#bloodposting

By this point, most of the important things had been settled, and only fine details needed shaping. He loved working the fine details, adding the finishing touches that most wouldn’t even directly notice but he knew were there, and he knew elevated his art into perfection.

This detail was which particular guards he wanted posted around the event and in your personal cohort. He had already included those among the Emperor’s Children he knew you had fondness for, had selected his head of security, but there were still many spots left open.

His dataslate was filled with dossiers of his best sons; names and battle histories, accolades, photos and personalities, all sped by at lightning speed as he quickly sorted them into the categories of “absolutely not” or “shows promise.” His rapid swiping came to an end, however, when a face he wasn’t expecting greeted him at the top of the screen: Yours.

At least, your face if you were one of his Astartes. It was almost uncanny just how close you were, even after the gene therapies and enhancements. The eyes, the smile, even the minor marks in his complexion were a dead ringer for you. Fulgrim looked at the man’s name and nearly dropped the slate when he saw the matching surname. A brother? His beloved had what looked to be an almost identical twin among the Emperor’s Children and he hadn’t been informed?

Stamping down the hurt that you had hidden this from him, intentionally or not, he added the man to your personal guard. How about that for a surprise gift?

The day of the party you were getting ready in your quarters, attendants helping you into the outfit Fulgrim had crafted for the event. It was magnificent, silk finery that was tailored to your tastes, but in your lover’s colors. Your hair was styled, makeup applied, and just as you were ready to head for whatever Fulgrim had in store for you, a strong hand rapped at the door.

“Come in,” you called, expecting Fulgrim, or perhaps your guard. You never expected your brother to stroll in.

You sprinted forward, throwing yourself around the twin you hadn’t seen in years, didn’t think you’d have a chance to see again. He chuckled, “Hey, happy birthday to us, huh? I missed you, too.”

Fulgrim watched from the doorway, absolutely pleased with himself. Now he just needed to get the story out of you, but that could wait. It was your birthday, and he had so much more to give you.

Perturabo He was looking over the reports of the most recent battle. The world had been lost, heavy losses plagued the Battalions that had been sent down. You could see the agitation in his frame even from across the room where you worked on your own projects. He had been going over every detail to find the weakest link, who made the mistake that lost them the day.

It seemed he found it when his hunched form stood tall, certain.

“Decimation for the 18th Grand Company,” he said. The finality of it rang in the room and caused you to pause in your work.

It wasn’t spoken to you directly. You really shouldn’t even have said anything. But you did.

“Seems a bit harsh,” your comment hung in the air between you both for a few seconds.

He turned, staring at you with something cold in his eyes.

“A bit harsh? Enemy supply lines made it past their garrison. Their kill ratio in comparison to the other Companies is abysmal despite their prime location and abundance of artillery. And yet, despite this, the 18th left this fight with the most numbers intact. Do you know what that sounds like? Cowardice, treachery, or worse, incompetence,” he spoke with conviction, the data clear.

You understood that. It sounded bad- it was bad. The failings of that Company potentially were the reason the Imperium lost another world and now the man you loved would be looked down upon once again.

“Why do you oppose me, now of all times,” he took a few steps towards you, “when I have done this before, to your silence?”

You took a breath, steeling yourself as you turned and looked at your partner.

“I have a brother in the 18th Grand Company,” Perturabo snorted in disgust, turning away from you to put the order in before you could even finished speaking. You continued anyway.

“I know the odds are low that he would… be drawn, but I still worry for him. He is intelligent, hard working, an asset to the Iron Warriors-”

“Those are the bare minimum requirements to BE an Iron Warrior,” he bites back. “He stopped being your brother when was made my son. He will get no special treatment from me.”

He put the order in and stormed out, leaving you alone in his office.

Sometime later, as you readied yourself for bed, a message appeared on your dataslate. Opening it, you found a list of every Iron Warrior of the 18th Grand Company beaten to death by his brothers for the crime of not being good enough.

“Is he on there?” Perturabo stood at the door to your shared room.

His face was impassive, perhaps even uncaring despite his asking.

You didn’t deign to answer him, turning off the screen and setting it to the side.

There was a frustrated noise from Perturabo, and the sound of his heavy footsteps approaching before his hands grabbed you, forcing you to face him.

“Do not ignore me!”

“Why? You’ve already ignored my feelings on the matter,” you cut back. “Besides, he’s not my brother anymore, right? Why should I care? Why do you care?”

He pulled back, clearly frustrated. He didn’t want to admit defeat, admit that his actions hurt you. But if he didn’t, he knew he may lose you. His love for you ran up against his pride, his calculations against the small seed of empathy you had sewn into him.

He cracked.

