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“Droppod assault here, plant beacons for terminators,” Perturabo’s heavy finger dragged across the lithograph. “Long distance mortars will strike their fuel stores and tanks will hit their front gate. Heat flares with drop with the pods, guard them from the worst of the-”
Everyone stared when he stopped short, his head lifting. His eyes narrowed as he stared out, listening for something even their enhanced hearing couldn’t pick up. Not a soul dared to breathe as he looked around, not until he looked back at the table.
“As I was saying, heat flares to guard from heat seeking missiles. It won’t be clean, but it’ll protect from-” his own fist hit the table, rattling the glowing hologram. “Where is it?!”
Forrix cleared his throat. “Where is what, my lord?”
Perturabo narrowed his eyes, Logos armor betraying his agitation with twisting, priming barrels. He shoved past his guard, keen ears following that pesky sound. Forrix looked at the gathered commanders and motioned for them to stay, walking quickly to join him.
Perturabo stormed through the encampment. Agitation was already clawing at him, agitation from being stuck in these trenches while Orithiya was safe away from him, agitation from the lack of a stable and secure voxlink to even speak with her, agitation from being countered time and again. The last thing he needed to deal with was a crying infant.
The ground itself rattled as he found the source, one of the serfs bouncing a baby awkwardly, holding it all wrong as it wailed. The gathered serfs bowed quickly to him, the one holding the baby struggling to keep the writhing baby upright. Its little face has turned cherry red from its screaming and wailing, chubby arms flailing.
He scowled, holding out his hand. “Give it here.”
The serf stepped forward, shuffling his feet. “My lord, I apologize, I -”
Perturabo righted the infant in one giant gauntlet, frowning down at it as it screamed. He lifted his other hand without a word, silencing the serf. With a gentle flex of his wrist, the barrels began to rotate, priming without truly arming. Slowly they spun, one after another, well oiled joints gliding gently.
The baby quieted once it noticed the weapon, tears calming as it reached out. It hiccuped and breathed heavily, but its fit had clearly been brought to an end by a mere distraction. It babbled something, a series of sounds that made up absolute nonsense.
“Where is its mother? Father?”
The serf kept his eyes averted, hands held outward as if to take the infant again. “She passed away, my lord. She was not expected to give birth for another month. She never claimed a father for the little one.”
He grunted. “Find me a midwife or wetnurse, summon one from the fleet if need be. She’ll need mother’s milk soon.”
The serf nodded quickly, reaching out again. “Yes, my lord. We’ll tend to her, we apologize for this disturbance.”
He pulled back, frowning down at the man, letting her tiny hands fumble in failed attempts to catch the slowly spinning barrels. “No. Clearly, you’re unable to keep her silent. She’ll stay by my side until someone more capable arrives.”
This was no place for a newborn, let alone one without a mother or father. At least she would be safe in his gauntlet. It might as well be the safest place in the world for now.
Forrix stared up at his genesire as he walked after him, following him closely. “My lord?”
Perturabo glanced down at him. “Speak your mind.”
Forrix nodded. “Why are you keeping the baby? The serfs can surely hold her for you.”
Perturabo scowled, looking at the baby as it watched the spinning guns with an infants curiosity of the world. “They’re incapable. She’s quiet in my hand, I’ll hold her just fine.”
Forrix nodded, looking curiously between his genesire and the infant. She still looked wet, skin flushed from the recent birth, tiny bundle of hair a clump upon her head. Had he been that small as an infant? Surely not.
He wouldn’t have to wonder long, she would be returned to her own caste soon.
~~~~
Perturabo lounged in the bath with Orithiya, arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. She was sitting sideways on his lap, fingers working an oil through his thick beard. Her humming echoed softly, cutting through the thick cloud of thoughts in his mind.
That little infant. What a tiny creature, born on a battlefield of all places, a month early and screaming her tiny head off. At first, the sound had been muddied, clouded in the smog of war, but then it had been so damn consistent and pitched.
“What’s on your mind?”
He grunted, breathing in deeply. “I never held an infant before.”
