Chapter Text
They say that the sight of the Angel of Blood soaring through the skies of Baal Secundus gave courage to his people. They say that when the blessed Primarch St. Sanguinius, first saw the Emperor that he recognized him on sight and knelt before him. They say that he wept tears of joy that became alabaster flowers wherever they touched the red dust of Baal Secundus. Honestly? “They” need to shut the feth up. --Mojib Dawd Gul, Secundan historian (suppressed by the Inquisition)
If the sun of Baal Secundus could make a sound, it would have screamed. It would have screamed as it tore flesh off bones, thought Horus Lupercal as he trudged across hot sand, following his father's cloaked back. All around them was desert; red sand and scrubby plants here and there. Once in a while they'd see a lizard. Horus's skin burned, even under the white sun shawl over his head.
“It's no worse than Kuwait in 1991 of the Old Calendar,” the Emperor told his son for a water break. “The heat felt like knives on skin. I was in armour, with no climate control inside of it. Remember that.”
Horus said he would. Coming from anyone else, he would have inwardly scoffed at such an old-timer's story, but coming from his Father, it impressed him deeply. Of course, the Emperor had that effect on people. Even people like Horus.
“I believe I see a road over there,” the Emperor said to him.
Their boots finally clunked on hard-packed red clay. Someone had spent precious water on this long ribbon of hardened dirt that led through the dusty scarlet desert. After plodding through loose sand and dust for hours, walking on the primitive road seemed positively restful.
Over the next rise, they found a house. It was mud brick, surrounded by a high stone wall with broken glass embedded at the top. In front of it was a large tent, open on one side. The canvas floor was covered in carpets that were worn, but clean. Big pillows were arranged neatly around a long, low table . The smell of woodsmoke and roasting meat was in the air.
As they approached, an older man emerged from behind the tent. He was dressed in loose pants and a knee-length tunic as they were, with a long grey vest over all. A white square of fabric was bound about his head. “Peace, brothers! Come rest for a bit. I’m Agagul. Welcome to my home.”
The Emperor smiled widely. Horus was taken aback, not used to strangers coming up and offering them hospitality. Still, if the Emperor felt confident, Horus would too. He followed his father to the tent.
Agagul settled onto a large cushion and gestured to a glass pitcher on the table. “I have tea. Are you here for the shura, or does some other mission bring you out today?”
“Tea would be a great gift. Thank you,” the Emperor said. “My name is Diwa, and this is my son Pir”.
The man looked up. “Bibi!”
A tall woman, weatherbeaten as the man who’d called her, came to the entrance to the tent. She was dressed similarly, with bright blue stone rings braided into her graying hair.
“We have visitors, I see. The cabridon’s not cooked yet, but there’s plenty of imbau.” She put a bowl on the table, followed by a plate of hot flat bread.
Horus looked at the bowl. It was filled with a cooked rice-like grain with shredded vegetables. It smelled wonderful; savoury and sweet at the same time.
“Eat!” Agagul placed his right hand over his heart and touched the bowl. The Emperor and Horus did the same. The Emperor tore off a piece of bread, scooped up a large handful of food and munched happily.
“Thank you, this is delicious.”
Horus nodded. “It’s very good.” The tea was good too, spicy and hot.
“I’m sorry the meat’s not ready,” Bibi said. “We are expecting more people coming from the other direction, once the shura’s over.”
“This is more than enough.”
“It’s a few hours till the end of the shura,” Agagul said. “I hope you don’t miss it.”
“Even a few minutes of seeing Blood-Angel is worth the journey though,” Bibi said.
“This is true,” Agagul agreed.
“So I’ve heard,” the Emperor said. He looked at Horus and gave a barely imperceptible shrug.
“You’ve never seen him then?”
“I haven’t. I want to see if the stories are true.”
“He’s not ten meters tall,” Bibi said. “Three, maybe. Not ten.”
“He did kill 100 mutants at once, though. It is known,” said Agagul.
“People say he killed an army that blackened the sands with their numbers. People don’t need to exaggerate. He’s mighty enough when the truth is told.”
“Sounds like a good thing for Pir to see.” The Emperor ruffled Horus’s short brown hair.
“How many children do you have?” Bibi asked.
“Eight, with one on the way,” the Emperor said. “Pir is my eldest.” Horus caught the Emperor’s meaning. This Angel must be our Primarch.
