Mortarion found himself confused. On the one hand, Fulgrim appeared to be obnoxiously full of himself. He practically leapt at the occasion to talk about himself and his Legion, and how amazing they were, and how he wanted to be just like daddy. Well, the last part wasn't exactly stated like this and, despite being arrogant, was not obnoxious at all. In fact, it was honestly something he found very likeable. On the other hand, Fulgrim had barely mentioned his childhood or the time shortly after he had been found.

Odd. Still, it would be intrusive to inquire. He would wait until Fulgrim decided he wanted to tell him about it. After all, he did not expect to learn everything about his… mentor, he supposed, on the first day. Some things were simply too private to share.

"How about you, brother?" Fulgrim asked, looking at Mortarion encouragingly. "Perhaps you'd wish to share some tales of your exploits with me?"

Mortarion considered the request for a moment. It seemed fair enough.

"I grew up on Barbarus," he started, "where the Warlords ruled. They dwelt high in the mountains, where none other could breathe…"

He had never been good with long tales and merely listening to Fulgrim had told him his brother would be disappointed to hear his story in the way he would usually tell it. Instead of doing so, he borrowed the words of another, slightly paraphrasing it, replacing "he" with "I". He had a good memory, after all, and could repeat the tale word by word. Not out of vanity, but simply to honour the person who had created it.

Fulgrim listened attentively. For all his egotism, he did appear genuinely interested in what Mortarion was telling. He was leaning slightly forward, making small noises of surprise or affirmation at the appropriate moments and his gaze never wandered away from Mortarion. In its own way, it was quite gratifying.

He did not expect what came after he had finished, though. Fulgrim, it seemed, was a lot more emotional than Mortarion and far more open about displaying what he was feeling at any given moment. Just as the Primarch of the Dusk Raiders recited the final words, he found himself being embraced again.

He was glad about it; after all, he had probably upset Fulgrim last time and now he could fix that. To tell the truth he was pleasantly surprised and touched to find that Fulgrim did not seem deterred by his initial reaction at all. For all intents and purposes, he could have decided to keep away from Mortarion for good. Instead, he seemed to be ready to try again and welcome him. Somewhat awkwardly, he slid his left arm around his brother. His wounds were almost healed by now, but some movements still left him feeling uncomfortable.

Then Fulgrim pulled away, looking quite amused. "Those were not the patterns of speech you have used so far?"

Not expecting Fulgrim to notice had apparently been a mistake, though in his previous experience others generally did not pay attention to changes in syntax. It would still not do if he left it unexplained, simply because Fulgrim might jump to the wrong conclusions again.

"I'd have omitted half of it, if I hadn't used what somebody else created," he replied, shrugging only with his left shoulder.

Fulgrim laughed, "I could have asked questions, couldn't I?"

That was technically true and Mortarion wondered why he hadn't thought of it. Perhaps, he simply did not like telling his own story in his own words. Some things were just too private to share at the first meeting. He smiled a pale half-smile in response, as an admission of his mistake.

"I have another question," Fulgrim said, peering at him, his brow now creasing in a frown. "Is there something wrong with your shoulder?"

Mortarion looked at it—it didn't hurt anymore, though moving it remained uncomfortable. Almost unconsciously he balled his hands into fists. The pain might have dulled by now, but there would be a scar there to join all the others. It wouldn't be the only new one either, but then he was quite certain it didn't really matter in the long run. Warriors were scarred.

"It's just a chemical burn," he said quietly.

Silently, Fulgrim touched one of the many scars on Mortarion's cheek, the frown not leaving his features. He seemed to be examining the texture and the shade, while Mortarion tried not to concentrate too much on how… odd the sensation was. He didn't really feel the touch on his skin, just the barest hint of pressure in the muscles.

"Are they all chemical in origin?" Fulgrim asked, as he withdrew his hand.

The only thing that had stopped Mortarion from slapping the prying hand away was just how worried Fulgrim seemed. It… It puzzled him to some degree that this man, whom he barely knew and who appeared so fundamentally different, appeared to treat him like a true sibling moments after they had met first.

"Yes," he replied, taking a small step back. "Don't touch them again—I don't like that."

For a moment, Fulgrim looked both puzzled and hurt. Then, before Mortarion could add anything, he exhaled slowly, his expression even again. "I apologize. I have been told I tend to be too… affectionate."

For a moment, Mortarion stared at Fulgrim, fighting the urge to at the same time hide his face in his hands in exasperation and laugh.

Fulgrim found himself very much unhappy with his own thoughts as he accompanied Mortarion to see him address the highest ranking Captains of the Dusk Raiders. He had never been fond of thinking back to his childhood on Chemos, but now he found himself comparing his own fate and what he had found out of Mortarion's.

The differences were there and yet, he could not help but wonder. What would he do, if he were to fight in an environment that even his constitution could not handle? How long would it take to succumb to the poisonous mists of Barbarus? It was not easy to harm a Primarch, but the living proof that it was possible was walking beside him, still covered in angry red scars, ones that would always be there to remind them all they were not indestructible.

Suddenly, he realized Mortarion would never have it easy. If he was so unnerved by the scars, how would his other brother's react? Would any of them appreciate learning they could be harmed? He doubted that.

Mighty Russ would not take well to uncertainty. He could hear the Wolf King of Fenris now, the rough growl of his voice and the hostility in it. What would Ferrus say?

Perhaps this was why Father had chosen him to tutor Mortarion? While he could not relate all that well to his brother, he certainly could try to make sure at least some other Primarchs did not focus on the first impression and try to minimize the distance that would surely be caused by it.

He would have dwelt on all the problems in front of him now, had Mortarion not chosen to this moment to address him. They were still on their way to the docking bay, passing through rows of exquisite statues and marvelous paintings, though so far Mortarion did not appear to show any interest in them. Now, all of a sudden, his brother indicated one of them and said, in an absolutely serious voice, "That one isn't too bad."

Fulgrim stared at him for a moment, until he finally caught the slight way the corners of Mortarion's lips had curled up and he found himself grinning, if only because his brother's intention was to cheer him up. And it had worked.

"You can have it," he said impulsively. "It's a gift."