She simply shrugged, gliding her fine toothed comb through his beard, smoothing it out. “They have cute chubby faces. I’ve held them before.”
It was a neutral response, her tone even, but annoyance made her nostrils flare a bit. Just enough for him to notice, even when he wasn’t looking directly at her. It’d been long enough, he knew all of her little quirks and habits, everything that made her tick.
He looked at her, hand catching her jaw to guide her to look at him. “We’ve never discussed children before, have we?”
She held his gaze, setting her little comb aside. “We’ve discussed aspirants and treatment of them, but no, not children. Are you still thinking of that child? She’ll be cared for, Bo.”
He frowned, brow furrowing even as he stroked her cheek. “You don’t want children, do you?”
She shook her head, fingers loosely holding his wrist as she tipped her face into his broad palm. “No. I would have been married off to another family and made to give children until I had no less than two successful pilots or perished. With that looming, I never wanted to be wed nor to have children ever in my life.”
His frown only deepened, but his touch remained soft. He pulled her to rest her head on his shoulder, stroking her hair with a damp hand. “I wanted children. A whole host of my own.”
She hummed, tracing the edge of one of the few ports upon his chest. “Enough to be leaders?”
“Enough to be tyrants, yes. Strong children, capable of ruling with an iron fist.” He stroked her hair slowly, staring up at the ceiling, seeing that gash in space, taunting him. “Smart enough to be my equals, in spite of being my creation.”
He would have nothing less, of course. They would be strong, they would be his. Primarchs and mortal humans were woefully incompatible, though he could certainly splice her DNA with his own if he wanted to. But he didn’t want that, this was one thing where even his mind wouldn’t get past.
It was a selfish, impossible dream. He wanted his wife round with his child, he’d have serfs waiting for her hand and foot, no matter the hour or demand while she grew his offspring. Her own medical personnel, checking on her regularly, tracking every slight change, every centimeter of growth. He would be there, too, of course, performing his own tests, keeping an ever watchful eye over her for any mild discomfort.
“In spite of being yours or because they were yours?”
He exhaled heavily. “Because they would be mine.”
She slid her hand up, stroking his recently shaved scalp, letting her fingers skirt over the ports. Her touch guided him to look down at her, at her soft eyes. “I never wanted a child, Perturabo. For you, I would be willing to help raise this one.”
His arms came around her, water surging over the side as he lifted her high. “You want to raise a child with me?” He’d never sounded so… hopeful, not to her, not out loud like this.
She hugged his neck, pressing close to him. “I am willing to try.”
He stood, thick thighs pushing him up despite how his knees twinged and made his eye squint. She didn’t say a word, all too used to his aches and pains. “This won’t stop us from fornicating.”
She couldn’t help but giggle at that though, kissing his lips. “Will you stop using such technical terms? Call it love-making, fucking, copulating if you must. Fornicating sounds so anatomical.”
He carried her, still dripping, to their bed, his eyes rolling. “I think I’ll leave you wordless tonight.”
~~~
Orithiya frowned at the little girl, nearly eight now. So named Arethusa at Perturabo’s insistence, one of the goddesses of Olympia that healed through music. She was wildly curious, impossible to ever make sit still, and unfortunately, entirely Perturabo’s daughter.
He indulged her every whim, made countless toys and merely took it as a challenge when she managed to break one. All sorts of materials were put into them, soft and hard, pliant and stiff, all of them put to the test under her hands. He carried her on his shoulder or in his arms, rarely ever putting her down, even when she was wriggling and demanding escape.
Worse, though, was when he was away on siege and Orithiya was left with her. She’d promised to try and try she certainly did, to little avail. There was little she could enjoy alongside the child and even less that she could tolerate.
It was no secret she had little idea how to raise a child. She took Arethusa to the midwives and wetnurses far more often than Perturabo did, asking them for advice. No matter how much she’d been prepared for or how much she read made any difference, children were simply overwhelming.
“Mama?” Arethusa tugged on the edge of Orithiya’s shawl, pulling her attention from her data-slate.
Orithiya tried to smile at the little girl. She didn’t hate her, she didn’t want her to think she was unloved. “Yes, little one?”
