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beckyninja · 19 days ago

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The Dragon

Pairing: Salamander x FemOC (past), Salamander x FemReader (future)

Warnings: implied child death, implied Drukhari... being Drukhari

Description: Salamander Apothecary Nev'ran returns to his chapter after years in the Death Watch and is forced to face painful memories.

Here's something new guys! My first ever Warhammer oc protagonist! Thanks to @thememestrider and @garlickedbreads for showing enough interest in my Salamander side-character to inspire me to write a full fic just for him. (Please forgive my playing fast and loose with Warhammer canon.)

Apothecary Nev'ran makes a brief appearance in my previous fic, Relief. And, of course, if you'd like to read my other works, check out my Masterlist.

“It is good to see you again, brother.”

Apothecary Nev’ran nodded to the Captain of the Salamanders 4th Company, even as his deep red eyes roamed the Flamewrought’s bridge. So familiar. Every screen, shrine, beam and cable.

Has it truly been half a century since I stood upon this ship?

“It is good to be back, Xavus.” He allowed himself a smile. ��Your new rank suits you.”

Xavus returned the grin, the wings of the dactyle branded onto his left cheek twisting at the expression. “Much has changed during your absence, old drake. I hope it will not be too difficult for you to assimilate.”

Nev’ran snorted. “I am not so old that I cannot still humble you in the training ring, hatchling.”

The Captain chuckled, then grew solemn. “I see you have brought our fallen brothers back to us.”

Nev’ran turned to watch the five covered bodies wheeled off the Thunderhawk.

Five more I failed to save.

“We will take them home, brother. We are bound for Nocturne.”

Nev’ran clenched his teeth. “Home. It has been… so long.”

A gauntleted hand landed on his shoulder. “Too long, brother.”

Not long enough.

Forcing the nagging thought to the back of his mind, Nev’ran once again looked around the Bridge. Most of his fellow Salamanders he recognized. But the serfs….

“I expected Exin would be here to meet me.”

Xavus blinked. “I thought you knew, brother. Your brander priest passed into the fire nearly a decade ago.”

A stab of pain. Exin had served him faithfully for nearly three decades before he’d gone to the Watch, painstakingly branding the sigils of his lord’s victories into his flesh. He remembered the angular, serious face. Slow to smile, but warm-hearted nonetheless. Like his father and grandmother before him.

Ruby used to tease- no. Not those memories. Not yet.

Nev’ran spoke past the tightness in his throat. “Did he have no child to carry on his family calling?”

“None. I am sorry, brother.” The hand on his shoulder squeezed. “Another will be assigned to you when we reach Nocturne.”

Another mortal I can watch fade and die. “There is no need. I have grown used to caring for myself these past years.”

Xavus chuckled. “Then I can only imagine the illegibility of your brands, brother.”

Nev’ran forced a laugh.

The Captain continued. “You must tire of my company. Your old apothecarion calls, and I am sure you are eager to return to it.”

“Yes.”

No.

***

The equipment. The medicines. The harsh scent of chemicals failing to hide the omnipresent odor of blood. His apothecarion.

Memories battered his mental walls as he stepped through the doors. A bright smile. Glinting, mischievous eyes. His name on soft lips.

He shook his head. “No.”

“My lord?” A feminine voice.

His eyes snapped to the small figure in medica’s robes standing off to one side. Her hood covered her face, and both his hearts skipped a beat.

“Ruby?” The name slipped out before he could stop it.

It cannot be…!

The medica raised her head enough for him to see her puzzled expression. And his faint, mad hope disintegrated.

“Apothecary Nev’ran!” Another Salamander burst through a side door. “By the Emperor, it is good to see you!”

Nev’ran stared at the youthful, unbranded face. “Hur’reth!”

A spark of joy warmed the cold forge of his hearts. Former master and former apprentice embraced, the clang of colliding ceramite resonating through the chamber. More clangs followed as Nev’ran pounded the younger Salamander’s back.

“It is good to see you, young one.” He stepped back, looking him up and down. “You passed your trials with ease, I expect?”

Hur’eth laughed. “How could I do otherwise, with you as my teacher?”

Nev’ran gave a genuine smile for the first time in longer than he could remember. “A full Brother Apothecary. I am proud of you.”

