Chapter 1.4 Dauntless Drinking
Roboute Guilliman set his wine glass down on the table beside his chair as Sanguinius entered the room, gesturing him to join them. Beside Roboute sat 6 chairs arranged in a circle, each emblazoned with the insignia of one of his brothers. The chairs had originally been a set of 5, but Roboute had discretely ensured the commission of a 6th upon the insistence of Ferrus Manus that Fulgrim be allowed to join the gatherings.
In 4 of the other 6 chairs sat Rogal Dorn, to Roboute's left with Ferrus Manus, Fulgrim and Leman Russ sitting in a continuous line leaving the last chair to Roboute's right currently empty. Each of his brothers had some form of drink, Leman Russ in his typical fashion drinking Mjod from a giant tankard which resulted the Great Wolf seeming far more cheerful than usual. With the rest, it some kind of wine, though Ferrus and Fulgrim appeared to be inspecting another tankard of Mjod with mixed reactions. Ferrus was inscrutable as always but Fulgrim seemed appalled by the inelegance of both the drink and its container.
"Welcome brother! Come join us!" called Guilliman to Sanguinius as the Great Angel approached the gathering, "We have been waiting for you. All is well I trust."
Sanguinius gave a weak smile and replied, "As can be, brother. As can be. These are dark times and it will take many months for us to return to some form of normalcy."
"Worry not for the First Born Bastard brother," rumbled Russ, "As I have said before he is awaiting us to join him in the beyond in waiting for the Wolftime. I am certain he is enjoying himself fully and making preparations for us all. But please, whilst I loved him as much as any, may we speak of other things this night, I have grown weary of forever speaking of the troubles that afflict us. Let us speak of something joyful!"
Sanguinius sat down next to Guilliman, taking the glass of wine offered to him by Roboute, his wings gently settling into the unique design of the chair. Being the only Primarch with a non-standard humanoid figure Sanguinius on occasion found chairs designed for other Primarchs uncomfortable. He could adapt, but Guilliman knew the discomfort of his brother and would never commission anything that did not take into account the needs of his guests.
As Roboute grasp his own glass he replied, "True my brother, we will never move forward by simply engaging in endless remembrance. I do believe our dear departed brother would forgive us considering what must transpire now. He would want us to look forward to the future and ensure we make a better Imperium in his name."
Russ raised his tankard and bellowed, "Agreed!"
Rogal lifted his own glass in toast muttering, "Here here."
In unison Fulgrim and Ferrus also echoed, "Here here."
Sanguinius let a gently smile creep across his face. His heart was heavy but the company of his brothers was better than any other elixir for the soul.
"Well it seems I am outnumbered here brothers. I suppose I have no choice but to leave my cloak of grief at the door."
Russ leaned out of his chair and smacked Sanguinius on the back with such force the Angel almost tumbled out of his seat. His glass of wine sloshed and spilled a pool of its contents just inches away from the feet of Sanguinius. Quickly, a group of servants bearing the sigils of Ultramar rushed forward to clean up the mess.
"That's the spirit, feathers! Now, what shall we talk of, eh?" boomed Russ, with a grin only the Great Wolf could manage.
Fulgrim looked over at Roboute and raised an eyebrow, declaring, "I suspect our brother has a reason for this gathering tonight. Our previous nights have been far more relaxed, the very fact he has brought out the GOOD wine is a sign he has something he wishes us to be in a good mood for. Not that I object of course, this is definitely your best so far brother."
Fulgrim raised his glass in a mocking toast to Roboute. Ferrus grunted a stifled laugh but said nothing. Rogal leaned forward.
"Brother, is this the matter I tried to discuss with you earlier but you mentioned you wished to save it for 'Dauntless company'?"
Fulgrim sniffed, his displeasure apparent to all. It was no secret until recently Roboute had not considered Fulgrim to part of his 'Dauntless Few'.
"I'm still extremely disappointed I wasn't part of your little club. There is absolutely nothing wrong my my Legion, they are as close to Perfection as can be made."
Guilliman sighed wearily and put down his glass. They'd had this conversation every night since he had started these gatherings.
"Look, brother, as I have said many times before, no insult was made to you. I have analysed the tactics of every Primarch and their Legion, and it just happens that your Legion fights in a style it is harder to pair my Ultramarines with."
"A superior style," grumbled Fulgrim, petulantly.
"Not superior, different. Your units move in ways that are less coordinated than mine. They seek personal glory in ways mine do not. If I were asked to command your Legion I do not have the confidence they would put my theoreticals above their own personal interests."
