Tales of the Blue Marine from a Blue Marine
Cato Sicarius X serf!female reader. You notice him looking off color during a meeting and decide to ask him a question about his past on a whim.
SFW
⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖⋆.ೃ࿔*:𓇼⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹
“L-lord Sicarius, you’re from an ocean world, right?”
You weren’t sure what made you ask the question. But something about the way he was backseating himself while his battle brothers conversed among themselves made your heart ache for him. You didn’t know why he did it, but once you noticed it (having had to attend many of these meetings with him since you became his serf) it was impossible to miss. You could tell he did it on purpose as well, only speaking when spoken to, never offering his own opinions too strongly. He pulled away from everyone.
Right now you were watching him as he stared at some corner of the conference room. Or, no. He wasn’t staring at anything in the room, he was staring at something very far away that only he could see, his expression pleasantly bland as the rest of his brothers talked around him. His eyes were a beautiful shade of blue, the richest you’d ever seen as eyes. They reminded you of the oceans you were currently questioning him about, but now they were oddly blank. With a shiver, the expression made you think of the empty eyes of a drowned man.
Cato turned to look at you standing near his elbow, his eyebrow raised. “I am, yes. Talassar is very nearly entirely covered by the sea and plagued with storms. That is where the Tempest Blade gets its name. Why do you ask?”
The question surprised him. He was used to your attempts to make small conversation with him, which he didn’t mind, but he had assumed you knew this already. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the dim childhood memories wash in like the tide for a moment.
Then he shook them off. He wondered if you felt bad for him, watching him keeping silent as the rest of the assembled Ultramarine commanders and squad leaders all talked and socialized around him, reinforcing their familial bond and generally enjoying each other’s company. Maybe it looked pitiful, and maybe it was. But he doubted his input was really all that welcome, and it was easier for him to hold his tongue and wait for the ending conversation to break up so he could take his leave without looking like the pariah he felt like. The effort on your part to draw him into some kind of talk was…admirable, if misguided.
And he regretted bringing up his blade. It would probably sound like more boasting.
“I was just…” You stumbled for words. “Someone else mentioned a campaign on an ocean world, and it just made me curious is all. What it’s like to live on one, I mean.”
Ok, technically nobody had said anything of the sort, but he didn’t need to know that.
“It is a beautiful world, despite its temperamental personality. You could learn of every shade of blue in the galaxy by watching the sea over the course of years. When I was a boy it fascinated me that water could have so many different colors. Blue at noon when the sun was at its zenith, green where it met the sand. Gray as slate during storms, stained with red or orange or purple when the sun set, black as ink during the night.”
You had only asked as an offhand remark, but hearing him speak of it so fondly and with such poetic words piqued your interest. “What else?”
He looked surprised, but continued. “On a few of the shores you could find so much sea glass it seemed like there was more of it than sand. I remember collecting it and bringing it to my mother. Polished like gemstones and nearly as round as fine pearls. When the tide was out I would find pieces of old pottery and broken swords and xenos skulls buried in the sand.”
“Did you swim a lot? You must have.”
“I was learning to swim before I was barely a year old.” There were old picts of it in his family’s home. He remembered walking past them daily and being embarrassed by them.
“I bet you were a great swimmer.”
“I-” He paused. He had been quite good, and enjoyed it immensely, but a part of him wondered if even that small of a statement would sound like undeserved boasting. “I was good enough.” He settled on.
“He swims like a fish.” To Cato’s great surprise he felt a hand on his pauldron, and turned to see Captain Ventris smiling at him, clearly amused. “We have water combat drills, both in armor and out. He dominates those, always.”
“My performance is passable, I’m sure.” Sicarius replied, unamused.
“Aww c’mon Captain.” You encouraged. “You’ve got endorsement from someone else.”
“It would appear so.”
Uriel looked thoughtful for a moment. “Tell her about your burial customs. You told me once.” He suggested.
“Ah, yes. That.” He turned back to you. “Since there is little land on Talassar, we cannot afford to waste it on burials. Some dead are cremated and kept in urns in a small family crypt, but many are placed into sealed stone coffins and sunk into the sea. Floating gravemarkers show where they rest.”
“Do they not get broken or swept away?”
“They’re anchored very securely, but sometimes they do, and new ones are made. The coffins are always carved with the name and date of birth and death, and it is considered a very honorable task to be the divers who go down and keep them clean of sea growth. When I was young my father would tell me it was mermaids who guarded and cleaned them.”
“Oohh, you have mermaid stories on Talassar?”
Macragge had oceans too, and you remembered a few similar tales from your own childhood when you were a little girl and obsessed with things like that.
“Where there is the sea there are stories of sea creatures.” Uriel offered. “I know the Iron Hands have a few similar tales they ported over from Albia on Terra. Women who wear sealskins to transform into real seals, carnivorous water horses, that sort of thing.”
Cato found himself smiling at your enthusiasm for tales of his homeworld. “All completely mythical of course. But we have many tales of mermaids. When I was young they would all be fairy tail adventures. Full of magic and lost treasure and powerful artifacts. When I got older I learned all the grown-up versions of the stories. Of mermaids luring seafarers to their deaths with hypnotic songs and visions of their families, of them eating human flesh or dragging men into the sea to force them into marriage.”
“They sound charming.” You said sarcastically.
He laughed at that, and you decided that he had a very lovely sounding laugh when it was genuine, and not a harsh bark of false amusement.
“I recall referring to them as ‘evil fish-tailed bitches’ at one point.” He found himself smiling at the memory. “There is merit to the stories. The darker ones teach not to trust appearance, and to guard yourself well. The softer ones are reassuring that the world is not entirely so bleak.”
“So…there are good mermaids and there are bad mermaids.” You reasoned. “Just like people.”
“Surprisingly poignant for stories about fish women.” Uriel grinned at Cato, who rolled his eyes.
“Very witty, Captain Ventris.”
You smiled up at Cato. “I think it’s nice. And a good way to teach a lesson in a way a child can digest.”
“If you would like, I remember a few of them. I could tell you when we get some time.” He offered, somewhat hesitantly you could tell.
“I would enjoy that a lot, my lord. Thank you.”
That made him smile again, and you noticed his eyes seemed brighter than they had been earlier.
Ferrus comforting his much beloved little wife after a nightmare.
Primarch x OC, SFW
Divider by @squishyowl
“Ferrus?”
He looked up from his desk and nearly dropped his pen. Argena stood in the doorway, looking pale and drawn. Despite the floor length white nightgown covering her down to her toes her legs shook. So did the delicate hands gripping the doorframe, and he could hear her small heart pounding against her ribs. The lace neckline of her clothing was wet with sweat all the way down between her breasts. Those beautiful golden eyes that he loved so much were wide, and wet with tears.
“Argena!” He shoved himself away from his desk and was with her in two strides. “Dead gods of Medusa mo ghaol, are you alright? What happened mo ghaol, what happened?”
“I-” Her voice shook, and she swallowed a few times. Instead of trying to answer more with words, she held her arms out to him. He obliged at once and picked her up, one arm supporting her from underneath while the other held her to his chest, stroking her hair.
Ferrus Manus was not a Primarch well known for his tenderness, but with his wife he was a different man. With her, he could let himself ease up. Letting go of his stoic nature, his temper, all the things that nagged at him. He did not have to be solid iron for her, at least not emotionally. She was so soft and sweet to him and he was soft for her in turn. Gena was strong in her own way, and he respected her greatly for it, but the fact of the matter remained that she was a delicate lady, and she deserved to be treated with care. She was his bride, his one and only. The love he held for her was so deep and fierce he surprised even himself with its strength, but it warmed him. He enjoyed this feeling, this love, this vulnerability. She had given him so much more than she knew. She had given him someone who he could bare his soul to, and in doing so only made her cleave to him more.
That meant everything.
“Shhhh, there there now mo ghaol.” He murmured to her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Sitting back down at his desk, he gathered her in his lap and let her settle in. “What happened? I thought you were asleep.”
“I was asleep.” Her hands gripped one of his, both of them so tiny compared to the behemoth gauntlets of metal and flesh they clutched at. “I had a dream…a nightmare. It was awful. I woke up and I just started sobbing, I couldn’t stop. I’m sorry Ferrus.”
“Don’t apologize. What did you dream about?” It must have been something truly atrocious if she was this shaken up about it. Argena was one of the most emotionally stable (for lack of a better way to put it) people he knew. She had looked him dead in the eye when they first met and curtsied while wearing nothing but a thin nightgown that had hid almost nothing under the unfortunate lighting. If she could do that without flinching, she was something else.
“I…” She swallowed hard. “I dreamt you were killed.”
He didn’t show any visible reaction. “Go on.”
“You remember that sword Fulgrim picked up from the Laer? How he nearly got possessed by the daemon in it, and how your father had to get involved? I dreamt…you never got the Emperor involved. Instead you and him ended up fighting, and he cut your head off!”
She looked like she was about to dissolve into tears again. Ferrus held her more tightly, letting her rest her head against his chest so she could hear his twin heartbeat, something he knew she liked. Her hands clutched at the fabric of his shirt now, clinging onto him for dear life. He could feel drops of warmth soaking through the weave.
“Why would you dream about something like that?”
“I don’t know! I remember I missed you a bit when I was getting ready to turn in but I knew you’d be along eventually. I don’t know why, it just happened and I hate it. I don’t want to think about what could have happened if Neoth didn’t step in. I don’t like the thought that I could have lost you!”
“Easy, easy.” He said gently. “It could have happened, but it didn’t. I’m right here, holding you. The Laer Blade has been long destroyed and Father took care of the daemon to boot. Moreover, I don’t even talk to Fulgrim anymore, much less waste any of my time with him. It’s not going to happen. I’m here, I’m holding you, I’m safe. So are you.”
Argena craned her head up to look him in the eye. His eyes were so beautiful, metallic silver. To her they always looked like pieces of moonlight. His face was concerned, but so utterly tender, a contrast to its rough, masculine construction and litany of scars. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew herself tighter against him. It felt so good to hold him, and to have him hold her.
“I know.” She whispered. “I know.”
“Do you want me to come to bed now?”
“Yes. But don’t you still have work to finish up?”
“That can wait. You’re shaking like all hell. Everything will be fine, Gena, but I think you need me more than the paperwork needs me right now.”
“Please yes.” She sniffled, then added. “Mo neart.”
He smiled at the pet name. ‘My strength’ in the Medusan tongue, a mirror to his for her. Mo ghaol, ‘my love’.
Sweeping her into a bridal carry, he stood up and carried her back to their bedroom, leaving her for a few minutes to change (or, more accurately, strip to his boxers). Afterwards she was right back in his arms, being cuddled and petted like a much beloved pet cat. She relaxed into his hold, snuggling against him. It felt so good just being held by him, hearing his breathing, his heartbeats, the sound of his lips as he pressed them against her cheek or lips or forehead. Just being near him made her feel so much better. The details of the nightmare were already starting to fade.
“Thank you, Ferrus.” She pressed her face into his bare chest, enjoying the feeling of the muscle underneath her own slender body. The little things that reminded her of just how strong he was.
“It’s a pleasure to hold you.” He said, and if she didn’t hear it with her own ears she would have never believed he could have sounded so soft. “And to have you in my life. To have you be mine, and to be yours.”
Her voice was nearly a whisper. “Oh Ferrus.”
“Shh, I’m here.”
He brushed his thumb under her eyes to wipe away the tears. He could still smell the tang of fear and distress on her, and he didn’t like it. He ran one hand up and down her back while the other kept her stable against him.
Soon he felt her slacken, as sleep took her once more. He didn’t set her down, instead laying back but letting her remain on top of him. Her second mattress, as she liked to joke, and it always made him smile. He probably wouldn’t be sleeping himself, but that was fine. He was a Primarch, and staying up one night to make sure she was ok was absolutely nothing to him.
Ferrus is feeling a bit cranky over Candlemass, so Sanguinius takes it upon himself to cheer his brother up.
Just some wholesome Christmas writing
Divider by @squishyowl
“Hurry Ferrus, hurry!” Sanguinius called cheerfully to his brother, laughing as he dragged him by the wrist through the streets of Macragge.
“Four bloody hells where are we hurrying?” He snapped testily half running and half sliding. “Why are we hurrying, we’re ghosts, why are we running at all?”
“Sorry! Still haven’t figured out the whole ‘manifest in the Materium thing’ yet. But we are not missing this! Especially not you. C’mon, you have got three feet over me. Use those long legs of yours and move!” He replied, his wings flaring as he leapt to avoid a knot of Ultramarine neophytes.