“I have eagerly awaited your return, master. What news from the Long Watch?”

“Have you time to listen?”

“My duties are light since the company is between campaigns.” Hur’reth’s eyes sparkled just as they had when he was a child, listening to his master’s stories in the forge.

“Then sit with me, and I will share what wisdom I have gathered.” Nev’ran lightly batted the side of the younger Salamander’s head. “Perhaps some of it will sink in this time.”

A soft cough. Hur’reth glanced off to one side, where the medica stood silently.

“Before that, master. I have someone I would introduce to you.” He beckoned the woman over. “This is Matia, my most valued assistant here in the apothecarion.”

He gazed down at her with an expression Nev’ran knew all too well. “She is to be my mate.”

Pain. Like a branding iron shoved inside his gut. With those few words, Nev’ran’s mind spiralled into the deepest secrets of the Salamanders.

Official doctrine stated that the Primarch Vulkan himself started the custom. But some chapter scholars believed the practice went back even further. They held that the instinct to mate and father children lay deep within the geneseed of every Astartes. The Salamanders simply chose to embrace that instinct, instead of burying it beneath repressive indoctrination.

The Chaplains gave strict instructions on the practice to each initiate.

The woman must be strong of body, able to stand alongside a warrior and mother his children. The woman must be strong of mind, able to bring skills to the chapter and guide the next generation of battle brothers. The woman must be strong of will, to endure the horrors to which she may be exposed.

Above all, the woman must be willing. Coercion of any kind turned a former battle brother into the most hated of creatures, dishonored and hunted by his fellow Salamanders.

For such women were valued beyond price. Bringers of love and wisdom. Councillors and artisans. Faithful companions.

Nev’ran’s hand automatically sought the reliquary at his waist.

“Master?” Hur’reth’s voice shook him from his reverie. “Do you disapprove?”

“You have spoken with the Chaplain, child?” Nev’ran addressed the woman, softening his voice as much as he could.

“I have, my lord. He deemed me worthy.”

Hur’reth beamed, settling his hand on her shoulder. “We will be bound in fire when we reach Nocturne. I would greatly appreciate your presence at the ceremony, master.”

By the Throne, do not ask that of me. Not that!

“I…may have other duties to attend to.” He sighed when the younger Salamander’s face fell. “But I will try.”

Matia smiled. “Hur’reth often spoke of you, my lord. He said you were like a father to him. We would be grateful for your blessing.”

“I said I will try. I make no promises.”

The woman flinched at the harshness in his tone. Hur’eth’s eyes flashed fire, a growl rumbling from his chest.

Warp damn it.

Nev’ran raised a hand. “Forgive me. The day has been long and I am, perhaps, still adjusting to my return.”

Matia laid a hand on Hur’reth’s arm, and the younger Apothecary seemed to calm. “We understand, my lord. Don’t we, my heart’s fire?”

Hur’reth remained silent, and she gave him a sharp look from beneath her hood.

“Yes,” he finally grumbled, “we understand.”

“Perhaps it would be best if tales of my time in the Watch waited for another day.” Nev’ran tried to smile.

The scowl didn’t leave Hur’reth’s face. “I think that would be wise. Rest well, Brother Apothecary.”

“And you.”

He watched the pair make their way out of the chamber. At the door, Hur’reth bent suddenly and scooped Matia into his arms. Her startled laugh floated back to Nev’ran and, once again, pain seared him from the inside out.

Warp damn it all! Fifty years since… and nothing is easier.

***

A throaty laugh. “Arise, old dragon. The day cycle stretches on, and you lay like a lizard in the sun.”

He stubbornly kept his eyes shut. “Hmph. No respect for my age and wisdom, young one?”

“None whatsoever.” A cool, calloused hand against his cheek.

He caught the wrist. “You forget, woman, an old dragon is still dangerous.”

“Oh?” The voice dropped low, and his body stirred in response.

“Dangerous. And patient.”

With a firm, but gentle tug, he pulled the woman onto his broad chest, lips pressing against her throat. He opened his eyes to stare into snapping black orbs full of laughter and love-

Nev’ran awoke.

The darkness of his quarters confused him for a moment. Then his firesight activated, and he saw the ribbons of heat swirling across the walls and ceiling in geometric patterns. The smell of warm metal and incense filled his nose. He pushed himself upright with a groan, feeling the stretch and creak of centuries old muscle.