“We have five sons, two daughters,” Agagul told him. “The boys are all at the shura. The girls are married and don’t live with us.”
“May you be blessed with many grandchildren.”
“And you, Diwa. “
“Thank you. I’m sure I will be.”
Strengthened by food and drink, the Emperor took hold of Horus as soon as they were out of line of sight from the house. “We’d best get to this shura quickly. It sounds like it’s almost over,” the Emperor explained.
“We're going to teleport?” Horus asked, in order to brace himself.
“I think that would be for the best.” The Emperor placed both hands on Horus's shoulders, and a stomach-churning moment later, they were standing in the shadow of mountains. It was mercifully cooler. The sun still burned, but there was a comforting light breeze. Horus looked up and saw that the mountains had been shattered at some point by something colliding with great force against them. Rubble marked where the mountaintop had been hit and crumbled forward.
“A promising sign,” the Emperor said, then pointed in another direction. “Look there.” About a hundred meters away was the edge of a natural ampitheatre. It was full to the top with people and a few animals. “It seems we've found the place.” The two of them walked to the edge of the slope. The Emperor took hold of Horus's hand and used a slight mental influence to inspire people to move out of their way. The crowd was mostly male, all seated on the dusty ground. None protested as father and son descended to the floor of the ampitheatre to take seats of their own to the side of a large canopy that dominated a portion of the ampitheatre wall.
Beneath the canopy sat what looked like a younger version of the Emperor. He was dressed in a plain beige robe with a sun shawl draped around his shoulders. Like the Emperor, he had olive skin, patrician features and long, dark hair. He was enthroned on a high wooden chair with a heart-shaped back that was upholstered in gray fabric. He was easily three meters tall; Bibi had been quite correct.
For a man who could kill a hundred mutants by himself and who was known as the “Blood Angel”, his expression was remarkably sweet. There wasn't the slightest hint of cruelty in his noble features. As he leaned over to talk to what seemed to be an advisor, he found something pleasing in what the man was saying and smiled broadly, his face lighting up in happiness. Horus felt his hearts suddenly pound in his chest. This was a primarch. This was what a son of the Emperor of Mankind needed to be like. He was handsome, loving and utterly perfect. Ninth Legion would be blessed among the others to be under the rule of one such as him.
“If there are no further actions to be brought to my attention,” the primarch said, “I am ready to adjourn this shura until next year. So one last time, is there anyone here who requires justice?”
The Emperor stood. “It's time,” he said to Horus. “Mind your eyes. It's about to get very bright in here.”
Horus had been with the Emperor when they had found several of his other brothers. He knew what to expect and braced himself. He followed his father across the floor of the ampitheater. The Emperor strode along confidently, the armed men who stood around the primarch's canopy moving wordlessly to the side. The Emperor stood in front of his newest son, who looked curious, but not alarmed.
Then the ampitheater filled with golden light as the Emperor showed Himself. The crowd gasped and rose to their knees, and the whole place was filled with the sound of people crying out in wonder. The Master of Mankind towered above everyone there, clad in golden armour that shone like the sun. As always, a crown of gold laurels adorned His head. His scarlet cape flowed dramatically in a wind that only touched Him.
The primarch gasped and rose to his feet. He leaped forward over a low wall in front of him, slightly clumsy under the weight of what they had thought was the back of his chair, but was now shown to be a strange backpack that extended from over his head to his feet. He fell to his knees in front of the shining giant and embraced him around the knees. The ampitheater fell silent but for one sound; that of the primarch sobbing.
“Father,” he whispered, “you're here. I knew you'd come. I didn't know who you would be or when you would come, but I always knew you would.”
“What is your name, child?” the Emperor asked gently, placing one ungauntleted hand on his son's dark hair.
“Sanguinius,” he said. “I'm called Sanguinius, because I was adopted into the Blood.”
“Rise, Sanguinius,” the Emperor told him, and raised him to his feet. Horus could see that the backpack was indeed taller than Sanguinius, and from the shape of it, he guessed it was a musical instrument. Fulgrim would be pleased. From the shape of the instrument, Horus was guessing it was a harp.
Then as the Emperor put his arms around Sanguinius, the backpack gave a sudden twitch.
The Emperor emitted an uncharacteristic “Hm?” and reached for the gray fabric. Sanguinius took a step back, eyes widening with alarm, but the Emperor had the fabric in an unbreakable grip. He reached for a knot tied in a strip of fabric around the bundle and tore it off. The gray cloth fell from what Sanguinius was hiding.
