N'ghai

Dorn remained silent for a long time.

He just sat there, holding that half-cold cup of black tea, looking at Perturabo.

There was scrutiny, contemplation, and something Perturabo had never seen before in that gaze.

Puzzled.

"You've always thought that way?" Dorn asked.

Perturabo did not answer.

He simply picked up his teacup and drank the now-cold black tea in one gulp, the action carrying the resentment that had been building up for ten thousand years.

Dorn put down his teacup slowly, as if carefully choosing his words: "I have never felt that you are inferior to me."

Perturabo looked at him, his gaze full of sarcasm. "Is that so?"

Dorn nodded. "I can never match your siege skills."

Your Iron Warriors are the Imperium's strongest siege legion.

Your fortress, though I hate to admit it, is indeed impeccable.

Perturabo was stunned.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but nothing came out.

For ten thousand years, he had never imagined hearing such words from Dorn.

"Then why—" his voice was hoarse, "Why do you always go against me?"

Why do you always argue with me?

Why--"

Dorn interrupted him, "Because you're arguing with me."

Because you went against me first.

Because you care, I care too.

Perturabo was completely stunned.

He looked at Dorn's perpetually expressionless face, at those perpetually calm eyes, and at the stone he had hated for ten thousand years.

He suddenly realized that perhaps he didn't hate Dorn.

He hates himself.

I hate that I can never be as steadfast as Dorn, I hate that I can never be as pure as Dorn, I hate that I can never be like Dorn, an unshakable stone.

"I'm jealous of you," Perturabo's voice was low, almost inaudible. "I've been jealous of you since the first time we met."

Dorn didn't speak, he just looked at him.

"You have clear goals, unwavering beliefs, and always know what you should be doing."

As for me, I always hesitated, always doubted, and always wondered if I was doing the right thing.

Perturabo gripped his teacup tightly. "That's why I hate you."

I hate your steadfastness, I hate your purity, I hate you--

"I hate that I can't do it."

Perturabo remained silent.

Silence fell upon the dungeon once more.

The warrior of the Black Templars still stood ramrod straight, but something seemed to flicker in his eyes.

"Ten thousand years," Perturabo suddenly spoke, a hint of weariness in his voice, "I've been thinking, what if back then, what if I hadn't—"

He didn't continue.

But Dorn understood.

Ten thousand years ago, if Perturabo hadn't betrayed them, if he hadn't turned to Chaos, if he hadn't sat there watching the warriors of the Imperial Fists being slaughtered.

Will everything be different?

Dorn picked up his teacup and found the tea had gone cold.

He put down his cup and looked at Perturabo: "Why did you do that?"

Perturabo did not answer.

He remained silent, like the cold wall behind him.

Why? Because he felt unappreciated, that his efforts were ignored, and that his army was being used as cannon fodder.

Because Dorn received the Emperor's praise, while he did not.

Because the Imperial Fists is praised as the best siege legion, while the Iron Warriors are only "support".

Because he was unwilling to accept it.

I'm unwilling to live forever in someone else's shadow.

I'm unwilling to accept that I'll never be as good as that stone.

Unwilling to be forever--

"I'm tired," Perturabo said.

There was no anger or resentment in that voice, only exhaustion.

Ten thousand years of weariness.

Dorn looked at him and remained silent for a long time.

Then, he did something Perturabo had never thought of.

He stood up, walked over to Perturabo, and extended his hand. "Then let's not fight."

return."

Perturabo stared at the hand, at the hand he had hated for ten thousand years.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, to mock, to refuse, to punch that dead man's face.

But he didn't.

He simply reached out and took Dorn's hand.

That brief peace lasted only a few minutes.

The two sat down again, and the warriors of the Black Templars refilled their tea.

This time it's piping hot, and the aroma of tea is wonderful.

Perturabo, holding his teacup and gazing at the amber liquid within, suddenly asked, "What do you think a father is?"

Dorn frowned slightly. "A father is a father."

Perturabo laughed, a laugh full of sarcasm, "Father is a tyrant."

He is a dictator.

He's a bastard who created us and then used us as tools.

Dorn's grip tightened slightly. "Watch your words."

Perturabo didn't notice, and continued, "Isn't that so?"

He created us and then threw us onto the battlefield to serve him.

We shed blood, we sacrificed ourselves, and we conquered world after world for him.

And him? He sat in the palace, not even glancing at us.

In your eyes, is this what a good father is?

A flash of anger crossed Dorn's eyes. "Father has his own reasons."

His perspective is beyond our comprehension.

Perturabo scoffed. "Considerations? What considerations?"

Are you treating us like pawns, using us and then discarding us?

"We weren't thrown by him."

"No? Where is Horus?"

Where was his father when he betrayed him?

Where was his father when he slaughtered so many of his brothers?

Where was his father when he reached the walls of Terra?

Perturabo's voice grew louder and louder, "Sit on the throne and wait for us to come to our deaths!"

This is your good father!

Dorn jumped to his feet, the chair overturning behind him. "Shut up!"

Perturabo also stood up, knocking over the teacup and spilling black tea all over the table. "What? Did I touch a sore spot?"

Do you think I'm wrong?

Then tell me, what did Father do?

What has he done to deserve your loyalty?

Dorn clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking. "Father sacrificed himself, sitting on the Golden Throne, protecting the Imperium for ten thousand years!"

A thousand years!

He's suffering there, and there's nothing we can do!

Perturabo laughed, a laugh laced with madness, "Suffering? He deserves it!"

If it weren't for him, Horus wouldn't have betrayed them!

If it weren't for him, the Imperium wouldn't have fallen apart!

If it weren't for him--

His voice suddenly rose, "I would never have become like this!"