One hand reached behind him. But no soft, cool body met his questing fingers. None had for over fifty years. Instead, he caressed the reliquary still tied at the waist of his sleeping robes.

“My Ruby.”

For a long moment he sat upon the edge of his cot, feeling every ridge and edge of the ornate little box. He knew it better than any weapon he’d ever crafted. He’d forged it himself after all.

And yet, it was naught but cold comfort.

He surged to his feet.

I can put this off no longer.

Exiting his quarters, he padded barefoot through the halls of the Flamewrought. This late in the night cycle, only a few serfs scurried about. They bobbed in respect as he passed. Any other time, he might have stopped to converse, to ask their names and positions.

Not tonight.

The memory of hundreds of similar treks did not fail him as the doors to the small chapel came into view. One phrase stood out amidst the riot of Imperial symbols and imagery lovingly carved upon their surface: The Daughters of Vulkan

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before pressing his hand to the panel on one side of the door. He felt sharp prick as the needle tested his blood.

None but Salamanders were permitted beyond these doors. Few, if any, of the other chapters or Imperial offices would understand the secrets held within.

Emperor forbid the Inquisition ever learn of this.

A few seconds later, there came a high-pitched beep, a light flashed, and the doors hissed apart. Nev’ran steeled himself as he stepped within.

The inner walls and floor were not metal like the rest of the ship, but stone, mined from Nocturne and made to resemble the homeworld’s caverns. A large brazier stood in the exact center of the circular chapel.

Nev’ran took in the myriad of murals and designs covering nearly every inch of the walls, floor, and ceiling. Though the skulls and other common imagery of the Imperial cult were represented, the predominant image remained that of a she-dragon in various poses: curled about her eggs, watching over playful hatchlings, poised to attack, teeth bared.

The images curled about hundreds of small niches carved into the stone, each holding a tiny urn. Some were dark and dusty. Others held smoldering candles. Still others glimmered with inset jewels. Nev’ran approached one of these.

Reaching out, he ran his fingers over a name carved upon the urn, mildly surprised to find it free of dust and soot. His wife’s given name. Though, he’d rarely called her by it.

“Ruby. My Ruby.” My precious, fiery gem.

The memories he’d fought so long and so hard to resist came pouring back, irresistible as a lava flow.

He’d already been centuries old, the last of his bloodline, when he first laid eyes on her. He’d made peace with the fact he’d never find a mate of his own, never hold children in his arms.

Then he’d returned one day to find a new medica stood tall and unafraid in the midst of his apothecarion. She’d recited her name without waiting for him to speak. The granddaughter of a brother of the First Company, she could have had any position she wished.

But she’d chosen Fleet duty.

“How can I help anyone if I’m bound to the homeworld, my lord? I wish to sail the stars, to succour those in need far from Nocturne’s fires. I am not afraid.”

She was never afraid. Not of the great empty void. Not of battle. Not of other Astartes. He smiled at the memory of her standing face to face (rather, face to stomach) with an irate Ultramarine.

“I don’t care what the Codex dictates, Captain Sicarious! You can question the wounded after I’ve tended to them, and not one moment before!”

Slowly, she’d chipped away at the stony walls around his heart. She’d given him hope for a future filled with warmth and life after centuries in cold solitude. He’d spent weeks in the forge, toiling over her betrothal gift.

Nev’ran stood, ramrod straight, as she opened the plain metal box. The contents glittered in the candlelight.

“Oh…oh, Nev!”

She lifted the many-stranded necklace, delicate golden wire set with dozens of tiny, scarlet stones. “Rubies! My favorite!”

“I know.” He smiled, then slowly dropped to one knee. “It would be a great honor, if you would bond with me in the firelight of-”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Kisses turned to caresses, which turned to clothing discarded on the floor of his quarters. He was anxious about causing her pain. She was frustrated with his caution. When they finally settled into a rhythm….

By Vulkan’s burning eyes, it was perfection.

In hindsight, it probably hadn’t been the best idea to propose in the middle of an Ork invasion. The Chaplain hadn’t been available for several weeks, and by that time, they’d had to request an expedited ceremony.

They’d wanted to be officially bonded before the child came.

