Chapter Text
Saladin scowled at the floating particles of the Warlock’s hurried transmat. Crucible champion or not, at the next Iron Banner, he was going to put that one through her paces one way or another.
This was no way for a Guardian to behave, even given the circumstances.
He crouched over the target of the Warlock’s ire. Broken as he was, he could tell who was.
Or had been.
“Your Ghost can heal you,” Saladin told the Prince of the Reef, “Let it do it.”
A golden eye hazy with pain- the other one was gone, burned away with most of his face- watched him warily. A moment later, a Ghost with a purple shell appeared and set to work. Saladin sat back on his heels and watched, thinking.
Uldren Sov. Why Uldren Sov?
Why Felwinter? Why Shaxx? Why Saladin? Same question, same answer.
When the Guardian was finally in one piece, he hauled himself to sit upright against a boulder, not up for standing yet. “Pain lingers,” Saladin said, “Sometimes it’s easier to die and be resurrected than heal, but that’s the easy way.”
“And you’re not a believer in the easy way.” The Awoken man touched his stomach, where a hole had been burned in his ragged armor. “Thank you, but…why? No one else…everyone always…”
“Because you don’t deserve it, no matter what they think.” The Iron Lord rose. “Can you stand? Walk?”
“Yeah.” He braced himself on the rock and stood, struggling to find his balance. “I’m, ah, well, I’m me.”
Saladin glanced at the erstwhile-Prince’s Ghost, who gave him a knowing look. So his Ghost knew, but hadn’t told him. Hmm. “I am Lord Saladin of the Iron Lords.”
“A Guardian?”
Saladin considered giving a history lesson and decided it wasn’t the time. The man looked dirty and starved. “Yes, though not of the City in the same way as the others you’ve met.” The Awoken staggered as he let go of the rock. “Come. The Iron Temple is not far from here.” And he, unlike this friendless Guardian, had access to the transmat grid.
That got him a head shake. “I have a ship not far from—”
“You have a wreck not far from here,” his Ghost said, “Go with him. You can trust Lord Saladin.” The Ghost gave Saladin an imploring look.
“You need food and a safe place to rest,” Saladin said. The injured man nodded reluctantly and staggered nearer. Saladin sighed inwardly and moved under his shoulder to help him stand. For a figure who had loomed large and ominous in the minds of the City and the Reef not so long ago, he was shorter than Saladin.
Isirah transmatted them without even appearing, landing them right at the doors to the Iron Temple. “So that’s what that’s like,” the Awoken muttered.
Saladin left him braced against pillar as he went to push open a door. His charge limped past him as soon as it was open. He closed it behind both of them, letting the warmth of the fire within drive away the chill.
Canine eyes lifted to watch them from all around. The wolves had opted to come in from the cold, then. It was storm season in these mountains and he could feel one coming in his bones. Doubtless they could smell it.
The Awoken froze under the lupine scrutiny. Saladin walked past him. “If they haven’t attacked yet, they won’t.” He summoned Light to set the banked central fire roaring.
The Awoken nodded and eased down next to the fire, sitting on the floor. “Cozy in here.” He winced and pulled something out from his belt. “You were right, Glint. Retrieving this piece of junk wasn’t worth it.”
Saladin glanced down to see what he held. It resembled a dead bird, but it was splayed out at mechanical angles. Metal gleamed beneath the feathers. “A Crow,” he said, grunting, “A device used by Awoken of the Reef for scouting.”
“Crow…like the bird.”
“So it seems.”
“They work together with wolves sometimes, you know. The real ones. I’ve seen it.” He toyed with broken drone a moment. “Call me that. Crow. There you go, Glint. A name.”
“Not a flattering one,” the Ghost- Glint- said.
“Better than nothing.”
“I guess.”
Better than Uldren, certainly. Saladin watched the fire, thinking. Because of the season, he wasn’t expecting any visitors. Even when he was, those visitors were few, Young Wolves come to pay homage to their forebearers or seek his counsel, Efrideet when she was feeling whimsical, a rare brave Cryptarch doing research. This…Crow…could stay here safely, unrecognized, at least for now.
He had the feeling, however, that he had just transmatted trouble into the center of his home. He couldn’t send the New Light out fighting like he’d seen, for one- honor prevented that- and eventually the season would change and visitors would know his face.
Saladin suddenly recalled that crows were seen as a bad omen in some places.
Wolves, too.
“Crow,” he said, testing out the name. The man looked up at him. “I’ll show you to the guest quarters and the mess hall.”
“I’ll leave in the morning,” Crow said as he got up.
“No,” Saladin said over his shoulder, “Tomorrow your lessons begin.”
“What?”
“The others attack you on sight. You’ve been losing.” Crow looked away, irritated and ashamed. “It doesn’t have to be that way.” The man who had managed to wreak the kind of havoc that Uldren had must have been a gifted and cunning warrior and Saladin was certain Crow had that within him. “I’d rather their folly be corrected immediately.”
He headed into the Temple without waiting for a response.
Crow’s footsteps followed.