Technically with them both being dead obstacles weren’t a problem, a fact the duo proved later by blowing through an intersection and phasing through the vehicles as if they weren’t there at all, briefly leaving the occupants with either a very warm feeling or a very grouchy one.
Although even in his fugue state Ferrus had to admit that winter on Macragge was something to behold. The sky was overcast and mottled with clouds. Huge, fluffy snowflakes whirled through the air on the icy wind, blanketing the city of Macragge Civitas in a pure shroud of white (except on the roads where salt and slush turned it a dirty gray). She looked regal, in her pale veil. Elegant. As the evening had crept in the streetlamps flickered to life, bathing everything in a festive golden-amber glow. The citizens were all bundled up warmly in coats and cold weather gear, walking and laughing together or celebrating in the streets and squares with family and friends. Even a few of the Ultramarines themselves were out enjoying themselves, battle brothers rubbing shoulders with everyone from senators to starport workers. It was here he found himself being ferried along by his much more enthusiastic sibling, who ran with the grace of a deer to get to…somewhere. He hadn’t elaborated beyond ‘we’re going to cheer you up’.
He ran with much less grace but no less speed. Not really a deer. A draft horse maybe, one of those big ancient Terran breeds with hooves the size of dinner plates.
A candle glowed in nearly every window (no matter how many windows that building had). It was Candlemass, you see. Humanity had never lost its love for celebrating the end of the year, bringing festivities and good cheer to the darkest, coldest months. Saturnalia, Christmas, Yule, and now in the 42nd millenia, Candlemass. It was, by and large, a joyous time, but Ferrus Manus was feeling far from festive.
For you see, while Candlemass is a time of celebration, it is also a time of remembrance. Honoring those lost in the last year and beyond, remembering the good times and the sacrifices made for loved ones. The Imperial Guard, the Astartes, the Sororitas. A few candles were even lit for the men of the Custodes and the women of the Sisters of Silence. Even Primarchs were remembered this time of year.
Or, most of them, anyway.
Ferrus never wanted to be worshipped like a god. As Roboute and now Lion did, he found the whole idea unpleasant. But while he didn’t want worship, he did want to be remembered, and therein lay the problem. He usually never was. His idiot gene sons were decrying him left and right. Of all his loyalist brothers, he had the least amount of shrines, icons, windows, etc. Most of them were on Medusa, his homeworld anyway, which hardly counted. The ones that weren’t were all included in a group of shrines. It stung, and he was man enough to admit it. Being forgotten about when he had died in the manner he did. A few hymns and a little thanks wouldn’t be too disagreeable.
He felt a fresh surge of hatred for Fulgrim, making the fiery halo above his head flare white with hot rage.
At least his men and women in the Legion of the Damned remembered him. Contrary to popular myth, the legion didn’t just have space marine. Guard, Custodians, Sisters of Battle. If you were a soldier of the Imperium in any capacity, you came to him. He cared for them, truly, and he could see that reciprocated in admiration. And it was nice to have them around to keep him company on the other side. He enjoyed the stories he got from the guardsmen, the technical chatter with the Skitarii, even the theological debates with some of the more fanatic branches of Imperial military strength.
But still. Some kudos from the land of the living would be appreciated.
Sanguinius of course had no such problems. He was beloved by all in the Imperium great and small. He even had his own holiday, Sanguinala. Even on Candlemass though, the good folk of the Imperium took time to light a candle for the Angel. He always loved this time of year, unlike his dour black armored counterpart. Thus, when he’d noticed Ferrus’s equally dark mood, he had taken it upon himself to lift his spirits in the name of Candlemass cheer. And he seemingly had the perfect way to do it.
The two were pounding up the stairs of the Fortress of Hera now. Through doors, through the corridors and courtyards to a grand cathedral near the center of the Fortress Monastery.
“Here we are!” Sanguinius said with a broad grin. “Let’s go.”
Before Ferrus could get a word in he was dragged through the ornate double doors.
Inside was lit with thousands upon thousands of candles. It was beautiful, ornate but tastefully so. The light inside was a mix of warm amber from the flame and blue from the stained glass windows. Between all the Ultramarine iconography were the chapter banners of the loyalist legions. Astartes and baseliners alike sat in pews, and the music of a pipe organ soaked into the atmosphere.
“I thought Roboute hated the Imperial Cult.” Ferrus said.
Sanguinius nodded. “Oh he does. But this is not a Father-bothering service in the least.” He replied, finally letting go of Ferrus’s wrist. The two stood in the aisle, watching as said service unfolded. “Watch.”
Ferrus looked around, noticing that the candles were all being put out. As the music faded, the sanctuary went dark. The only light coming from augmetic eyes and the duos’ halos which nobody could see anyway.
“What’s going on? Come on Sanguinius, why did you drag me all the way here?”
“Shh.” He pointed. “Shoosh. Just watch.”
As he said it a light flared to life at the sanctuary. Roboute stood there, not resplendent in his armor but dressed in a simple white toga and a blue cloak, the Emperor’s sword belted at his hip.. Ferrus had to bite back a gasp of shock.
He looked so tired and haggard. His hair was longer and thinner. His eyes were sunken and had dark circles under them. His face was lined. But for all that he seemed to be in a good mood, and it was clear why. Next to him, also holding a candle lighter was none other than the Lion, dressed in a forest green doublet and a black sable cloak. His shield was slung over his back. He looked older too, his hair much paled in color and longer, his beard fuller.
“As we bid this year farewell in its final few weeks and prepare to greet the new one, whatever trials and triumphs it may bring, I would like to take one last moment of your time this evening to remember those that are no longer with us. Ceremony such as this ensures those we have lost are always honored and never forgotten, even if their names have been lost.”
He walked to the side of the sanctuary and lit several candles as he spoke. “For the Imperial Guard, the brave men and women of the Navy and the Aeronautica. We are all grateful for your continued bravery and courage in the face of horrors. You are the strongest of us all.”
There was a round of applause then. Several members of the congregation stood, and were seated again when it died down.
Next Lion walked to the other side and copied Roboute’s actions. “For the Adeptus Astartes. My sons and my brother’s sons. All our nephews without their gene-sires to guide their blades and guns. We thank you for your unwavering spirits and loyalty in the face of hellish odds. I am proud to call you my kin.”
More ovations, and this time the space marines in the crowd stood up. Ultramarines, Dark Angels, and a few scattered successors of each. But the middle was still dark. Roboute moved inward a bit, and then Ferrus saw it.
Shrines. There were shrines. One for each of the loyalists. A beautiful crafted statue of each rested on a small altar, surrounded by candles, although the features were obscured in the dark. Roboute began lighting them once again. These were colored either a dark forest green or an antique gold. The Primarch himself had taken his seat, leaving Guilliman alone up front.
“For my brother Lion. You are a pompous, stuck up, trigger happy, smug bastard, and I missed you more than I can say. I am glad to have you back. You wear your age gracefully, which is more than I can say for your armor.”
The Lion laughed aloud at that, grinning, and after a moment the Dark Angels decided it was ok to find it funny as well. Guilliman moved on to the next altar. The candles were white and red.
“For my brother Jaghatai. Your speed and skill are sorely missed, as is your dry wit. Dustier than the deserts of Tallarn, and as sharp as any power sword. May your battles in the Warp be victorious and your return home as swift as the hawks and horses of Chogoris.”
And the next. The candles here were storm gray and yellow.
“For my brother Leman. As loyal a brother and faithful a friend as anyone could ask for. I miss your ferocity, your brooding, and your joviality alike. You were one of my Dauntless Few, and I feel your absence sorely and sharply. You who so masterfully pretended to be a beast to disguise the razor blade of a mind underneath the wolf’s pelt. One day I pray we may drink and share stories again, and that I may hear of your great victories and tall tales. Come home soon, and come home safe.”
The next candles were yellow and black. “For my brother Rogal. Stalwart, unbending, unbreakable. You couldn’t understand a joke if it wrote an after-action report to explain itself to you, and you were as blunt as an old knife. But you were my good brother. You were my friend, a man of my Dauntless Few, and we are lesser without you. May you rest peacefully, and know that the Imperial Palace still stands. Know that nobody has forgotten your immoveable soul or your determination. Rest knowing you did your duty to the utmost and that we are all grateful.”
He paused as he reached the next shrine. These candles were crimson and gold. When he spoke again there was a barely perceptible quiver in his voice.
“For my brother Sanguinius. Everyone knew you as the Great Angel. Refined, graceful, powerful. One of my Dauntless Few. I knew you as that and as a mischievous jerk more often than not. You are missed and beloved by all. I miss your kindness and good counsel. May you also rest in peace, and know that you are regarded as a hero, and rightfully so.
There was more laughter at that. Guilliman wiped his eyes and moved onto the next one. The candles were gold and emerald green here instead of forest.
“For my brother Vulkan. You were a much needed voice of kindness among my brothers. You who always remembered baseline humanity and encouraged us to do the same. Your hands made us all many wonders in your forge, and your sons carry that flame with them. May you return safely and swiftly to them and to us, and rekindle your forgefire once more.”
“A kind gesture, if nothing else.” Ferrus said dismissively.
Sanguinius raised an eyebrow. “What, are you jealous? Do you really think Roboute would forget you?”
“Everybody else has forgotten me except you.” His tone was bitter now. “Maybe because I died so ingloriously. Why wouldn’t he?”
“I know you’re jaded, and trust me I understand. But just keep watching.”
The shrine in the middle was still unlit.
Black and white candles flared to life. “For my brother Corvus. A liberator. May that spirit live on, because there are so many worlds that need liberation. May you return home and take up your mantle of freedom-fighter once more, because so many worlds need freedom. And may you have good luck in your hunt. When you come home, I hope your bring Lorgar’s head as a trophy. Throne knows it couldn’t happen to someone more deserving.”
A few hoots and shouts of agreement.
Finally, Roboute made his way to the last shrine. He lit the candles here slowly, taking his time for each. They were a dark, inky black and a metallic, shimmering silver that glittered beautifully under the candlelight.
And it was then that Ferrus noticed that the middle shrine had the most candles out of all of them.
“And finally. Last but far from the least. To my brother Ferrus Manus, Lord of the Iron Tenth. You were one of the greatest among us. Not because of your metal hands but in spite of them. The greatest of my Dauntless Few. We remember your death not because it was dishonorable or tragic but because you were courageous and defiant to your dying breath. Your soul burned bright and beautiful and it does so even now as you shepherd the Imperium's loyal soldiers. We remember your skill in the forge and the might you granted the rest of us. We remember your strength and power in combat, your iron will and steel tenacity. We are lesser without you, my brother Ferrus. Know that I have not forgotten you. We have not forgotten you, and we never will. Not as long as I still draw breath. I remember you often liked to say that nobody knew you, and I believe that to be true. Nobody really did know you, and I regret not remedying that when I had the chance. Of all of us, I should have known you. May you find peace, and know that as with all my brothers, I love you.”
Ferrus felt a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow down no matter how hard he tried and his eyes prickled. He noticed a few wet trails on Guilliman's face as well, shining in the firelight before he scrubbed his face with an arm.
The rest of the service passed in a blur for him. Many of the baseliners and Astartes went up to light a candle themselves. Many more tiny lights flared to life by his shrine. But eventually the room emptied, and the four brothers were alone with each other.
Roboute turned to the two of them at the end of the aisle with a small smile. “Are the two of you planning on saying hello, or just lurking?”
The two finally faded fully into the Materium.
"You could see us the whole time?" Ferrus asked, incredulous.
"Not really see you per say." Lion said, coming to stand with Roboute. He'd been helping his brother extinguish the remaining candles. "But we felt the two of you there. I figured you didn't want to cause a scene. It…it's good to see you again. Both of you."
"Yes, it is." Roboute echoed. "Unexpected but it's wonderful to see the both of you."
Ferrus opened his mouth but found himself choked up. Sanguinius stepped forward, wrapping his arms and wings around his brothers wordlessly.
When they pulled apart, Lion had misty eyes, Roboute was openly weeping again and Sanguinius was beaming at them both like the sun. He grabbed Ferrus and yanked him forward.
“I came for this grump.” He explained. “He was in such a bad mood because he thought everyone had forgotten about him. Maybe he’s not as well loved as he deserves, but you two wouldn’t forget. I knew you wouldn’t. Your speech was lovely by the way. You always had an ability to talk perfectly. Not too simple, not too eloquent, always genuine.”