Arethusa blinked up at her, left eye a bright green and right a dark blue shining in the aviary’s dimming lights. “Where’s Colibri? I can’t find her.”
Orithiya stood up, dusting herself off and offering her hand. “She’s still in her egg. Do you want to visit her?”
Arethusa nodded quickly, latching onto her hand and pulling her out, not waiting a second for Orithiya to gather her things. “Yes! Let’s go see, mama!”
Orithiya tightened her grip, trying to grab onto the edge of the doorway to slow herself, her head spinning sharply. “Arethusa! Wait!”
Arethusa stopped short, but bounced on the balls of her feet, her coily hair braided into neat rows hanging down her shoulders with beads decorating them. It was the only style that satisfied them both, keeping it well out the way while still letting her own style shine through. Most were still in her fathers’ colors, of course.
Orithiya nodded when her head cleared. “Okay, let’s walk slow. Colibri isn’t going anywhere.”
Arethusa nodded, but the slower pace didn’t last long before she was nearly jogging again, bouncing with every step. The beads in her hair rattled constantly, clicking against each other, echoing in the quiet walls. Orithiya long gave up on trying to slow her, keeping her fingertips to a wall as she kept pace.
The door to the workshop slid open after Orithiya typed in her code and she squeezed Arethusa’s hand when she went to skip inside. “Remember the rule, no touching your father’s things. You could hurt yourself.”
Arethusa nodded firmly, slowing her bouncing as Orithiya led her to her side of the workshop. She helped the little girl onto her cushioned bench, keeping a careful hand on her back. On her table now sat a wide incubator, red light glowing warmly inside, one tiny egg sitting right in the center.
Arethusa leaned forward, cooing softly. “There she is, mama!”
Orithiya smiled softly, nodding. “There she is. She’ll hatch soon, though.”
Arethusa rested her chin on her hands, her elbows on the table. “Will she play with me, too?”
Orithiya squeezed her shoulder gently. “She just might. She’s always played with you, hasn’t she?”
Arethusa looked up at her, eyes wide. “Can I hold her, mama? I’ll be gentle! I pinkie promise!”
Orithiya chewed the corner of her lip, looking down at the tiny egg. The little chronometer told the same truth she did, Colibri was close to hatching, and even she indulged in holding the tiny egg on occasion. Arethusa was rough with her toys, but those sweet eyes looked so innocent and her little pinkie was held upright.
Sighing in defeat, she hooked her pinkie with hers. “Only for a minute or two, I don’t want her to get cold.”
Arethusa brightened, revealing little dimples in her cheeks. She was nearly vibrating in her seat as Orithiya opened the humid incubator, cradling the tiny egg in her palm. “She’s so small, mama. Was I this small?”
Orithiya shook her head, smiling. “No, not quite. Open your hands like this, hold them close together. You have to be gentle.”
Arethusa nodded firmly, cupping her palms together. She looked entirely like her father at a glance, lips and brows pinched together, frowning in a thin line. She kept her fingers curled dutifully as Orithiya placed the egg in her palm, loosely holding her wrists.
Arethusa lifted the egg a little higher, loudly whispering, “Hi, Colibri. We’re gonna play together when you come out.”
“Hatch,” Orithiya provided. “When she hatches, she’ll need some to grow. She’ll just be a baby for a while before I return her to the aviary.”
Arethusa looked up at her for a brief moment before refocusing on the egg. “Did you hold me like this?”
Orithiya exhaled slowly. “You were never this small in my hands. But you were in your father’s. When he wore his armor, you fit right in his glove.” She gently rolled the egg onto one palm. “Just like this, you could curl up in his glove and sleep for hours, even when no one else could get you to sleep.” Gods know she did everything she could to no avail.
Arethusa nodded along, beads clicking and clattering gently. “How are babies made? Are they made in tubes too?”
Orithiya giggled softly. “We’ll tell you when you’re a bit older, okay? Pinkie promise.”
Arethusa smiled brightly up at her, their heads turning when the doors slid open. The Logos armor announced Perturabo’s presence before he even did, stepping in, his eyes locking onto them. The hard corners softened and he began to kneel, holding open his arms.