Fulgrim flashed Roboute with a glare, "Perhaps it is your theoreticals that are flawed then brother. Every good commander knows to let their officers view the TACTICAL situation on the ground and adapt accordingly. My sons are perfect at knowing EXACTLY when to pierce an enemy's weakspot to push them into a rout, or break through their lines, or decapitate an enemy command structure. My compliances have been unimpeachable. If you cannot trust your commanders to make decisions in the betterment of battle then perhaps they require more training."
Roboute let out an exasperated sigh and threw himself back in his chair with his arms raised.
"And THIS is why I cannot deal with you or your Legion Fulgrim. You are far too egotistical."
Fulgrim turned a shade of violet and Russ let out a tremendous roar of laughter. He leaned forward again, sloshing a puddle of Mjod into his lap and smacked Fulgrim on the shoulder.
"He's got you there, Princeling!"
Fulgrim began to stand, rage boiling across his features, but Ferrus pushed him back down into his seat. Sanguinius looked over at Ferrus and grabbed Roboute's arm with a desperateness that caught Guilliman offguard.
"Brother," murmured Sanguinius, "I know you and Fulgrim have strategical differences but please try to keep it civil. I cannot stand to see my brothers fighting over something so petty."
Guilliman looked over at Fulgrim, and the back to Sanguinius, seeing the sadness and fear in his eyes. He could read the pain that still lingered over the loss of Horus, the pain that made him fear any brotherly conflict.
"You are right of course," said Roboute calmly, "Fulgrim, I apologize for my words. They were said in haste and are without merit."
Fulgrim seemed to calm a few shades but obviously continued to feel offended. Ferrus glanced over at Sanguinius and nodded, a silent thanks for his intervention. Sanguinius returned the gesture. Rogal got up and walked around to Fulgrim's chair, clapping the silver haired giant on the shoulder.
"Perhaps," he began, "What is needed is an exchange. Have a few detachments of Emperor's Children and Ultramarines conduct a few compliances together. The best way to integrate new ideas is to learn from each other. Understand each other's differences and find ways to bother leverage your strengths. Roboute, I've never said this out loud but I do have concerns you are boxing yourself in with you Dauntless Few thinking. Just because other Legions can compliment your Ultramarines well doesn't mean you cannot learn new ways of operating when in tandem with those who do not."
Guilliman let out a wry smile and nodded. He had to admit when he had lost a game of regicide.
"You are right of course, Rogal. A very wise comment. Perhaps wisdom worthy… of a Warmaster?"
The room fell silent, save for the noise of Ultramar servants cleaning yet more alcohol from around Russ and Fulgrim. Ferrus was the first to stir.
"So this is the matter you would have us speak on. Who we think should be the next Warmaster?"
Robouted nodded again in affirmation.
"Those gathered here…" he said glancing briefly over at Fulgrim and trying to avoid adding 'and Fulgrim' to his sentence, "are my most trusted brothers. Those whose actions and opinions I would rate most highly. Not to say anything less of our other brothers, but before seeking others it is your opinions I wish to hear."
"Rogal would be a fine choice," spoke Sanguinius, "He is strong and steadfast, wise but able to act without hesitation. I would follow him."
"As would I!" yelled Russ, "I have no wish to be Warmaster, give it someone else who is pompous enough to enjoy titles, airs and graces. Perhaps we should make Fulgrim Warmaster! I can't think of anyone more pompous than him!"
Fulgrim growled in his seat, but Ferrus stood with his own glass raised.
"Would Fulgrim be so bad of a choice?" he asked the room, "We could do far worse. His attention to detail means the Great Crusade would not be wanting for error. That is part the reason you chose him to help design the Chapel of Dreams, is that not so Rogal?"
"Indeed, I would not begrudge Fulgrim this honour if he were to receive it," said Rogal, returning to his seat, "Fulgrim, despite your concerns Roboute, is a fine commander. His Legion is one of our best and he is loved by the people. It will require as much a touch of the heart as well as steel to turn worlds to our Imperium. One sight of Fulgrim and the rulers of many worlds will be offering their first born daughters to him as wives."
This elicited a chuckle from everyone present, even Ferrus smiled a knowing grin. Fulgrim preened himself and pulled his flowling silver hair behind his shoulders. He stood, raising a glass.
"I promise you all, if I am appointed Warmaster, I shall ensure every Legion is repainted in colours that will dazzle the sun, and inelegance by any means shall be punished with the worst assignments!"
