Work Text:
Azkaellon had insisted that at least two of the Sanguinary Guard be present for the meeting. It was upon the Angel’s insistence that they had been left alone. In an odd way, it had felt like a compliment. The Lion had long become Luther’s better on the battlefield, and Sanguinius could best even him. Luther was no threat to the Angel, and yet Azkaellon had insisted.
Luther couldn’t be sure if this was actual warmth, or the phantom heat that came with a deep chill.
There was no uncertainty in the smile Sanguinius wore, however. “I thank you again for making time for me in your schedule, Sar Luther.” His volume reminded Luther of late evenings, of needing to visit his knights who had family, and to not disturb those sleeping beyond.
“Lord Sanguinius,” Luther said, feeling the need to match his volume, “the honor is mine. Thank you for gracing my quarters with your presence.” Though the sky was dark, it would be several hours before Luther would retire for the evening.
“If you are amenable, may it be the first of many,” he said with a slow smile.
Luther wondered if this was what it was like to feel the aura of a primarch, when caught unawares. It was difficult to tell, with the Lion being his gain-brother for so many years. He’d become accustomed to his natural resting state, and when he marshaled his aura in such a way that would lead him to becoming the Grandmaster.
Sanguinius’ aura was different. He could be bold, of course, but he was subtle in a way the Lion was not. Charming, even.
Luther knew how to play this game.
“I am a knight, Lord Sanguinius,” he said, “and I know my duties. I would not deny you. But were we not bound by titles and oaths, I would still be glad for the pleasure of your company.”
Pleasantries exchanged, Luther nodded to Sanguinius as he stood from his chair, and walked to the hearth. A kettle hung from the hook, steam rising from the spout. Luther used iron tongs to unhook it, and brought it over to the table.
For the past 5000 years, Caliban had relied on lumber or coal to combat the treacherous winter freezes. Newer portions of castles and forts - newer as in, having been constructed in the last 1000 years - employed a system that used heated water traveling through pipes in the floors to assist with the fires that still burned in every hearth. There were Imperium generators in place now, to replace those who had tended these enormous fires. Only a few tech priests were needed to maintain the needs of the machine spirits.
There was no subtly to the Imperial presence on Caliban. In every direction one looked, they were there or not at all. Buildings that could be retrofitted to use the high-tech heating systems had the appearance of growths that Luther thought disturbingly looked like a cancer. But with the seasons changing and the days growing ever short, he couldn’t deny the relief of a reliable heating source that wasn’t so arduous to bring in.
Already, the air around Aldurukh smelled strange. Though he had been born here, Luther felt as though he were in another’s home.
“I appreciate the shelter from curious eyes,” Sanguinius said, “in a matter I consider delicate.”
Luther nodded. “Not many would understand seeing a son of the Emperor in such a role.” It had been two weeks since Sanguinius had arrived. Luther had taken his time observing the Lord of Baal, and the blossoming camaraderie between the two primarchs.
It had been because of this friendship that Luther had decided to honor Sanguinius’ request for today. To part with such knowledge was… well, it was the principle of the thing. It was private, and the Lion was a private person.
A platter had remained covered between them before this moment, and Luther took the opportunity to uncover it.
Luther had been notified eight times in the past week and three the week before that that fires were no longer needed in personal hearths. He stopped trying to argue with the tech priests after the fifth message. It did not stop him heating his own quarters with applewood, or boiling his water for tea.
Tonight, it was all the more important.
On a cork platter were a series of small bowls, with several metal spoons in between. In the center was the largest bowl - of raspberries and blackberries, with a few odd elderberries and blueberries to round out the mixture. Dried tey leaves were next to the berries, and equidistant between Luther and Sanguinius. Closer to Sanguinius was a bowl of honey, with a drizzler already in it, while closer to Luther was a bowl of dried ground beet sugar.
Sanguinius had asked Luther several days ago about the Lion’s favorite beverages. He’d had the chance to sample the Lion’s favorite meadery in a limited capacity, but brewing a proper cup of tey was an entirely different matter. To find time out of the sight of others was the true struggle here, and Luther knew that they would not be free from all the whispers.
He would see to what the future held - including the Lion’s questions - at another time.
“I’ve seen you have tey with some of your meals,” Luther said, “and I know you’ve been doing a great deal of reading about Caliban’s history. Have you read about Calibanite Tey?”
Sanguinius nodded. “It’s a somewhat similar story to Baalite Shayi.” He smiled. “Now I must ask, have you heard of Shayi?”
“I have not,” Luther admitted.
“Before Imperial Gothic became the standard on Terra, there were hundreds of variants of words of a particular plant that was a light stimulant. When the leaves were dried, they could be steeped in hot water, and then dressed in all manners of ways. There were two main branches within the languages - one clustering around the ancient word ‘tea,’ and the other ‘chai.’”
“So Baalite Shayi is a variant of ‘chai-’”
“-And Calibanite Tey is a variant of ‘tea,’” Sanguinius finished.
Luther furrowed his brow. “But that isn’t the entire story - at least not for my people. Terran geneticists have looked at the DNA of tey, and they said that it is not similar on a molecular level, even if a stimulant is still present.”
Sanguinius smiled. “Again, a similarity to my beloved shayi,” he said. “The current theory is that when Baal and its moons were first settled, they brought ‘chai’ from Terra with them. Somewhere in the history that was lost, the plant went extinct, and a similar plant took on the name.”