“There’s my girls.”
Orithiya smiled at him. As if he didn’t always know where they were. “Give me Col-”
Arethusa moved too fast, jumping up to greet her father, throwing her arms open. The little egg fell, Orithiya’s eyes widening as she tried to catch it. She shouted something incomprehensible as it rolled off the tip of her finger, landing hard and splintering across the floor.
Perturabo caught Arethusa in his arms, watching Orithiya closely as his daughter began to ramble on about all she had done in his absence. Orithiya’s eyes were watering, her hands trembling as she lowered herself to the floor, fingers hovering above the broken mess that was once Colibri. Her chin shook, her voice cracking when she finally forced out a word.
“Out.”
Arethusa didn’t hear her, telling Perturabo all about the little train he’d built for her, how she had rearranged the tracks all over her room.
Tears rolled down Orithiya’s cheeks, her eyes squeezing shut. “Get out!”
Arethusa looked back at her, gasping at the mess her mother knelt in front of. “Colibri! Mama, I’m -”
“Out! Get out!” Orithiya cried, glaring at the little girl, half-hiding behind Perturabo’s arm. “Go to your room!”
Perturabo gently nudged Arethusa, seeing her eyes begin to water too. “Go to your room, I’ll talk to your mother.” He waited until she had run out and the doors were sealed before approaching Orithiya. “Get up.”
Orithiya didn’t look at him, her face buried in her hands. “She killed her! She-She killed Colibri!”
He reached down, grabbing her shoulders to pick her up. She struggled against him, glaring at him too, hands doing little more than drumming against his armor. He sat her on her table, bending slightly to look her in the eye.
“You will not yell at our daughter-”
“Your daughter,” she corrected. “She is yours! She has only ever been yours!”
His eternal frown only deepened. He’d suspected there was something he was overlooking, but hadn’t quite been able to put his finger on it yet. Orithiya had always been good at hiding her emotions, at steeling herself from even his keen eyes.
“You agreed to try, Orithiya.”
She only held her glare, fingers trembling where she gripped the edge of the table. “I have! I have tried! But she only goes to you, she only asks for you, she only behaves for you! She doesn’t-,” her voice caught in a hiccup, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “She doesn’t love me like she loves you, Bo.”
He exhaled heavily, like a machine hissing steam, finally some pressure had been released. There it was. Not an underlying jealousy, but a frustration all the same, building and building for the past eight years of Arethusa’s life.
He reached out, ignoring her attempts at pushing him away to wrap his heavy arm around her shoulders and pull her close. “She loves you, too, Ori. Don’t believe she doesn’t.”
She sobbed openly, a heartbreaking and rare sound, but she latched onto his armor. “She is yours, not mine. We are nothing alike.”
He gave her a gentle squeeze. “She is ours. I asked you to help raise her and you agreed to help despite your reluctance. You’ve been a good mother.”
She clung to him, sniffling wetly, rubbing at her eyes with her hand. “She killed Colibri.”
He snorted. “Yes, she broke Colibri’s egg. And I can have another created before the cycle is over. She didn’t kill Colibri, you know that.”
She frowned up at him, her glare weakening. “I don’t know what to do with her, Bo. How do you manage her so well while I struggle so hard?”
He raised a brow slowly. “For one, I don’t have a deficiency to deal with.” She bit her lip at that, shame filling her, but he nudged her to look back up at him, his eyes deceptively soft. “Second, I let her show me her world. She’s curious and unknowing, not stupid. You’ve grown comfortable here as an adult, she still doesn’t understand how vast her world truly is. She is still young and needs to learn.”
She sniffled, pulling the edge of her shawl to wipe her face clean. “When did you become so smart in these matters? You’re terrible with emotions.”
He chuckled softly, bowing his head to kiss the top of her head. “I learned it from you. Take some time to yourself, catch your breath. I only returned for a short break.”
She lifted her head, grabbing the edge of his gorget to pull him into a kiss. “I will. I’ll talk to her. I don’t want her to hate me.”
