The tranquil darkness of space suddenly changed, as the combined Emperor's Children and Dusk Raiders fleets entered the Materium in a burst of incandescent light. From the lumbering behemoths to slender cruisers, the fleet was probably the biggest gathering of space crafts that the Yogso system had seen since the Dark Age of Technology.
They passed the eighth planet, the last in the system and the first hail was sent into space, towards the 306th Expedition Fleet. The vox officer waited seconds, then minutes, before turning to shake his head. Then, he called out again and was met with the same dead silence. The smaller fleet remained immobile and mute.
Finally, one of the younger officers left the bridge briskly, heading towards Fulgrim's quarters.
Three hours later, Fulgrim's Firebird left the elegant Pride of the Emperor. She sailed smoothly between the ships and gracefully glided into the cumbersome Endurance's hangar bay.
The buzz that followed the clang was clearly something unsavory in binary. Fulgrim had to marvel how much emotion fitted into something so incomprehensible and flat, as he watched the Adept combat the hololith. It was a lost cause, it seemed. The image refused to focus, blinking out every few seconds. It took the adept a few minutes to triumph over the machine and two battle cruisers and one grand cruiser started revolving lazily in the air.
Once Fulgrim lifted his eyes off the display, he met Mortarion's stare. As their gazes joined, he realized that he couldn't really tell what his brother was thinking. It was… odd. Disconcerting. Shouldn't he be able to make some kind of a guess? Perhaps it was how the collar hid Mortarion's lower face that made divining what he thought so hard? The cowl was certainly not facilitating matters either, nor was his brother's reserved body language.
At times, he thought he could tell what was transpiring behind those amber eyes, but most of the time, he had no idea. It made him feel lost. Off balance.
At least he was certain that Mortarion was warming up towards him.
Well, perhaps not certain, but at least fairly sure.
Those thoughts, as uncomfortable as they were, made him realize something. If he reacted like this, how would others perceive his brother? Later, he'd have to talk with Mortarion about diplomacy. While they couldn't do much about the collar, there had to be a way to make his brother appear more approachable and less indifferent and intimidating. Still, this was a matter that could wait; now they had other things to deal with.
"Brother," Mortarion nodded and Fulgrim grinned at him as he approached.
"Shall we begin?" he asked, noting that both his Lord Commanders and Mortarion's First Captain were present, as well as the commanders of the Imperial Army. Captain Barett Ashdon was standing on Mortarion's right side. He and Vespasian exchanged nods, while Eidolon studied the image of the ships.
Mortarion gave an affirmative sign and Fulgrim turned to the officers.
"As you all know, we are pursuing a distress signal from the 306th Expedition Fleet," he started. "The ships you see are the main vessels: Sovereign of Steel, Pastor Clemens and Miranda. None of them have responded to our hails. If we receive no messages from them in the next twelve hours, we will send a boarding party to investigate."
The hololithic display changed, now showing the Yogso system and their path. "Currently, we are here," Mortarion said, pointing to a cluster of purple and grey dots. Briefly, the Phoenician wondered how his brother had sounded before he had faced the last warlord. Had his voice been as low? "We will remain here for the next eight hours: this will give possible survivors enough time to respond, while we prepare for the alternative. Then we will begin our approach."
"Once we reach this position," Fulgrim continued, as a red arrow flashed, indicating a point halfway between the 306th Fleet and their current position, "the boarding party will be teleported onto the Miranda."
"The party itself will consist of four squads of Emperor's Children and Death Guard veterans," Mortarion added.
"You, my friends," Fulgrim said, smiling at his two Lord Commanders, "and you, Captain Ashdon, will choose the squads. Report in four hours with your choices and we will begin the briefing."
"Dismissed," Mortarion said, as Barett sighed quietly.
Barett Ashdon was fond neither of Vespasian nor of Eidolon. He was aware that in Eidolon's case he simply disliked him for the fact that he was from another Legion, but he was quite certain that he'd find something more substantial to dislike soon enough. The other Lord Commander was far too cheerful at the prospect of them discussing something together for Barett not to suspect there was something... wrong.
"I don't see why the First Captain has to keep us company when we choose our men," Eidolon said, doing something that Barett classified as eyeballing with one's nose.
