Hetaira? Perhaps.

by Anonymous

Summary:

Horus almost managed to get through a meeting with six of his brothers without it going off the rails. Almost.

Notes:

This was supposed to be crack through-and-through and instead Perturabo managed to bring in some upsetting implications. I don't know what happened.

The meeting had gone unprecedentedly well, depressing as that was to admit.  Horus was well aware of how… opinionated his brothers were, and with six of them, especially these six-

There were worse combinations to wrangle, but there were also much better ones.

Lion and Guilliman were easy enough in front of the others, mostly because they wouldn’t risk undermining him while Perturabo and Fulgrim were in the room, although for different reasons.  Russ was… mostly just loud, thankfully, and didn’t actually instigate a fight, probably because Alpharius was right next to him and no one really wanted to risk finding everything in their cabin shifted a few inches to the left.

(Alpharius had never done that.  Probably.  But Horus wasn’t deaf, and alongside the general rumors surrounding spycraft were rumors that the Alpha Legion could orchestrate such things as altering the grip of your bolters so they never fit your hand just right.)

Horus had just been about to wrap up the meeting and send them off - Perturabo and Russ both were clearly nearing the end of their perfect civility capabilities - when he made the mistake of mentioning Malcador.

“What is the deal with Malcador anyway?” Russ asked, completely overriding what Horus had said.

All eyes swiveled to Russ, and Horus began bracing himself for whatever nonsense Russ was about to drag them all into.

“I know his position, but why, exactly, is he up so high?  No one else has his job!  No one else would even be considered for his job!  What is with him?” Russ asked, waving an arm as if to illustrate his point.

“He’s the Sigilite-” Lion started, only to be cut off by Perturabo saying something in Olympian that caused Roboute’s mouth to fall open.

Roboute turned to Perturabo and asked in a carefully controlled tone, “What exactly did you just say?”

Perturabo shot Roboute an unimpressed look.

“Not what you think I said.  I wasn’t speaking your language,” he growled.

Horus began silently pleading for them all to remain calm.  The meeting had gone so well.  It could end well too.  They didn’t have to do this.

“What did you say then?” Russ asked, leaning forward with a near-feral grin as Lion pinched the bridge of his nose and Alpharius leaned back, an oddly amused look on his face as he did.

“It’s a position in Olympian courts, although Gothic lacks an exact translation.  I believe the closest would be… courtesan?” Perturabo said, losing the growl as he explained.

Lion let out a choking sound.  Russ cocked his head curiously.  Roboute and Alpharius both looked considerate, as if Perturabo had made a good point.  Horus felt like he was desperately missing some very important context, because his definition of “courtesan” was not Malcador in any capacity he knew of.

Fulgrim, who had been blessedly silent until then, said contemplatively, “You might be on to something there.”

“He WHAT?!” Lion yelled, lurching forward.

Perturabo and Fulgrim both frowned at Lion, and Roboute now looked confused.  Russ looked like a cat who’d gotten into the birdcage.  Alpharius was leaning back, evidently content to watch this new drama.

Horus couldn’t help but move closer to Lion, whether to back him up or restrain him, Horus hadn’t decided.

“Our father would not treat Malcador that way!” Lion snapped.

Perturabo narrowed his eyes and tilted his head a little.

“What do you think I mean by “courtesan”, Lion?” he asked slowly.

Lion narrowed his own eyes, then forcibly sat back and clamped his hands together.

“Were you not calling the Sigilite a whore?” he asked stiffly.

Fulgrim coughed roughly, his shoulders shaking.  Roboute snapped his head around to look at Perturabo again.  Horus bit his tongue.  That was his definition of the word, but the way Perturabo said it didn’t sound like an insult of any sort.  Of course, Horus had never asked his brother’s opinions on sex workers, so maybe Perturabo didn’t see it as an insult.

“That is- a reductive and demeaning definition of someone who holds the position,” Perturabo said in a tone that made Horus want to bury his face in his hands.

He found himself again silently begging Perturabo to not make a big deal about it.  To stay calm and just explain his reasoning if he had to.  The meeting could still end well.  Please, please just let it end without a shouting match.

Russ was trembling from trying to hold back his laughter.  Horus would have smacked him for it if he didn’t know that would turn whatever this was into a brawl.

“The position in Olympian courts is not an easy one to have.  They are expected to act as teachers, speakers, advocates, and confidantes of Tyrants and other high-ranking individuals.  While there is a sexual component to the job, one cannot gain that specific position by being attractive.  It is an important social role, and they have to be able to perform multiple functions - especially if they are doing so at the side of a Tyrant,” Perturabo explained.