It was more than that. It had taken all of Ferrus’s considerable willpower not to cry like a child. He was touched. And a little ashamed of his earlier dismissiveness. Maybe not many still cared, but the ones who mattered did. His family remembered him.
“It’s not that big of a deal.” Ferrus huffed, but before he could continue Roboute had wrapped him in a rib-crushing hug. He stiffened, but after a moment returned it.
“Throne but it’s good to see you again, Ferrus.” And damn him if it didn’t sound genuine.
He blinked hard, trying to contain his own tears to no avail. “It’s good to see you as well, Roboute. I’m glad Fulgrim couldn’t take you down too. The bastard.”
“He nearly did. I got lucky.”
When they pulled apart Lion surprised all three of them by wrapping Ferrus in an equally strong embrace.
“You idiot. You bloody idiot. You really thought we’d forget about you? Give us some credit, Manus. Maybe we could have done a better job of showing it but your absence was sorely felt. I wish I had noticed something. Gotten the Laer Blade away from Fulgrim, I don’t know. I’m sorry Ferrus.”
“Don’t-” he swallowed. “There’s nothing you could have done, in the end. I made my own choices, foolish as they were.”
“He made worse ones.” El’Jonson said fiercely. “You are deeply missed.”
“More than you realize, you big lump.” Sanguinius smacked his shoulder with a wing. “See? What did I tell you? Cheer up, it’s Candlemass.”
“I wonder if your xenos…friend could help…?”
Roboute shook his head. “With the state he’s in? I don’t know. I was a different case.”
“I appreciate the thought, but it could be much worse. And someone needs to look after the Legion of the Damned. Aeonid Thiel says hello, by the way.”
“I-well. It’s good to hear from him too.” He paused. “I must ask, how are the two of you here? This isn’t something you can do regularly, is it?”
Sanginius shook his head. “I wish. I would have come far more often, but it’s really only doable, even for powerful ghosts like us, during certain times. Or when the energy is right and the veil is thin.”
“Trust me, if we could do this regularly my idiot gene sons would have already gotten an earful they wouldn’t soon forget.”
“How much time do you have left?” Lion asked.
“More than enough.” Sanguinius flashed another one of his brilliant smiles. “That's the thing about ceremonies like this. Remembrance. It helps to thin the veil, draw power. All that raw emotion. It’ll linger for a while. We can stay and talk.”
“I like the sound of that. We have much to catch up on, don’t we?”
Lion nodded. “ We do. And I’m sure you’ve got a bottle of Macraggian red you can dig up from somewhere.”
“And there’s his real motivation.”
“Hardly. It’s tradition to have long talks over alcohol, you know that.”
“Cheers, I’ll drink to that. What about you, Ferrus?”
He shrugged. “I have nothing pressing at the moment. I’m sure my men and women can go a night without me around.”
And he smiled in spite of himself. It was nice to be remembered.
Velvet Parasite
There's something on Ferrus Manus's neck that should not be there
Content warning: Gore, body horror, parasites
Song - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VNPKlVq0z2Y&t=366s
Divider by the ever lovely @squishyowl
There was a weight on his throat.
The weight wasn’t heavy but it felt like a cinder block was resting there all the same. It clung to his flesh. What felt like spindly legs wrapped around his neck to hold it in place, with tiny spines digging deep. At the apex of his throat where his larynx was he could feel…a mouth. That was the only way he could describe it. A mouth full of teeth suckered onto his throat like a lamprey, held pinned by mandibles. Trickles of hot blood ran down his neck and chest and the scent of his own coppery vitality filled his nose.
It hurt like mad, and it wasn’t merely sitting there. It was feeding off of him. He could feel it pulsing as it drank the lifeblood from him. Greedily feasting from his very veins, cleverly staying away from his major arteries so it could instead just sit and grow without risk of killing the host. Growing bigger and fatter and heavier, making it harder to breathe.
A parasite. He had a parasite.
Ferrus sat up, and looked around. It was dark, wherever he was. Nothing was immediately apparent. The room was empty, and the air was stale and scentless aside from the reek of his own blood. He sat on a bare cot decorated with fresh red droplets. On the far side of the room was an open door letting in pale grey light.
Peering around the doorway revealed an equally bare and spartan hallway. Tall and narrow, with clusters of flickering candles scattered on the floor. Windows let in that silver light, mingling with the dim amber flame.
He made to take a step forward to head out. There was nothing for him in this room. The thing on his neck made its displeasure known, squirming and squeezing his neck in short, sharp bursts, digging its spines into sensitive skin and muscle. Ferrus winced, and stepped back. Or maybe not. There was a bed in here. It was warm and oddly comforting. Familiar. And there was a bone deep weariness that crept through his whole body. It would not be so bad to lay back down and rest.
There is something using you as a feeding ground.
The thought shoved its way to the forefront of his mind and instantly his desire to stay evaporated. Ignoring the thing at his throat, he stepped over the threshold and made his way down the hallway.
There was nothing outside the windows except the darkness of night. No further lights or skyline to give him an idea of where he was. Maybe he was nowhere at all. His bare feet padded silently down the cold stone, chilling the rest of him. His skin prickled with gooseflesh. The thing on his neck punished him for it at first, laying into him with its spiny legs and mandibles. He ignored it, although something was keeping him from tearing it off entirely. Some old memory, some friendship he had with it from days long past. Eventually it could tell its protestations were fruitless, and the tantrum stopped. It really was a tiresome, childish thing.
At first it seemed like this hallway was endless. Maybe he should have never left the warm, dark, familiar room after all, and just gone back to sleep. But as he continued to walk further, in the distance the shape of another door grew clearer.
It was made of some old, dark wood, banded with wrought iron and tall enough to admit him easily. Smelling of the forest and varnish. Grabbing the handle, he found it was not locked, and pushed it slowly open. It creaked with age and disuse.
Inside, without any fanfare of explanation stood a solitary, full length mirror. Set in a gilded frame, tall enough that he could see himself from toes to head. He took a step back in shock.
His own visage stared back at him. A face carved out of mountain rock, masculine, rough, and pale. His crooked nose, pugilist’s ears, and silver eyes. Short, cropped hair as black as shale. He looked tired. Blood dripped down his neck and chest, trickling in rivulets down his bare stomach.
Slowly he forced himself to look down.
The thing on his neck was vaguely insectoid in appearance. Not only were its legs covered in spines but the underside of it was too. It was partially sunk into the flesh of his neck, embedded in it like a jewel in a ring. It’s body was huge. Distended, fat, and grotesque. Pulsating and segmented. It was colored a shimmery purple. Each of its segments was edged with gold. The tail hung loose, wriggling with enjoyment as it fed.
By all the dead gods of Medusa.
His hearts started to pound as he watched it. This was wrong. No. This was vile. It was disgusting, watching the creature grow swollen on his lifeblood. Off of his back. Nausea twisted around in his guts and he had to choke back a retch.
Ferrus raised his hands to his throat. There wasn’t anything he could use to pry it off but he would tear it off.
“Wait!”
He froze as he heard the voice in his mind. It was familiar although he couldn’t pin exactly where he’d heard it before. It was a voice that did not fit the creature at all though, far more smooth and soft than he would have expected from such a revolting thing. He looked in the mirror again. It had eyes. Six snakelike yellow eyes were staring up at his chin in a pleading manner.
“Please, wait!” It begged again. The voice was decidedly male but Ferrus refused to let it humanize itself to him.
His silvered hands shook. “Why should I? Why should I let you stay? You are feeding off me, hurting me.”
“Ferrus, don't you recognize me?” It whined. “We’re friends. You are my friend.”
“I don’t know who you are.” He replied through gritted teeth. “But you are drinking my blood. Like a tick. That is what you are. You’re a bloated tick.”
It sounded hurt. “We have been friends for so long, though. I am your best friend. We’re like twin brothers, like we shared a womb together. Surely you can’t have forgotten. Why don’t you remember me?”
“I don’t know who you are! I don’t know who you are and I don’t care! You’re a parasite! You feast upon my lifeblood like a vampire. I am a Primarch, not the prey of a repugnant creature such as yourself!”
“We were friends once, Ferrus.”
“If we were ever friends, you would not be like this.”
“I wasn’t always like this, it’s true.” The parasite admitted. “But change is natural, after so much time. People change, friendships change.”
“Do they really change like this?”
In truth Ferrus was starting to remember. Not fully, but small flickers of warmth, brotherhood. Someone he had cared about, considered his closest family. It made him hesitate, and retract his hands. He was a loner, among his brothers. Praised and admired for his strength and skills but not many were close. Had he made himself unapproachable? He didn’t know, but he was lonely. It was nice having this friend. A comforting familiarity.
“You were not always this way. You were different, not agonizing to be around. But now when people see me all they can really see and think of is you. Clinging to me.”
“It is not so bad. Some changes can be hard to accept, I understand. But we’ve been through so much together. You’re my best friend too. It would be silly to throw everything away just because things are a little different.”
It seemed more hopeful now.
“This is not just ‘a little different’. We are not one creature, you and I. I am myself and you are you. We’re not bound together.”
“But we are, in a way!” It argued. “Don’t you remember when we met? How closely we bonded so quickly. Like we were twin brothers.”
“But we are not twins, are we? We are each our own.”
“Pfft. Does it really matter what we are or aren’t? A friendship like ours is hard to come by. Both of us are so different yet in the end we got along so well. Don’t you remember that, at least?”
“I do remember.” He answered, truthfully enough. Although the memories were vague, and far away they carried a warm coating of nostalgia for him. “But that was such a long time ago. I feel like now when people see me they only see you.”
“Oh that’s normal. Come now. That’s why I kept bringing up twins. Some people are just that close. And just because I’ve changed doesn’t mean I’m not your friend. Like I’m the only one who understood you then, and you were the only one who really understood me. This is a good thing, you’ll see.”
Ferrus could feel the lethargy starting to creep into him again. Maybe he really should have just stayed in bed. “I suppose you have a point.”
Even the pain and pressure on his neck felt lighter.
“Removing me now would just cause more problems anyway. And things aren’t so different now as they were then. I am only here because you allow me to be. You’ve always let me before. It shouldn’t be any different now.”
He sighed. “Maybe you’re right. This all was an overreaction. I will let you remain.”
All he wanted now was to go back to sleep. The parasite hissed with glee and dug its fangs back into his neck. He could hear the suckling and slurping noises it made while it greedily drank from his veins.
He turned to go, when his reflection caught his eye again. From the side this time. He blanched. It was even more repulsive from this angle. Giving him a perfect view of just how bloated it was. How it rippled as it nursed off of him.
The creature followed Ferrus’s eyes. “You would have been alone had we not met.” It said unprompted. “You brothers don’t care about you, they care about what you can do. That’s why nobody knows you as well as I do.”
But he heard a coloring of nervousness in its voice.
“Who says? Maybe it was my own doing. I am used to being alone. I grew up alone. It is hardly the worst thing I experienced. Sometimes I miss it.”
“Miss it?!” The creature scoffed. “What do you miss? Being ignored? Being overlooked? Because you have me, others actually give a damn about you. I’m the reason anyone cares. I’m the one holding you up, not the other way around. You’d be forgotten otherwise.”
Its words actually stung. That had been something nagging Ferrus for some time. On Medusa he was a god among men. With his brothers, other Primarchs, he was a god among gods. They all had their role to play, but in the quiet moments he craved to stand above them all. To prove to both them and the Emperor that even though all of them were powerful that he was the strongest. He was taller than all of them, and physically the strongest but it wasn’t enough.
But…
He had other friends among his brothers. Not many, but he had them. And he was admired for what he could do. Him alone. His desire to prove his strength hadn’t gone unnoticed.
He ground his teeth as its voice chimed in his head once more.
“Come on now. Don’t let such a small change get between us. Don’t forget how long we’ve known each other. Please Ferrus. I care about you, I really do.”
It was a parasite. Of course it was a liar, of course it would do everything in its power to prevent the host from removing it. From healing.
“You are hurting me. I can feel your mouth suctioned to my flesh, your manbiles trying to clutch around my larynx. The spines on your body and legs are digging into me. You are fat and heavy, and you make it difficult to breathe with the way you hang off my neck yet manage to crush it at the same time. You feel like a tumor.”
“But-”
“Even ignoring all that, I cannot ignore the fact that you are feeding off of me. You are filth.” He said calmly. “You say others only care about what I can do and not who I am, but you are the same. You only care about the fact that I feed you.”
“Wait, Ferrus-” It pleaded.