“Fascinating.” Would the wonders of Ancient Terra never cease?
Luther picked up a large ceramic mug and set it in front of him. It was too large for someone like Luther for regular use, but he kept it in his personal collection for whenever the Lion visited. Another from the same set fired was on Sanguinius’ side of the table. And while Sanguinius was half a primarch’s head shorter than the Lion, it was something more suitable to his stature.
“In the Order, aspirants were trained in body, mind, and spirit,” Luther said. The Imperium would not approve of mentioning religion or spirituality, but that did not stop Caliban’s history. When Sanguinius did not admonish him, Luther continued. “It was critical to teach the youths how to center themselves.” He smiled to himself as he looked at the mug. “We had to temper youthful enthusiasm, and help them focus that energy in a productive manner.” His eyes flickered up to look at Sanguinius. “And also, at the bottom of the hierarchy, the only way to make a cup of tey to one’s personal preferences was to make it oneself.”
Sanguinius chuckled. “A wise meditation, with a tangible reward.”
“Indeed.” Luther took a small set of tongs to pinch the dried tey leaves. He let Sanguinius observe the amount before putting it in the mug. Two more similar pinches from the tongs, before he offered them to Sanguinius.
It had to be his imagination, the way the Angel’s touch lingered, before repeating the direction with his own mug. He tried not to think about how a primarch could easily hear his accelerated heartbeat, and was grateful that he had the excuse of handling the kettle.
“Lion took an immediate liking to strong flavors after we found him,” he said, continuing to not look Sanguinius in the eye, “and the tey brewed in the kitchens was far too weak for him. Pleasant enough to drink, but not to perform its most common intention. Lion was a quick study, and started to experiment with what he liked.” Luther’s eyes glinted with mischief, risking a glance up. “That is, once he stopped breaking so many glasses.”
Sanguinius raised an eyebrow. Luther smiled. “I’m sure you’re curious as to why there are multiple tools and glasses for a single mug of tey.”
“Very much so. You don’t seem the sort to create extra work for your servants for no reason.”
Setting the mug to the side, Luther picked up the shorter glass that often was favored for drinking the spirits that were brewed in the Northwilds. The glass was thick, and Luther knew that if he used it as a thrown weapon at a human with no helm, he could easily cause a concussion. “This is for the wildberries,” he said. “Something much more delicate.”
“Are these the glasses my brother broke?” Sanguinius asked.
“Not to the extent he did of a taller glass,” Luther said. “I thought it to be wise to switch him to this glass for the muddling, while he learned his own strength. Now, he continues mostly out of habit.” Luther smiled. “It allowed him to focus on the nuanced nature of the wildberry flavor.”
“Is it added at the end?”
Luther nodded. He picked up several raspberries, and set them on the platter, arranged by gradient. “Depending on where they were gathered, what time of year, will greatly affect the taste. In general, the darker colors are sweeter, and the lighter versions are more tart. But sometimes the fruit is darker because it is older. Precision is difficult to be had here.”
Sanguinius picked a raspberry from the bowl, to not disturb Luther's display, and examined it. This one was a brighter red, and Luther knew that this one would be more on the tart-side. Caught between his thumb and forefinger, Sanguinius brought the berry to his nose, closing his eyes as he took in the scent. Luther was reminded of artwork he had seen of mythological figures indulging in ambrosia and nectar.
“I think,” Sanguinius said slowly, “that I have had desserts prepared with this.”
Luther nodded. “It is a commonly-used ingredient in desserts here as well. When it is too tart, it is supplemented with either honey or beet sugar.” He smiled. “Lion prefers honey with his berries, whenever reasonable.”
“I would not have expected that from him,” Sanguinius said, finally eating the berry in his hand. Not for the first time, Luther thought he caught the glimpse of teeth more akin to the great beasts he used to fight. A thrill went through his body.
That was absurd. Sanguinius was a primarch, not a monster.
Luther busied himself by picking several of each berry, and put them in the glass. “Because of the complex nature, he doesn’t allow it to be brewed by others. I’m the only other one who will make it for him, because I know exactly how he likes it.”
“Are you certain it’s not because he does not wish it to be known that Caliban’s primarch has a sweet tooth?”
Luther smiled. “Perhaps there is a little bit of that.” He picked up the wooden spoon unique for the next step. “The fruit must be crushed,” he continued, “and it cannot linger in hot water for a long time. It is why this step is done while the tey steeps.” Adding a level teaspoon of beet sugar, Luther started to crush the berries at the bottom of the glass with the smooth turn of his wrist.
The sweet and tart scent of the berries filled the room as Sanguinius quirked an eyebrow. “You say he prefers honey.”
“I did.”
“And yet you added the sugar.”
Luther nodded. “The texture of the granules help to lessen the work. It’s best to use as little movement as possible, when crushing the fruit. Any additional sweetness is supplemented with the honey.”
The muddling did not take long, and Luther set the glass in front of him. “You will notice that when I filled the mugs, I only filled them three-quarters full. The last quarter is for the sweetwater.” With that, he poured a small amount of water from the kettle into the glass, before pouring it into the mug.
Sanguinius copied his motions, after the water was poured for him. “Will he be fine with you sharing this privileged information?”
Luther took a tentative sip of his mug, before offering it to Sanguinius to sample.
“I am sure he will be delighted.”