Nev’ran leaned his forehead against the niche and braced himself for the memories to come.

The Orks had been defeated, but the planet was devastated. Infrastructure crumbling, people battered, defenders exhausted. The Salamanders did what they could to aid the population. He remembered working nonstop for days, tending the wounded and extracting geneseed from the fallen.

He’d tried to convince her to remain on the Flamewrought with the serfs. She’d refused. Pregnant or not, as long as she could help, she would. He’d been so proud, watching her organize the hospital, bark orders at officers, and sooth traumatized guardsmen.

So strong. So fearless.

Then the Drukhari came. Hate reddened his vision.

Vile scavengers drawn to the scent of suffering. A raiding party swooped in under the cover of darkness one night, striking at the most vulnerable point: the hospital.

When he found her…when he’d seen what they’d left of her and his unborn child….

Nev’ran’s knees buckled.

“Master?”

He did not look up at the voice. “Hur’reth.”

“I knew I would find you here.” A second hand joined his upon his wife’s memorial shrine. “I come once a standard week.”

“Thank you for maintaining it.”

“She was like a second mother to me, during my apprenticeship.” He heard a smile in the younger Salamander’s voice. “She used to sneak me sweets when your back was turned.”

“I know.”

“I celebrated the news of your bonding. And I mourned…after.” A deep breath. “I desired to speak with you, but I had my trials. And then you left.”

Nev’ran remained silent. In the aftermath of her murder, he’d wanted nothing more than to hunt every filthy Drukhari from the galaxy. He’d badgered then-Captain Dac’tyr to let him go to the Watch, even threatening to join as a Black Shield.

Anything to hold off the black void of grief.

“Did you find what you needed in the Death Watch?”

Nev’ran sighed and stood. “I thought so, brother. With every Drukhari I left a burning husk at my feet, I thought so.”

In time, the volcanic rage had faded to smoldering embers. He’d formed bonds with his brothers in the Watch, took pleasure in the companionship of the serfs.

I wonder if Brother Nullus ever acted upon his feelings for his little serf girl?

But the wound never truly healed.

Before he could say so, a metallic voice screeched over the chapel’s vox. “ALL BROTHERS ARMOR YOURSELVES AND GATHER ON THE BRIDGE.”

***

“We have received a distress signal.” Captain Xavus leaned over the communications table. “It’s fragmented, and weak, but close.”

He hit a button and a panicked voice pierced the air. “shhhh…breached our hull in numerous…shhhh…captain dead…shhhh…hunting us…shhhh…Emperor, save us! Someone help…shhhh….”

The final words, screamed in terror, sent lightning up Nev’ran’s spine.

“Dark Eldar!”

Xavus ended the transmission. “That was the last of it. We sent transmissions of our own, but received no further communication.”

Nev’ran spoke even before the Lieutenant standing next to him. “How soon will we arrive?”

“We should be within Thunderhawk range in less than an hour.”

The Lieutenant eyed him. “I will prepare a squad.”

Nev’ran turned to the unfamiliar brother. “I will accompany you.”

“This is no job for an Apothecary.”

Fury flashed through him, but Xavus spoke before he could. “Apothecary Nev’ran is recently returned from the Death Watch, Lieutenant. His knowledge of the xenos will prove valuable.”

Thank you, brother.

The Captain continued, face grim. “And, in the unlikely case there are survivors, they will need medical aid.”

***

The silence. As Nev’ran exited the Thunderhawk in the hangar of the large merchant transport, bolter raised, the silence struck him. Void ships were never silent.

His mind flashed back to that terrible dawn, outside the hospital camp. It had been silent then too.

“Brother Apothecary, what insight do you have for us?”

He ignored the irritation in the Lieutenant’s voice. “Trust nothing you see or hear. Keep a lookout in all directions at all times.”

Another brother spoke. “We saw no ships on our approach. Perhaps the foul xenos are gone?”

“Do not be certain of that.”

The abominations were nothing if not cunning.

The five man squad moved quickly through the empty halls. Scorch marks and twisted metal marked a fierce fight. Bright red blood dripped from every surface.

“Where are the bodies?” Another of the team spoke.

“Taken.” Nev’ran growled. “Fuel for foul experiments. Pray to the Emperor they were killed first.”

“Brothers!”