He raised a brow, holding her hand to help her slide off the table and stand on her feet. “If anyone hated you, I’d have put an end to them.”
She shook her head at him, loosely holding onto his thick gauntlet. “No, you wouldn’t. Everyone can’t love me.”
He frowned deeply, guiding her out. “If I can love you, then anyone can.”
She smiled a bit, uneven but not so weak. “Even Dorn can love me?”
His frown only deepened and he huffed, looking away from her. “Dorn’s lucky I allow you in the same room as his wife.”
She giggled behind her hand, squeezing his covered fingers.
~~~
Arethusa held Orithiya’s hand tightly, her lip trembling and her eyes ringed in red. Fourteen now, sitting atop her father’s worktable, her feet in his lap. He held a sanitized needle in his fingers, her ear in between his other fingers.
A little iron cuff already sat on the curve of one lobe, its twin soon to follow. She would have no one but her father give her the piercings, of course. Still, she needed to hold her mother’s hand, just for comfort.
She held her breath when she felt the needle against her skin, closing her eye as he pierced her skin. He eased the piercing into place despite the size of his fingers, gentle with the tiny metal and her flesh. She barely flinched with his speed and seeming expertise, the little cuff closing to match its twin.
He wiped it clean one last time. “Done.”
Orithiya smiled at her, holding up a small mirror. “Here, see for yourself.”
Arethusa smiled brightly at her reflection, turning her head slightly to see the piercings. “They look great! Thank you, father!” She slung her arms around his neck, practically throwing herself into his lap, the beads at the ends of her hair rattling softly.
He grunted, holding her in one arm as he cleaned up with his other hand. “Of course they look great. Take care of them or else they’ll get infected.”
She giggled happily, kissing his cheek. He lifted her, setting her on her own two feet beside the bench. “I know, I know. Oh! Let me show you what I did!”
Orithiya tilting her head. “What did you do?”
Her smile only widened as she rustled in her pockets, pulling out Orithiya’s old mechanical bird. It’d since been recalibrated again to also accept Arethusa’s orders. There’d been adjustments made to it, further changes, minor to most eyes.
Arethusa gently opened its chest, holding it open in her soft palms. “I added a small syringe, see?” She pressed gently, a long and thin needle shooting out of its beak. “It can pierce neural ports, so medicine can still be delivered to Astartes on the battlefield without any need for medicae or Apothecaries.”
Orithiya caught Perturabo’s smug little smirk, but clapped her hands together. “That’s amazing, sweetie. That’ll be so useful for the Legion.”
Arethusa toyed with the little bird, closing it up and retracting the syringe. “Can we make more for the other Legions? I want others to have access to them, too.”
Perturabo glanced up at her, tapping his fingers. “They’re lightweight, easy to reproduce. It wouldn’t be hard to adjust the design for harsher environments.”
Arethusa bounced on her heels. “And, we won’t let them have the design.”
Even he couldn’t hide a chuckle from that. “Of course. That’s my girl.”
Arethusa cheered, any pain in her ears entirely forgotten. She hugged him again, throwing her arms around his thick arm. “I love you! I’ll get my blueprints!”
Orithiya smiled as she leaned into Perturabo’s side, resting her head on his shoulder as Arethusa ran out. “She’s so sweet. You know, she’s been studying a lot of medicine in her free time.”
He snorted, wrapping his arm around her waist to hold her close. “I’m well aware. It seems I have my work already planned tonight.”
She leaned up, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll have dinner sent here tonight.”
He huffed and lifted her, setting her on his lap. “Already done. You’re sitting here today.”
She smiled, leaning into him. “As you insist.”
~~~
Arethusa stared in her small mirror, frowning to herself. She was a young woman now, her growth slowing and stopping in most places. Her ears were thoroughly pierced now, all done by her father’s steady hands, from the iron cuffs to the bars through the curves of her ears. She wore a simple choker around her neck, decorated by studded diamonds.
She was a young woman now and she was… lost. Alone, with her metal medicine birds. She worked with the Apothecaries regularly, learning as they did, studying under their watchful tutelage. Iron Warrior Apothecaries were as hard as their battle-brothers, harder in some cases. They didn’t give her any grace for mistakes - a mistake on the battlefield or in the apothecarion could lead to a death.
