Notes: This story began as a joke. By my calculations, less than three percent of the Warhammer stories on this site are classified as romance, so I don't assume many people will read this. If you do, though, please let me know what you think.
In Hive Tarsus, the lower you were, the better. In a reversal of the general arrangement of hives, the nobility sat nearer the bottom, under the surface of Scintilla's scorching deserts. There, further from the blazing light, they used their wealth to purchase elaborate cooling systems for their homes, emulating temperatures that would make an ice-worlder feel right at home. The more destitute citizens dwelled in the fearsome upper hives, where the sun could flay a man alive if he went out unprotected. But our story does not concern them. Most don't.
Adell Vanter woke up in what he assumed was the middle of the night and couldn't help but notice that he was bored. It wasn't an uncommon affliction in nobles, particularly the younger ones such as himself, not the prized scions but the children whose destiny was to marry someone as an alliance or be pledged to some prestigious organization (in Adell's case, the Ministorum). Most bored nobility can alleviate the feeling with relative ease, and Adell was usually no exception.
He got out of bed and paced for a bit. The climate system in his room made it uncomfortably cold. He wrapped his blanket around himself instead of turning it off. He paced a bit more, looking around his room and attempting to find something entertaining. A mirror that spanned the length of an entire wall gained his attention for a moment as he examined his haggard face, normally a handsome one, though possessed of the touch of smugness, that perpetual hint of a sneer, so common to those born into privilege. His hair, worn long and braided, was undone. He considered waking one of his maids and having her put it into its usual style, but decided to let her keep sleeping. House Vanter was rich, but not rich or powerful enough to treat its servants like complete dirt. At least, Adell wasn't respected enough in the family to do so. He thought briefly of developing a drug habit, just for a change of pace. A few doses of obscura now and again might liven up the day. It would certainly make studying the sacred texts of the God-Emperor ("Who Sits Immortal on the Golden Throne of Terra and In Whose Name All Acts Are Justified," his mind finished reflexively) a bit more interesting.
Come to think of it, he could study for a little while. See if there was some way he could worry his tutor with something that sounded almost, but not entirely, like a radical interpretation. It was a dangerous game he played, but he had enough clout to get away with it without attracting undue attention from the (without consciously meaning to, he added "God-Emperor's Most Holy Ordos of the") Inquisition.
He spared a glance at his weapon rack, a modest one compared with those of some of his siblings, containing only a laspistol he was fond of (he'd had it commissioned for his personal use, and as such it had been customized for extreme ease of use) and his carefully-maintained chainsword. He knew it was gauche, but he thought of his sword as his most prized possession, most likely due to the fact that most nobles considered them loud and vulgar. Which they were, but Adell loved them for it. He'd fought in a couple of duels with it as well, and even though he'd always had to remove the fuel from it beforehand, the mere sight of the exquisitely-shaped teeth gave his opponents pause.
Across from his weapon rack was his window, and this was what finally caught his attention. He strode over to it and looked outside. It was impossible to tell what time of day or night it was simply from looking, as in the lower hives, darkness was the norm. As befitting Hive Tarsus, the air bustled with activity, with groundcars caught in massive traffic jams on the streets below, and aircars filling the sky, not moving appreciably faster. Nobles and the servants thereof, flitting about like birds, occasionally alighting to fulfill whatever whim or task had necessitated their exodus.
Suddenly it hit him, and his mouth twisted into a smile. Figuring that another hour would be enough to ensure his servants were well-rested enough, he dressed himself, taking care to check his mirror constantly to ensure that everything was in its proper place. He took his chainsword off its place on his wall and starting going through his drills. His smile never left his face. Today, he'd go out for a walk outside his usual haunting grounds.