Nev’ran turned toward the shout. One of his squadmates stood before an open door. He heard a few faint gurgles coming from within.

“Dear Emperor….”

The Apothecary could guess what he saw. “Can any be saved?”

A short shake of his helmeted head.

“Then give them mercy, brother.”

The Salamander aimed his flamer into the chamber. “You will be avenged, I swear it.”

Searing, cleansing heat. Then silence once again. The Salamander came to stand next to Nev’ran, head lowered, chest heaving.

He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Steel yourself. There will be more.”

There were.

By the time his squad reached the bowels of the ship, all were silent. Nev’ran knew each battle brother had seen horrors to blast mortal minds. But the charnel houses left in the Drukhari’s wake could shake the most stalwart Astartes.

They had shaken him.

The dragon in him roared for battle. He desired nothing more than to rip the perpetrators of these atrocities in half with his bare hands. Another part of him wept for the victims.

Emperor, is this my punishment for failing to save my mate and child? To be forced to arrive too late time and time again?

Inside his helmet, he closed his eyes and channeled every ounce of faith he still possessed into one prayer.

Please. Just one. Let me save just one.

A light flashed on in his helmet display. “I have a life sign!”

“Xenos?” The Lieutenant growled.

“Human.”

The other Salamanders gathered around. “Where?”

“Toward the far hull.”

As he spoke, the already flickering lights in the hall went out. Nev’ran activated his firesight, and each brother came alive with unique heat patterns.

“The life support systems are failing,” one Salamander remarked.

Nev’ran pressed ahead. “Then we must move quickly!”

More systems failed as they continued. The air grew frigid, frost forming along every metal surface. Nev’ran barely noticed. His eyes fixed upon the life sign as it turned from green to orange, then orange to red.

No. Not this time!

At last they turned a corner to find a barricade constructed before an ornate set of doors. Only here did bodies lay where they’d fallen. Men and woman in fine uniforms, wielding pristine weapons.

“House guards.” One of the brothers muttered.

Another nodded. “A final stand.”

The Lieutenant kicked a lanky body in spiked armor. “They took a few of the foul creatures with them, at least.”

“No mutilations.” Nev’ran rumbled. “The xenos must have detected our ship and fled before they had time to…enjoy themselves.”

“Cowards.”

The Apothecary clenched his fists around his weapon until the metal creaked. “If we had only gotten here sooner.” He shook himself. “Help me brothers, the life sign is behind that door.”

He pushed his way through the hastily constructed barricade. Reaching the door, he realized it had been welded shut. His pauldron met metal with a ringing crash.

“Allow me, brother.” The Lieutenant came up beside. “On the count of three….”

Two rams later, and the door buckled. A gust of icy air blew past them as they stepped into the chamber. It may have been beautiful once, with ornate furniture and hanging tapestries. Now frost covered every surface, including the figure huddled by the dead fireplace.

“Warp damn it.” The Lieutenant growled. “The coolant system here must have ruptured.”

Nev’ran barely heard him. A blanket covered the still body, only revealing a frail, feminine hand. The blue fingers twitched.

A cry from behind stopped him mid-step.

“Throne! The xenos lives!”

Swift and deadly as a thrown blade, the Drukhari “corpse” leapt into the chamber. Nev’ran caught the glimmer of mad eyes through its half-demolished helm before they focused on the figure on the floor.

A hiss of vicious delight, a flicker of movement, and it stood over the prone form. The blanket was torn away, revealing….

You. A young woman. Helpless. Staring up at your death with calm acceptance.

The dragon within awoke. “NO!”

Afterwards, he never could explain how he reached the Drukhari in time. He only felt the thin throat in his fist, wrenching it away from you like a ragdoll. Again and again and again he slammed it to the floor, continuing long after it ceased to resemble any kind of humanoid. Until, at last, a soft gasp drew him out of the blood rage.

You stared up at him with wide eyes. He expected to see fear in your gaze. But there was only awe. Something in his hearts burned at that look, a feeling he had not experienced in decades.

You reached your tiny, fragile hand out to him, blue-tinted lips opening. “C-cold. So…cold….”

He knew nothing about you, not even your name, and yet it felt natural to hold you close. As if you belonged in his arms.

“Fear not, little one. This dragon will keep you warm.”

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