But Ferrus didn’t wait. He gripped the parasite and pulled. It squealed, holding onto him tighter, trying to dig in deeper. Trying to get in deep enough to clutch around his windpipe. But Ferrus was the strongest of all his brothers, and his hands were bound in iron. It was fruitless. He pulled harder. Wriggling the mass of the thing. Loosening it slowly even as it tried to hold on. With the squelch and tearing of rending flesh he finally ripped it free of his neck. Blood splattered on the pristine glass of the mirror and ran down his front. The hot stench filled his nose.
It was agonizing but the relief of the weight on his neck was ten times sweeter. He even relished the pain, knowing that it meant freedom. He stood panting, sweat running down his face. The lethargy slid off him like a heavy blanket, and his mind was clearer, sharper. The wound was bad, but it would heal. A deep groove of raw, bleeding flesh with a large circular chunk taken out where its mouth had latched onto him. Small holes on either side marked where the spines and mandibles had anchored themselves. But he was a Primarch. His body would heal from what was ultimately minor damage. This was nothing to him.
The creature screamed. Now that it was off he could see how long the spines on its body were, how it had managed to burrow so deep. It wriggled and thrashed in his grip, legs flailing, lamprey-like mouth desperately gnawing and gnashing at empty air sending flecks of blood and spittle flying from its rounded jaws. Chunks of his flesh were stuck between its teeth. That proved to be too much even for him. He doubled over, kneeling on the ground with his mouth full of spit and his stomach heaving a few times before emptying itself.
He stayed like that for a while, shivering and breathing hard. It really was a disgusting little thing. Its serpentine eyes stared up at him, wide and pained. Its voice was back in his mind, babbling and begging with him, but he was numb to its cries.
“I am not your yolk sac.” Ferrus spat. “I am not here to nourish you. To prop you up and keep you alive. I am my own.”
He drew himself to his full height.
And slammed the parasite down into the cold, hard stone floor as hard as his strength would allow him.
It yowled in pain and its legs flailed, stuck in a small crater of broken stone. Ferrus knelt down again and drove his fist into the crater. Over and over and over again. Until nothing was left but a red pulpy mass of dead meat.
Slowly he stood. Breathing hard, his hearts hammering against his ribs, shaking the crimson off of his silver hand. But it was done. The parasite was no more. Looking in the stained mirror, he could see his neck was already starting to close the wound. Soon it would be like it was never there. Maybe one more scar to add to his impressive collection. He was free.
He closed the door behind him as he left. Let the creature be left in there, and forgotten. This time he could see stars glimmering in the sky beyond the windows as he made his way back to the room he had left. The candles guttered and flicked as he passed by. The walls hung with black silk banners that bore his sigil.
The room was as he’d left it. Warm and dark and comfortable. And he could have peace. He could rest. It wasn’t numbness or lethargy now. All he needed was a good night’s sleep.
Ferrus sat bolt upright in bed, his head darting around and hearts pounding. He was tangled in his sheets and drenched in sweat. But the claws of sleep quickly let go of him, and the world of his sleeping faded away back into reality.
This room was dark but it was his, actually his. A hand fell on his neck but there was no wound, no blood. Just unbroken skin.
It had all been a dream.
While most dreams had a habit of being vague, this one was on the nose. Ferrus had a sinking feeling deep in his gut that it would be wisest to heed its advice. It might hurt, but he was no stranger to pain. To struggle, to fight. It was what he was made for.
…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment
likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post
the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like.
Ferrus trying to make sense of some new feelings he's gained for a very special someone.
Ferrus X Argena (OC)
Mildly nsfw
Song - https://youtu.be/Qebf3c-ZaSM?si=9iJ4A2SS3C635zgd
Divider by @squishyowl
XX/XX/XXXX Damn That Woman
I think I was given too good of a blessing when I met Argena.
Make no mistake, the problem is my own, not hers. It’s like I found a bar of purest silver in a bin full of iron ore and coal. I don’t know what she has done to me. What effect the time we spend together is having on me, but I know this much: I have changed, and I have never felt this way before. Ever.
I’m not sure how to really describe it. This potent mix of possessiveness, lust, and a third, utterly and inescapably magnetic thing that I cannot give word to in any meaningful capacity because I have never felt anything like it in my life. I don’t know what it is, but it has haunted me for months now. After mulling over for some time I believe I have a conclusion, although what to make of it is another matter. Love. I have fallen in love with her in the most embarrassing, whole hearted, and true fashion possible. This feeling is the feeling of love. I’m not sure I like it, but she is a different matter.
It feels like I met her only a week ago, but it has been over a year. Nearly two, at the time I write this, and that time has slowly chipped away at me, day by day. It’s my fault. I have had her by my side constantly since we met. I made her my senechal. I put myself in a position to be close to her. Even when I didn’t need to I went out of my way to spend time with her, be with her. When it began I was happy to grow close to her as a friend. I don’t have many, even among my own brothers, and she was so different from all of them yet so perfect a compion. Maybe that is why I find myself drawn to her now. In some ways she is just like me. Driven to create, to work with her hands, like I am. She works hard, almost too much. Just as she reminds me to take care of myself, I find myself looking out for her as well. She and I both would rather bite our tongues than ask for help, although she gives it more readily than I do. She is honest and doesn’t wrap her barbs in a layer of sycophancy. She is strong, in her own way, maybe not in the way I would usually measure strength but she is. But she’s much kinder than I am, more easily able to be gentle. The things she makes are delicate and beautiful. Creating for pleasure rather than purely for purpose, where I consider practicality almost entirely. She’s a good shot, and could be quite good with a blade, but she’s no warrior. There’s no thrill in combat or danger for her. At times it shocks me that we have so much in common, and at others I wonder how we get along so well when we’re so different. It’s like comparing a black swan to a raven. Both have the dark feathers, but even those aren’t quite the same, much less the rest of the bird.
Although I could hardly be compared to even a raven. They may eat the eyes out of corpses, but they have an elegance to them, and their feathers gleam with opaline colors in the right light.
I wonder to myself if that is why she is drawn to beauty. Because she herself is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Eala dhubh, black swan. Or a selkie maiden, from the stories of old Terra. Either is an apt comparison. It is her grace and elegance that remind me that she was nobility at some point, although you’d never be able to tell if you looked at her now. She is that statue brought to life, the kind of feminine beauty that some men will spend their entire lives trying to capture. She is the woman that gets all the songs and poems written about her, not for her. She is beheld her from afar, gazed at like some masterwork painting, but never approached her for fear of inadequacy. The type of woman that catches the eye of even some of my most stoic brothers. Unapproachable beauty, at least if you’re a coward. I am not, but I am new to love. This warmth deep in my heart when I think of her, when we’re together. It’s not something I ever thought of myself experiencing. I have seen some of my brothers find themselves brides, and I have been content to consign myself to watching, and nothing else. No more.
Damn that woman. She has my heart and doesn’t have the slightest idea.
If I were anyone else I may have cracked already. But here I have to be cautious, and as in many things I must be practical. If I truly want to woo her, what can I give her? What do I have over my brothers, a few of whom I know she gets along well with and could be with if things become truly FUBAR. If she were mine she would have the life of a queen, but that is true for any Primarch’s wife, and that will not be a factor in her mind at all. She was a princess, and left that life behind anyway to work for me. Any man could give her a family, and any of my brothers could see that she wants for nothing ever again. No, I have had to come to terms with the fact that if she is to be with me, it is because it is me and only me she wants. And I am not a handsome man. My nickname is the Gorgon for a reason. The truth is that I have nothing to offer her. Nothing but myself. In spite of my looks, and my guarded heart. This whole love thing, I am learning, is an extremely messy ordeal.
I know I am a hard sell, but the thought of her being with one of my brothers or another man hurts. Of course, if that is how things would turn out, so be it. She is her own woman, and I cannot force her to love me back. No, if I have to let her go, I will. But it cuts me deeply. At the very least I can take solace in the fact that she would never go with Fulgrim. I can even assure myself that one of my brothers could take care of her at least as well as I could. But she is mo ghaol, and the thought still makes me sick. I want her to be mine. I want you to be mine.
That has been running through my thoughts frequently as of late. I can’t shake the thought no matter how hard I’ve tried, I have tried. But they linger, and they stick like burrs, no matter how hard I try to push them aside. I want…Throne, I barely even know. This whole romance thing is so bloody nebulous. I want to hold her close, protect her from everything this galaxy may throw. I could gladly spend my days talking with her, and nothing else. She has made me happy in a way I didn’t know I was lacking, filled a longing for a friend I didn’t know I had, and it has grown out of my control. And she is perfect, in a way. Not a perfect person, nobody is, but for me. Gold to silver, her femininity to my masculinity. Oh Throne, that’s a rabbit hole.
Maybe not one I should get into, but that is why I have this book. Because the contents will never see the bloody light of day, not if I can help it. It was a good idea, and I’m glad I took Roboute’s suggestion. Otherwise I would have nowhere to express all these…thoughts, I have. Gena has been my confidant for a while, but I think I’d rather burn the entire book then let her see what comes next.
I want her.
Even writing that little feels dirty. Appropriate, I suppose. These thoughts I have are equally unclean. I’m good at pushing them aside, ignoring them. Or maybe they just hide, receding into the cracks of my mind and waiting to nag me again. It’s the worst during my rut, but they come at other times, jab me in the kidney, then run off again. But the fact remains. I want her. That in itself is new. I’ve felt sexual desire before, been through enough bloody ruts to ensure that. She isn’t even the first woman I’ve found attractive, but none have sparked this need in me like she has. Gena is special. Truly special.
I’ve mentioned her beauty before but it bears repeating. It also doesn’t help that she is exactly my type, physically. My brothers have assumptions about my taste in women which are decidedly false. But she is absolutely perfect. Slim and soft and deliciously curvy. It’s hard for me not to note certain things when I look at her. The way her robe flows around the curve of her breasts, her slender waist tapering out to wide hips, the thickness of her thighs filling out her skirts. There’s a grace and smoothness to her movements that’s nearly impossible for me to look away from, as effortless as the flow of molten metal. There’s a certain lilt in her voice when she says my name and I can’t hear it enough these days. Her skin is nearly as fair as mine and her hair is as pitch black as a Medusan sea, falling in waves around her face and over her shoulders. She smiles when she sees me, those lovely full lips of hers quirking up and her golden eyes bright like new coins.
On their own, in the moment these things about her I can set aside, and see only my senechal and friend. It’s when the moment passes. When I’m lying wide awake in bed thinking about her. That is when my mind assembles these fragments into the pornographic. Those images haunt my dreams, linger in the chill on my bare skin. The faceless woman in my mind during my rut is no longer so. It’s her, now. Dead gods of Medusa. I want her.
I want to feel her lithe legs coiling around my hips in a futile attempt to hold them in place. I want to hear her out of breath and whispering my name, her naked body pressed against mine, that sweet voice moaning in bliss. I want to make that calm, gentle expression she has shatter with unconstrained rapture. Hear her begging me for more as we're both drenched in sweat and panting. I want to see my seed dripping from between her legs.
Feeling her clench as we both fall off the edge. Making her truly and completely mine, making her come undone completely, tangling my hand in her hair and drawing her even closer. Something that isn’t merely the physical act but the primal ecstasy of truly becoming one.
I take solace in the fact that she doesn’t know I even have this book. She doesn’t need to know about this absurd situation., neither about my love for her or that I crave her carnally.
I’m ashamed to think about her like this, even if it’s not the only capacity I regard her in. Far from it. Still she’s not mine, and she may never be, but she is my friend, and very dear to me outside these new feelings. It feels wrong to think of her like this, so…horny. Especially since she values her purity so highly. I keep them leashed tightly, for all the good it does. They’re only my thoughts though. And I have to wonder if she thinks similar things about me.
A part of me hopes she does, although I know it’s unlikely. Still, woven in with all my desire is the deep, desperate hope that she shares the same feelings I do. The same love, the same lust, the same need to be close. To be wanted by her. Having her wanting me to be hers in the same way I want her to be mine. It’s a harmless wish, if nothing else. One I can only see remaining a wish. Even though I have never been one to indulge in dreams, this one is excessively sweet and I can’t help but revisit it. I speak as though it will only remain a dream. It sounds negative, but it feels the most realistic.
