From Kaerls to Huscarls.

[aleifr]

Aleifr's fingers flexed a little as the shuttle began to rumble with the thrum of it's engines, digging into his harness as he felt the thing lift off the ground. He still wasn't used to this. Even after months of serving the Rout and seeing the wonders that they had at their disposal, riding in the belly of one of their flying ships still made him vaguely uneasy - at least until they'd hit the point where they were flying smoothly.

Once they were, he unbuckled the harness strapping him into his seat and made his way to the viewport at the back of the ship. Thick, white clouds filled up most of the view, but he could see little scraps of Fenris through the gaps. Mountains, ice, braces of pine trees and the endless expanse of Asaheim. As they climbed, the details grew harder to make out and his perpetual scowl deepened.

He was grateful to Jarl Ironwolf for the honor he'd given him - him and Aila both. He'd be a fucking idiot not to considering he's to be serving one of the Allfather's agents directly ... but it was strange to think that he might not see this place again. Their world. Their home. He didn't like that thought.

But his jarl had given him a task, and he'd see it through.

Comments

[letitallout]

It's McCoy's turn to blink, and Aila snorts. Her husband is a simple soul.

"Anything's possible," McCoy admits, "but the Tau are confined to a few systems far at the edge of the Imperium, and the Inquisitor doesn't generally go looking for xenos if she can help it."

Aila frowns at that, because what's an Inquisitor do if not hunt down and kill the Allfather's enemies? McCoy notices and chuckles.

"Ordo Hereticus, Aila. 'The Threat Within.' She specializes in rogue psykers and Chaos cults." He pauses and shrugs. "Though that does mean a lot of genestealers. Telling a Chaos cult from a Genestealer cult is more an art than a science, at least until you've got a Purestrain trying to slice you in half. That's a bit of a giveaway."

[aleifr]

"Genestealer?" Aleifr asks. "Purestrain?"

More unfamiliar words, but McCoy has his attention now.

[letitallout]

McCoy looks like he's about to switch lecture mode again, but then thinks better of it. "More xenos," he says instead. "Much worse than the Tau."

On this subject, any jocularity is gone, McCoy's face and tone both darkening. "They're the vanguard for the Tyranid Hive Fleets. They infiltrate planets, reproduce by infecting and altering human or other xenos hosts, and breed true. They have a biological imperative to undermine society, and after a few generations, they can blend in with real humans. Purestrains are the ones that are entirely xenos. About your height," he nods at Aleifr, "armored, two sets of arms, nasty teeth, claws. And they're smart."

He shakes his head. "An advanced Genestealer cult is one of the strongest justifications for Exterminatus there is."

[aleifr]

He doesn't know what the fuck a Tyranid is, but the idea of a monstrosity hiding in human form? That's familiar.

"Like doppelgangrels from hel." He says, glancing to Aila.

[letitallout]

Aila hisses through her teeth. "Hope they're easier to hit."

"Oh, believe me, once they realize they're discovered, it becomes a target-rich environment," McCoy says, very dry.

[aleifr]

"See many of them?" Aleifr asks, looking over to McCoy.

He'll admit, the thought of an enemy like that has piqued his interest - both for the challenge it presents and as an explanation for why people like he and Aila are needed.

[letitallout]

"More than I'd prefer." McCoy's tone suggests that the number he'd have preferred would be zero. "Fortunately, the Inquisitor finds me more useful alive than in several bloody chunks."

Even with the implication he's no good in a fight, Aila thinks that understated reaction to nearly dying speaks well of him, and she snorts in amusement. "You always keep the healer alive if you can."

"Admirably practical, if not particularly charitable to me personally," McCoy says with the sort of lightness that shows he took no insult.

[aleifr]

McCoy's response is light, but Aleifr still shrugs and adds, "You look out for your fellows in a fight even if you expect they can handle it."

It's just good sense. Refer to his earlier comments about how you can still get killed no matter how great you are on the battlefield.

[letitallout]

"I'm better in a fight than your average doctor," McCoy says, shaking his head, "but don't feel you need to be polite about it. The Inquisitor took your jarl up on his offer for a reason. Not many of us can keep up with her once the shooting starts. You'll have a better chance than most."