“I’m sorry,” it was with a heaving sigh of his great chest, eyes screwed shut like he was pained. “If he is dead then… there is not much that can be done, but if he lives I shall have him transferred to a station closer to you, if you’d like.”

You didn’t respond for long enough to worry him, but then he felt your arms around his waist, your head pressed into the space below his chest. He embraced you back, tension draining from him at your touch.

He still had you. He’d do whatever he needed to keep you.

Ferrus Manus “We can fix you, make you better than you are now,” your brother said from his place behind you.

“Stronger?” You sassed, sarcasm dripping off the word.

“Yes,” he insisted.

In an Iron Hands workshop you sat shirtless, leaning over the back of a chair, spinal augmetic exposed. Your brother was in the process of maintaining it, something he had always insisted he do for you. It was sometimes hard to make it down to the workshops without drawing too much attention, especially these days after Fulgrim had blabbed about Ferrus and yours relationship, but it was worth it. The time spent together was grounding for both of you.

“I’m quite fine with what I have, thank you,” you closed your eyes, relaxing as his tools opened up the small panels to get at the inner workings of your spine. You were currently paralyzed from the shoulders down, but you couldn’t be safer. “I’d be happy with a real spine if I had the option, you got any of those laying around?”

Your brother made a disgruntled noise. “Your attachment to your flesh is-”

“Call me weak and I’ll show you what this flesh is capable of,” you cut him off.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, hard at work. “I worry for you.”

Before you could respond the door slammed open. You were angled just enough to see Ferrus standing in the doorway. A cold fury filled his gaze at the sight before him- you immobilized and at the mercy of one of his sons.

“Get away from them!” He growled, stomping forwards.

“Wait, wait, Ferrus this isn’t-” “My Lord, I am performing critical maintenance to-”

Ferrus wasn’t listening. You lost sight of him, unable to turn, then there was the crash of a body hitting a wall echoing in the chamber. One of Ferrus’ necrodermis covered hands was laid on your shoulder as he knelt down to check your implant.

“Ferrus, please listen to me, that Iron Hand is my brother, he was doing maintenance for me,” you wished you could turn, move your arms, check to make sure your sibling wasn’t dead. “Did you kill him?” Panic was setting in.

The sound of movement, perhaps Ferrus turning to check?

“He is alive. Why did you not bring this issue to me? My legion does not value the flesh like they should,” his hand slid down from your shoulder and onto your side. You wish you could feel his gentle touch.

“Because he is my brother and he has been doing this for me since before you and I knew each other. He knows every inch of my augmetic, built parts of it himself. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with it.”

“Not even me?” There was something in his tone you hadn’t heard before, rejection maybe?

“...Maybe if you watch and learn from him first. Please, let him finish, I promise you can be here for every future tune up if you wish.”

He didn’t answer, at first, still taking in the inner workings of such a critical piece of tech. Then he moved away from you, telling your brother to get up and get back to work. He watched like a hawk the entire process, as each vertebrae and connection point was cleaned and oiled, wiring and motors tested, nerve connection tested. You had nearly fallen asleep by the time it was done. Then each panel was closed, sealed, and secured.

“Brace yourself,” you heard, and readied for the electric shock through your system as the augmetic was turned back on and your body suddenly gained sensation again.

Ferrus stepped around in front of you and grabbed a hold of one of your hands, expression firm, but his eyes betrayed his care for you. The shock hit after that, pure voltage through your body making you shoot up straight and grip the necrodermis like a lifeline. Your whole body felt like it had been hit with pins and needles, the cold air of the workshop making it worse. Your shirt was dropped unceremoniously on your head by your brother.

After it was on you saw Ferrus cutting him a glare that could shake mountains.

“Everything feel normal?” Your brother asked, logging notes down about the procedure as he usually did.

“Yep,” you flexed and stretched, moving every limb to feel for an imbalance or unresponsiveness. “Better then ever. Thank you.”

“Of course. Until next time,” he nodded at you, “and think about what we talked about before.”

“My answer will be the same and you know it,” you waved goodbye, dragging Ferrus out of there.

“What answer would that be?” Your love asked as you slipped into the halls, in step with one another.

“That I’m strong without anymore augments. My flesh is not weakness, it is who I am, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything,” you said.

He hummed in thought for a moment before giving a decisive nod. Later on in your room, he sat beside you on the bed, running his fingers up and down your spine as you laid there. He had always known how complicated these types of augments could be, but seeing it worked on today… perhaps he understood why you only trusted one person with it. He would learn, improve himself for you so that he could take care of you in the future. Your strength was his strength now and he never felt stronger then when he had you at his side.

