Chapter 180 - Matters of the Heart
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"That doesn't add up, Lord Fulgrim. Haven't you selected any Primaris newbloods to become senior officers?"
Kellen found this genuinely puzzling.
"The Phoenix Sons Chapter, for instance."
Horus turned toward Kellen, surprised.
"So they really are Fulgrim's sons? Then what Cawl said earlier about the Sons of Dorn..."
"Ha, well, Dorn hasn't come back yet, has he? Our Lord Regent has plenty of warriors carrying traitor Primarch bloodlines under his command. Just slap a name on them and file them under some loyal Primarch who hasn't returned yet. Easy enough."
Kellen said it with a grin.
Earlier, when Horus and Guilliman had been reviewing the Primaris Astartes, they'd both noticed something off about the so-called Sons of Dorn who bore all the hallmarks of the Phoenician and the Third Legion.
Turned out their instincts were right.
Fulgrim could recognize his own sons by that unbreakable bond threaded through their gene-blood. No amount of relabeling changed what it was.
These Phoenix Sons warriors had already joined the new Legion as a formed unit, and quite naturally became the absolute backbone of its early rebuilding.
Fulgrim found a comfortable single-seat sofa nearby and settled into it, violet eyes filled with quiet resignation. He nodded in answer to Kellen's question.
"I did promote some of the children to senior officer positions in the new Legion." He paused, then sighed. "But the standard-bearer post — the one that most symbolizes a Legion's honor — has remained unfilled. I approached the candidates I had my eye on personally. Every one of them refused. Their reason was that they felt they were 'not yet perfect enough,' and unworthy to stand at my side at such a historic moment."
The Phoenician crossed his hands over his knees, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"And then, unanimously, they recommended you."
Kellen blinked. For a moment he genuinely thought he'd misheard.
He knew his reputation had grown, after all, he'd installed a voice-box for the Emperor of Mankind and hauled back several Primarchs one after another. But he hadn't expected to rate this high among the Astartes, these superhuman warriors.
A scene flashed through his mind: that earlier meeting with Felix, Guilliman's high-ranking Tetrarch. The proud Ultramarine had been so reverently nervous in his presence he'd barely dared to breathe.
Apparently, in the eyes of these enormous warriors, he had already become something close to a living saint.
Fulgrim added quickly, clearly worried Kellen might say no, "the standard-bearer position doesn't require you to stay in my Legion permanently. It's only for the flag ceremony the day after tomorrow. Just show up, hold the thing, and lend the occasion some weight. That's all."
As he said it, Fulgrim cast a glance at Horus, one that carried a faint edge of apology and an even fainter edge of conciliation.
The Phoenician knew full well the bond between his brother the Wolf King and this particular mortal.
Horus, for his part, wasn't inclined to be petty. He and Fulgrim had been close once. And Ferrus Manus had done him a genuine favor during the fighting on Iax. Leaving Fulgrim a little face was the least he could do.
After a moment, he relented.
"Since that's the case, I have no objections." He looked over at Kellen. "You?"
"No objections."
Kellen agreed without hesitation. Show up, hold a flag, walk through the motions. Not exactly a hardship.
The moment the answer landed, a smile broke across the Phoenician's face, the kind that made people forget what they'd been thinking. The entire lounge seemed to brighten by a few degrees.
Fulgrim didn't leave. Instead, Horus invited him to stay.
It had been a long time since the three of them had simply talked.
They settled into it. The Wolf King and the Phoenician traded lines back and forth, pulling up campaign memories from the Great Crusade, the crushing, unstoppable offensives, and the embarrassing moments that never made it anywhere near a history book.
Kellen sat to the side and let them talk, turning a goblet idly in his hand. Whenever an obscure place-name came up, or some reference that had long since dissolved into the past, Horus would pause and take a moment to explain it to him. Patient, unhurried.
After three rounds of drinks, the conversation started to wander.
When it eventually drifted to Chemos, Fulgrim's homeworld, Horus seemed to remember something. A familiar gleam entered his eyes.
He'd found an angle.
"Fulgrim," Horus said, with a perfectly innocent tone. "I heard you married quite a number of mortal women on Chemos?"
"Ah..." Fulgrim visibly paused, his long silver hair shifting as he gave a small shake of his head. "You're actually bringing that up. There's nothing worth boasting about, honestly. Those so-called wives of mine were, strictly speaking, instruments of political marriage. Tools for stabilizing the situation and building alliances. Nothing more."
The Phoenician propped his chin on his hand with a trace of vexation, as though reaching back for those distant days.
"That said, managing so many women from different backgrounds with different demands did require a certain amount of... smooth talking. You understand, Lupercal. Even in political marriages, women like to hear things that please them. It saves a great deal of trouble."
He raised an eyebrow at Horus. "Is that what this is about? Are you hoping to learn these techniques from me for the sake of rebuilding your Legion?"
"No, no." Horus was already smiling. "The one who needs to learn isn't me."
He turned and nudged Kellen lightly in the ribs with his elbow.
The easy, relaxed look on Kellen's face went rigid.
"Sanguinius told me Father had originally wanted to introduce someone to him." Horus's tone was cheerfully conversational. "But Kellen — ah, this kid just refuses, no matter what. And the lady has already made her interest fairly clear."
Kellen's eyes went wide. He nearly choked on his drink.
You absolute Cthonian Samoyed. Waiting for your chance to get back at me, huh?
Fulgrim's eyes lit up immediately.
"Really. Who's the girl?"
"The Imperial Living Saint Celestine. She helped us on Cadia."
Kellen sighed.
"I just don't think romance is something that suits me."
"Please don't say that, Mr. Kellen."
Fulgrim's smile disappeared. He leaned forward slightly, and when he spoke, his voice carried something quieter, the weight and warmth of a man speaking from experience.
"I have always said that fear can be conquered. But love is different. Love cannot be conquered, because love is what heals everything. In this cold and cruel galaxy, for mortals and Primarchs alike, having a soulmate is a rare and extraordinary luxury. Fate has put this opportunity in front of you. Why not try to accept it?"
"Like you and Ferrus Manus?"
Kellen asked.
Almost instantly, a smile spread across the Phoenician's face, warm, a little bashful, and underneath it, a thread of something bittersweet.
"Ferrus Manus and I are more like two souls on the same road toward perfection. Bosom friends, bound by that shared pursuit." He paused. "I won't pretend I don't hold a feeling for him that goes beyond that. But that is what it is."
"Would you like to hear how we met?" He propped his chin on his hand, memory softening his expression. "Back on Terra, after Father found me, Ferrus Manus was the first brother I encountered. He was covered in dust and grime. My first impression of him was, frankly, not perfect."
A faint smile.
"But we forged the most perfect weapons for each other, a hammer from me, a flame-blade from him. We exchanged them. And in doing so, acknowledged each other's mastery."
He looked back at Kellen. "If Celestine holds a special feeling for you, she must have seen something in you worth seeing. My advice: don't shut your emotions out. The feeling may be unfamiliar. But you are a human being, Kellen. And humans need to love, and to be loved."
---
When the conversation finally wound down and Fulgrim took his leave, Horus turned to Kellen.
"So. Any thoughts?"
"I don't understand why everyone around me is suddenly so invested in my love life." Kellen frowned, shaking his head. "And I'm not interested in stepping into some prearranged romance under these circumstances."
Those set up by the Golden Old Man never end well.
"I was joking with you." Horus laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't take it so seriously."
Then, quieter:
"We probably won't have many evenings like this one. Not where we're going." He glanced out into the middle distance. "In the galaxy of the 42nd Millennium, there is only war."
➤ Next: The Granting of the Legion Standards
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