There were so few people her own age, at least on the upper levels of the Iron Blood. She got along well with Odette, the few times the Iron Warriors worked with the Night Lords. Inevitably, though, the eventual separation reminded her of the hard iron walls she lived in.
She fell back onto her bed, turning off the primary lumens in exchange for her stars. These were the stars of Phaistos tonight, her mother’s stars. Her parents were honest, she had been adopted, but none of that denied their love for her.
Still, she had no stars of her own. The planet she’d been born on didn’t exist anymore. At least, not in any sustainable way for another century or so. It always took a long time to truly cleanse radiation.
Neither of Olympa nor Phaistos, all she truly knew was the Iron Blood. Iron blood coursed through her veins, her father would say. There was warmth even in iron, her mother would say.
She felt neither. Her blood was entirely that of an average mortals. The ship was only warm because of careful temperature control. The floors of her washroom were always pleasantly warm after her showers, but that wasn’t real warmth.
She loved them both. She loved to climb her father’s strong armor and hang off of him. Even Forrix would allow her to do the same to him, though she suspected that was more out of fear of her father than any care for her.
She could tolerate the quiet - she had to, within this iron world - but she was not immune to the ache in her chest. She didn’t have her own Colibri like Orithiya, who was ever obedient and downright sassy. She didn’t have any real companions, even the Apothecaries kept their interactions as polite or as hard as they needed to be.
She curled up on her side, tracing her fingers over the hovering stars. She liked her aunt the few times they’d met, but she was always busy handling her Knight duties and barely had time for her. Knights were impressive, but there was a clear pride in them she was missing out on. She would much rather heal, though she held endless respect for defenders like her father and aunt.
Out of all of her uncles she’d met so far, she was sure she liked Fulgrim the most. He’d gifted her the choker she wore, along with many other elaborate and elegant pieces of jewelry. Various styles of dresses and shoes had filled her wardrobe as well, as he’d insisted upon making up for her missed birthdays.
There was no real hate with how her father ran things, but she had been enamored with the beauty of the Emperor’s Children and everything they touched. From fine crystal glasses to the vast hall of statues and paintings, they drowned themselves in beauty. Their angelic legion mother had even played her crystal harp for them, each pluck of the strings resonating through the hall.
She’d begged her father to stay longer to only partial success. While it was true that their medicae notes had been unique and thorough, she’d truly enjoyed herself in the lavish living of the Emperor’s Children. Her father would hardly allow it, no matter how much Orithiya insisted he had truly softened.
She rolled onto her stomach, hugging her pillow, pressing her cheek to it. She wanted that lavishness, she wanted to dress so elegantly, she wanted to dye her hair bright colors, she wanted to wear colorful makeup. That wasn’t wrong to want, was it?
Her father wouldn’t understand. He was still all brutalism and fortresses. He rarely even gave her mother elegant, pretty gifts that most women would want. Gifts that she wanted.
She curled up tighter, sniffling softly, hiding her tears from her iron-hearted father.
~~~
Arethusa held onto the railing as the Iron Blood reunited with the Pride of the Emperor, boarding platforms connected. Her eyes darted from beautiful piece of architecture to the next. She’d already studied the blueprints on her father’s cogitator, but it was always different to see it with her own eyes, painted and modified to fit the elegant legion.
She leaned over, listening to her father give orders from his command throne. The cogitator pit below her glowed with lit screens, serfs and Astartes moving around each other as they watched everything closely. There would rarely ever be a mistake, especially in such a calm space, but never would they falter in their duties either.
They anchored over a beautiful planet, the oxygen just perfect for a large human population, uncolonized formally. Some Rogue Trader had claimed it for the Imperium and moved on with little care or effort. Unlike the Iron Warriors, who would never leave a planet truly abandoned, no matter how long it would be befor they returned again.
She turned when Perturabo stood, his grunt betraying the ache in his back. She skipped over to him, the carved iron bands in her hair jingling gently. She shared a smile with her mother, reaching out to loop her arm with hers.
