screamed. "You gave these wretched aliens purpose, allowed them into your homes, and gave to them as you would any favored pet! And this is how they repay your acceptance of them! This is the gratitude of the wretched who you forgave the sin of existence! Learn from this!" He then tossed the skull to the so-called Emperor. "May this token always remind you of the Imperium's wisdom in these matters! That to suffer the Xenos to live is a risk best not taken at all! And may it always remind you of the price of showing lesser things mercy!"
Quinn trembled like a lamb before a lion. The dragon's rage boiled so noticeably in Tavin that some even had the weapons ready. The battle rage so ferocious on his features that it looked like he was going to lunge at the Terran's and tare them apart. Their trembling, their display of weakness, the mightiest of their Empire cowing like children before him, was enough satisfaction to keep the rage at bay. Tavin was warmed and sustained by their sublimation and terror more than any fire could.
He despised nobles at the best of times—those who grew fat while others starved, but these Terrains bothered him the most. Because despite being more sensible about dealing with aliens than their Federation counterparts, they still tolerated them far more than he deemed acceptable. They were so close to the people of their own Imperium but held back in so many other ways.
But that was something he could fix. One step at a time, he would light the way for these wayward souls. For the True Emperor.
...
While others celebrated the fruits of their hard labors, others worked and toiled hard without rest. As did the aspirants at the Forge Fortress in Sothoryos.
Many nobles gave their youngest sons to the Chapter, as well as every orphanage being culled for the worthy. From as young as five years old, they are put to work learning to work the forges. Pumping the bellows, proper mineral mixtures and forging temperature, and serving as the fetchers for the forge masters. Even hunting for food from the local wilds using only weapons they made themselves.
Only the most hardy of these aspirants would be found worthy and sent to Janus Station for Gen Augmentation; the rest would simply live out the rest of their days as Chapter Surfs, respected for being able to survive the earliest trials, but still unworthy of ascending.
But for those found to be at least worthy of trying, there is one trial in which few survive.
...
Yaremon Artalor was seven years old, his body already honed from two years of hard labor, hunting and outrunning Wyverns, cannibals, and enduring sickness. And now, Yaremon was tasked with what was his final trial.
The young lad approached the nest cautiously; her ladyship was out hunting, so she should not be back anytime soon. The stench of the many half-eaten dead laying about the nesting grounds was almost overwhelming; among the strewn remains he saw some familiar animals, as well as the half-eaten bodies of Brindle men.
And there, in the middle of the gory nest, he saw the prize he was sent to claim. He had little competition claiming the egg, and while others were fighting each other to get at the eggs of Viserion's lesser mates, none dared to approach his Consort's personal nest. Or so he thought.
"Thought you might try something like this, Yam-Boy." Yaremon turned and glared into the eyes of his nemesis. Taldor Amok, one of the other aspirants, one that singled him out as a threat to his chances of ascending to Battle Brother, and so singled him out.
"I should've known you'd follow me. Not a creative bone in your body."
"Shut up!" Taldor charged at Yaremon swinging a hammer he made for himself, but he used his short spear to redirect the strike. "Only one egg from each nest!" The bully screamed, parroting the instructions they were given. "And this nest is mine! I'll leave her ladyship your bleeding corps as payment for her largest egg!"
"Quiet you fool! You'll bring her down upon us!"
"I'll be long gone by the time she's picking your bones from her teeth!"
The two continued to clash. Yaremon remembered all the times he got punished for being late because of Taldor's pranks on him, how often he tried to push him into the smelters to make his death look like an accident, how he sabotaged his master's forge and framed him for not keeping things in order. With all of this rage, he swung his spear wide, slashing Taldor's neck.
He froze in horror at what he had done. This was not the first time he took life, but the first time he slew a fellow aspirant. He dropped his spear, shaking as he looked down into the fading eyes of his chief tormentor. With tears in his eyes, he steeled himself. She would smell the fresh blood and come rushing back. Her ladyship was always hungry, ravenous even, especially for humans.
He would start to reach for the largest egg, but then stopped, seeing one of the smaller eggs and picking it up. It was a runt in the making, to be sure, but Yaremon felt drawn to it, and unlike the others, it seemed to produce heat all on its own. He put the egg into a satchel and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Running as if the Consort herself was already home, for he knew that she could fly far faster than he could run.
After two hours of running through the humid much, dodging cannibals, crocodiles, and horrors that will not even dare be described, Yaremon collapsed just within sight of the Forge Fortress. And then a shadow covered him, as well as a gust of wind and a dominating presence. But, seeing as he was not being eaten alive that very moment, he knew who found him without needing to look.
