Chapter Text
"I'm not looking forward to mother finding out about this", the Death Guard said, regarding the pile of writhing flesh on the floor that had only recently been a cultist.
"Mother?" The Salamander asked "I wasn't aware your Legion keeps contact with your birth families after ascending."
"We don't."
"...."
"...."
The Salamander was aware that the Death Guard considered the conversation to be over. They'd never been very sociable, and the Salamander doubted that a run-in with a sorcerous death cult on what was supposed to be a standard compliance would've put them in any more of a chatty mood. But he was curious now.
"So who are you referring to?"
"Huh?"
"If you're not in contact with your biological mother, then who were you talking about?"
"Ah. The Primarch. Can't imagine he'll be happy about" the Death Guard gestured at the still-smoking massacre around them.
"... You call Mortarion mother?"
"Evidently"
The Death Guard were frustrating people to talk to.
"Is there a reason for that?"
"Yes."
Very frustrating people.
"Tell me."
The Death Guard scowled, but he could tell the Salamander wasn't going to let up. Beside, they had time while they waited to be picked up and perhaps explaining would lead to someone outside the Legion understanding them even a little. It wasn't like it was a secret. Just like with many things about the Death Guard, others simply hadn't bothered to try. To listen. To understand.
The Death Guard sighed and sat down, heavy power armor clunking to the floor.
"As you're likely well aware, the Deathlord was raised not by human parents, but a necromantic monster that named itself his father. So when he finally freed himself of its clutches and entered civilization, the concept of a mother was new to him. Based on Typhon's background, he put together the idea that a mother is a parent that isn't... like that. Gender's not much of a... thing on Barbarus, so that meaning of the word stuck around, at least in the Death Guard. Mortarion loves us. Therefore he is our mother."
"I didn't know he was capable of love"
Of course. What did the Death Guard expect? The bile of his last encounter with the Blood Angels rose within him again. It was always the same. Every time. The Death Guard didn't reply. He was tired. There was no sense in a retort.
The Salamander realized how he must have sounded. "What I mean", he continued, "is that the XIV and your Primarch seem so... grim. Rough....sad. But it seems you have plenty of affection within you. You just show it in... strange ways. It makes me wonder what else I might've overlooked about you."
The Death Guard paused, stunned for a moment, unable to fully comprehend the sentiment. Then, he took out a bottle and poured some of its contents into a cup. He thought for a second, then added some water, diluting the liquid. He then poured another cup, undiluted this time. He held the first cup out to the Salamander.
"Join me, brother."
The Salamander took the offered cup, hesitantly lifting the strong smelling fluid to his lips. It burned his tongue and he could feel it searing his insides. He bent over, clutching his cramping stomach. He looked over at the Death Guard, who had downed his cup in one swig.
"You're not making a good case for yourselves."
"I'm aware. But thank you for at least hearing it out.