Wings.
Horus gasped a little, both because they were so unexpected and so beautiful. Freed, they spread out, over twice Sanguinius's height, snowy white feathers gleaming in the light of the setting sun. Horus was immediately reminded of a swan, until the implications struck him.
Horus felt his eyes start to burn at the thought of something so perfect, so full of beauty, having to be slain. Sanguinius obviously felt the same way. He dropped to the ground in front of the Emperor.
“I had nothing to do with this, Father. I was like this when they found me. They wanted to kill me, but didn't. I made good here, my deformity has never stopped me from doing anything.”
“I think you have done more than good here,” the Emperor said, kneeling and placing a hand on his son's shoulder. “You have taken a radiation-poisoned feral world and brought it order. Now we will bring it into my Imperium. Baal is no longer alone, and neither are you.”
He stood and turned him towards Horus. “This is Horus. He is one of your brothers, and the first one I discovered after you were all taken from me. Horus, come greet Sanguinius.”
Horus walked over, placed his hands on Sanguinius's shoulders and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Sanguinius smiled wanly, and Horus thought he was probably in shock. This was a lot to take in, even for a demigod.
“People of Baal Secundus, rejoice!” the Emperor announced. “I am your ruler, and Sanguinius is my son. From now on, you are part of the great Imperium, to be treasured and protected. There will be technology. There will be trade. And there will no longer be fear!”
The crowd started cheering and chanting. It took a second for Horus to recognize what they were saying.
“ANGEL! ANGEL! ANGEL!”
“That's what they call me”, Sanguinius said. He seemed embarassed.
“Superstition, but it's fine as a nickname,” the Emperor assured him. “Ferrus isn't a Gorgon, nor Fulgrim a Phoenix. But come now. Let's bring you home.”
“What's going to happen to my people if I go with you?” Sanguinius backed away again. “It took me years to make this part of the desert safe. I can't just abandon everyone!”
“Already, there is a regent for you,” the Emperor told him. “He will arrive with your army as soon as we leave.”
Sanguinius pointed to the stands. “But this is my army.
“They will be part of it. I have a Legion for you, my son. They are already trained and ready to submit themselves to you as their Primarch, and my son.”
He put his armoured arms around his two sons and the divine trio disappeared even as a crowd of slightly smaller giants, clad in plain, unpainted armour, appeared within the ampitheater.
The three of them re-materialized in the Emperor’s throne room aboard ship. Sanguinius’s knees buckled slightly from surprise and disorientation. The Emperor and Horus each caught him by the elbow.
“...where home is!” Sanguinius was shouting as they materialized.
“Welcome to my flagship,” the Emperor said.
“This is a ship?” Sanguinius asked. Horus could understand why he’d be confused. The chamber was round, walled and floored in marble. The ceiling towered 100 meters overhead and gave a view of space.
“We're in the night sky. Did you just kill me, Father?”
“This is a ship,” the Emperor assured him. “We’ll be here for a few weeks. Horus will introduce you to the culture of Terra and what it means to be a primarch.” He placed a reassuring hand on Sanguinius’s shoulder. “It’s a lot to learn, and it will seem overwhelming at first. Just follow Horus and trust everything will be all right.” He stopped to embrace his sons and walked off through a door that had been concealed behind a marble wall.
“But--” Sanguinius dropped his hands to his sides.
Horus stood by his side. “It's as Father said. Don't worry. We're going to Terra, the original home of all humans. That's where Father has his palace.”
"What happens first?” Sanguinius asked Horus. He was staring blankly at the wall through which the Emperor had disappeared.
“First we get you clothes.”
The vestorium was a square metal tunnel deep in the ship. Along the walls, human tailors and undead servitors worked with gigantic rolls of fabric, sewing machines of various sizes and handworked fine details. Horus didn’t think this would be particularly weird to Sanguinius, seeing that there had been quite a number of fine fabrics present at the shura, but it was. The noise visibly shook him, although he immediately caught himself and restored an expression of calm.
“It is loud in here,” Horus agreed. “We won’t be here long.”
“What are those things?” Sanguinius asked as a servitor rolled past him with a spool of fringed trim a meter across. “They smell dead.”
