{oOo}
She enters the room, clad in purple silk, black crystal armor that takes back the light and gives it back, prismatic, ebon mirrors. Flanked by two Custodes, taken to see the Emperor. She is not sure if this is a good thing, or a bad thing.
All she knows is that she sees him, and he is beautiful.
She does not know if she trusts the reports she's had of his behavior. But that is irrelevant. Her loyalty is firm, and needs not be bought. It is his already.
She stands, tall for a female, straight, head held high, seemingly fearless. Her lips tinted purple, clad in his color; her hair the red of blood. The visor shades her face, its deep hues causing her skin to shine, pale as alabaster.
She has eyes only for him.
Fulgrim stands at Father's side. He is proud to be at his side, glad to be acknowledged so. It is not the same glory that falls to Horus (it'll never be, Horus is what Primarch should be and Fulgrim is not), but it is close.
He watches the odd woman enter, curious about her. Who is she? What is the meaning of those strange powers? What is the armor made of? (How replicable is it? How much does it cost?) The questions swirl behind his eyes, but there's no indication of the curiosity on his face (always look proud, show no weakness, all your brothers are strong, he's the weakest, he has to be better).
"Who are you?" the Emperor asks.
He who found Serenity was a blazing flame. He who did not is a burning sun, human and yet entirely alien. The form is that of a man in his prime, but behind it something else lurks. It is ancient and unfathomable, it's thoughts like fire, burning those who would dare to understand them.
The Emperor watches the newcomer and judges. Thousand possibilities are born with each step she makes, and weighs his chances. Like a spider, his mind begins to spin a web of plans.
Will she be of use?
Hundreds of images unfurl; burning cities, screaming Eldar; dying daemons. She is a weapon, the visions say, a blade forged in the depths of despair, awaiting a hand to wield it. A most specific hand. "My name is Beryl." She says quietly. Pride is irrelevant. Pain is irrelevant. There is only the chance to serve him.
"I have no other name." she says, no flippancy in it. Nothing remaining, but Purpose. She will make the Warp Gods bleed.
But first she has to pass this goddamn interview. It would be easier if what was before her was human; but he is, yet not.
How the hells do you pass an interview with an eldritch horror?
It is most interesting. She can be of use, though only if placed under Fulgrim's command. A living weapon, one of many. If Fulgrim's hand never falters neither will she. The Emperor had different plans for his third son, but plans could be changed.
A weapon given to another weapon. It is an amusing concept. Plans shall be remade.
"You use a most intriguing weapon, Beryl," he says. "What is it?"
Fulgrim watches her. Black eyes trail the outline of the armor. Perhaps there is even approval in them, but it is not that of a man appreciating a woman. It is purely the aesthetics that interest him: the shape of the armor, the colours and how they compliment each other.
(The edges are sharp. Remain alert, she has weapons. Danger is always around. He needs to be ready.)
"A variety of energy absorbing crystal. I make it." She says. In her open hand, the crystal forms itself quickly, too quickly for the human eye to see, changing forms only once it is large enough to be visible as a huge shard, to the naked eye. First, a spear, then, a sword. Then, an axe. Then it seems to cease to exist.
But only seems.
It is there in-potentia, the pattern held, the molecules temporarily dispersed. She supposes it must be something this world would call psyker powered, but then, they considered everything to be psychically powered, even what her people used to call magic. But that was a long time ago, the past is dead.
It's but a moment, but suddenly the Custodes are tense, baring their weapons down and Fulgrim nearly springs, poised like a giant feral cat. Only one raised hand is stopping them.
The Emperor watches the display calmly, watching the patterns that do not form. A psyker and yet not. The possibilities… The thin threads connect and form a rope. She will serve and she will anchor.
"And you wish to serve the Imperium of Man?" he asks, laying his first trap. Will she betray herself?
Fulgrim is unsure. The weapons are unnerving, changing from one to another so quickly before his eyes. Yet Father remains calm and so Fulgrim stands straight again, but his now visibly more guarded, watchful.
"I wish to serve a specific person. One among your sons." she clarifies. Best not to lie. Truth is after all, the only thing she can bring to this. And if she dies? No. If she dies, she will at least have tried. And Chaos is still bound to her final orders. It will serve. Oh, yes. It will serve. "Your sons serve you and the Imperium of Man. Therefore, I will be serving the Imperium either way."
"You would make demands-!" Fulgrim snaps, but his Father silences him with his hand.
He watches Beryl, his whole stance radiating hostility and outrage. (Father should be respected. Father took him away from bleak, hopeless Chemos. Father is magnificent. Father is the ideal.) Such insolence should not be tolerated.
"Perhaps we should speak in private, Beryl," the Emperor suggests.
The girl is too… single-minded. She will destroy her own usefulness. Fulgrim will not command her correctly if he hates her.
"As you wish." Beryl agrees, bowing, as is expected of her. She will do as the Emperor wishes, for now. Her stance, her straight back, her blank expression betrays nothing, not even the sickening hurt that tears at her at the sound of his voice raised in anger. She will make it right. She can't ... I do not wish to see him fall, but I cannot stand to have him hate me. Chaos was right, he is the blade at my throat, the knife in my back. And still I will follow him.
The Emperor rises and motions for her to follow. Fulgrim watches them leave, unsure. (Had he disappointed Father? Was there something he should have seen?)
Once they are out of earshot, the Emperor addresses her again. His voice is gentle, fatherly, but the intent behind it is like a diamond, hard and cold.
"I can grant your wish, child," he says. "But it will be for naught if you make no attempt to understand Fulgrim."
He watches her reaction.
