The weapon glinted in the dim light of Branwen’s quarters, ruddy gold marred by ten thousand years of wear and tear. Blood had clotted and dried in the recesses of the stylized wing patterns engraved down the sheath, causing the metal to appear more a copper-bronze than it should have been. All the same, Branwen knew exactly what the piece was - it was why she’d snatched it away from the Daemon Princess that had nearly taken her life.
Branwen had seen enough of them during her time among the Legio Custodes, on Terra. They were less combat knives and more badges of office, each one unique to its owner. That it had been claimed as a trophy… The Shadow-Captain could only imagine the rage and sorrow one of the Ten Thousand would have felt.
Hopefully there was a chance now to put that right.
Running a hand over the stylized double-eagle headed pommel, she began to type away on a dataslate.
I hope that my words find you well, my love. Would that we could meet in person, but the campaign in the Invicta Sector has been demanding to say the least. Perhaps you could put in a good word to Lord Guilliman about granting us leave for Sanguinala. Completely for unselfish reasons, I promise.
While distance may prevent me from sending you the usual trinkets, shaped from bolt casings or from the lower deck-markets of a starship, I believe that what I found is significant enough to send to you. I do not know who it belonged to, only that it is important that it is returned to its rightful place - among those of the Legio.
I do hope it does not cause you too much grief, my Eagle. Were it in my power, I would be there to comfort you.
Know that I love you, Arturia. Knowing that you are waiting for me to return has tempered my nature some - though Ashes may disagree rather emphatically. Please give Myrina a hug for me. Maybe Constantin too, but only if he’s behaving.
With a series of buzzing reports, the slate ejected a length of parchment printed with her message. She deposited it within a sealed tube, placing it alongside the lined box that the Misericordia rested within.
“Do we have a transport bound for the Throneworld?”
Her vox crackled with a response a moment later. “Aye, Captain. Navy’s sending a squadron of Frigates to make contact with reinforcements from the Sol battlefleet.”
“Get a pilot onboard. I’ve a priority message for Custodian Blackhawk, eyes only.”
(Drabble for @40kartweek - for the ‘Gift’ prompt. Loosely based on tabletop events from last week - once Branwen got out of the Apothecarion for trying to fight a Daemon Prince. XD)
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