Adell's entourage was modest by the standards of most noblemen, but it still drew stares from the proles as they passed by. Adell led the way, of course, resplendent in his fur-lined coat and his chainsword clearly visible at his side. He was flanked by his bodyguard, Jet, an intimidating man, certainly, but not one of the finest conversationalists on the planet. Adell found him very dull, but his presence was necessary for any kind of trip. Behind him followed his maid Galatia. At least, that was what Adell called her. He assumed that she had had a name before he hired her as his maid, but it hardly mattered now. She attended to his every wish, and was paid well for her efforts. Even she was armed, with a chainknife that Adell had bought her when she first started working for him. She'd never actually used it, of course, practicing in her free time with an ordinary blade while Adell kept his gift locked away in his room. This was just as well, since it didn't work and was designed to break once its trigger was pulled. He trusted Galatia quite a bit, but not completely.
Reminded of Galatia's presence behind him, Adell remarked without turning, "Is your old home nearby here, by the way?"
"It is rather close, my lord," she replied, her soft voice audible only to those specifically listening for it.
"Hm," Adell responded. They walked for a little longer in silence before continuing. "Would you like to visit it?"
"No, my lord," came her answer, much faster than he'd anticipated. He waited for an explanation, but none seemed to be on its way. He decided to drop the matter.
They walked along the street, the crowd parting for someone baring the crest of House Vanter without any complaints. Not that they probably recognized it, Adell reflected. "All you need to do is act important, and they just accept it. It must be a dreary existence, eh, Jet?"
The former smuggler shrugged. "It was. It's why I left it."
"You bore me, you know that Jet?"
He merely shrugged again. Adell sighed and contented himself with examining the people around him.
Almost all wore the gray robes of the Administratum, bureaucrats-in-training, with the deadened, glassy looks of people who would hate their lives if they could only summon up the effort to do so. What really struck Adell was just how many of them there were. "There but for the grace of the God-Emperor go I," he muttered to himself. Not that he'd really be himself if hadn't been born Adell Vanter, of course, but it was the sentiment that mattered.
Of greater interest than the scribes were the merchants that lined the sides of the roads, hawking their wares, each shouting to drown out both their competitors and the ever-present hum of machinery that accompanies hives all across the Imperium. Adell spared each of the shops a passing glance, taking in their contents. One claimed to be a fishmonger, but since there weren't any bodies of water with fish in them for kilometers around Hive Tarsus, they were instead "fish-starch," which Adell correctly assumed were in fact absolutely nothing like fish. Others sold trinkets, charms to invite the good will of the God-Emperor, and there was the occasional weapon stall as well.
It struck Adell as odd that people with so little to their names and lives would spend their hard-earned Thrones to buy things to protect themselves, and he asked Galatia about it.
"I believe it gives people a feeling of importance, my lord," she replied. "Even if they have nothing of value to anyone else, protecting what they do have makes it seem otherwise."
Adell nodded. It was a rare trait in servants, intelligence. It was why he kept Galatia around and preferred her company even to most of his family members. That, and the entertaining noises she made when under certain types of duress. Of course, if any member of his family happened to make similar sounds, he wouldn't be willing to find out.
His attention was pulled to a crowd that had gathered around what looked like a small stage. Occasionally, one of the teeming throng would break off from the herd and stand around the stage and listen for a while. Adell could hear a woman's voice, but couldn't make out the words or see the woman through the crowd.
"What's going on over there?" he asked Galatia.
To his surprise, Jet answered him instead. "Looks like a wandering preacher. Not a proper priest, probably just some loon who had a vision of the Throne one day." He seemed done, but then hastily added, "My lord."
"The hives are full of itinerants, my lord," said Galatia. "Not ordained like you will be, nor half as well-read as you were when we first met. I usually ignored them."
"I don't think I've seen many ordained women," said Adell, approaching the crowd and craning his neck to try and see the orator. "Are many of these itinerants female?"
"It is uncommon, my lord. It can be a dangerous life."
He would have replied, but at that moment he finally managed to glimpse the woman speaking. And it was perhaps at that moment that Adell's destiny was altered significantly, for who but the Emperor Himself can grant a man the kind of revelatory love that changes his fate forever?
Or, that particular moment might have come a minute or so later, when large, screaming dispersed the crowd with flamers, chanting "Burn the witch!" For who but the Emperor Himself can grant a man the kind of all-consuming zeal that changes his fate forever?