Colibri fluttered from Orithiya’s shoulder to land on Arethusa’s, hopping a bit before she settled down. At one time, long before she’d been adopted, she’d had a metal limb, a tiny talon that Orithiya occasionally wore on her own choker. That time was long gone, but she still kept it as the first gift Perturabo had ever given her.
It was romantic, not that she thought her father ever thought of it as such. It showed he’d cared to some extent. She wondered if the Emperor’s Children gave each other gifts like that, gifts to show they cared without saying so.
Fulgrim entered as dramatically as always, wearing golden and purple robes that hung artistically over his shoulders, revealing one of his pectorals for all to see. Celyne walked beside him, her wings held high and wearing a pleasant smile, far more modestly dressed but no less beautiful. Clearly, she’d still dressed to match Fulgrim in the same purple and gold.
Fulgrim smiled brightly at Perturabo, extending his arms wide. “Brother! Oh, how I missed your brilliance!”
Perturabo grunted, allowing Fulgrim to hug him for exactly three seconds before pushing him off. “There, embrace accepted. What do you want?”
Fulgrim bent down to kiss Orithiya’s cheek. “As beautiful as always. And Arethusa!” He reached for her, hands grabbing at the air before she leaned into his touch, letting him look over her. “Oh, look how beautiful you are! You’ve defied your father’s roughness, thank my Father!”
Arethusa giggled, Colibri fleeing to Orithiya’s shoulder as she spoke softly with Celyne. “Thank you, uncle. Is this a new robe? I don’t recognize the design.”
He nodded, twisting some to show off the golden design along the edge of his robes. “It is! Please, don’t call me uncle, it makes me feel so old.”
Perturabo crossed his arms. “Business, Fulgrim. Don’t tell me I came here for greetings and gifts.”
Fulgrim clasped his hands together, pouting lightly. “Not at all! Ugh, always such a business man.” He shared a quick wink with Arethusa, earning himself a giggle and a hard glare. “I long for this planet to be the place for my next ampitheatre, you understand the concept, no?” Perturabo waved his hand, motioning him to continue. “I want it to be a hub of the arts! Artisans and craftsmen only! Showings at all hours of the day, from sunset to sunrise, the city shall never sleep. All we need is the starting point.”
Arethusa could see Perturabo’s mind already working, designs coming to life just behind his eyes. It was no surprise when he nodded once. “A theatre of suitable size and structure would need two days. The rest I can work out the schedule for tomorrow.”
Fulgrim clapped quickly. “I knew you could do it! I always believed in you, you know.” Perturabo gave him a dry stare, rolling his eyes when Fulgrim turned back to Arethusa. “And, don’t think I’ve forgotten your gifts! I remember each and every birthday, unlike your father.”
Perturabo grumbled, “She never asks for anything.”
Arethusa smiled up at her father. “It’s okay, I appreciate everything else you do for me.”
Perturabo nodded firmly, seeming satisfied. “Just like your mother.”
Fulgrim rolled his eyes. “Heavens, you all deserve each other. Let’s get started, I’m sure my sons are as eager as yours. We can leave the womenfolk to gossip and share their tales, no?”
Perturabo looked down at Orithiya. “You’re in charge in my absence. If something happens, contact me immediately, I’ll keep a link open.”
Orithiya nodded. “I will. Have fun building.”
Arethusa leaned forward. “Actually, can I join?”
Fulgrim tilted his head, silver hair falling gracefully over his bare shoulder. “Now, why would you want to join all that hard, dirty work?”
Perturabo scoffed. “She can handle some dirt, unlike your sons.”
Fulgrim huffed. “That is unfair and you know it. Throne, I fail to see how you ever got so lucky. Fine, fine, I won’t argue. Father knows best and all.”
Arethusa bounced lightly, going to skip after Fulgrim. “I’ll join Fulgrim on the flight down. I’ll see you later, father!”
Perturabo nodded firmly, looking down when Orithiya brushed her fingers over his bicep. “Yes?”
She smiled up at him. “Maybe we should talk later, when you’re not too busy.”