I care for her deeply, but the fact remains that before anything else she has become my friend. If I told her all this, if she didn’t share my feelings, things could never go back to the way they were. Something between us would be irreparably broken. The casualness, the disregard of proper, stuffy respect. She does not say “my lord” anymore unless she’s joking, and I call her Gena, and “my lady” in jest. I can be honest with her, blunt and even ribald. On many levels we are not equals and never will be, but in this bond we have forged, we are. If she doesn't want me the way I want her, if she doesn’t yearn for my embrace the way I yearn for hers. If I’m stupid enough to tell her that and tip the balance, then…no. If I can’t make her my bride I will content myself with her friendship. That in itself has been enough.
If she wants me, she will have to be the one to tell me, on her terms. I don’t like it, having to sit back and do nothing. It is against my nature to, and feels foreign. But I will hold my tongue and be patient. Rather that, than risking something so precious.
Until then the most I can do is hope that our time together sparks something in her the way it has for me. I want her to be mine.
A Favor Returned
Role swap AU short. Guts and Casca switch places during the eclipse
CW: Implied sexual assault (brief mention).
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He’d put his head in her lap.
Casca had thought he was asleep. She had been staring out into the dark woods beyond the weak circle of light, stoking the low flames occasionally to keep them from going out entirely. The weight of Dragon Slayer was a millstone on her back. The fact she could wield it at all still astonished her to this day, even with one arm made of iron and the other wrapped in a brace. It should have been his blade. Her mind had wandered, treading down worn paths. Then, she felt a weight on her thigh.
Looking over, she saw a familiar shock of black hair resting there. His body was frighteningly limp, and his breathing was so shallow it was hard to tell if he was breathing at all. But he was there. Warm and familiar. And that, no matter how bleak everything else was, made her happy.
“Hello Guts.” She said.
He didn’t reply. He never did. As far as she knew he hadn’t made a sound since the eclipse. Most of the time she didn’t think he even registered a thing she said. But he looked up at her. Staring.
His eyes were empty, hollow. Gazing at her but not really seeing anything. They hadn’t always been like that. His eyes had been so beautiful once. Deep brown like lacquered wood with flecks of amber and gold when the sun hit his irises just right. Gleaming with battle fever or sparkling with mischief. How they had softened, and lit up when they’d seen each other again. A year he had been gone, and she had missed those eyes.
It was like they belonged to a dead man now.
She sighed, and ran her fingers through his hair. He might as well have been a dead man at that point. Dead on the inside, certainly. Like he had retreated somewhere deep inside himself and refused to come out. Not that she could hold it against him, after…everything. Hell, she had days where she wanted to follow his example. But, unlike him, Casca still had her mind, and someone had to look out for the two of them. Or, three if you counted Puck.
She put a finger to his face. Tracing the small scar across the bridge of his nose. Usually he would pull away from touch. Somewhere in the depths on whatever pile of shards counted as his mind an old hatred had bubbled up and mutated. Most of the time just gesturing near him would make him flinch and back away. Actually touching him would send him reeling back, eyes wide and full of a deep, almost primal fear. But sometimes he let her. Small things that made dealing with him easier. She wondered if he was consciously allowing it, or if he’d sunk so far in he just didn’t register.
At least he hadn’t sloughed off the cloak she’d given him. Winter had its icy fist around the land, and had draped it in a thick blanket of snow to boot. It was cold. So cold…
Like during the Eclipse.
No, no. Don’t start down that road.
It was always marbles on glass after that.
As cold as that false night. As cold as his dead eyes.
She would make them all as cold as they had made Guts’s eyes.
Griffith she would kill first. That much was easy. He had caused all of this and was in the midst of causing even worse. His poisonous dream had broken everything. Or maybe they were all equally guilty, and he was just the easiest to point the finger of blame at. Every memory of him had turned bitter and gained a sharp edge. A human who was now pretending he was above all other humans. She had to wonder where that kind of ego bloomed from. Was it the ascension that brought that on, or was the seed of it always there in him, buried deep? Just waiting for the correct watering of blood and tears?
It didn’t matter. She’d make him choke on his own entrails. She would make it quick, as one last favor to the man he used to be.
The other three didn’t matter as long as they died, but Slan would be last. Casca wanted Slan’s death to be long. If she could she would have that whore die slowly for a thousand years and it still wouldn’t be enough. Slan would die last because she wanted to take her time with her. Wanted to whittle her away piece by piece until there was nothing left. Peel her apart with agonizing precision and attention to detail until even a demon such as her would cry out for mercy. Giving Casca the pleasure of denying it.
She took a deep breath. Restraining herself from gripping Guts’s hand like a drowning man clutches at flotsam.
You may have taken him but he never gave you his body willingly. Not like me. She snarled internally, and wished immediately after that she could’ve given him the dignity of looking away like he’d asked.
She wished she could have saved him.
But having him alive was better than nothing. Him being alive meant he could possibly still be helped, although by what manner she didn’t know. He was still here. She could feel his head on her thigh, his body curled up next to her. His eyes may have been cold but he was still warm and breathing. She craned her neck around to look at the flower she had tied around Dragon Slayer’s hilt. No, something was still there. It had to be.
…
…
Casca stood underneath a huge, gnarled old tree. The wood twisted and warped, the crown of sharp branches bare and lifeless. The sky was an empty gray void. Dark without the promise of rain or snow. The air felt thick and stale like it came from the inside of a coffin, and fog wrapped its fingers around everything like frost. Her boots sunk into the mire, the ground nothing but stagnant puddles and mud.
A pitiful little cry drew her attention downwards.
There was a baby curled in the muck, blood and afterbirth staining it red. So small and fragile, his cord still clinging to him. Frighteningly thin, a few ribs showing through, still smeared with dried womb-water. A shock of black hair clung to his scalp, and the tips of his ears seemed almost pointed.
“Guts…?”
Her own voice sounded far away, like it was underwater.
“Pitiful, isn’t it?”
One hand lept to Dragon Slayer’s hilt. In another smooth motion she knelt down and scraped the little one up with her metal arm. Wielding the blade one handed was never easy, but she held it out in front of herself in a guard.
“Who’s there?”
A dark, sweeping shape emerged from the shroud of fog. With a countenance like a bird of prey and a body like carved black obsidian.
Femto? Griffith? Did it matter what name? He was the same bastard.
“You!” She barked. “How dare you show your face here!”
The demon spread his arms in a harmless gesture, his great black wings swishing out, following them.
“Come now. Is that any way to greet an old friend?”
“Friend? Are you joking?”
She could feel a throbbing pain on her breast.
Femto took a step forward, talons splashing in the foul water. Casca took one back, her blade still held out in front of her. She clutched the infant tighter to herself, shifting her arm so it blocked as much of him as possible.
He laughed. “You guard him so fiercely. If nothing else, your loyalty is commendable. Even if it is now a burden.”
“A burden…?” She shook her head. “No, he’s not a burden! I will not abandon him to his fate or you.”
“Of course not. No, you’re too soft-hearted for that. Despite how hard you try to be the fearless warrior, like he was. But still, it must be hard caring for him, isn’t it? Shouldering something you were never meant to.”
“Don’t give me your false sympathy! You caused all of this! You did this to him!”
“Technically that was Slan.” He corrected, and gave her a slimy grin. “But it’s not my fault. You chose to make him your problem. You could have left him again, had him tied up a bit more securely. He wouldn’t notice your absence.”
She wanted to disagree. His head resting on her thigh instantly jumping to mind. The flower around her sword’s hilt. But so did his empty eyes and limp body.
He held out a hand to her. “Aren’t you tired of taking care of him? Watching him like a child. The last time you turned your back he ran away and nearly got himself and you killed. And all for what? It’s not like he has the capacity to be grateful to you. Who knows if he’ll be grateful to you even if he gets his mind back.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You didn’t know him as well as you thought you did. That’s why you had to break him. Because he wouldn’t blindly let you do as you wanted!”
“Look where that defiance got him and you.” Femto pointed out. “Who knows. Maybe it would have been you in his position, and he in yours. I wonder, would he have done the same for you, as you do for him? Did he love you the same as you love him now? To go through so much for very little chance of reward.”
Doubt wrestled with conviction in her mind, but she still looked the raptor dead in the eyes as she answered, “He would.”
…
…
“Casca!!”
Her eye snapped open, and before she could think her hand had grabbed the dagger at her belt before snapping up to stab the incubus at her head. She gripped the one with its tentacles around Guts’s head so hard she felt it burst under her hand, and tossed it aside, breathing hard.
Figures she should’ve never let Puck watch her back. He was a good friend, but not a reliable night watchman. She sat back against the old tree, breathing hard.
“Would he have done the same for you?”
“Fucking Griffith.” She muttered.
“Casca!” Puck called again, fluttering at eye level. “Are you alright?”
His big blue eyes seemed misty, and she gave him a small smile.
“No worse for wear.”
“And is he…?” The elf trailed off, his voice returning to its usual octave.
She looked down at Guts. His face was scrunched, contorted as if in pain, and his body was tense under the cloak.
“No worse than usual?” Puck answered for her.
“No worse than usual.” She agreed.
Whether he would do the same for her or not didn’t really matter. That wasn’t what had ended up happening. She and him were here, and it wasn’t worth thinking about what ifs.
But still, deep down she hoped he would do the same for her, if their roles were reversed. She believed he would.
I love your pictures of the Primarchs (and Cato) with their baby sons they're so cute 🥺. Here me out though. Ferrus is supposed to be the biggest Primarch (or the tallest at least) so imagine how tiny his baby would be in his huge metal hands
I don't know how guilliman hasn't been wifed up yet. This man is so breedable it hurts my soul. I'm biting my pillows just thinking about it. I would be so good to him. His dick would never be dry I ahshehsjsjshshjsj
Guilliman is one of the Primarchs I think would be so confused and flattered when he realizes just how down bad his beloved is for him. Like they would sit on suck on or whatever his dick 25/8 if they could and he’s just like :,)
Mortarion would be another. I really want to write a fic where his beloved is just so fucking down bad for her stinky nasty man
Man I need to shut up about Massive Medusan Meat Manus BUT-
I think Ferrus would enjoy it too. He gets called unattractive so often that he might have internalized it, even if he doesn't realize it. Seeing how down bad his wife is for him would be very flattering :3
Part 6 mfers, sorry this took so long
Cato Sicarius x female reader
Divider by @squishyowl
Song - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3q63sILptUs
Cato awoke to a soft apothecarium cot underneath him and the sweet scent of flowers. It was warm under the covers. His limbs felt leaden and the sleepiness didn't abate like it usually did. Sedatives then. Nothing hurt either, which meant the analgesics he must have been pumped with were something else. He could feel a pressure on his chest. Lifting the white sheets and looking down, he could see a lump of bandages.
On the small table next to him was a cup of water and a vase full of different flowers. Alongside these was a stack of notes, some hastily scribbled while others took up several sheets of parchment. Late afternoon light filtered in from some window or other. He tried to sit up and quickly decided that could wait for a bit long with a groan.
"Cato?"
He turned his head to see you nearly running back into the room. Sitting yourself down in a chair by his bedside.
"Peahen."
"By the throne." You said in a choked whisper, throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him. it was all your could do to not break into tears right there and then. "You're ok!"
Slowly, he put an arm around you and squeezed gently. "Of course I am. How long have I been out? Is Melor alright?"
"You get stabbed in the chest and still your duty is the first thing you think about when you wake up." You kissed his cheek.
"He is far more than just my duty, Peahen."
"I know, I know. Thankfully the little guy is just fine. A bit shaken up but otherwise unharmed. It's been three days."
He laid back. "Then all is well. What happened since?"
"The Primarch has tightened security around the whole Fortress, but that's probably obvious. That Word Bearer who turned on his comrades was given over to the Redeemed."
"That is good to hear. He seemed decent."
You reached over and grabbed the stack of notes. "He left you one in here somewhere beforehand."
Cato took them and began to shuffle through them, skimming the contents. They were letters from his battle brothers. Well wishes, congratulations. Even a few apologies. He found one that was just a single sheet, the oddly spiky handwriting suggesting that the author was not quite used to writing in Gothic.
Thank you for allowing me the chance to redeem some of my sin. That boy will love you like a brother for all of his days.
- Robavam
There were others. He found ones from Calgar, Ventris, Titus, and several other officers. Practically all his comrades in the Victrix had written one. Some from regular marines, some from neophytes. Even some of the Redeemed had sent their wishes. He laid back after reading a few. There was an odd feeling in his heart that he couldn't put his finger on.
You resisted the urge to lay your head on his chest. Instead you cradled his head in your arms, stroking his hair.
"You were so brave Cato. So, so brave. You know there's pict recordings of your fight? Security footage. The Primarch let me see them after everything was reviewed. And lucky too. They had to bring the Redeemed's chief apothecary here to help patch you up. Now the whole place smells like flowers."