Aila shoots Aleifr a glance. Told you so.

[aleifr]

Aleifr rolls his eyes at her. Didn't say we weren't better, just that they weren't hopeless.

"The Inquisitor leads these missions, then?" That's good. Hands on. He knows it's a crapshoot with offworlders sometimes.

[letitallout]

"Usually," McCoy confirms with a nod. "Sometimes she has to delegate, because even she can't be in two places at once. I'm not convinced it's not just a matter of time, though.

"Almost there," he says suddenly, stopping in front of a bank of lifts to poke at the button, not noticing or pretending not to notice the new look Aila is giving Aleifr. She's not quite sure McCoy is joking, and all her uncertainties about what manner of person their new thane is are bubbling back up.

[aleifr]

Aleifr's wondering too, Aila. Doesn't seem entirely out of the question that an agent of the Allfather could be a powerful sorceress too.

Just a little too plausible for comfort, and it's left him with all those same nagging little questions he'd had on the shuttle.

[letitallout]

One of the doors opens, revealing an unremarkable elevator car. Aila follows McCoy in, shifting to leave Aleifr enough room. The savant pushes a button in a bank separate from the others, then lays his hand over a scanning pad. It flips from red to green, and the lift starts moving.

"We'll get your biometrics on record after this," he says. "Don't want you triggering intruder control. Even Fenrisians would have trouble surviving some of those systems."

[aleifr]

He shoots a quick look at Aila at the word 'biometrics' - silently asking if she has any idea what that means - and then nods to McCoy. He understands the principle of keeping your aett safe from intruders, at least, even if he's got no idea what the hell else is being said here.

[letitallout]

Aila shrugs fractionally. She assumes it's related to McCoy's hand unlocking something, somehow. It changed from red to green when he touched it, anyway.

McCoy spots the confusion, or at least is choosing to acknowledge it this time. "Your palm prints, among other things. They're different for every person and can act like a key."

He pauses briefly, seeming to weigh something in his mind if his expression is anything to go by. "If you don't mind me asking, how long has it been since you two joined the Kaerls?"

[aleifr]

Considering how many things McCoy had said as though he'd just assumed they'd know it? He's somewhat surprised the question wasn't asked sooner.

"Eight months." He answers. "But you'll not find a better shot than Aila."

[letitallout]

"Oh, I don't doubt the Space Wolves' training regimen or Lord Ironwolf's judgment, but you've got a lot of catching up to do," McCoy says as the lift stops and the door slides open. "Inquisitor's quarters. This deck's invitation only."

Speaking of intruder control, the door opens onto a hallway with a single door at the other end, quite obviously a well-decorated kill zone, at least to Fenrisian eyes, and Aila wonders just what's concealed behind the walls. Resisting the urge to draw her weapons, she reminds herself this is friendly territory, but her survival instincts aren't buying it despite the Imperial Aquila she's walking past, and she's as taut as a drawn bow as she follows McCoy.

[aleifr]

He's not doing much differently. His stonefaced expression hides whatever he's feeling well enough, but someone who's known him as long as Aila has?

He's tense. He can feel the hungry, predatory eyes of a dozen hidden gunports prickling on the back of his neck. It makes sense. He expects as much from someone that important ... but it makes him uneasy as he stalks behind McCoy.

[letitallout]

Aila tosses Aleifr a tight little smile, almost a grimace, but McCoy's back to not noticing or pretending not to notice the Fenrisians' odd behavior. Despite feeling like leagues, the corridor's not particularly long, and it's only a few heartbeats--seconds, she corrects herself mentally--before they reach the door at the far end, embossed with an enormous, elaborate Inquisitorial I and skull.

McCoy reaches for the intercom panel on the wall, but before his hand makes it halfway, the door opens of its own accord, splitting down the middle and revealing a thickness that suggests a great deal of armoring.

"All right, then," he mutters with an air of long-suffering resignation, and steps through into an antechamber with seating and a pair of servitors, seemingly unarmed, standing idle on either side of yet another door. That one also opens as they approach, but McCoy doesn't appear taken aback this time, and pauses to throw a significant look over his shoulder at them.