“Servitors. They’re criminals who were condemned to death, after which we put them to work. Don’t worry. They’re murderers and rapists and other allegedly human monsters who richly deserved their fate.”
Sanguinius looked unconvinced. “Keep them away from me.”
“Lord Horus!” exclaimed a cheery, gender-neutral voice. “We are honoured by your presence! Is this the new primarch?”
The brothers turned to see a highly augmented individual rolling towards them. “It is. Sanguinius, this is Jival Enchiridon. He’s the master of the wardrobe.”
“Delighted, I’m sure,” said Sanguinius, keeping his hands knotted in the dusty cloth of his robes. Jival was tall and thin, with four arms, each ending in hands with two opposable thumbs. His widely-cut gown was a quilt of fabrics arranged by pantone colour.
Jival rolled around Sanguinius. “Wings! This will be a challenge. A challenge. I just love dressing primarchs. No two are the same. Let’s see, you’re a little smaller than the others we’ve found so far. Come over here, sire, let’s measure you.”
Jival led them to an open-walled vertical cylinder. “Get undressed and stand in there, please?”
“No,” Sanguinius said.
“It will make your measurements that much more accurate.”
“Are you wearing underwear?” Horus asked.
“Yes, of course.”
Horus suppressed a laugh. “Take off as much clothing as you feel comfortable with and stand in there. Get barefoot, though, so they can make your footwear.”
Sanguinius continued to look dubious and removed his outer robes. He had white fabric bands wrapped around his torso and arms as an undershirt. He took off his loose tan trousers and soft leather boots, showing that he was wearing a loincloth not unlike those worn commonly in the Imperium. He also reeked of days of sweat and some kind of antiseptic. He stepped into the cylinder.
“Arms by your side, angled out a little. Perfect. Hold still. This is going to make some lights appear around you, but you won’t feel anything. “
A grid of green lines appeared against Sanguinius, but Jival had been truthful about not feeling anything. Jival studied a dataslate and tapped it. “Can you unfurl your wings, sire? I need to know what size openings to put in your clothes. Thank you. All right, we’re done. Get dressed again and follow me."
They moved on to another room, this one with a number of folding screens, padded benches and rolling racks. One wall was made of drawers. Jival walked along the wall until he found the labels he was looking for, pulling out underwear from one, then socks out of another, then a pair of trousers from a third. He loaded them into a wheeled cart that began to follow him obediently. “That’s all the pre-made garments I can provide you with,” Jival said apologetically. “We’ve started manufacturing the others already. I need to supervise the servitors making closures at the back.”
“Thank you, Jival, we’ll be looking forward to it,” Horus told him.
“You know where his quarters are?”
“Oh, yes.” Jival raised himself on extendable legs, which made Sanguinius jump, and whispered in Horus’s ear. Horus just said, “Yes, that was next.”
Sanguinius had heard Jival’s whisper though: “Get him a bath.”
From there, the two primarchs continued to Sanguinius’s new quarters. “Is this all mine?” Sanguinius asked Horus on seeing it.
“All yours.”
Sanguinius took a few hesitant steps into the enormous lounge. “My dwelling on Baal is a big tent in a cave and I thought that was luxurious.” He walked over to admire a sofa. “This is where I sleep, correct?”
Horus walked over to a short hallway and pointed into a doorway on the left. Sanguinius stared.
“That’s my bed?”
Suddenly Horus felt like a terrible host. “We didn’t expect the wings. How do you sleep? We’ll get you something else.”
“No, this is fine!” Sanguinius walked in and pushed on the generic dark-green bedspread. “I sleep on my stomach. Sometimes sitting up with my head on the desk in front of me. This is decadent.” He raised his wings and sat down on the bed. “It’s so soft!” He stroked the bedspread. “Everything is so soft. I don’t deserve this.”
“Sanguinius, you’re from a death world. This is how most people in the Imperium live.”
“Truly?”
Horus nodded. “You have three rooms and a bath. The furniture is basic, just primarch-sized. Except for the size, this is a fairly typical dwelling.”
“I want this for everyone back on Baal and its moons.”
Horus smiled and nodded. “They will have it. They’ll have more than that. Here, let me show you the bathroom.”
Sanguinius had never seen anything like it. He watched Horus turn the sink on and off, flush the toilet and operate the tub and shower. The tub was a deep square one, raised on tiled steps and large enough for a primarch to stretch out prone.