"I can see that." He poked the bandage on his chest. "But it was not anything special.
"You killed six Chaos Astartes and a terminator. How is that nothing? Don't undercut yourself." You chided him gently, kissing his cheek. "You're a hero."
"So it would seem."
"You are!"
Cato didn't look convinced, and changed the subject. "Since you seem to be well informed, Peahen, do you know how long I'm to be here?"
You flushed a bit. "Well...someone had to look after you while you were out. The apothecaries told me I could tell you since I've been here the whole time. The sword went in deep, poked a lung but missed both your hearts thankfully. You're healing up nicely thanks to Apothecary Asphodelus, but you're supposed to stay here for a few more days just so you can be monitored."
He let out a small, hollow laugh. "Just a little to the left and it probably would have killed me. The Primarch must have been disappointed."
"Lord Guilliman is extremely proud of you!"
"I'm sure he is."
"Cato!"
"What?"
"What's with the cynicism? You did good." You stroked his cheek in a mollifying gesture. He huffed like a dissatisfied dog.
"I didn't do anything special. I just did what was expected. Of course I would have either way, I would never just sit by and let Melor be harmed or killed." Just the thought of it made him feel slightly sick. "But it was my duty regardless."
"I think you went a little above and beyond. You would have been expected to get Melor out of danger, not kill six marines and a terminator solo with a massive wound. You're undercutting yourself."
He sighed. "Maybe. I am just happy that he's safe."
That I didn't fail.
In that moment it hadn't mattered what anyone thought of him, or how he thought of himself. All that had mattered was that Melor's tiny life was at stake, and that he had been the only one standing between it and the boy's enemies. Everything had dissolved. It didn't matter how he was perceived. A failure, an egoist, arrogant, a sexist, a weak leader, whatever. He had done his duty. He knew the truth about what and who he was, even through the screams and pipe organ music that haunted his memories. That was enough for him.
Wasn't that all that really mattered in the end?
You felt him relax in your embrace, and you ran your fingers through his hair. Letting him drift off back to sleep in your arms again.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Primarch came to see his gene-son later that day, bringing a special someone along with him.
Cato was awake again when he came in, Melor cradled in one arm. His golden eyes lit up when he saw the Ultramarine. He cooed happily, reaching out with his arms and making grabby hands at him. He was surprised at that. The boy seemed too young to recognize him so easily, and with such enthusiasm.
Guilliman didn't seem surprised. He smiled at the scene before addressing Cato. "It is good to see you well. I was worried I had lost you for a while."
He tried to conjure up something confident and snarky to say and found that he couldn't. "I fully expected to die that night. The fact I did not is nothing short of a miracle."
"All the same, I am quite glad you're still with us. It would have been a devastating loss. Not just for me either."
Melor continued making grabby hands at his cousin, and was started to get fidgety. You watched the scene with amusement.
"Is he alright?" Cato asked.
"Just fine. He wants to be with you for a little while I think. Would you mind?"
"I could hold him for a bit." He agreed, masking his apprehension.
The boy was handed over in short order. Cato cradled him in his arms the way he'd seen you and Primarch doing. He weighed practically nothing. So light and fragile. Melor reached up a tiny hand to him and tangled it in his beard, giggling.
"Aren't you a little young for mischief?" Cato asked, the question directed as much to Roboute as to Melor.
Guilliman picked up on his suspicious. "He is...unique."
"He would be, wouldn't he?"
You patted his cheek as he untangled Melor's tiny fist from his beard. "Oh come off it Cato. Look at him, he likes you."
"Which is also unusual."
"He's the son of a Primarch." You reminded him. "Of course he'll be a little unusual."
Sicarius looked like he wanted to argue with you but dropped it, turning his attention back to Melor. To your surprise, the Primarch shot you a grateful look, which you decided not to question. Whatever was strange about the boy, it was probably best not to question.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------Cato was back on his feet and out of the medicae in another three days, although under strict orders to go easy for a while longer. He was functional, but not healed. The process was slower, both because the wound was quite deep and because it seemed the sword had been covered in a mild poison of some sort. Thus his recovery would take more time, and he was relegated to light training and paperwork.
He was not prepared for the reception he received when he was finally walking the halls of the Fortress of Hera again.
There had been distance. Respect for sure, but he could tell there was a warmth gone. His reputation had proceeded him for the most part. Not anymore.
There were hushed, awed whispers as he passed by. Serfs and Astartes alike stopped and saluted him. There was genuine admiration from his battle brothers now. Real, deep respect. Neophytes and scouts would nervously approach him during drills, asking for advise. Before he had felt like the Primarch's disappointing side project. Now he was being lauded as a hero.
It was like everyone had finally divorced the version of him they had in their heads, and come to realize the version of him that truly existed. The two different people that had been running around since his return from the Emperor's Will had become one again.
That didn't mean all was well though.
In truth he felt disdainful now. It had taken his near death to alleviate himself of their scorn. Like the Emperor's Will wasn't enough. Nothing he had done since had been fucking enough. Not only was he haunted by the screams of his dead and dying, but of their disapproval as well. It left a bitter stickiness in his throat whenever he thought about it. He had never been one for self pity. This just made his angry. Why did he have to prove himself when he'd already done so more times than he could count? Why did he have to shed his own blood and come on bended knee for them to see he had repented from his younger years? Why did he have to repent for them at all? As if others hadn't done a thousand times worse.
The exception was you, of course. You were always the exception. You were the light in his life.
Guardianship over Melor had been temporarily passed to a few different Ultramarines on a rotating schedule. Among there were Uriel and Demetrian, although Cato wasn't off the hook with him either. Instead spending time with the boy when he had a spare moment. It gave him a convenient audience for his bitterness.
"I'm like you now." Cato said. He was sitting cross legged on the floor, shaking a rattle for Melor. He giggled, his tiny hands reaching out for it.
"How so?" Titus asked. He was standing in front of the door, back to his brother, one hand on his chainsword. "Did you cross the Rubicon while I wasn't looking?" He joked.
Cato snorted. "Of course not. I mean everyone thinks I'm a hero now."
"Are you not? You nearly died saving the little one."
"I suppose so. I am just jaded about it. Instead of earning the title by cutting through hordes of orks and swarms of Tyranids, or tearing my way across a daemon infested planet like Caedo, or everything that Ventris did, I get it by being stabbed in the chest and killing seven enemies."
"You already had a good reputation before then." Titus reassured. "This was special."
"My reputation was lying beaten and bloody on the floor before this."
His expression knitted into a frown. "It was not that bad, Cato. You had some blunders, but it is as the Chapter Master said. No leader of men has only victories."
"And you really believe that, do you?" Cato scoffed. "You don't have to lie to spare my feelings Titus. You're too good of a man for that."
"Do not tell me you saved Melor only for your reputation."
"Of course not! I...care for the boy." He admitted. "He is our cousin. And the last of Lord Ferrus Manus's legacy."
"Then what has made you so bitter?"
"Why like this? Nothing else I did matters. Why does all the rest of my suffering mean nothing!? I have been at the sharp end for years. I have been brought to my knees time and time again, but all of that is forgotten. I have been humbled so thoroughly that only by nearly dying, and not for the first bloody time, did anyone remember who I actually am. The wraith going around wearing my name is finally banished."
Titus didn't respond, but he turned to look at Cato, and his expression was pained. Sicarius didn't see it, too occupied with Melor.
He didn't mind coming to see the boy. There was definitely an affection for the boy, born of their kinship. Melor was, after all, his cousin. But the more time he spent with him, the more he realized just how strange he was.
It wasn't anything big. More a series of small oddities that added up. He was a normal baby in nearly every way. Which made the ways that he wasn't stand out all the more. There was his recognition of Cato, for example. His golden eyes lit up when he saw his cousin. Easily picking him out even without his helmet on. Beyond that, even. He always seemed to relax around him. Like he felt safe with him.
The other thing that really tipped him off was his unusual strength, which was usually demonstrated when someone tried to take a toy from Melor's little hands. For example, he had been gifted an old plush toy that had once been Primarch Guilliman's when he had been a child, a fact that boggled Cato's mind to think about. It was a pegasus, soft white with a fluffy mane and tail, shimmery wings, and a dove gray muzzle. He adored it, and would cuddle and roll all over it. Good luck trying to take it from him when it was nap time, however. You'd end up in a surprisingly even tug of war. What's more, Cato always got the impression that Melor was holding back because he didn't want to damage the thing. Which was more brainpower than any barely-over-a-month old should have.
But he acted just like a normal baby in every other regard. He was a normal baby, just with a few quirks.
Still, it was clear there was much the Primarch hadn't told him.
"With all due respect my lord, there is something you neglected to tell me about Melor, isn't there?" Cato said, before Roboute could get a word out.
He sighed, shifting the topic of conversation in his arms so his head was resting more comfortably. Cato probably had a gut feeling this conversation was supposed to be about him and was trying to prevent it before it even started. Still, if he'd already figured it out anywhere, there wasn't much to be gained by hiding it.
"I know what you're trying to do." Guilliman replied. "But you are correct. I felt it was not information that needed to be shared. Since you are at least somewhat aware of it, I will tell you. Given enough time, you would probably figure it out on your own anyway."
"He's...alright, isn't he?"
"Of course he is. He is just...well, he's unusual. You see, by some miracle, he is a full blooded Primarch."
Sicarius's eyes widened. "What? How?"
Guilliman sighed. "I don't know. Ferrus doesn't know. As near as either of us can figure, my brother simply got incredibly lucky with the boy's genes. I have a feeling the only person who could tell us for certain is the Emperor, and I am not bringing Melor anywhere near him."
His face scrunched in a pained frown with memory for a moment before relaxing.
"How did his wife manage?"
"Argena handled it well enough. At least until Ferrus died."
Cato wanted to ask more, but a part of him felt guilty for his morbid curiosity and refrained. Instead, he changed the subject.
"That's why he recognizes me then? Why he seems much stronger than he should be? That's why the Word Bearers came."
"Yes." He nodded. "I don't think they knew either, but they knew he was different. They knew enough to deduce he could be a threat one day."
"Is he doing alright? He was very shaken when I found him." Cato asked.
"He is young. Some things still linger, but as long as we keep an eye on him, and make sure he feels safe, he will heal just fine from it. that is why I let him be with you so often."
"He feels safe with me?"
"As much as an infant-even an infant Primarch-can register something like that. Make no mistake, he is still only a baby. But you shouldn't be surprised. You nearly gave your life for his. I'm proud of you, and your actions."
"Yes. Despite my injury it seemed to remind everyone that I am not, in fact, a paper general."
"Cato, are you well?" Roboute asked his son.
He sighed. "I am just fine, my lord. It has been a trying week, but I have been through worse. And I am relieved that Melor is alright."
He paused.
"What has Titus been telling you?"
"He has told me enough. He's worried about you. I am too."
"What is there to be concerned about? You know what's wrong with me."
"You seem very...jaded."
"Of course I am!" He threw up his hands. "What else could I be? I have been shouldering the disgust of my own battle brothers for years now, all while my mind is eating itself. And now, after I nearly died, that is what gets them to remember who I was. They're patting me on the back like it was expected I'd try to get myself killed to earn my respect back."
"Do you really believe that's the whole truth, or have you run away with your own bitterness?" Roboute asked him softly.
"...What?"
"I will not sit here and tell you that you have not been dealt an unfair hand. In many aspects you have. Not all of your brothers like you, your reputation definitely has taken many hits. Moreover, your mind has been wounded, deeply. I do not think anyone truly understands how much it has hurt you."
He raised an eyebrow. "I detect a 'but', my lord."
"The whole chapter is not out to get you, Cato. I am not here to hang you out to dry. I don't pity you, I am worried for you. Both for your mind and how you have been handling this whole thing. You are not nearly as despised as you think you are, and your brothers are not congratulating you because they thought you needed to grovel, it's because you saved the life of an innocent baby and Ferrus's only son."
When Cato didn't respond, he continued.
"You know I am very proud of you. There is a war in your mind that you have been fighting alone for years. But I've never seen you falter in your duty. Never waver. You're in pain, but Melor is still alive and safe. You killed six Word Bearers and a terminator solo. Your brothers are proud of you too. It is all I have heard any of them talk about for the last week. They hail you as a hero, not a prodigal who redeemed himself."
Melor squirmed, and started making grabby hands at his cousin. Guilliman held out the little Primarch to his son, who took him hesitantly after a moment.
"Even he knows you did a good job."
"He's too young to know much of anything."