He frowned. “What did I say?”
She patted his arm. “It’s okay. We’ll talk in private.”
He huffed, tapping his fingers on his arm. He was sure he hadn’t said anything wrong this time. He could blame Fulgrim for the time being.
~~~~
Arethusa sat in the empty stands, leaning back on her hands. She practically had a private audience as the Emperor’s Children finished their recital. The Blood Angels were far from the only ones who could perform the arts, after all. Fulgrim would have nothing less.
She toyed with one of her mechanical birds, whispering soft commands for it to fly around herself and land on her shoulders. She’d had to expand them quite literally to fit all of the necessary mechanics and now it could hang from two fingers with ease, much like a bat really, though without being so vertical. It wasn’t bound to the rush of blood to its head.
She sighed softly, tossing her little bird up again and sending it to fly. It had taken less than two days to make the giant amphitheatre. The Iron Warriors may take weeks to months in some sieges, but they could rebuild that in just days. It used to impress her, and to some extent it still did, but she was far less impressed the more she saw it.
A hand caught her little bird, uncommonly pale. An Astartes dressed in a casual short chiton smiled down at her as the bird stopped fluttering, his eyes a soft red that seemed to shake in their sockets. His eyebrows were thin and white, but he’d managed to keep the long hair over his shoulder thick and beautiful.
“Hello, miss. You look quite lonely.”
She straightened up, smiling politely as she placed her hands in her lap. “Oh, hello. No, I’m not lonely, I’m quite alright.”
He tilted his head, sitting beside her and crossing one leg over the other. He offered her little bird to her, smiling as she took it from him. “My name’s Troilus.”
She rubbed her thumbs over her little bird. “Arethusa. Perturabo’s daughter.” Usually that scared off anyone who truly wanted to befriend her, beyond direct relations to the primarchs themselves.
Troilus, however, didn’t pull away. “Ah, so you’re the one I’ve heard so much of. Your little birds have been lifesavers against quite the foe.”
She tilted her head, giving him a shy smile. “Thank you. I wanted to help, but father would never allow me anywhere near the battlefield again. Neither me nor my mother.”
He nodded in understanding, looking down at the stage as his brothers finished storing their instruments. “I see. Well, I don’t think I would want a pretty face like yours getting all messed up. Scars certainly don’t suit you.”
Warmth flooded her face and she looked away, fidgeting with her little bird. “I actually have a small scar, sorry to disappoint.”
He gasped softly. “Really?! What harm fell upon you? I shall repair your honor myself!”
She giggled, smiling as she peeked back at him, meeting his red eyes. “There’s no need. I was in the workshop with my father and accidentally touched one of his sawblades.” She held out her hand, letting him see the slightly paler scar on the back of her hand. “He was red in the face from how angry he was at me, but I realized he was only concerned for my safety.”
He slid his hand around hers, bringing it to his lips to kiss the scar. “Well, I can’t have a lady as yourself flawed again.”
She could only feel herself flustering more, shifting in her seat, looking down at the mechanical bird in her lap. “Oh, I’m very flawed, I assure you.”
He shook his head firmly. “Never! Tell me, can you dance?” When she shook her head, his smile only brightened. “I’m still a horrid dance partner. Father’s ready to bring the whip to get my feet to behave as they do in battle. There’s just something about a beautiful dance partner that makes me grow two left feet.” He sighed heavily, resting his cheek in his palm.
She tilted her head slightly, glancing down at the stage. “I’ve never tried dancing.”
He gasped, clapping his hands together before taking both of hers. With ease, he pulled her to her feet and began guiding her down the wide stairs. “Then you’ll never even know I’m bad! Come, dance with me!”
She smiled widely, following him quickly as she held onto his hands. Her own giggle echoed across the stone. “You had better not step on my toes!”
He shook his head quickly. “Never! Cross my primary heart!”
Her cheeks almost hurt from how wide her smile was. Here, there, she was more than eager to follow him. Hopefully, this was more than a mere fling. Perhaps her loneliness could be cured, after all. Companionship did wonders for the soul, after all.