Negotiations

The tension in the air was palpable as Franklin Valorian, Primarch of the Liberty Eagles, stood face to face with Eldrad Ulthran, Farseer of Craftworld Ulthwé. Two Major players of their respective races, each carrying the weight of their people's future on their shoulders.

"Ath-nár-ishar, Aeldari. Your presence here is... unexpected, but not unwelcome."

Eldrad, his ancient eyes scrutinizing the Primarch from behind his ornate helm, responded in kind. "Ath-nár-vanyë, Primarch"

Franklin, his imposing frame dwarfing even the tall Aeldari, inclined his head slightly in respect. "I am Franklin Valorian, Primarch of the Liberty Eagles, though you may know me as the Liberator."

Eldrad, his ornate helm masking any expression, replied with equal formality. "And I am Eldrad Ulthran, Farseer of Craftworld Ulthwé. Your knowledge of our tongue is... most intriguing, Primarch."

A small smile played on Franklin's lips. "Ah, but the unexpected is what makes life interesting, wouldn't you agree, Farseer?"

"Perhaps," Eldrad conceded, his tone measured. "Though for one who walks the paths of fate, the unexpected can be... disconcerting."

Franklin's expression sobered. "Speaking of the unexpected, I owe you a debt of gratitude, Eldrad Ulthran. You saved my life."

This statement seemed to catch Eldrad off guard. "Explain," he said, a hint of curiosity breaking through his stoic demeanor.

"When my... corrupted self first manifested," Franklin elaborated, his hand unconsciously moving to his side where the phantom pain of a near-fatal wound lingered, "it was your intervention that stopped his blade. You denied the Ruinous Powers another champion that day."

Eldrad nodded solemnly. "It is what should be done. The Great Enemy must be denied at every turn, regardless of the vessel they seek to corrupt."

"Indeed," Franklin agreed. "Though I must admit, I'm curious as to how you knew to be there at that precise moment."

A flicker of something—pride, perhaps—crossed Eldrad's face. "I walk the skeins of fate, Primarch. I saw the potential for your fall and moved to prevent it. Though I must admit, the outcome was... not as I had foreseen."

Franklin chuckled. "Ah, but that's the beauty of free will, isn't it? We can always choose to defy fate."

"You speak with wisdom beyond your years, young one," Eldrad observed, a note of approval in his voice. "It is... refreshing to hear such words from a Mon-keigh."

"Young?" Franklin raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. "I'll have you know I'm quite mature for my age. But tell me, Farseer, does my fluency in your tongue truly surprise you so much?"

Eldrad's posture stiffened slightly. "It is not merely fluency, Primarch. You speak our language with an antiquity that should be impossible for one of your kind. It hints at knowledge that predates even the Fall of our empire."

Franklin's smile widened. " Well, I suppose you could say I have a rather... godly mentor."

Eldrad's eyes narrowed. "Speak plainly, Primarch. Such knowledge is not freely given, even to one such as yourself."

"All in good time, Farseer," Franklin replied, his tone turning more serious. "There is much we need to discuss, and this battlefield is hardly the place for such weighty conversations."

He gestured towards the Liberty Eagles' command post in the distance. "Perhaps we could continue this discussion in a more comfortable setting? I believe we have much to learn from each other."

Eldrad paused, considering the offer. His gaze swept over the tense standoff between the Aeldari and Imperial forces. "And what of our people? This powder keg, as you Mon-keigh would say, remains primed to ignite."

Franklin nodded, understanding the concern. "A valid point. I propose a temporary ceasefire. Your forces will be granted safe passage within agreed-upon areas of our camp. In return, I ask that you order your warriors to stand down. We need not spill more blood this day."

"A generous offer," Eldrad mused, "though some might call it naive. How can you be certain we will not take advantage of such... hospitality?"

Franklin's smile remained casual, though his eyes held a keen glint as he spoke in flawless, Ancient Aeldari. "Farseer, the dance of fate is as delicate as the winds of Lileath, is it not? The galaxy shifts, unseen currents pull at even the wisest among us... and sometimes, things drift closer to the tempest than intended."