“You fill that with water?”
“Yes. Water is abundant on Terra. It even falls from the sky.”
Saguinius glared at him. “You’re lying.”
“I assure you I am not! There are plenty of things that are rare on Terra, but water is not one of them.” Horus started drawing a bath. “What do you do for cleanliness on Baal, Sanguinius?”
Sanguinius shrugged. “We wash our hands, faces and sensitive parts in water. Everything else we scrub with clean sand. Plus there are some bushes that we burn for smoke, and it makes things smell clean.”
“Is that the smell on your skin?”
“Besides sweat? Yes.”
“Put your hand in this water. You’re going to be soaking in this, so it needs to be comfortable for you.”
Sanguinius did. “Make it a little hotter.”
Horus showed him how. After that, Sanguinius turned his attention to the soap and bottles of shampoo. “What’s this?”
“That’s for washing your hair. The bottle says how.”
“I can’t read it.”
“Can you read and write?”
Sanguinius glared again. “Of course I can read and write! I’ve written books on warfare, and I also write poetry. Just not in this language.”
“Should I just take a bath with you?”
To Horus’s surprise, Sanguinius blushed a deep red. “No…I’ll be fine.”
“I’ve embarrassed you.”
“We don’t show our bodies lightly,” Sanguinius told him. “Married people or lovers do, but no one who’s not a baby shows themselves off casually.”
“I apologize. We don’t run around naked, but members of the same sex often bathe or change clothes around each other.” He gave some instructions on how to use soap and shampoo, pointed out the towels and left Sanguinius in privacy. All Horus could think as he left was, I hope Fulgrim never hears about this.
Horus settled onto the sofa and turned to his dataslate for some reading. A house serf came in to deliver a rolling rack of clothes. The serf waited silently as Horus listened to Sanguinius splashing around in the bathtub, waiting for his new brother to emerge.
Eventually, he did. Sanguinius had a towel wrapped around his waist, another draped around his neck and a third wrapped around his hair. He jumped slightly when he saw Horus and the serf.
“Do you always lurk so?” Sanguinius asked.
“No, but I'm here to mentor you. That's what I'm doing.” He gestured to the rack of clothes and pulled a set of black fatigues from it. “Wear this to dinner tonight.”
“Here are the undergarments, lord,” the serf murmured. Sanguinius took them, thanked the serf, and returned to the bathroom. A moment later he emerged in the pants, holding the shirts in his hand. “How do I put these on?”
The serf stepped forward, took the undershirt, and held it out for Sanguinius to put his head through the collar and his arms through the sleeves. The back was open. One narrow panel dangled between his wings and the sides, which were cut to fit around his wings, closed and fastened over the central panel. The fatigue jacket went on the same way and buttoned up the back.
Sanguinius went to the mirror and turned around slowly, assessing the fit and the way the clothes accommodated his wings. He seemed pleased, but asked, “Will I always need someone to help me dress?”
“The vestarium is trying different ways of fastening your clothes, lord. Some have buttons or a zipper on the side.”
“What's a zipper?”
“The thing on the front of your pants,” Horus said.
“Oh. I thought that was clever.”
“You will almost always have a servant to help you,” Horus assured him. “That just comes with the territory of being a primarch. Come. Father's waiting for us in the dining room.”
The Emperor was waiting for his sons at the end of the massive table, dressed in a long white chiton and imperial purple toga. There were two chairs, one at either side of him, waiting for the two primarchs. All the chairs around the table were high backed, except for the one to the Emperor’s left which had no back at all. It also didn’t match the rest of the furniture.
The Emperor stood as they came in and gave them each a hug and kiss on the cheek before they took their seats. “Sanguinius, I knew you would clean up nicely. The vestarium did an excellent job making you those clothes. How are you finding your accommodations?”
Horus and the Emperor placed napkins on their lap, so Sanguinius did the same. As he examined the silverware he answered, “I’ve never seen better. “
“And your clothing?”
He smiled. “Better than my wildest dreams. They fit, and they’re comfortable, and I don’t get any drafts at the back.”
“Is that why you had your wings covered at the shura?” Horus asked.
Sanguinius looked resigned. Horus was once again reminded that the wings were a sore spot with his brother. At that moment however, servants came in to pour water into glasses and place bowls of soup in front of them.
