"Saladin? My... brother?"
The surprise on Lorgar Aurelian's face lasted less than half a second before giving way to a genuine, restrained smile.
This was the first time he had seen the Primarch of the Second Legion in person, a figure he knew only through rumors and hazy memories.
That banner, those vague references, had finally become a living presence before him, a man with the air of both the desert and a scholar.
"Lorgar." Saladin returned his smile. His expression was warm and infectious, as though it could dispel the oppressive heat of their harsh surroundings.
He stepped forward and extended his right hand. Broad-palmed and strong-knuckled, it was covered in small scars yet remained supple. He offered a conventional handshake, a gesture of friendship that also seemed to affirm their equality.
"It's good to meet you in person, rather than reading scraps about you in Guilliman's report summaries, so exhaustive they put a man to sleep, or in fragments of Perturabo's encrypted communications, full of equations and complaints."
"So..." Saladin released his hand and walked naturally to the edge of the terrace, standing beside Lorgar to gaze out over the city stirring back to life below.
His tone was conversational, but an undercurrent of concern ran beneath it.
"How have things been lately? Your 'Word Bearers'—and that really is an excellent name, full of proclamation and conviction—are your sons adjusting to the tide of the Great Crusade? Have all those bureaucratic documents and identical victory celebrations begun to wear on them?"
"Come to think of it, it's rather like nomadic peoples on Ancient Terra suddenly being asked to learn elaborate court etiquette. There's bound to be an adjustment period."
He spoke half in jest, then let the conversation turn naturally toward a deeper subject.
"I've heard Guilliman and