With a small, almost careless motion, Franklin reached into a compartment of his armor and withdrew a smooth, black orb no larger than a palm. He handed it to Eldrad, who took it with a raised brow of curiosity. As the Farseer studied it, the surface of the orb shimmered, revealing a small, blinking red dot. At the very edge of the projection floated the unmistakable vortex of the Eye of Terror. The distance between the two made Eldrad's blood run cold.

"Take the Song of Ulthanash," Franklin continued, his tone casual as if he were discussing the weather. "A marvel of survival, constantly threading the needle through the tides of fate. But," he added lightly, "it doesn't take much—a misstep, a subtle nudge, and even the greatest of vessels might find themselves caught in the storm."

Eldrad's gaze remained fixed on the blinking dot. The realization sunk in—this was Ulthwé, and Franklin was well aware of its position, perhaps more aware than the Aeldari had anticipated.

Franklin's disarming smile never wavered. "Of course, that's not what either of us want. I'd much rather see our paths aligned, rather than some... unintended drift toward places like the Eye of Terror." His voice carried a light, almost friendly tone, but the underlying message was clear. "After all, cooperation suits both our people far better than... turbulence, don't you agree?"

The orb vanished from Eldrad's hand just as easily as it had appeared, yet the weight of its message lingered heavily between them.

For a long moment, Eldrad was silent, his ancient mind weighing countless possibilities. Finally, he spoke. "Very well, Primarch Valorian. We shall accept your offer of parley. But know this: we do so not out of fear or weakness, but out of a desire to understand the enigma that you present."

Franklin smiled. "I would expect nothing less from the Aeldari. Shall we, then?"

As they turned to inform their respective forces of the arrangement, Eldrad spoke once more. "Tell me, Primarch, this 'godly mentor' of yours... it wouldn't happen to be connected to that rather interesting sword at your hip, would it?"

Franklin's hand instinctively went to the Crone Sword. "Perceptive as always, Farseer. But that, I'm afraid, is a tale for another time. One best told over a good drink and away from prying eyes."

"Indeed," Eldrad replied, a hint of anticipation in his voice. "It seems this day holds more surprises yet."

As Eldrad Ulthran walked alongside Franklin Valorian, his ancient eyes ceaselessly scanned their surroundings, absorbing every detail with the intensity of a being who had witnessed millennia of galactic history. The encampment of the Liberty Eagles spread out before him, a bustling hive of activity that spoke volumes about this unique Legion and the changing face of humanity.

"How swiftly the wheel of time turns," Eldrad mused internally. "These Mon-keigh, once primitive creatures scrabbling in the dirt of their homeworld, now stride across the stars with technologies that rival our own."

The Farseer's gaze swept over the equipment and vehicles of the Liberty Eagles. There was an unmistakable air of advanced technology about them, reminiscent of humanity's lost Golden Age. Yet, they were not mere replicas of ancient designs. Eldrad noted intricate modifications, improvements that spoke of a deep understanding of the underlying principles.

"They do not simply use these relics; they comprehend them, improve upon them," Eldrad realized with a mixture of grudging admiration and concern. "Perhaps the Emperor's grand crusade is more than mere conquest. It is the resurgence of a fallen empire."

One aspect, however, drew a mental chuckle from the Farseer. Everything - from the vehicles to the weapons to the armor - was significantly larger than their counterparts in other Imperial forces. "Typical Mon-keigh," Eldrad thought with a hint of derision. "Always equating size with superiority. And yet..."

He couldn't deny the effectiveness of these oversized creations. The Liberty Eagles moved with swiftness that belied their bulk, their massive weapons delivering overwhelming firepower with pinpoint accuracy. It was a brute force approach, certainly, but one honed to a razor's edge.

Still, Eldrad's pride wouldn't allow him to concede superiority. "Our technology remains superior," he reassured himself. "Millennia of refinement cannot be overcome so easily. And yet..." The thought lingered, uncomfortable in its implication. "We are a dying race, our numbers dwindling while humanity spreads like a wildfire across the galaxy."