"I have met older men and women who know less." He shook his head. "You've done well, Cato."
Sicarius looked down at Melor, then up at his Primarch, lost for words. "Are you sure?"
"If I was displeased with I would tell you. You are doing just fine, and I wish to see you get better."
Cato nodded, turning the Primarch's words over in his head. It was the kind of encouragement he'd really only heard from you. From Guilliman it took on a whole new meaning. He supposed he had a lot to reevaluate then. Lord Guilliman was many things, but a liar was not one of them.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Are you doing alright, Cato?" You asked him, stroking his hair as he rested his head in your lap.
He thought for a moment, snuggling into your thighs. "Better than I have been."
Part 5 baybee. I am the Harbinger of Justice for Cato Sicarius
Despite everything, he is still needed. And he won't fail.
Cato Sicarius x female reader
Divider by @squishyowl
Song - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3TOzkCIaXjI , https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=znsUh6vBWLI
"Could you at least tell me why he's so important? Can you at least grant me that little?"
Guilliman sighed, and leaned back in his chair. Melor was resting in his arms, happily nursing off a bottle that his uncle held for him. Cato had come in as soon as he'd had a spare moment, looking about as bad as he'd ever seen him when it wasn't directly after combat.
The Primarch felt a stab of guilt at that. He'd been mulling over what to do with him the whole way to Medusa, but afterwards things had slipped his mind. He did have the little one to look after. Now that he was back, the problem was also back in his periphery.
He wondered if giving Cato this assignment had been the best idea after all. He trusted the captain, knew just how strong and capable he was. The reason he'd given the duty to Sicarius was because he wholeheartedly believed that Melor would be safe with him. The old ego had long since been tempered. Cato was a good warrior and a good man.
But now when Guilliman looked at him he could see the damage. The emptiness in his eyes, the tension in his arms and shoulders. The breakdown from the previous day. He didn't doubt Cato now because of his skills, he doubted him because Cato expected himself to fail. Expectations often were part of breeding the results. Which was why now he was willing to offer a few more answers than he'd given before. Maybe if he understood, knew what exactly what he was dealing with, he'd realize just how much he was actually trusted.
Of course, it might also backfire completely. Knowing just how much was at stake could potentially send him down a spiral of thinking just how astronomical the consequences would be if he did fail. Which would shatter his confidence.
There was nothing for it but to try anyway.
"I will tell you. But understand this." He paused, adjusting the angle of the bottle as Melor drained it. "You are not breath a word of this to anyone. I am telling you this because I trust you, and you are correct. If you are going to guard him, you may as well know who exactly it is you're guarding."
Or, most of it anyway. There were still some things he didn't need to know.
"I will not." He thought that should have been a given, but the look in the Primarch's eyes was oddly intense. "You have my word."
"Good. Now-" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "-how do I start this? Alright. His full name is Melor Manus. He is Ferrus's son. Ferrus had a wife that none of us knew about, and they had a child, him. He was born shortly after Ferrus died, a few months I think, and then was put into stasis for safety. Which is why he's still practically a newborn."
Cato had assumed as much, but to hear the whole tale laid out was an entirely different thing. "How did that happen?"
"The usual way, Cato."
He frowned. "That is not what I mean. How did Lord Manus get a wife? From what I know of him, he doesn't seem like the type."
"He loved her." Guilliman replied quietly. "That is all he told me. I don't know how he he kept her secret. But I did not know him very well. He often liked to say that nobody knew him, and I believe he was right. Fulgrim certainly didn't know him as well as he liked to think he did, that much was plain. Her name was Argena."
He closed his eyes for a moment. Remembering watching the two walking hand in hand back into the Warp. It was a bittersweet thing to witness. He had never known Ferrus could have such a deep warmth in him. There was much he had never known about his brother. It was truly a shame that his reunion with his wife had to take place in the afterlife.
And he felt like an idiot. How could he have wept for Fulgrim's state when Fulgrim did it to himself? When here was Ferrus, eternally loyal, with a broken family and an orphan child. He was not perfect, far from it, but he deserved more of a due than what he had been given. It was a bitter pill to swallow. Knowing that he would never get the chance to truly know his brother. Ferrus had been one of his Dauntless Few. He should have known him better.
Then his lips quirked up in a rueful smile. "It's funny to me. I remember Ferrus and Fulgrim, during the Crusade. I remember how proud Fulgrim was of his physical appearance. He would boast of it often, and he landed Ferrus with the nickname of 'The Gorgon'. But he was married multiple times for political gain. Ferrus married once, for love."
Now that was truly unusual. The Primarch didn't like to talk about the Great Crusade very often, and Cato couldn't blame him. The memories were bitter, painful.
"Alright. Melor is Lord Manus's son, and he asked you to take care of him. That much is understandable. What I still cannot figure out is why you asked me to be his bodyguard. Why me?"
Roboute sighed. "I chose you because you are one of my best, Cato. I know about what is going on with you. Titus came to talk to me. Others have too. I know there are things chewing holes in your mind. I know you are in pain. But the fact remains, you are one of my best. I gave you the task because I trust you."
He had hoped to reassure his son, but Cato just withered. Looking profoundly ashamed. "I am sorry, my lord. That it has become such a problem that even you have taken notice. I have done a poor job of controlling myself."
"No!" Roboute would've slammed his hand on the desk if that wouldn't have disturbed Melor. "Do not think like that. It's not something you can go on burying like this. I don't know how deep it goes, but you need help. It will rot you from the inside out, if it hasn't started to already."
"You have more important things occupying your time, my lord."
"Are my own sons not to be counted as important as well?" Guilliman retorted quietly. "Moreover, I understand it. Do you think I have never once thought to myself how some of this was my fault? That if I had only done something or other, the Imperium wouldn't be in this state? That some of my brothers would still be here? It is a wretched path to tread. And one best avoided."
Cato was stunned for a moment. All this time, he would have never imagined a Primarch, his Primarch, carrying the kind of haunting thoughts that he did. He couldn't find the words, so merely nodded.
"I know you're hurting. But I also know your record. I know you are a brilliant warrior, and you still have much untapped potential. I took you under my wing because you remind me of another of my sons. His name was Aeonid Thiel. Just as stubborn, just as willful. But he was tempered like any good blade. The best ones often take a very long time to make."
"I...thank you, my lord." He dipped his head.
"I trust you will do this duty, then?"
He stared at Melor for a moment. Since the boy was awake, he could see his eyes now. They were beautiful, a bright, brilliant gold with an odd metallic sheen. Ferrus's eyes had always been described as silver, so he guessed those eyes were his mother's.
"I will guard him with my life." Cato said finally.
Guilliman smiled. "I trust he'll be safe then."
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It was dark. The smell of incense and human pain laced the air. Blood ran in rivulets off the low altar into the channels, filling them and highlighting the design of the eight pointed Chaos wheel. Candles guttered and acolytes chanted.
The terminator Choroathe knelt in the center, free of his armor, and neck deep in his trace. He could hear them, the whispers of the Warp. The voices of the gods. And oh they had things to tell him. Secrets of the future. Secrets that the servants of the Corpse Emperor would love to keep buried.
They would be brought to light, rest assured.
Something was tickling the edges of his mind. Blurry at first, but the image was growing clearer. He felt dizzy, lightheaded. Like his soul was holding onto his body by a thread. It was euphoric.
His body stiffed. Some power ran through him like an electric current, and the visions coalesced. The whispering became legible, and told him it's secrets.
Iron seed
Son of iron
Lord of iron!
Do not let him
Go to Macragge
Macragge, Macragge!
Heart of Ultramar
Slay him
Slay the Iron Son
Do not let this seed grow!
His head snapped back with a gasp, and his eyes flung open. He knelt there for a moment, his whole body shaking in almost orgasmic aftershocks. A prophecy...how long had it been since he received one? The Word Bearer struggled to contain his glee.
"My lord?"
He stood shakily, and turned around to face one of his squadmates.
"What did you see?"
"Macragge." Choroathe whispered. "The gods have granted me sight. We must go to Macragge. The seed must not grow."
A few of the others muttered among themselves. Another stepped forward. "What seed, my lord?"
"Ferrus Manus is dead, but his progeny lives. Roboute Guilliman has him now. The gods have sent me a warning. He cannot be allowed to live."
The other Word Bearer looked...uncomfortable at that.
"Is there a problem, Robavam?"
"Well...I don't mean to question the judgement of the divine, but to butcher an infant in his cradle feels...cruel." He said slowly.
"How dare you question the will of the gods!" One of his brothers snapped, and others took up similar cries.
Choroathe held up his hands for silence. "We do not always understand the will of those above us. But I have no doubt it is for the greater good. It may be difficult to comprehend, but we follow their will, not our own. If they thought he could be turned to our side, they would have told us so. But his father was unshakably loyal, and his father's blood is bound to his veins. As the father was, so the son shall be as well. He must be removed."
Robavam nodded, falling to his knees. "Yes, my lord. Forgive me. I meant no disrespect."
"It is cruel, but this galaxy is cruel. And sometimes cruel things must be done, to spare worse later on."
"I understand. Please, forgive my ignorance."
"Stand up, brother. All is forgiven if only one accepts his wrongdoing." Choroathe put a hand on his pauldron, briefly, before turning to the rest. "Now make ready, brothers! We carry out the will of the gods!"
But first, some weakening of the defenses would not hurt. He had been shown many things in his visions. One of those had been a particular Ultramarine. His armor was elaborate, and his helmet crested with a red and white plume.
Cato Sicarius. The broken one.
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It had been around two weeks since the little one had come to the Fortress of Hera. And two weeks since he'd been assigned to the boy. It was, at the moment at least, the easiest job he'd ever had. The Primarch handled his day to day care, so all he had to do was stay in the room with the boy and guard his crib. Even that wasn't daily. As much as Guilliman had talked it up, it was clear he would rather be the one protecting his nephew. Cato couldn't blame him for that.
Melor's presence had become, if not normal, at least accepted. By now everyone had pretty much figured out what the Primarch hadn't said, that the boy was Ferrus Manus's son he had somehow been roped into caring for. If his swaddling hadn't been a dead giveaway, and it was largely agreed upon that Guilliman had refrained from saying anything out loud for safety reasons rather than because he thought his sons wouldn't be able to figure it out.
Cato had heard all kinds of ridiculous speculation about Melor's sire, however. Some of the younger Astartes and neophytes weren't content with the simplest answer, and were throwing out any and every Primarch with black hair, loyalist or not. Corvus Corax (the kid was pale but not that pale), Konrad Curze (no), Perturabo (had his hair even been black?), all the way to Horus himself (now you're asking to be smacked). It was absurd, and anyone he overheard spreading those particular rumors weren't let in to see the little one.
Because despite everything he'd garnered a good deal of fondness from the Ultramarines. Even with the (stupid) discourse on his parentage, the ones who didn't interact with that kind of ridiculousness still found themselves curious, and inevitably came to see him.
Marneus Calgar was one of the ones brave enough to hold him. He'd held the little boy up to his face, and Melor had responded by smacking him in the nose with a tiny baby hand. The Chapter Master's usually concrete face had broken into a delighted grin and he laughed aloud. Severus outright refused, and got relentlessly made fun of by the other officers. Uriel held him and seemed to get a bit emotional, wiping his thumb over his eyes. Not openly weeping or anything so dramatic, but definitely misty eyed. When Titus held him, Melor seemed to get it into his head to copy the Primaris lieutenant's usually stoic expression with remarkable accuracy.
Even the xenos wasn't immune. Yvraine was in more often than not, cuddling the little one and cooing to him. Melor seemed to enjoy the lavishing of affection, and Roboute didn't seem to mind, so Cato let it slide.
You came in too. Since he was on guard duty, it was an easy decision to have you handle the rest of Melor's needs when Guilliman was unavailable, much as you could tell he didn't like it. You felt your respect for the Primarch growing as you noted his willingness to do whatever was needed for his nephew. It wasn't always a pleasant job, but you enjoyed it regardless. It let you spend more time with Cato, and it gave him more of an opportunity to vent.
"Are you alright?" You asked him quietly, so as to not wake Melor. He was peacefully asleep in your arms. "You haven't been very talkative today."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
You fell silent, and he didn't reply. But you could hear the sound of his gauntlets tightening around the hilt of his sword. There was something bothering him.
"Please Cato. You can tell me. Are you worried about the job again?" You knew he had a habit of thinking himself into ruts over his doubts.
"No, it isn't that."
"Is it your dreams again?"
