On the feral world of Davin, the adjutant came smartly to attention before the vast wooden desk.
"The local representatives are outside, my lord Warmaster." The Warmaster nodded once, without looking up from the stack of reports.
"Thank you, Bejand. Make them comfortable and tell them I shall join them directly." Bejand cleared his throat nervously.
"Permission to speak freely... my lord?" This time, the Warmaster looked up. The adjutant tried to hold his ice-blue gaze, and failed.
"I know, Bejand," said the Warmaster. "You're not happy about this warrior-lodge initiation."
"So soon after your illness, my lord..."
"From which I am fully recovered. I had the Apothecaria of five Space Marine chapters fighting for the honour of healing me. I've been back to full duties for a week now, with no ill-effects. Your concern is touching, but unnecessary." Bejand shuffled uncomfortably.
"But, my lord, we don't know what's involved..."
"I have a reasonable idea. A little pain, to be endured without crying out; duels with a range of promitive weapons; trials of strength and speed; a few primitive rituals - little different from mystic warrior lodges in any other feral-world culture. You know Imperial policy; establish ties which can be exploited in later recruitment."
He paused.
"This really is bothering you, isn't it?"
The adjutant tried to meet his gaze, and failed again.
"Listen, Bejand. You are an outstanding staff officer, and I value your loyalty and concern. But why does one warrior-lodge initiation on one feral world disturb you so? I've gone through more than twenty of these rituals in the past. I've been a Space Marine and a commander of Marines for more than a century. You need have no fears for me."
"My lord, I..."
The Warmaster rose abruptly.
"Enough." His voice was softer, more dangerous. "I am Horus, General and Warmaster. The first soldier of the Imperium, subordinate only to the Emperor himself. Shall it be said that Horus ran away from a hutful of savages?"
Bejand struggled for words.
"My lord... I have had - dreams..." His distress was genuine. Horus laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Control yourself." he said gently. "You are excused for the rest of the day. Go to the Apothacarion for a psychological update. And then, perhaps, to the Chapel. A few hours' meditation will do you good. Unless you prefer to report these dreams and submit yourself to the Inquisition for psychic potential testing?"
Bejand swallowed hard. "No, my lord."
"Well, then." Horus patted his shoulder gently. "Go now, and we'll say no more. Meanwhile, I must meet the elders of the Knife of Stone."
And in the Warp, something smiled.
-Taken from an early version of Space Marine, by Games Workshop.