Graham McNeill - I, Mengsk

He was neither his mother nor his father: he was Valerian Mengsk, with all the qualities and faults such a state of being entailed. The things he had inherited and learned from both of them would forever guide his steps, but the final choice of where his life would lead was down to him.

"I understand," he said, and he knew she felt the truth of his words.

"I know you do, my dear. You make me so proud."

"I love you," he said as tears streamed freely down his face.

"I love you too, Valerian," said his mother.

Those had been the final words she said to him, her heart finally giving out as she held him on that last glorious morning on Umoja.

Valerian had stood and folded her arms in her lap, smiling at the serenity he saw in her, the lines of care, worry, and pain erased from her face in death. She was at peace, and she was beautiful.

His father had come to Umoja a week later and they had circled one another like the largest wolves in a pack, each gauging the other's strength as mourners arrived for the funeral. Now, with the burial concluded and the guests sipping expensive wine and eating canapes, father and son retired to Valerian's study.

"Your grandfather spoke well," said his father, pouring a glass of brandy and taking the seat opposite Valerian. "It was a moving eulogy."

"Yes, but you'd expect that," said Valerian, his voice hollow and empty, "what with him being a politician."

"I suppose so," agreed Arcturus.

"So?" said Valerian, when his father lapsed into silence. "You were going to tell me of Korhal. Of your father. And my mother."

"Yes," mused Arcturus, swilling brandy around his glass. "Are you sitting comfortably?"

His father then went on to speak for several hours, telling him of his youth on Korhal, his time with the Confederate Marine Corps, and what had transpired between him and Juliana. Valerian had been surprised by his father's candor, but soon realized that Arcturus Mengsk had no need to lie to anyone anymore.

His father had done most of the talking, but as the tale had caught up to the present, Valerian had spoken, injecting his father's story with his own memories. At the conclusion of the narrative both men lapsed into silence.

It was a silence that wasn't uncomfortable, simply a space between two men who had not yet decided what to say to one another.

Valerian broke the silence first. "I won't be like you," he said.

"I'm not asking you to be like me," said his father, taking a mouthful of brandy. "I never wanted that, I just wanted you to be someone I could be proud of."

"And are you? Proud of me."

His father considered the question for a moment before answering. "Yes, I am proud of you. You are intelligent and have courage, two qualities that will get you far in this galaxy, but you have more than that, Valerian. You have greatness within you, just as I do, and everything we have talked about today only reaffirms my belief that we Mengsks are made for greater things than the common herd can expect of their lives."

"I am my own man, Father, and I'll not live my life in your shadow."

His father chuckled. "Nor do I expect you to. Ah, Valerian, so many of the things you say remind me of the arguments I had with my father all those years ago.”

Arcturus stood and drained the last of his brandy. "Sometimes I think we're doomed to repeat the mistakes of our fathers throughout eternity."

"I won't make the same mistakes you made," promised Valerian.

"No, I'm sure you won't," agreed Arcturus. "You'll make new ones.”

"That's not very reassuring."

"It wasn't meant to be, son," said Arcturus. "Now come on, pull yourself together: We have an empire to build."