As they walked, Eldrad's attention was drawn to a particular group of Astartes. They stood apart from their brothers, both in appearance and in the aura of power that surrounded them. Each wielded a massive staff, and around them hovered strange, mechanical constructs that seemed to ripple the very fabric of reality.

"Their psykers," Eldrad realized, his interest piqued. "'Librarians,' they call them. A quaint term for wielders of such power."

He recalled seeing these Librarians in battle, their abilities on full display. The memory was both impressive and unsettling. He had watched them purge Nurglite corruption from their comrades, their powers acting like a cleansing fire against the foul taint of Chaos. More incredibly, he had witnessed them hold a Greater Daemon of Nurgle at bay, a feat that would challenge even the most powerful of Farseers.

Yet, something about their methods puzzled Eldrad. "Not a single lethal spell," he mused. "All defense and purification. Is this a limitation of their abilities, or a choice? A weapon used only to shield, never to strike?"

The strategic implications of such a force were not lost on the Farseer. An army with such powerful defensive capabilities could be nigh unstoppable, weathering attacks that would annihilate others. Yet, the lack of offensive psychic abilities seemed a glaring weakness.

As Eldrad pondered this, his gaze fell upon one particular Astartes, and he felt a chill run down his spine. This warrior stood out even among his fellow Librarians, his presence commanding and intimidating. His appearance was rugged, with thick, dark hair and a full beard that added to his feral aura. But it was his eyes that truly caught Eldrad's attention - sharp, calculating, constantly analyzing his surroundings with an intensity that spoke of both vast intelligence and barely restrained power.

"By Isha," Eldrad thought, "he's like a mountain given form, immovable and implacable."

The warrior's physical presence was imposing, reminiscent of a towering glacier - cold, unyielding, and possessed of a potential energy that could reshape the very land if unleashed. As Eldrad watched, the Astartes raised a canister to his lips, taking a long swig of some unknown liquid.

"Barbaric," Eldrad's initial thought was dismissive. But even as the word formed in his mind, he chided himself for such a superficial judgment. This being radiated danger in a way that set every one of Eldrad's finely-honed instincts on high alert.

Through the murmur of conversation around him, Eldrad caught the warrior's name and title: Vladimir Mendelev, Chief Librarian of the Liberty Eagles. The name meant little to Eldrad, but the title spoke volumes. This was no ordinary psyker, but the leader of all psychic warriors in this formidable Legion.

"There is more to him than meets the eye," Eldrad realized, his psychic senses probing cautiously. "Much more."

The Farseer had encountered countless powerful beings in his long life—from mighty warriors to skilled psykers and daemonic entities of unfathomable power. Yet something about this Chief Librarian set him apart. It wasn't just raw power, though that was present in abundance. There was a complexity to his aura, layers upon layers of psychic energy intertwined in patterns Eldrad had never encountered before—intricately woven, almost mechanical in their precision, yet with an odd, digital quality that felt entirely unique.

"What manner of training have you undergone, I wonder?" Eldrad mused silently. "What secrets do you hold, Chief Librarian of the Liberty Eagles?"

As if sensing Eldrad's scrutiny, Mendelev's piercing gaze suddenly locked onto the Farseer. For a brief moment, their eyes met across the bustling camp, and Eldrad felt as though he were staring into a machine—calm on the surface, but precise and calculated beneath, capable of overwhelming him in an instant.

In that moment, Eldrad realized his earlier assessment of the Librarian's abilities had been premature. If Mendelev was a true reflection of their potential, then the psychic might of the Liberty Eagles was far greater—and far more dangerous—than he had initially believed.

The command tent of the Liberty Eagles buzzed with an energy that was part tension, part anticipation. At its center, two figures sat across from each other, their presence filling the space with an almost tangible weight of history and potential futures.

Franklin leaned forward, his posture relaxed yet alert. Across from him, Eldrad, sat with the rigid posture of one who carried millennia of wisdom and pride.

"So, Farseer Ulthran," Franklin began, his tone casual yet precise, "shall we discuss the matter of the Webway gates?"

Eldrad's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "A bold opening, Primarch. You speak of our most closely guarded secrets as if discussing the weather."