Roboute Guilliman He sighed at the mess on his desk. Everyday was a new adventure in finding out what would break first: the old wood under the weight of battle reports, redundant dataslates, and solicitations for his attention, or his will to remain in this room and not return to bed with you. He slid into place in his large chair, and while the desk creaked, neither of them moved. Another stalemate. A serf brought him a mug of recaf shortly into his examinations of the first document he grabbed.

It was untouched and cold by the time he pulled a dataslate marked with the Ultramarine’s insignia at the top. Dammit all, this was obviously higher priority then the rest and yet here it was, lost in the middle of the pile. His displeasure grew as he turned on the screen and discovered what exactly the slate contained.

Casualty reports. A company had been sent out to stop heretic harassment of a supply line. It had been a trap, an ambush to take out whatever Imperium force had been sent that way. No survivors on either side.

There was a knock on his door then, light and even and he knew it was you before he even told you to come in.

You entered with a smile, made up for the day in pretty Ultramarine colored robes. He remembered that you were to entertain diplomats for lunch. He wished he could join you.

“What are you working on?” You asked.

“Currently reviewing the losses from the supply raids, nothing good,” he remarked, placing the slate down.

“...Did that involve the company from the 5th Chapter?” You asked, suddenly quiet. He looked at you, your eyes wide with trepidation.

He had a brief but very strong battle in his mind over whether to tell you that yes, it had. There were a lot of things at play here; you clearly had information he didn’t and the discomfort in your movements implied it wasn’t something good, but he also hated lying to you. You were who he went to with his own woes and grievances, you always stood strong at his side when he needed you. He decided that whatever you knew, he could handle it.

“Yes, it did. There were no survivors,” he said grimly.

You reached for the slate with a shaking hand, silent. He passed it to you, trying to meet your eyes.

The choked sound you made after a moment of scrolling rended him. He was up and by your side before you could even think about reaching out for him. He took the slate and saw the name and face of the fallen marine, nearly threw it away from you at the sight, like getting rid of the evidence would mean your brother would still be alive.

He had questions, the hows and whys of this information not being known to him, but it didn't matter right now. Instead he placed the slate back on the desk and picked you up into his arms without a word. He walked out of his office and back to your shared room while you sobbed into the crook of his neck. Meetings would need to be rescheduled, funeral plans would need to be made, whatever you wanted. But right now he knew you needed him, and he wouldn’t leave your side.

Mortarion As soon as the battle had ended he got the call from the ship’s vox master about you. A flare up, pain radiating so severely through your body your crying could be heard from the hall. That had started hours ago. He didn’t wait for field reports, to find out if any enemy cells were left, to know what casualties they had suffered. He was on the next transport back to the Terminus Est.

Decontamination protocols hindered him in his desire to get back to you, but he knew he had to go through with them, couldn’t risk hurting you. His armor was stripped, his bodyglove removed, a chemical shower burned toxins and bio weapon residue from his flesh. As soon as it was over he made for his chambers in fresh clothes and mask.

In the hall leading to his door he had almost expected to hear your sobbing still. You had awoken in the night once, on one of the rare instances he allowed himself to hold you close, cradled against him like the galaxy may steal you away. Your cries haunted him, and your expression as you thrashed and spasmed on the bed was writ into his memory. He knew you had problems with pain before that, nothing some medications hadn’t helped, but rarely it cut through them, found its home and wrought havoc through your body. He had been so sure he had poisoned you or worsened your pain somehow that he avoided you for a month. The wrong decision, you had told him in no uncertain terms.

So now he was always by your side when it got bad again, if he could be. You needed him there to help it pass. The guard at the door nodded at him and informed him an Apothecary was in with you now. Then they both heard muffled laughter through the door.

Inside, Mortarion found you sat up on the bed, a mountain of pillows behind your back, a mug of tea in your hands. The Apothecary sat on a chair at your bedside, grinning through scarred lips. At the arrival of the Primarch, you gave your beloved a pained but genuine smile while your attendant stood at attention.

“Hello love,” you said, beckoning him forward. “I received good news today: my brother has been made an initiate Apothecary.” You gestured at the man beside you, expression beaming with pride for his achievement.

“I… was not aware you had a brother in the legion,” Mortarion replied. He felt unprepared for this information, he only wanted to focus on you right now.

“Slipped my mind,” you muttered as another spasm hit, causing you to screw your eyes shut and clench your teeth.

The mug was gently lifted from your hands by your brother as he ordered you to lay down. Mortarion came to your assistance as well, removing pillows from the bed to allow you to lay back.

“Thank you,” you mumbled, suddenly sleepy.