"Don't strain your pretty head too much," he shot back, as he started to clean his ear with his little finger in the most obnoxious manner he could manage. "You might get wrinkles." Somehow, the other Marine's prissiness brought out the worst in him, it seemed.
Vespasian had an expression which suggested he clearly shouldn't have said that.
"You'd do well to remember that I outrank you, Dusk Raider," Eidolon said. He had only said two sentences and Barett already disliked him.
"No, you don't," he said drily. "It might be a bit complicated to grasp, but the Dusk Raiders are not organized like the Emperor's Children. And we're from different Legions, so even if you go crying to your Primarch, I doubt that will have any effect."
Only when the words left his mouth, did he realize this was not necessarily true. He had a Primarch now. Could he really expect Mortarion to take his side here, without hesitation?
"You will regret that one day," Eidolon snapped.
"There's no need for that," Vespasian said, placing his hand on Eidolon's shoulder. "What will Lord Fulgrim say if he hears you and Captain Barett couldn't find a common ground? He will be most disappointed."
Eidolon gave his companion a sharp look, before angrily proclaiming, "Fine. Let us get on to business."
Preemptively, Barett started listing the most patient brothers he knew in his head.
"You wanted to talk with me?" Mortarion asked, as he followed Fulgrim into his rooms. He noticed his brother smile at the sight of the sculpture—it was standing opposite of his bed.
"Yes," Fulgrim replied, turning to face him. "Your room is rather… empty."
Mortarion arched his pale eyebrows. "I have to compensate for your compulsive art gathering."
Fulgrim gave him a surprised look, before smiling a smile that seemed strained to Mortarion. Evidently, he did not consider the joke very amusing. It was an intriguing observation. Still, he could not quite gauge why Fulgrim would dislike the jest—he had seemed amiable and good-natured so far. He would have to think about this later.
"It was not decorations I wanted to talk about with you, although I might have to find some more ornaments for you," Fulgrim said. "This room looks like you merely intend to sleep here, not like a place you'd wanted to live in."
Mortarion sat down on his bed. "I don't need more decorations. I like it the way it is. Now, get to the point."
For a moment, Fulgrim just stood there in silence, watching him. Then, he sat down on the floor, crossing his legs.
"Could you take the collar off for a while?" he asked.
The request was quite puzzling, but Mortarion complied. He placed the piece of armor on his lap and watched Fulgrim, wondering why he would ask him to do this of all things.
"Hm… No," he said after a moment. "Put it back on and pull down the cowl."
Mystified, Mortarion obeyed again. He watched Fulgrim stare at him for a while, until the Phoenician asked, "You're confused, aren't you?"
Slowly, he nodded. At first, he thought that perhaps Fulgrim was finally going to admit he simply couldn't guess what others were thinking, if they weren't very expressive, but this was not heading in this direction.
"It will not only fall to you to lead Father's armies," the Phoenician said. "You shall be his voice. You will be the first true glimpse of Imperial authority for many a planet." He reached out and touched Mortarion's cheekbone with his fingertips. Mortarion sat still, the muscles of his neck growing stiff. He forced himself not to flinch at the unwelcome touch—he would have to explain the concept of personal space again—but his gaze focused on Fulgrim's hand, nevertheless. "You will have to win them over and it might not be easy if you refuse to show what you think as you do now."
Mortarion remained still and silent, his eyes locked on Fulgrim's hand. After a moment of strained silence, the Phoenician let his hand fall.
"I won my people over," Mortarion said finally.
"After putting yourself in danger," Fulgrim replied, a frown creasing his forehead. "I'd rather you avoided that. You never know what might happen."
"I've survived in places where air corroded metal," Mortarion replied, shaking his head.
"Not everyone will be convinced by displays of power or endurance," Fulgrim replied. "Some might even refuse to join us, if you focus only on such feats. I know it may seem to you that people who will reject you, if you show them strength, are not worthy of your attention. You're my brother, Mortarion. I'd hate to see people fear you."
Bemused, the Primarch of the Dusk Raiders watched his brother. They hardly knew each other and yet apparently Fulgrim considered him his responsibility. True, the Emperor had ordered Fulgrim to teach Mortarion, but it did not seem to be merely duty that was pushing Fulgrim.
"I think I'm too old to change that much," he said, shaking his head. "But I'll try to be only unsettling, if that will put you at ease."