Sanguinius placed his right hand over where his heart would be if he were human, then touched his water glass and the edge of the soup bowl while whispering a phrase in Secundan. The Emperor took a sip from his own glass and dipped his spoon into his soup so that his sons could start eating.
“We…don’t do that here, Sanguinius.”
Sanguinius looked confused. “Do what?” “
From the gods, to the soil, to us, from us to the soil, to the gods,” the Emperor translated.
Horus snapped his head towards Sanguinius. A prayer? His brother had just uttered a prayer in the presence of the Emperor?
“Invoke gods,” said the Emperor.
Sanguinius looked very confused now. “Why not?”
“Because they aren’t real,” the Emperor said.
Sanguinius shook his head slightly. “I—I don’t understand. How could they not be real?” He scoffed a little. “What would create, sustain, and destroy if there weren’t any gods?”
“The forces of nature,” Horus said, then wondered if he’d spoken out of turn.
“Yes. The gods,” Sanguinius said, looking at him.
“This is going to be an interesting exercise in abstract reasoning,” the Emperor said. He started breaking a roll into into pieces and buttering them. “In any case, Horus was asking you something before we were distracted.”
“Why you had your wings wrapped up when we met you,” Horus said.
Sanguinius was silent, fingers pressed against the edge of the table. “I shouldn’t have come here,” he said softly. Horus could hear a catch in his voice.
“Why not?” asked the Emperor.
“I obviously don’t belong here,” he said. “I didn’t on Baal Secundus either, but at least I’d made myself a place.”
+Father, say something+, Horus thought towards the Emperor.
The Emperor gave Sanguinius the unfocused look that meant he was probing a mind. A moment later, he sighed and reached for his newfound son’s hand. “I’m sorry, Sanguinius,” he told him. “I sadly underestimated how much of a shock this would be, and we have been unkind. We didn’t expect your deformity, and we didn’t stop to think about their effect on you.”
“I’m missing something,” Horus finally said.
Sanguinius wiped at his eyes on his sleeve.
The Emperor continued to hold his hand and explained, “His wings don’t work, Horus.”
Horus stared at Sanguinius in horror.
“They hurt,” Sanguinius admitted. “They are heavy and they itch because the air on Baal Secundus makes the feathers so dry. I keep them cased because they itch less if they’re clean.”
Horus was silent. He hadn’t stopped to think about the possibility that Sanguinius couldn’t fly. He’d been looking forward to asking him about it.
“I hate them,” Sanguinius continued. “The villagers who found me wanted to kill me when they first found me. I was a baby, but I was clearly a mutant. One of them said that it wasn’t that serious a flaw, and that we always needed more hands to help with the herds and the farming. Then I kept getting bigger and bigger, faster than any normal infant, so they taught me to fight, along with the other boys. I kept growing. I could use weapons with both hands while raising a dust storm with my wings. Eventually I became a war leader, then the village elder, even though I’m young, and eventually I led the Conclave. “
“All because you were different,” the Emperor said. “Having wings motivated you. Is that not a gift they’ve given you?”
“I’m twice the size of a normal Secundan,” Sanguinius said. “I would have been different no matter what. Yes, the wings did motivate me, but I would have done the same if I didn’t have them. Just with less misery and isolation.”
Horus thought of the second brother they’d discovered. Leman Russ was also from a feral world, but his experience of growing up on Fenris couldn’t have been more different.
“Eat, sons. Eat,” the Emperor ordered them.
The silence continued until after the main course was cleared and the servants brought in large bowls of fruit and nuts. Sanguinius’s eyes brightened. “Is that all for us?” he asked.
“All for us,” the Emperor said. “Help yourself.”
Sanguinius did. Horus showed him how to peel oranges and bananas and explained which fruits had seeds and which didn’t. Sanguinius held his hands firmly in his lap in between picking up orange segments and individual grapes, doing his best not to shove them in his mouth like a beast.
“I’ve never eaten anything so good,” he confessed, then washed down a mouthful of pear with his fifth or sixth glass of water that night.
“There are plenty of marvels yet to be seen,” the Emperor assured him as he cracked a pecan. Enjoy the ride, my son. “
Sanguinius didn’t want to leave his brother and father, but couldn’t figure out a way to say that without sounding like a petulant child. So, he ended up saying goodnight to the Emperor and following Horus in a route around the hab levels of the warship back to his rooms. There had been work done in his absence. The closet was now full of clothing: red and gold duty robes, black exercise fatigues, and tunics and trousers in various styles and colours. The bed was now covered in piles of body pillows, suitable for building a soft nest for his unconventional body type. On top of the pillows was a white nightshirt with long sleeves. It was backless to the waist, leaving his wings free.