This is it, then. Squaring her shoulders, Aila takes a deep breath and, dignity be damned, reaches out to give Aleifr's hand a squeeze before stepping through--

--into winter. Or at least that's her first impression, quickly dispelled when she realizes the temperature hasn't changed. It's an understandable mistake, since the only other times she's ever been surrounded by this much unstained white were when snow blanketed everything. After a moment, she starts to notice other things about the room--the icy pastels here and there that break up the sea of white, the carpeting so thick her boots are sinking into it, the furniture that looks like nothing she's ever seen before with its plush cushions and frames carved in graceful, botanical forms. She catches movement out of the corner of her eye--a mirror, the glass absolutely flat and flawless--and manages not to startle. McCoy strides on like he doesn't notice any of it, and maybe he doesn't after serving the Inquisitor for years.

Once they move farther into the room, their destination becomes obvious. The armchair doesn't quite qualify as a throne in itself, but it's positioned alone against a wall, other pieces of furniture subtly but unmistakably marking off the area approaching it, and the entire affair feels like a throne room. All Aila can see is what might be an elbow on the arm of the chair until McCoy leads them around one of the sofas, into the reception area they delineate, and she gets her first glimpse of Inquisitor Frost...

...who is the most beautiful woman Aila has ever seen, and dressed like she knows it.

Aila almost forgets to kneel.

[aleifr]

Aleifr doesn't. That sort of beauty doesn't belong to anyone. It belongs to a goddess, someone more than human. Dealing with someone like that, kneeling's the only response appropriate.

He might hesitate for a moment, eyes lingering out of sheer awe, but he kneels.

"Inquisitor Frost."

He bows his head. Mostly out of respect, partially to stop his gawking.

"I am Aleifr Bjornsson of the Ascommani."

[letitallout]

Like Aleifr, Aila finds it easier not to stare like the yokel she is when her gaze falls somewhere around the Inquisitor's feet. With those shoes, Frost must be superhuman to avoid breaking her ankles.

"I am Aila Steady-Hand, also of the Ascommani." Her name sounds odd to her translated into Gothic, the syllables of the language still awkward on her tongue, but the jarl had stressed that the Inquisition wouldn't use juvyk. McCoy's unexpected fluency aside, Aila's not about to risk it with the Inquisitor.

Frost shifts in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. "Showing off, Henry?" she says in Gothic, apropos of nothing as far as Aila can tell, but sounding amused.

McCoy, who hasn't knelt, starts off puzzled. "Inquisitor, I don't--oh." There's the rustle of fabric as he shifts his weight. "Just being hospitable," he says, unapologetic about whatever they're discussing, and Frost snorts.

"I speak juvyk," she says in juvyk, her accent as impeccable as McCoy's, "but yes, Gothic is preferable," she finishes in Gothic once more, and it's a good thing Aila's already kneeling with her head bowed, because it keeps her from having to sit down hard when she realizes her thoughts were overheard. It's one thing to reason that the Allfather's highest-ranking servants would be powerful gothi but another entirely to have it so casually demonstrated, and she inhales sharply in her shock.

"Y-yes, Inquisitor." Aila gets it out with a minimum of stuttering but doesn't even attempt to conceal her awe.

"Thank you, Henry," Frost says, the dismissal clear.

"Inquisitor." McCoy's clothes rustle again as he bows from the waist. "Aila, Aleifr, nice to meet you." He doesn't wait for a reply, which is just as well on Aila's end, because it doesn't occur to her to acknowledge anyone but Frost. His barely-audible footsteps and the sound of his robes swishing recede towards the door through which they'd entered.

Frost shifts again, retrieving something from a side table that Aila can't see with her eyes lowered. "The carpet can't be that compelling."

[aleifr]

Aleifr's head is already up at that point. He'd looked up, brow furrowed in confusion, when Frost confirmed that gothic was preferable because that sounded like a response - as though she was replying to something. Then Aila gasps, the shock carries through in her voice, and he puts it together.