She bows her head. Shame. Hurt. "I... What does he want of me?" the confusion in that voice is clear, for once. Fulgrim is... has been... the cornerstone of her existence for longer than she cares to contemplate. He... she does not wish him to hate her. "What must I do?"
"My son wishes for my approval," the Emperor answers. His voice sounds sadder, older. "He has it, but he does not see it. Show him that."
There are other things, but they shall come later without interference, if he plays them right. He has played this game so many times already and at least one of the pieces is willing. The other… the other will be, once appropriately motivated.
"He will not accept you unless you serve me and only then him," he says. "Have you not seen it?"
"...I can appear to serve you and then only him." Beryl said cautiously. "But I cannot change my nature. You can read my mind, you know this best. I do not wish to lie." I've lied too many times before already.
"It should suffice," he says. "Pledge your loyalty to him, if you wish to, but only after I call upon you."
Fulgrim needs to be prepared what shall come. There is need for subtlety. He does not wish them to know his plans. Let them think they are their own choice. It will be all the more… amusing, when he will approve of them.
"I wish you to keep an eye on her," the Emperor said to Fulgrim.
Fulgrim was surprised. Had the woman not been insolent? Father was very difficult to understand sometimes (He needed to try harder. He was so far away from his goal. Always so far away.) "Of course, but is she not...?"
"A danger?" the Emperor asked. "Perhaps. But I trust you to deal with any threat."
Fulgrim nodded. Of course he would. He would do better then anyone else (and prove he is not weak). "Is there anything else?"
"If you'd manage to provide me with a sample of her DNA?" the Emperor replied. "I believe she will be quite willing to part with a lock of her hair, if you ask."
Fulgrim blinked. His lips twitched into a smile. "I'll do my best, Father."
{oOo}
She went to one knee, before Fulgrim, as the other Primarchs stared, surprised. They had heard her words earlier. One of the sons, she had said. Horus had honestly thought it would be him or Sanguinus, since they were held highest in Father's regard, but... Fulgrim?
"Milord, please let me serve you." She said quietly. It wasn't the oath that her heart wanted to say, Let me be yours, and yours only, it whispered. Let me burn the world to ashes for your smile, please keep me... But... it would have to do. For now.
"Rise," Fulgrim said. "I accept your service."
He felt… odd. He noticed Horus' look and a part of him rejoiced. (Horus was always better, but not today.) A part of him was dismayed that he had somehow usurped Horus' place. However, Father had asked him. Not Horus. Not Sanguinius.
The Emperor watched.
She rose. "Thank you, milord." she said, quietly, suddenly unsure what to do now. She fell upon formality as her refuge. "What are your commands, milord?" Your wishes, a part of her whispered. Point me at something, her mind whispered. That I may strike it down and prove myself worthy of your regard. She would join his guard, of course, but she hadn't seen them here, yet.
"At ease," Fulgrim commanded.
Already? She had been barely accepted into his service and she was asking to be commanded so soon? This was a ceremony, was it not? She was only supposed to—but maybe it was the protocol on her homeplanet? After all, the multitude of cultures sometimes did things like that.
"We will discuss your duties later."
Horus couldn't make heads or tails of it. Why not him? Why not Sanguinius? What did Fulgrim have, that the stranger knelt to him, and yet showed no other Primarch any repect of the kind Horus was accustomed to?
For a man who was used to being first in line, Horus could not understand why she had gone to one of their weakest members, rather than to him. Or, for that matter, Sanguinius. Who was known for his kindness, and beauty.
It made no sense at all.
Fulgrim and his honour guard left soon after. The ceremony was over and he did have to tell Beryl what her duties were.
Horus' behaviour bothered him. Why was he angry? Yes, the Emperor's Children were still small, but did he think they did not deserve Father's favour? (He didn't want Horus mad at him. He wanted Horus to like him.)
"For now, I will want you to observe and learn," Fulgrim said. "You will accompany me during debriefings and certain other duties."
"As you wish, milord." Beryl felt relieved that he hadn't called her out on her breach of protocol. And more relieved that events hadn't gone too badly. As commanded, she paid the utmost attention to her lord's wishes and the protocol of his guard, though sometimes the way he spoke abraded her nerves. Honestly, she hadn't even believed it was possible... but apparently it was.
{oOo}
Chaos smiles at Beryl, reclining into the soft couch much like a cat. Chin resting on top of his hand, he asks, "So, is serving him what you imagined it to be, little pawn?"
It pities her, even if it mocks her gently. She is a child, after all, and children know not what they grasp for until they have it. Until they burn their hands.
The memory drifts in, unlooked for. Her voice, gentle, warm. chiding him fondly."Silly little one. don't you know fire burns you? Having is not always as good as wanting, you know."
"No." she says, her voice quiet. He knows she hurts. He can see it, smell it, like blood in the water. "I don't think he likes me much."
The pain in its... his... heart starts again and he resists the urge to grasp it. It comes and goes and it... he cannot stop it. He misses her so much.
But she is not here, and now he has a little fledgeling to care for, soft and broken winged and.. He will do for it what he could not do for her.
Chaos reaches deep inside of its own chest. With a sickening sound, it takes out a gem, shaped like a faceted flower, a design copied from the little moon princess.
"Here." he says. She is a child. She knows not what she will do, and it will serve him in the end; so why not?
Besides. She had always soothed him with sweets and toys after he'd foolishly gotten himself hurt. Shewould have approved.
"This should help you earn his favor, little one. It can burn planets down to ash, silence armies."
His smile is a quirk of the lips. Not that the man would appreciate it; but still. Best to soothe the fledgeling. He doesn't want it crying all over him.
He avoids thinking of Beryl as a child. But it stays still, in the middle of the room, like an elephant.
He has a child. Does that mean he has responsibilities, now? Mother did. Motherisgone.
{oOo}