"Greetings, Lord Viserion." The lad said in as respectful a tone as he could; the Dragon responded well to supplication and was tam enough to leave be any of the Surf's or aspirants who showed him the respect that such a mighty beast deserved. But it seemed the White Worm was in a playful mood, nipping at the lad's long hair. "As you say, Me'lord! I did need a haircut!" Yaremon knew how to play with the monster in a way that did not leave him burned or maimed—not that Viserion did such things intentionally, but at his size, it did happen occasionally. Thankfully, the mighty beast grew bored tormenting the lad and took to the skies.
"Whatever will Lord Viserion ever do when his favorite rag doll is shipped off to be made a proper Space Marine?" He looked and saw Haena, one of the Surfs that tended the fields, approaching him.
"Our Lord wants for not, ma'am. He will do without me."
"That's what I've always liked about you, Yams. So polite and proper." She then tussled the young man's hair. "Come, I've got a nice cup of Sothoryi Joy just for young men getting back from the wilds."
"Sorry, ma'am. But I have to get to the Chaplin."
"Oh, sorry for keeping you, then. Good luck!" Haena shouted at him as he got back to running into the fortress proper. The song of hammers falling, melted metal pouring, and blades cooling in freezing waters was deafening, but Yaremon was more than used to it by now. Making his way through the fortress, up the tower, and into the ceremonial ring, the Chaplin waited.
"The last to return, as always, aspirant Artalor." What few other aspirants were there chuckled and glared at Yaremon. "But not empty-handed." The Chaplin took the egg from him and inspected it. "A bit on the meek side, but there is something about it that I can't quite put my finger on. Oh well, it's the Apothecary's to decide if it's worth anything. To the forges, you have at least half a day of work left before you collapse."
...
From most of the eggs collected by the aspirants, what hatched from them would be sterile Wygons, the mules of Dragon kind, larger and more durable than Wyverns but lacking the breath and size of true Dragons. These would be unleashed upon worlds the Kampe Chapter are sent to bring into compliance. Enhanced with chemical augmentation, and drugged into a frenzy before being let loose into the countryside to bring chaos and distract the planetary defenders before the main wave of assault.
But one of the eggs brought back nurtured something truly unimagined, a female True Dragon. Given to Daenerys and named Rhaella after her mother, this would bring a dawning of a new age as the Dragons truly returned to the world.
As more and more of Essos fell under the banner of the Dragon, from the ruins of Old Valyria to Morosh, Valysar to Vaes Dothrak, the rebirth of the Valyrian Empire was well on its way. But such things invited trouble.
...
Solios stood in silence as he watched the meeting between Yara Grayjoy and Daenerys. He stood at her side like a Ceramite statue, hate-filled red eyes glaring down at the visiting nobles. All the while, young Rhaella stood on his shoulder, trying to chew off one of the decorative horns on his helmet. He despised the Revers of the Iron Islands with a passion that almost ignited the Dragon fire in his heart. Rapists, murderers, and thieves the lot of them, at least as far as he was concerned, no better than any other vermin pirates.
But the deal was made, and they left. The Queen looked at him. "You disapprove of my decision, Captain?"
"I would not disrespect the leader of this world with open defiance."
"To voice your concerns is not defiance." Daenerys said as she looked up at him. "Please tell me your thoughts."
"You should have wiped out their entire house and turned their retched little island into a penal colony."
"A bit harsh, aren't we?"
"I was not speaking to you, Lannister." Solios made it a note to loom over the dwarf, doing his best to make him feel smaller than even he was. It was a bit of a game at this point, like a mouse teasing an attack dog, knowing that it can't kill it without getting in trouble.
"If we can civilize them, then we should." The Queen said as she stood from her throne. "You chose me to govern this realm for my moral fortitude. I would not wish to fail to live up to that standard. And while it might be difficult to bring them to the light, it is a fight worth doing."
"As you say, your Majesty." Solios had to resist the urge to bow. He had no idea what it was about the living flame that stood before him that commanded every fiber of his being to submit, but it did not feel like mind control. His Chapter was vigorously tested in the laboratories of Cawl to know the signs of such things, and to adequately resist. To serve the Dragon Queen felt more natural, like he was created to bow to her, just as the Dragon curled up on his shoulder, the two really were kin.
"Will any of your Chapter be coming with me to bring the Seven Kingdoms into the fold?"
"Chaplin Dimit and Librarian Mul had shown an interest in events happening in the North past The Wall. If you permit them to accompany you at least most of the way so that they, along with the 3rd Company, can investigate Mul's suspicions."
"If you feel the matter worth looking into, I will not heed them. But I would ask them to do some damage to the enemy military along the way."
"Thank you, your Majesty."