It isn't often that Aila sees her husband's jaw drop, but she'll see it now.

Frost's voice calls his attention to her once again, and it actually takes conscious effort to suppress the instinct to bow his head again to address her.

"We are honored to be in your service, Inquisitor." Aleifr says. Gothic hasn't come as easily to him as it has for Aila, and he stumbles momentarily on the word 'service' before it comes to him.

[letitallout]

Aleifr speaking up gives Aila the time she needs to scrape together her courage and tear her gaze away from the floor in obedience to the implicit command. Frost hasn't gotten any less attractive since they walked in, and Aila doesn't dare attempt to meet her eyes, settling for a spot between the tip of the nose and upper lip which strikes her as probably the most unremarkable spot on a goddess's face and thus the safest. Frost is drinking something dark red from a fragile-looking crystalline goblet, and she swirls the liquid around the bowl while she looks at Aleifr and Aila.

"And I'm pleased to have you," Frost replies with a slight nod of acknowledgment. "Egil speaks highly of you both," she adds, and Aila experiences a flash of confusion before she remembers her deceased father and Jarl Ironwolf share a name. Somehow, she'd have been less surprised to discover the Inquisitor had talked with the honored dead than that anyone's on a first-name basis with the jarl.

She's in no condition to properly appreciate the compliment that Frost's just relayed, but it needs a reply, and it's not fair to force Aleifr to do the talking. What Aila can't manage on her own account, she can for him, and she pulls herself together.

"We will justify the jarl's faith in us, my lady." Or die trying, but it doesn't occur to her that part would ever need to be spelled out.

"I don't doubt it." Frost seems amused. Aila's not sure why, but that's much better than annoyed, and she'll take it. Frost sets her glass back on the table and gestures for them to rise. "We've got to get you some better armor," she says, shaking her head.

[aleifr]

Amused is better, but the small curl of a smile on her lips is ... distracting. He doesn't realizes, but he winds up adopting a similar tactic to Aila - find an unremarkable spot, difficult as that might be.

The Inquisitor gestures for them to rise and Aleifr does so.

It's strange for him to think of the uniforms that he and Aila wear now as unfitting. You didn't find fabric so fine or so well-woven among the tribes - at least not without seeking out the richest chieftains on Fenris. You wouldn't find something so fine that still manage to incorporate some amount of armor into it at all outside of the Aett.

But compared to Frost and the finery around her? They seemed like rags. Less-than.

"If that pleases my thane."

[letitallout]

"You're not Guardsmen. I'll not have you wandering about in mass-produced flak armor." Aila recognizes that as annoyance, but it's mild and seems to be directed at the situation rather than Aleifr. Frost waves a hand dismissively, consigning their Kaerl's armor to irrelevance, and ends the gesture by tapping a brooch affixed to her corset. "Bridge."

"Yes, Inquisitor?" The voice emanates from the jewelry piece, and Aila makes the mistake of glancing down at the source, immediately regretting the action when it strikes her just how low-cut the Inquisitor's top is, and just how perfectly she fills it out.

Well. Regret is the wrong word, but Aila certainly finds herself distracted.

"What's the nearest Forge World that doesn't supply Fenris primarily?" Frost asks, glancing at a servo skull that comes whirring into the room and glides over to hover in front of Aleifr at chest height.

"One moment...Voss Prime."

"Convenient." Frost's businesslike expression shifts into a real smile for a moment. "Call ahead, tell them to prepare two suits of Ignatus armor to the measurements I'll provide. Have Peri make the communique sufficiently bland and mechanical before you send it out."

"Yes, Inquisitor. Shall we use the Longhowl choir?"

"No, let's not impose on the Wolves' generosity any further. Ruth can handle it."

"As you wish."

"Out." Frost taps the brooch again and addresses Aleifr, pointing a warning finger at him. "Hold still."

Before he can acknowledge the order or request clarification, the lens set into one of the skull's eye sockets illuminates and a beam of red light plays over him, scanning slowly from his head to his feet. Aila suddenly finds herself distracted by something other than the Inquisitor's obvious assets, watching whatever's happening to Aleifr in silent but wide-eyed consternation.