Sanguinius went into the bathroom to clean his teeth, then spent some time arranging pillows. Once he turned the lights off and lay down, he realized that he’d never been so comfortable in his life. The bed was soft and for once his wings were supported, no matter which way he turned. Still, sleep didn’t come. Part of it was a desire to simply enjoy how comfortable he was. It was chillier than he liked it in the room, but he was nestled under the blankets, feeling cozy and secure.
Then the guilt struck. He was so busy being introduced to the wonders of his new world that he hadn’t thought about what was going to happen to the Blood back on Secundus. The Emperor said they would be governed while he was away.
He wondered what was going to happen to his flocks and other animals.
He wondered about the “Legion” he was supposed to command.
Still, Horus seemed like the kind of person who would not fail him in teaching him everything he needed to know. He told himself that the nice soft bed would be just as nice and just as soft when he awakened, so Sanguinius closed his eyes and slept.
Sanguinius awakened with a distinctly upset stomach. Horus came along with the servant who brought him breakfast.
“I'm not feeling particularly well,” Sanguinius told Horus as they sat at a small table. Breakfast turned out to be a bowl of cooked grain and some tea. That didn't look too offensive, so he had some.
“Father was worried about that. After you left, he mentioned that you haven't eaten much fruit in your time and you definitely had a lot.”
“It was so good,” Sanguinius sighed. “There aren't very many fruits on Secundus, and the ones we have are covered with spines and not juicy at all. There's one that grows on top of the sankha tree and it's very difficult to harvest. Then you eat one, and realize it's disgusting, but you eat it all anyway because it's what you have.”
“It works out for the best. I'm taking you to the medicae today. If your stomach is still upset, I'm sure they can get you something for it.”
“What's a medicae?”
“It's who you go to when you're sick, or to prevent from getting sick. You must have had something like that on Secundus.”
“Healers, midwives, people who are just good with taking care of wounds.”
"Herbal medicines?” “Yes. The desert produces everything we use.”
“I think this is going to be a little bit different.”
Sanguinius was terrified immediately at the sight of the apothecarium. He'd never seen anything like the bright, gleaming surgery, and Horus could see that his brother's formidable courage was strained to its limits.
“Don't worry. No matter what they do, I'm sure you've had worse.”
Apothecary Sorentus was a big Astartes in white duty robes. Fortunately, he had a good bedside manner, as did the human professional by his side whom he addressed as Dr. Beyers. Horus stayed in Sanguinius's field of vision as they did a thorough scan and exam of his skeleton and musculature. Horus allowed them both to take a blood sample from his own arm so that Sanguinius would know what to expect, which Sanguinius appreciated.
At mid-day, they stopped for lunch, after which Dr. Beyers took over the examination of Sanguinius's wings. He was thorough in investigating the bones and muscles, the way the feathers lay and what kind of feathers were present. Sanguinius said nothing, but Horus could see the humiliation in his eyes.
Finally, Dr. Beyers sat back and said, “I can tell you why they're so itchy. Besides the dryness, which is partly dietary, you've got a bad case of mites. I can give you some powder for that. Just give your feathers a good rinse in the shower or bath every day. Tonight after you bathe, have your servitors give you a dusting of the powder I'll give you. Plus, here is a prescription for some oil-based vitamins that should make you feel a lot better.”
Apothecary Sorentus took over. “You're showing signs of malnutrition in your early years. See this scan of your legs? That bending is lack of calcium from when you were about a year old.”
“I grew so fast that I didn't always have enough food,” Sanguinius explained.
“There's also this old break here in the right femur. That's the worst job of bonesetting I've ever seen in my life.”
“Yes. Well. That's because I did it myself after falling into a rock crevice, chasing after a capridon.”
“Oh,” Sorentus said. There was a moment of awkward silence. “Fortunately, we can repair that with surgery,” Sorentus went on. "We can also put some extra muscles into your back and chest to support those wings. That should eliminate the discomfort.”
“Couldn't you just take them off and be done with it?” Sanguinius asked.
“We'll ask the Emperor,” Beyers said.