This got another laugh, with Russ rocking forward and yelling, "Angron and his wild dogs better hope you aren't chosen then!"
Draining his glass, Rogal put down his cup.
"Of course, there was another whose keen eyes was invaluable in designing the Chapel of Dreams. Sanguinius."
Sanguinius' face went white with shock. All eyes turned on the Great Angel who seemed to shrink in discomfort from the direct attention.
"What… me?! No, no. I don't have anywhere near Fulgrim's level of presence. He is the manifestation of our fathers charisma. After, Horus of course. Also I don't have anywhere near the experience of command of the others here. Rogal, Roboute, you both commanded Empires of their own right, Ultramar still exists as a beacon of progress within the Imperium. By all rights Roboute has a greater reason to be Warmaster than I."
Roboute began to stand to make a statement, the nature of which was forever lost when Russ bounced out of his chair and pointed to Ferrus.
"What about metal arms here?! Want to be Warmaster Ferrus? I'm sure you could keep us all in line by banging heads together!"
Ferrus shook his head and set his wine glass down.
"No, if I were offered Warmaster I would reject the position and recommend Fulgrim in my stead. He is far better than I at such things. Whilst we both seek perfection, I do so on the individual level whereas Fulgrim is able to see the perfection beyond the whole. The Great Crusade needs a Surgeon, not a Craftsman."
"Thank you brother," said Fulgrim, turning to Ferrus, "Your support is appreciated."
"Now hold on," said Roboute holding up his hand, "Sanguinius may not be such a bad choice after all. He has just proven his humility, and part of the issue any Warmaster will have is dealing with the other Legions and their Primarchs. Any personality too strong or too unyielding will struggle to bring people like Angron or Perturabo to heel."
Rogal growled at the mentioned of Perturabo's name.
"The maladapted fool still hasn't forgiven me for being chosen to restructure the buildings on Terra. We can at least be thankful he probably won't be chosen. We'd lose half the fleets in suicidal rampages."
Fulgrim flipped his hair and leaned back in his seat.
"Well if we're going to speak of those not present… You are right, Perturabo is far too solid and unyielding to lead. Perhaps if I had more time alone with him I could bring him out of his shell… But he isn't Warmaster material. Mortarion is similar… too inflexible. Unrelenting but unadaptable."
"What of Vulkan?" asked Dorn, "I can't think of a single bad thing about his character."
"Too agreeable," said Fulgrim, "We need someone who our enemies will tremble at hearing the mere name of. Plus he would struggle to take extreme actions. Like Roboute on Monarchia."
Roboute's face fell like he had been slapped in the face.
"I did as father ordered. I regret the loss of life but not obeying his command."
Fulgrim leaned forward focusing each of his brothers with a hard, penetrating stare.
"Yes, brother. It was not an insult. But it proves a point. Any Warmaster must be comfortable following that kind of command and action. And also giving it. For example. Roboute, could you give the order to destroy Rogal's former Domain? Sanguinius, could you command the destruction of Ultramar? If the need of the Imperium was dire and all other options proved insufficient?"
Silence rang out. All of the Primarchs exchanged grim looked until Russ finally spoke.
"And this is why I choose to be the axe, not the headsman. I do as I am commanded. I don't choose who has to submit their head."
"I dislike this line of theoretical," muttered Roboute, giving Fulgrim a dark look, "This is irrelevant, Lorgar was out of control. None of us here would repeat his folly."
"But he isn't wrong, brother," said Rogal calmly, "The Warmaster will be required to give the final decision of many matters they may find distasteful. He will be required to keep all brothers in line and ensure that ultimately everything that is done benefits the Imperium and Father. He must put that above all of his brothers."
"Much like the Lost…" murmured Roboute thoughtfully.
"I didn't quite hear that," said Ferrus leaning forward to catch Roboute's words.
"Oh, it was just something from before. Aboard the Vengeful Spirit," replied Roboute, "I was just wondering if the Lost of us are still alive. Wherever they are. Our two missing brothers."
Russ growled softly as if the subject should be closed, but a crunching noise came from Sanguinius that startled everyone. The Great Angel had crushed one of the arms of his chair to almost dust, and once again fine drops of water fell from his eyes.