Franklin smiled, a gesture that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Why waste time on pleasantries when we both know what's at stake? The Great Crusade is underway. The galaxy is changing, whether we wish it or not."

"The galaxy has seen empires rise and fall," Eldrad replied, his tone dismissive. "Your Imperium is but the latest in a long line of would-be conquerors."

"Perhaps," Franklin conceded, "but even you must see the threads of fate converging. The Imperium will hold this galaxy in an iron fist. The question is, will the Aeldari be crushed within that grasp, or will they find a way to coexist?"

Eldrad's posture stiffened, pride radiating from every pore. "The Aeldari have survived calamities your young race can scarcely imagine. We do not need the charity of Mon-keigh to ensure our survival."

Franklin's hand unconsciously moved to the Crone Sword at his hip, a motion not lost on Eldrad. "Survival is one thing, Farseer. Thriving is another. We both know the true enemy that threatens us all."

"The Great Enemy," Eldrad said, the word hanging in the air between them.

"Indeed," Franklin nodded. "You came here to prevent a champion of the Ruinous Powers from ascending. Your people fight tirelessly to deny them their prizes. It seems to me we have a common enemy."

Eldrad's eyes flickered to the Crone Sword and back to Franklin's face. "You speak with knowledge no Mon-keigh should possess. Your sword, your words, even your battle techniques... they echo of times long past. How is this possible?"

Franklin smiled enigmatically. "Let's just say I have a... unique perspective on history. One that allows me to see the value in cooperation between our peoples."

"Cooperation?" Eldrad scoffed, though a hint of curiosity crept into his voice. "And what form would this 'cooperation' take?"

"Access to the Webway gates, for starters," Franklin said, his tone matter-of-fact. "In return, safe passage for your people through Imperial space. A chance to preserve your culture, your lives, in the face of a changing galaxy."

Eldrad's eyes narrowed. "You ask for the keys to our kingdom, Primarch. Why should we trust you with such power?"

Franklin leaned back, his posture open yet commanding. "Because, Farseer, I am the bridge between our peoples. I understand the Aeldari in ways no other human can. And I have the ear of the Emperor himself."

"Bold claims," Eldrad said, his tone challenging. "Yet you dance around the true questions. Who taught you our ways? How did you come by that sword? What secrets do you hide, Franklin Valorian?"

Franklin's smile widened. "Where would be the fun in revealing all my secrets at once? Let's focus on the matter at hand. The Webway gates for safe passage and a guarantee of non-aggression. Surely a Farseer of your caliber can see the value in such an arrangement?"

Eldrad was silent for a long moment, his ancient mind weighing countless possibilities. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of ages. "You speak of inevitabilities, Primarch. Of iron fists and crusades. Yet the future is not set in stone. I have walked paths you cannot imagine."

"Then you've seen the potential futures," Franklin pressed. "How many Craftworlds burn if we cannot find common ground? How many Aeldari lives are lost to misunderstanding and xenophobia?"

A flicker of something—concern, perhaps—crossed Eldrad's face before his proud mask reasserted itself. "We have survived worse than your Imperium, Primarch. We will endure, as we always have."

Franklin nodded, acknowledging the pride in Eldrad's words. "No doubt. But at what cost? The galaxy is changing, Farseer. The old ways of isolation and secrecy may not be enough in the face of what's to come."

Franklin's gaze hardened. "The Emperor's vision for humanity leaves little room for compromise, Eldrad. His doctrine is simple: stand aside or be crushed beneath the wheels of progress...beneath the heel of the Imperium but I offer a third option. Cooperation."

"Your offer reeks of desperation," Eldrad said, his voice laced with contempt. "What need have we of your cooperation?"

"Survival," Franklin said simply. "The galaxy is changing, Farseer. The old ways are dying. Adapt or perish. It's a lesson both our races have learned the hard way."

Eldrad was silent for a long moment, his ancient mind weighing countless possibilities. "And what guarantee do we have that this... cooperation would be honored?"

Franklin smiled, a glint of triumph in his eyes. "My word, Farseer. And the word of a Primarch is backed by the full might of the Imperium."