It hadn't been a wonderful day. Sanguinius really wanted to be alone, and told Horus that. Horus respected his wishes and gave orders to the servants to just bring Sanguinius his dinner and help with anything he might ask for.
Sanguinius gave the shower a try. It came out of the wall above the massive tub, the size of the tub itself making a curtain or shower door unnecessary. He adjusted the water to a temperature he liked, then stood under the hot spray. Beyers had been right. The water was very soothing to his skin, and he let it soak through his feathers, right to the down. After turning the water off, he gave his wings a good shake, then dried off and put on a nightshirt like the one he'd worn the night before.
Dinner was a simple affair of meat, vegetables and bread, with a single pear as his dessert. The servant who brought his meal also doled out the vitamins he'd been prescribed. After he'd eaten, the servant returned to the bathroom with Sanguinius to dust his wings with the powder that Beyers had recommended.
“It's a strange healer who knows how to take care of someone with my deformity,” Sanguinius observed to the man.
The servant looked at the label of the powder and the vitamins. “He's not a normal medicae or apothecary,” he said.
“What is he then?”
The servant pointed to the label, unaware that Sanguinius couldn't read it yet. “Dr. Beyers is a veterinarian,” he said.
Sanguinius cried himself to sleep and never felt ashamed of that, for as long as he lived.
“Sanguinius?” Horus’s voice called from the hallway. It was noon and his brother hadn’t emerged from his room yet. “Sanguinius? Are you in there? Are you all right?”
“GO AWAY!”
Well, that was something. “What’s wrong?”
“I SAID, LEAVE ME ALONE!”
“I can’t do that, Sanguinius, I’m your mentor.”
The door slammed open. Sanguinius was dressed in black fatigue pants and a white shirt, obviously trying to be different from Horus. “Why are you my mentor? Why don’t you just have one of Father’s animals do it? I’m sure he owns plenty of flocks to choose from.”
Horus took in Sanguinius’s reddened eyes and unbrushed hair. “May I come in?”
“Feth off!” The door slammed shut.
Horus sighed and raised his vox-cuff to his lips. “Father? Something’s wrong. Sanguinius is very upset and won’t tell me what it is.”
A moment later he continued, “No, he won’t let me into his stateroom.”
There was a “pop” of displaced air and the sound of Sanguinius shouting in surprise. Horus heard something break inside; a lamp or vase or something similar. Then silence.
Horus waited outside for a good half hour before the Emperor opened the door. He was dressed in black fatigues like a normal legionary. Horus could see Sanguinius sitting inside, his face in his hands.
“Is he--?”
“Some food will be arriving momentarily. Bring it in when it does. Your brother is having...difficulty adjusting.”
“What's--?” The door closed again.
Soon after, one of the Custodes came up with a wheeled cart. Horus took it from him and went inside. The Emperor was sitting on the couch with Sanguinius, one hand on his shoulder. Sanguinius had obviously been crying, judging by his reddened eyes and nose and the spots of dampness on the Emperor's jacket.
“Should I stay?” Horus asked.
“Yes.” The Emperor lifted the covers off the plates and offered Sanguinius some nut bread. He'd been without food since the night before, so he was ravenous and gobbled the piece down without any delicacy at all.
The Emperor gestured for Horus to pour the three of them some tea, which Horus did. “He found out quite by accident that Dr. Beyers is not a doctor for humans,” the Emperor explained.
“Oh no,” Horus said. “I didn't know that either.”
“I've explained that it's because humans don't have wings, and that Dr. Beyers is a specialist in avian medicine.”
Sanguinius took a swallow of water. “If you had just told me that, I wouldn't have minded. I would have thought it was a wise idea. I went to bed last night thinking, 'I was tended by an animal doctor. They must see me as an animal.”
“No, we do not see you as an animal,” the Emperor said.
“A mutant, then.”
“Well,” sighed the Emperor, “unfortunately, we cannot deny that.”
“So what's next for me?”
“Next, Horus will start telling you the history of the Age of Darkness and the Great Crusade,” the Emperor said. “That will take until we reach Terra. After that, you're going to need some surgeries to fix the bone damage you've taken over the years.”
“Can they remove my wings?”
The Emperor looked at Sanguinius's back. “If all they do is sit there and cause you discomfort, then we'll have to remove them, yes.”
Sanguinius's face lit up. “Thank you, Father!” He reached out for a pastry and cheerfully bit into it.