"The Lost… The Lost… Here we are, holding a ceremony for Horus meanwhile our two brothers are Lost. I know we should not speak of them but I cannot remember their crime. I cannot remember ANYTHING about them. We have become so obsessed with this Crusade that even our brother's names and faces have been wiped away. Do any of you remember them? Their names? Their Legions?! What was their crime that was so great that their entire existence was snuffed out, just like Horus… Can ANY of you remember them?!"
All remained silent. Rogal looked deeply into his cup, and then downed its contents. Fulgrim nervously fiddled with the ends of his luxurious hair. Ferrus just stared around the room, grimly. Finally, Russ let out a drunken combination of a belch and a cough and stood up, raising his tankard high.
"What about Corvus… All hail Warmaster Beaky Bird!" he slurred, before collapsing back into his seat.
All gave a slight chuckle, even Sanguinius couldn't help but smile at the outburst.
"Corvus is too secretive," continued Fulgrim, picking up where he left off, "Out of all of us he is the most likely to find himself at odds with the Imperiums goals I feel. He is a rebel by nature and rebels don't make good empire builders. This also puts the Lion out as well, El Johnson doesn't have the attitude to hold all of the wayward brothers together, and he doesn't have the stature needed to truly make his presence known. His second Luther has more of the kingly nature to him than the Lion. Secrets also rules out that strange fellow Alpharius, you can't be master of covert operations whilst being the figure head. And of course as well, anything that applies to Corvus could equally said about… Curze…"
Fulgrim and Dorn exchanged looks. The other brothers caught the exchange.
"What is it?" enquired Roboute.
"Well…" began Fulgrim, "Before he disappeared, or shortly after, Konrad's fleet appeared in system with my flagship. Communications were established and he began muttered complete madness. Saying Horus should be alive, and that he should be killing the Emperor, and that his death had been foretold except now everything was… broken? He called me a snake and Mortarian the Lord of the Flies, I could not understand any of this and told him he was mad, and that he should come with me to discuss this with Rogal, who happened to be the nearest to my own fleet. I didn't dare try and take him alone, he had taken to slicing the flesh of his own face. It was madness of the highest degree."
"I think our brother is extremely trouble," said Dorn, "Perhaps the death of Horus triggered something, I cannot say. But I think for all of our safety, and his, we should bring him back to Terra."
"No," said Sanguinius, "I understand the gift of foresight. It isn't always a gift, it can be a curse too. To see something but be unable to stop it. Perhaps Curze saw Horus' demise, and being unable to alter that fate it drove him mad. I will request that all observations be made as to his whereabouts. If I am able, I will go to him and see if I can heal his mind… somehow. At the very least I can bring him comfort."
"Spoken like the true leader…" said Roboute, innocently, swirling his wine glass.
"Much like a sermon of Lorgars," retorted Fulgrim, "Though he is another I'd shudder to serve under, he'd want to put his damned Chaplains into every Legion…"
"His Chaplains serve a function not too dissimilar to my Wardens," said Sanguinius, "Having a moral centre for your sons isn't necessarily a bad thing."
"Well promise me if YOU become Warmaster you won't make me take Wardens, or Chaplains or anything else," huffed Fulgrim.
Sanguinius smiled sweetly and replied, "If I were Warmaster I wouldn't ask any brother to change his Legion, nor any Legion change their traditions. When I met my Blood Angels I made them an oath to be worthy of their support, and I would do the same of anyone else I were asked to lead."
"I'll hold you to that, brother" said Fulgrim, "Which just leaves Magnus. I don't have anything explicitly against the Wizard King but he'd spend more time with his books than lead from the front."
"You forgot Angron," pointed out Ferrus.
"Hard to forget that one," laughed Fulgrim, "If our Father makes Angron Warmaster I really will be concerned that The Emperor of Mankind has taken leave of his senses!"
A rippled of laughter echoed out from the brothers. Sloshing even more Mjod onto the floor, Russ got up one last time and raised his tankard high.
"Well who ever gets to be the new 'Warmaster', may he be worthy of the role and not piss away the Imperium's good character! Or else I'll have his head."
Roboute also stood and raise his own glass adding, "To the New Warmaster, whom ever he may be. May we all swear fealty, aid his victories and crush his foes."
In turn Ferrus, Rogal, Sanguinius and Fulgrim all stood and raised their glasses in toast. Roboute caught the smile on Sanguinius' face and it lightened his heart. Looking around he begrudging admitted that any man in the room would make for a worthy Warmaster, even Fulgrim, though he would be loathed to say it to his brother's face.
Russ downed the last of his Mjod, and collapsed back into his seat where he proceeded to snore, loudly.