"Words are wind," Eldrad dismissed, but there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

"Then let actions speak louder," Franklin proposed. "Grant us limited access to specific Webway Portals. In return, I'll ensure safe passage for Aeldari ships through designated sectors of Imperial space."

Eldrad's eyes widened slightly, the first crack in his impassive facade. "You would go against the Imperium's xenophobic doctrine?"

Franklin nodded solemnly. "For the greater good of both our peoples, yes. The Emperor seeks the Webway. I seek to prevent unnecessary bloodshed. This arrangement serves both purposes."

"And what of your fellow Primarchs?" Eldrad pressed. "Surely they would not abide such an agreement."

"Leave them to me," Franklin said confidently. "My brothers may be set in their ways, but they respect results. And this arrangement will yield results, Farseer. For both our peoples."

Eldrad sat back, his ancient eyes studying Franklin with newfound respect. "You are... not what I expected, Franklin Valorian. Your words carry weight, your arguments merit consideration. But do not mistake this for acquiescence. The Aeldari bow to no one, least of all to humanity."

Franklin nodded, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "I would expect nothing less, Eldrad Ulthran. So, shall we discuss the specifics of this arrangement? After all, the devil is in the details, as we Mon-keigh like to say."

Eldrad's eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking between Franklin's face and the sword at his hip. "You dance around the truth with remarkable skill, Primarch. But know this: the fate of my people is not a bargaining chip to be lightly traded."

Franklin nodded solemnly. "Nor would I expect it to be. But consider this, Farseer: with this alliance, you gain not just safety for your people, but a voice in shaping the galaxy's future. A chance to guide humanity away from the darker paths of fate."

Eldrad sat back, his ageless eyes studying Franklin intently. "You offer much, Primarch. Perhaps too much. It makes one wonder what you truly seek."

"Peace," Franklin said simply. "A future where our races stand together against the darkness. Is that not worth the risk?"

A long silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of countless possible futures. Finally, Eldrad spoke. "Your words are compelling, Primarch Valorian. But words are not enough. I will need time to consult the skeins of fate and my fellow Farseers, to see the paths that lie ahead."

Franklin nodded, a victorious glint in his eye. "Of course, Farseer. Take all the time you need. But remember, time is a luxury the galaxy may soon be unable to afford."

As Eldrad prepared to leave, Franklin's voice cut through the tension with casual precision, "Oh, and Farseer? When you're ready to discuss the true nature of this sword... and the knowledge it holds? You know where to find me."

Eldrad paused at the tent's entrance, looking back at Franklin with a mix of frustration and grudging respect. "You are a most peculiar Mon-keigh, Franklin Valorian. I suspect our paths will cross many times in the ages to come."

Pausing briefly, Franklin added, "I've already reactivated the Webway portal, and a safe passage has been cleared for you. You have my word—no one will stand in your way." Eldrad gave a final nod, acknowledging the offer, before departing.

-------------------

As the shimmering veil of the Webway portal closed behind him, Eldrad felt the weight of millennia settle upon his shoulders. The familiar, psychically-charged atmosphere of the Labyrinthine Dimension enveloped him, a stark contrast to the crude materiality of the Mon-keigh world he had just left.

"Primitives," Eldrad muttered, his voice tinged with both disdain and a reluctant admiration. "Yet they grow bolder, more dangerous with each passing cycle."

The Farseer's mind raced, replaying every moment of his encounter with the enigmatic Primarch, Franklin Valorian. The Mon-keigh's words echoed in his thoughts, a persistent reminder of the precarious position the Aeldari now found themselves in.

"The audacity," Eldrad mused, his tone a mixture of irritation and respect. "To think a mere child of the Emperor could presume to bargain for the Webway itself. Our birthright, our sanctuary..."

Yet even as pride swelled within him, the cold logic that had kept Eldrad alive for millennia asserted itself. The Webway portal they had just abandoned was lost to them, at least for now. To reclaim it by force would be... costly.

Biel-Tan, Iyanden," Eldrad whispered, considering his options. "Their martial might could perhaps tip the scales. But at what cost?"