“Looks like the medicine I gave you is kicking in. Go to sleep, I will talk to our Lord Primarch,” your brother said, patting your arm as you quickly slipped into painless sleep. Mortartion scowled at the sight of someone else touching you.

“My Lord, I believe that the medication my sibl- your partner has been on was the wrong dosage. Their blood tests show higher levels of inflammation then they should be having and if left as is it will likely stop working entirely, or at least result in worse flare ups. With further blood tests I can formulate something better suited to their day to day needs as well as an ‘as-needed’ medication for bad days, like today,” he said, handing Mortarion a slate with more detailed patient notes.

He glanced at it, skimmed what was on the screen, but refused it in favor of looking at you.

“You know much for being an initiate,” he remarked. “Do what you can. I imagine they have already given you their permission.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he made to leave but stopped about halfway from the door. “I was not picked to be trained as an Apothecary because of my enthusiasm, sir. I would like to request the position of their personal physician, at least until my training is complete and I am permanently put with a company on the field.”

“...Prove yourself, first. Let us see if your medications aid them before you assert yourself in such an important role,” Mortarion cut him a deathly look for the man’s audacity. Until five minutes ago he didn’t know this boy existed, and yet here he was already demanding things in regards to you.

Your brother nodded once and walked out like a man on a mission.

Mortarion crawled into bed beside you, pulling your body into his pale chest. Despite the drug induced sleep you smiled, cuddled closer into him. Already you were looking better then you had in the past. Maybe your brother would prove himself after all, he thought idly. But until he did, Mortarion wasn’t going to risk your health.

Lorgar Aurelian Lorgar walked with intention through the halls of the cathedral, a man on a mission. He had gifts for you, holy scripture written with you as his muse, his saint, as well as a bottle of wine you both enjoyed to unwind with. It wasn’t enough, never enough. He could write a thousand treaties raising you to the side of the divine, conquer a thousand worlds in your name, and he would still wish for more trials to prove his love and devotion, even if you insisted him being by your side was enough.

He knew you were in this vast house of worship somewhere. It had become your favored sanctuary of late; you claimed you enjoyed the crowds that constantly moved through the place during its open hours. It felt safe, having so many eyes around. He had asked if you had felt unsafe on your own but never got an answer as Erebus and Kor Phaeron had walked into his office with urgent matters to discuss. You had promptly left.

That had been a few days prior. The ensuing days had been so busy he hadn’t the chance to talk with you in private again. Thus, his gifts, and his desire to give you all of his attentions.

He nearly ran head first into Erebus, suddenly meeting each other at the intersection of the hall. His First Chaplain cast a glance at the book and bottle in his hands, humming in thought.

“Looking for your dear one? I just saw them in one of the smaller shrines down the hall. They were… getting very close with one of the Word Bearers,” he remarked with suspicion.

“Close?”

“Yes. In fact, I believe I caught the end of them sharing an embrace. I was on my way to inform you of this suspect activity. Would you like me to take you to them?” He gestured in the direction he had just come from, eager to reveal your apparent misstep.

“No,” Lorgar said firmly, not believing what he was hearing. “You are mistaken, they wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“I know what I saw, my Lord-”

“And I will find out for myself!” He moved past his Chaplain, glancing down every alcove and antechamber until he found the one you resided in.

You sat on your knees in prayer before a shrine, only your back visible to him. Beside you, one of his sons in the same pose. You both rocked gently to the same tempo of your prayers, seemingly totally in sync in your worship. He even noticed your rosary wrapped around the gauntlet of his armor. By The One, had Erebus truly seen your infidelity?

But then you turned, saw him standing there, and your face lit up like the sun. You stood, placing a hand on the Word Bearer’s shaven head to pull him from his reverie. It was a gentle, familiar touch, one Lorgar didn’t like seeing on others from you. A pang of jealousy ripped through him.

“Lorgar,” you called quietly, in respect of the house of worship you stood in, “what perfect timing. I would like you to meet my brother.”

The man now stood at his full height beside you, and Lorgar gawked a bit at the revelation. A brother? How could he possibly not known that his beloved had family, especially in his own legion? He wanted to beg forgiveness for thinking so uncharitably of you before, to think you could ever harm him by being disloyal. Instead he reigned the wild emotions running through him in and took a stabilizing breath, something you had taught him.

“What wonderful news this is,” he stepped forward to properly meet the man.

The conversation wasn’t long, but it was enlightening. You had been separated for so long but happened to find one another in this cathedral, spending as much time you could together. It was like having a guardian angel watching out for you, you confessed, having felt much safer with him at your side as of late.

“Then I decree it so,” Lorgar said, “if he is your guardian then let him not leave your side. He shall be your personal guard from now on.”