Archive of Our Own ^beta

    It had been a few years since their warp jump failed and they landed on the forgotten planet. The interference around the small star system never showed signs of receding, while the becalmed warp prevented communications with the rest of their legion.

    Ansaldo sat in the doorway of a local household, staring at the quiet greenery that sprawled out ahead. The wind rustled the leaves, dancing through his alabaster hair while he contemplated the situation. The planet was beautiful, thick forests and high mountains the home to a dizzying amount of fauna. He almost envied the fact it had always been this way, the choking smog of Chemos a forever memory; even though it became a paradise world soon before his initiation.

    A ragged laugh calls out to him, looking behind, he sees that the great grandsons of the family had come to visit. The short old woman wanted to introduce her kin to the marine. Ansaldo smiled politely, getting up to entertain them while the grandmother collected a teapot. While the small boys hung off his arms a crash rings through the courtyard, it was the crack of broken clay. He left the boys to play while he checked on the damage.

    Ansaldo walked into the kitchen, angry huffs and complaints presenting the woman attempting to pick up the pieces of a brown teapot. He waved her away, bending down to replace her as she sat on a chair and rubbed her back. He knew this teapot well, it was used when he first met the family. It was monochrome, an intricate pattern of carvings leading its visual flair.

    He sighed, so much effort had been destroyed by a single slip; the little clay teapot reached the end of its days long before its time. He collected the last pieces, as he walked over to the garbage bin a shoe hits his back. Gesturing wildly the old woman stands up, telling him to place the pieces on the table, while shuffling into the next room.

    He smiles, doing what she asked. The woman returns with a small pot of dark adhesive, placing it beside the teapot remains and scooting her chair close to the table. Ansaldo watched her work as she gently pieced it together, the shouts of the outside roughhousing creeping past the door.

    When she was finished, and the teapot was left to harden, he lamented on its state again. Even half dried the glue was prominent, calling attention to every break across the surface. It would never display the artisans skill uninterrupted again. Although, he thought, the teapot would have looked nice if it had its accents presented with a paint of similar colour to the glue.

    A little bit later, a similar situation happens.

    A loud crash as a precious porcelain pot plummets to the ground. Tyren and Vesalius, engrossed in their duel, knocked over its rosewood pedestal. Ansaldo huffed, running over to pull the two apart and shove them towards the courtyard. They didn’t cease their bickering as they walked out the door, occasional slaps being intercepted and given in kind.

    “I don’t understand how they never get tired of it.” Castus sighed, brushing the pieces into a bowl. “It’s such a shame, this was an expensive gift.” 

    Ansaldo chuckled, “I wouldn’t have such a problem with it if they didn’t destroy the furniture.” Shaking his head, he reaches out to take the bowl from Castus. “No point in letting it go to waste, the pieces are large enough to fix.”

    Taking the bowl, Ansaldo walked through to the store house. Fragile fragments rustling against each other like broken windchimes. Once there, he browsed through the shelves. Adhesives made for any purpose, much stronger than anything this small feudal world can create; he picked up bottle after bottle, all of them feeling wrong. His brow furrowed. All of them dried clear, the teapot would look like it had never broken in the first place.

    His ruminating stopped with his steps, on these shelves was where they kept their armour lacquer. He peered at the golden liquid in a bottle, plucking it from the rest and turning it over in his fingers. Having made a decision, he grabbed a brush and walked to the workshop, gently placing everything on a table next to a window. Using a pin to tie up his long hair before setting on his task.

    As he worked he found a rhythm, and gentle thoughts flowed in soon after. ‘It’s so small. It broke so easily. Once broken it’s so simple to just throw it away.’ It didn’t take long for his adept fingers to finish, it was back together and ready to set. Letting the teapot rest alone, Ansaldo moved on to his other tasks for the day.

    When he returns hours later, he pauses.

    He had looked at it before but didn't see it. The sealed cracks easily caught the light from the setting sun, reflecting a golden array across the carmine table. He was stunned, that Despite its state it still looked beautiful was…

    He stopped himself, no, that isn't right. He thought the same thing of the other teapot. That the rich brown went well with the nearly black glue. A memory emerged, a story he heard from his brothers while he was with the main force.

    ' Look at them, my sons. You are the highest, and they, the lowest. It is your duty to raise them up, as high as they will go. Anything less is not worthy of you. ' It was what he said to a marine that insulted the common people of Byzas.

The captain huffed, amused.

"It seems even Fulgrim had his good moments."