Images flashed through his mind: the proud Aspect Warriors of Biel-Tan, each representing the martial prowess of their Craftworld, standing in lockstep with their kin. The gleaming Guardians of Iyanden, their golden and blue armor reflecting the unwavering will of their people, bolstered by ranks of battle-hardened warriors still fighting for their Craftworld's survival. Formidable forces, to be sure, but against the Liberty Eagles?

Eldrad's lips curled into a wry smile. "The Primarch speaks true. His Legion is no simple foe. And with him at their helm..."

The Farseer closed his eyes, reaching out with his psychic senses to brush against the skeins of fate. The future unfolded before him in a dizzying array of possibilities, each more grim than the last. The Great Crusade, a juggernaut of human ambition and might, sweeping across the stars. World after world falling to the Imperium's relentless advance.

"The Mon-keigh unite the galaxy under their banner," Eldrad murmured, his voice heavy with the weight of foresight. "An inevitability, perhaps. But the manner of that unification... that remains in flux."

He saw Craftworlds burning, their infinity circuits shattered, the souls of billions lost to She Who Thirsts. He saw hidden maiden worlds, carefully seeded over millennia, trampled under the boot of Imperial conquest. But he also saw glimpses of another path: Aeldari and humans fighting side by side against the encroaching darkness, the Webway a highway of alliance rather than a jealously guarded secret.

"The Primarch offers a bridge," Eldrad admitted to himself, his pride warring with pragmatism. "A distasteful notion, to be sure. To treat with Mon-keigh as equals... our ancestors would weep."

Yet the alternative loomed large in his mind. War with the Imperium now, at the height of their Great Crusade, would be disastrous. The Aeldari, still reeling from the Fall, their numbers a mere fraction of their former glory, could ill afford such a conflict.

"And what of She who thirsts and her accursed kin?" Eldrad pondered, recalling the Primarch's words. "The Great Enemy grows stronger, feeding on the conflicts that rage across the galaxy. Perhaps... perhaps there is wisdom in presenting a united front."

The Farseer's hand clenched involuntarily, psychic energy crackling around his fist. The very notion of alliance with the Mon-keigh galled him, a bitter draught that stuck in his throat. Yet he could not deny the logic of it, the potential benefits that such an arrangement might bring.

"But the Webway..." Eldrad's voice trailed off, his mind grappling with the enormity of what was being asked. To grant the Imperium access to the Labyrinthine Dimension would be unprecedented, a risk beyond measure. Yet if it could be controlled, limited...

"A hard bargain indeed, Primarch," Eldrad said to the empty air, a grudging respect in his tone. "You play the game well, for one so young."

The mystery of the Primarch himself still nagged at Eldrad. The ancient Aeldari knowledge, the strange sword that radiated an all-too-familiar power, the confidence with which he spoke of ages long past. These were puzzles that demanded solving, enigmas that could tip the balance of power in the galaxy.

"You hide much, Franklin Valorian," Eldrad mused. "But time reveals all secrets, and I have time in abundance."

With a thought, Eldrad summoned a psychic message, sending it racing through the Webway to his fellow Farseers. They would need to convene, to discuss this unprecedented situation. The fate of the Aeldari race hung in the balance, and every decision from this point on would shape the future of the galaxy.

As he prepared to make the journey back to Ulthwé, Eldrad smiled grimly. "Well played, Mon-keigh," he admitted. "But the game is far from over. We are the Aeldari, children of lost Eldario, inheritors of the Old Ones' legacy. We do not yield easily, even in the face of inevitability."

With a sweep of his ghosthelm, Eldrad strode deeper into the Webway, his mind already formulating strategies and counter-strategies. The Primarch had made his move, and now it was time for the Aeldari to respond. Whatever the outcome, Eldrad vowed that his people would face their fate with the pride and dignity befitting their ancient race.

The threads of fate were shifting, weaving a new tapestry of galactic destiny. And Eldrad Ulthran, greatest of the Farseers, would ensure that the Aeldari's thread shone bright amidst the encroaching darkness.

A/N: Ngl as I dove into Aeldari Lore they are a pretty decent faction if you ignore their seemingly lack of plot armor because...you know Space Marines, they remind me of the brits.