Horus found himself unwillingly interested.  He only knew a few basic things about Perturabo’s home world; perhaps he should look a little more into it when he had the chance.

“Malcador’s position seems analogous.  I will not be speculating on any physical relationship he may or may not have with our father, because it is none of my business and I don’t want to know,” Perturabo concluded, crossing his arms and staring at Lion, who had relaxed as Perturabo talked.

“We have a similar role on Macragge,” Roboute added, nodding to Perturabo, “It is more… ah… open than the one you are describing, but aside from that it would make sense.”

Fulgrim had apparently gotten a grip on himself, because his voice was normal when he said, “I’ve encountered several places with such roles.  They make excellent assassins.”

Roboute frowned at him, but Perturabo nodded.

“You didn’t cross them if you could avoid it.  Even if they wouldn’t kill you, they could ruin you socially.  You treated them with respect, or you suffered for it.”

“Curious,” Lion murmured.

Horus almost managed to call the meeting to a close.  Russ spoke up before he could.

“So did you have a professional to call on?” he asked Perturabo, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Horus expected… well, several reactions.  A laugh, or a scoff, or even yelling.  He didn’t expect Perturabo to look away, folding his hands together.

“There were… attempts.  To… gain that position.  Or to make me take one on.  They failed.”

For a moment, they all looked at Perturabo.  Fulgrim had a perfectly neutral expression, matched almost perfectly by Alpharius.  Roboute looked vaguely bewildered.  Lion had narrowed his eyes and was peering at Perturabo like he was expecting, maybe hoping, for clarification.  Horus was actively running Perturabo’s words through his mind.

There was a weight that shouldn’t have been on a simple refusal of services.  The words, the way he’d said them, there was something about it that made Horus’ hackles rise.  “Failed” was such an odd way of putting it.

Russ cleared his throat loudly and said, “Well, I always suspected you enjoyed the touch of your armor on your body more than another person.”

Perturabo rolled his eyes and stood up from the table.

“I’m done here.  Farewell.”

Horus watched Perturabo leave.  Fulgrim and Alpharius watched too, both with that same neutral expression.

“I should head out too.  It was nice seeing you all in person,” Roboute said, also getting to his feet.

Horus remained in the room until only he and Russ remained.  Russ sighed, got to his feet, and began walking to the door only to pause and look back at Horus with an unusually serious expression.

“He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

Horus frowned.

“What?”

Russ sighed again.

“Perturabo.  I can tell you want to ask.  Don’t.  He doesn’t want to talk about it, and he won’t appreciate you trying to dig it out of him.  Best thing you can do is leave it be for a while.  Let him know he can trust you not to push.”

Horus did his best not to sigh.  He knew that.  No matter how curious or worried he was, Perturabo wouldn’t respond well to that sort of questioning.  He didn’t need Russ of all people to tell him not to stick his nose where it wasn’t wanted.

“I know-”

“Do you?  You’re better about it than Sanguinius, but you’d still be terrible at rehabilitating feral dogs.”

Horus stared at Russ for a moment.  Then, slowly, he released a breath.

“I’m not going to bother Perturabo.  I know better.”

Russ frowned slightly, then nodded and left.

Horus sat down at the table and rubbed his temples.  That could have gone… worse.  A lot worse.  They’d gotten through the whole meeting without a single shouting match; they’d even managed to weather a non-sequitor without much disturbance otherwise.  It had gone well.

Horus looked up and noticed a folded note at Alpharius’ seat.  He hesitantly grabbed it and opened it up, scanning the words before folding it again and closing his eyes.

“I hate that you felt the need to tell me this,” he muttered.

Perturabo is close, but not correct, and for the reason you’re trying not to think about.

Horus crushed the note and tucked it into one of his pockets.  He’d get rid of it later.

“ “For the reason I’m trying not to think about”, what does that mean?” Horus muttered to himself.

He was trying not to think about his father’s love life, he was trying not to think about the implications of some of Perturabo’s words, he was trying not to think about anything but his next campaign.

“It’s none of my business,” Horus said to the empty room, and then left.

Notes:

Leman Russ stirs the shit until it stops being fun. What counts as fun depends on the person. He likes Horus, and may or may not view Perturabo as a poorly-socialized dog. Don't think too much about anything in this fic. I wrote it in one go after burning out on an essay.