He sighed, and didn't answer for a moment. You were worried you were going to get the silent treatment from him, when he finally replied, "One dream."
You looked up from Melor. "What?"
"It's on dream. A reoccurring nightmare. I have been having it whenever I sleep."
"You've only slept a couple of times."
"Exactly." He said, nodding. "Only twice, but I had the same nightmare."
You held out a hand to him. After a moment, he took it and squeezed it. "Maybe it's just your subconscious bringing your stress into your sleep. What are you dreaming about?"
"I..." He squeezed his blue eyes shut for a moment.
He'd never felt sick at the smell of blood, but now it made him want to vomit. The coppery tang was think in his nose, the scent of rich, not-quite-human blood in a place it shouldn't have been. This place was supposed to be safe. It should have been safe. It would have been safe if not for him.
Blood dripped between the nalwood slats of the crib and pooled on the floor. Widening, starting to stain his boots in gore. Such a small child to have so much lifeblood ebbing from him. Maybe that's why there was so much. It was all the life he would not live now.
Because he had failed. As he had known he would. He always failed when he was needed the most.
His hands gripped the wooden railing so hard it was beginning to splinter. He didn't want to look down. Look at the consequences of his action. The price of his failure. But something forced his head down. Made him look.
Amidst the scarlet soaked bedding, there was swaddling draped over a bloody form in the middle. Curled up like he was just asleep. Cato felt his jaw clench. The boy was even smaller in death than he had been in life. One tiny, pale hand stuck out.
How had this happened? He swore he had done his duty. He hadn't left the boy's side.
"I'm sorry." He rasped, falling to his knees. Feeling something wet and coppery begin to drip from his eyes.
As he knelt there, he felt a huge pair of hands grab his neck from behind and start to squeeze. They were cold, and hard. Like they were coated in metal.
If you hadn't been holding Melor you would have run up to Cato and squeezed him until your arms were sore. As it was the best you could do at the moment was meet his gaze. His expression was twisted and pained.
"None of it's real, Cato." You said softly. "It was just a dream. Just your subconscious manifesting your fears."
He shook his head sadly. "I wish I could believe it was that simple."
"...Do you think they're prophetic?"
"No. But it was the very same nightmare. The same details and all. I cannot believe it is only my subconscious."
He turned away with a clank of ceramite.
"You know it's all lies anyway, right? Whatever these dreams are." You told him finally.
He stiffened, but didn't turn around.
"I mean it. I know you. You're strong and brave and clever. You're one of the best the Adeptus Astartes has. The Primarch wouldn't have had you do this if he didn't believe you could. And...I believe in you too. As much as that sounds like a platitude, I know."
You stood up and carefully walked over to him. Thankfully Melor continued to snooze. You reached up and placed a hand on Sicarius's cheek.
"But it's the truth. When you're needed, you'll pull through. I know you will."
He turned to look at you, his expression softening. Your eyes were wide and earnest, full of concern and the love you held for him. One armored gauntlet rested over your hand, briefly. Then he removed it, and placed a kiss on your knuckles.
"Fear not. Whatever my feelings, I will do my duty." he said, stroking Melor's forehead with an armored finger.
"I know you will."
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The night was quieter than it should have been.
It was snowing outside. Nearly a blizzard, coming down in huge, fluffy flakes that joined and became even larger as they fell. The Fortess of Hera was already blanketed in it, and it sparkled in the lights from lamps and windows.
Snow and howling wind swallowed up the sounds outside. It overpowered even Cato's sensitive ears. The noises in the hallway were muffled. It was black as pitch outside because of the storm too. Which in turn made it feel darker inside, no matter how many lights were on.
It was dark in this room anyway. Melor was once again fast asleep. He seemed to do that more than anything else. Either sleeping or eating. Then again, most of the time he was in the Primarch's care.
The hair on the back of his neck had been prickling all night, and he wasn't sure why. Everything had been just fine. There was nothing for him to be worried about, but he was anyway, and he found himself wishing for dawn to hurry up and break already. He checked the chronograph on a small table.
Nope, not even close. it was barely passed 11:30. Not even midnight yet.
His hands curled around the hilt of the Tempest Blade. Something felt wrong, although he couldn't place his finger on what. He turned around, and walked over to where the boy lay, resting a hand on the railing.
He looked peaceful like that, and rather cute. Cato felt a pang of brotherly affection for the little one, even if he was only a cousin. Reaching down, he stroked the fuzzy black skullcap of baby hair he was growing with armored fingers before turning back to his post.
And froze.
The door was ajar.
Just a crack, just a hair's breadth.
When he knew for a fact it had been locked, because he had locked it himself.
His acute sense of paranoia was screaming. He didn't move. Didn't even twitch. The most important thing right now was to not let them know he was onto them. Let them come to him. He couldn't leave anyway to check it out, even if he'd wanted to. He was almost certain the door was nothing but a distraction. Something to lure him away from his post. Leaving Melor vulnerable and defenseless. And now, he understood why the Primarch had given him this job. Who else would have noted something so small and given it credence?
He could feels his hearts begin to speed up, and willed himself to be calm. If he wanted any edge over whatever enemy lurked outside that door, they couldn't know that he knew.
There was a flicker under the door. He resisted the urge to narrow his eyes. Was that shadows moving outside, or was his vision playing tricks on him? Was that whispering he could hear, or just the wind?
It couldn't be anything in here. The room was sparse, since it was Melor's only temporarily. And there wasn't a window. The only light came from what was now filtering through the cracks in the door. Or, that had been.
The weight of the Tempest Blade in his hands was comforting. His plasma pistol was a reassuring drag at his belt.
His internal display relayed a rapid, sudden drop in temperature. Over ten degrees, and it wasn't just outside either. He could feel it in his armor, under his body glove even. The cold stung his cheeks and nose even though his helmet was on.
And then his vision went black.
He heard the door burst open and slam against the wall. Armored footsteps running up to him. Hot, searing pain in his chest. Something solid and sharp running him through. Cutting straight through ceramite. He collapsed to his knees. Clutching his chest with one hand.
Melor's shriek of fear shook the fog of pain away.
Whatever was clouding his eyes vanished. Without thinking, he turned, drew his pistol and snapped off a shot. The hot plasma burned through the power pack of the Chaos Astartes. One of Lorgar's bastard whelps.
He leapt to his feet. Grabbing the Word Bearer by the back of the head and shoving him forward. There was an ugly crack as he hit the wall. He slumped and lay still.
The scent of rich Astartes blood filled his noise and mouth. He could feel his twin hearts beating against the flat of the blade in his chest. Just barely scraping the edge with each throb.
He whipped around, his red cape flaring behind him. Just in time to cross sword to dagger with a second Word Bearer. The power field of his own blade easily overpowering the weaker weapon. The dagger was wrenched out of his grasp. Embedding itself in the wall.
The Word Bearer began to reach for his pistol. That was quickly stopped when Cato took his head off with enough force to send it flying.
The corpse was kicked aside with disdain as he made his way to the door. A third was trying to make his way in and blocked it, his bolter up. He got a crater blown in his face for his trouble.
Cato kicked the body into the legs of the next Word Bearer, who stumbled backwards. He got his bearings quickly, bringing his bolter up and firing a volley along with his companion.
The second one pulled out his own power dagger and charged. Sicarius met him with a thrust that sent the Tempest Blade straight through him. He spasmed. Blood bubbled out of his snarling vox grille with his death throes.
Briefly he was reminded of his own injury. Feeling the long blade deep in his flesh, his hearts beating again it. Blood trickling down his armor, in his bodyglove.
Melor's wails brought him back to the task at hand. He charged the other gunner, using his companion's corpse still impaled on his sword as a meat shield. His horned, mutated head was exploded by a bolter round. The Ultramarine launched the body at the shooter, knocking him to the ground. Finishing him off quickly with a sword through the eye.
Yet another quickly took his place. This one had a staff and a jagged, ritual dagger. Cato felt his heart sink. He was starting to really feel his wound now. And this one was clearly a psyker. With his poisonous, sticky aura.
He raised his pistol and snapped off another shot, but the sorcerer ducked it easily, bolting to the left.
Then let out a scream of pain.
The final Word Bearer had, at the last second, ran forward and stuck out his blade, which the sorcerer had impaled himself on. He pulled it out and shoved it through the underside of the psyker's jaw, up into his brain. His erstwhile brother slid to the floor.
Cato pointed his plasma pistol at the turncoat, who dropped his dagger and held up his hands.
"I will allow you to explain yourself before you die." Cato said, trying not to pant. He could feel blood bubble over his lips as he spoke.
The Word Bearer nodded. "Choroathe received a prophecy. The boy must die. But the thought of murdering an infant in his cradle did not sit well with me. It still doesn't."
"Honorable, for one like you."
Robavam gave a lopsided smile under his helmet. "Unusual, I'm aware."
Before either of them could say anything else, there was a thundering boom followed by the crackling of a power weapon charging up. Coming from Melor's room.
The Word Bearer joined Cato in his dash for the door, even getting there before him. Inside stood a hulking figure in terminator armor. A gray robe covered it, and a cowl was pulled up over his helmet. His Lighting Claws flickering and sparking with power. He glared at his brother.
"Traitor." He growled through his vox.
In a move that he should have been too heavy and slow to perform with such speed, he surged forward, stabbing his claws into the other Word Bearer's chest. He collapsed in a heap, wheezing through his one, undamaged lung.
Then he turned his attention to Cato, who had just finished sending out a distress call on all available channels of his vox. Hoping the whole Fortress wasn't swarming with Chaos Astartes.
"NO!"
Sicarius's first instinct was to get between Melor and the looming brute. He stepped into the room, feinting to the right, narrowly avoiding a set of claws in his gut. He ran around the terminator's left side, bringing his pistol to bear. Ducking another swipe of his lighting claws by milimeters.
His finger squeezed the trigger as if in slow motion.
The aim was perfect, hitting the monstrous Astartes in the back of the knee. Blowing the leg out from under him. Choroathe toppled over with an enormous crash.
Cato grabbed one of the spikes of the Terminator's trophy rack, his muscles screaming from holding up such a weight. Yanking him back. Quickly, he grabbed the Tempest Blade with both hands and shoved it with all his strength through Choroathe's helmet. Through skull, brain, until the sword came out of his vox grille. then he ripped it out and let the daemon worshiping bastard fall to the floor.
And then all was still.
He could feel his Larraman cells struggling to clot his wound. Hear the ragged breathing of the one Word Bearer in the galaxy who still had some humanity in him. Over all of it he could hear poor Melor's pitiful, terrified cries.
Slowly, he picked his way over the fallen Chaos marines. The boy's golden eyes were wide with fear and wet with tears. Carefully sheathing the Tempest Blade and replacing his pistol in his holster, he picked him up gently. He held Melor in one arm, rocking him slightly with it. With his free hand, he clutched a corner of his cape and held it in front of the babe like a curtain.
He pulled his helmet off, and maglocked it to his belt.
"Easy little one, easy." Cato said, trying his best to soothe the boy as he reached for the sword in his chest.
"Don't, brother Ultramarine." The turncoat wheezed. "That blade is keeping the rest of your blood where it belongs."
He nodded, and took his hand off the hilt. Turning his attention back to his little cousin. He was whimpering now, still crying but more quietly.
"Shh, shh." Cato soothed. "You'll be alright. I'm here. I won't let anything happen to you. I will protect you."
Sicarius held Melor like that for a long, long time. It felt like hours as he stood there, comforting him as best as he could.
Eventually he heard footsteps outside. Ceramite on the marble floor, running at full tilt. Astartes, baseliners, and one huge set that could only be the Primarch's.
Cato limped his way to the doorway just as the group arrived. Going slowly and carefully. He leaned against the frame.
Roboute, the Ultramarines and auxilia saw Cato leaning weakly in the doorframe, holding Melor in one arm with his cape held up with the other. His face and hair were drenched with sweat. Blood leaked from his nose and the corner of his mouth, and his legs were starting to buckle. Stuck in his chest, straight through the ceramite, was a jagged old sword. More blood oozed from the wound.
All around him were the corpses of Word Bearers. The hallway was practically painted, splattered with gore and bolter impacts, strewn with bodies.
At their approach he looked up.
"Captain, what happened?"
"He's safe, my lord." Cato said to Guilliman. The wooziness setting in. "They tried to kill him, but he's safe. Just shaken."
His breath came in wheezing rasps. Slowly, he stepped forward and held out the little one to him. Gently, Roboute took him, holding him protectively. Melor cuddled against his uncle.
"Did you kill them all?" Guilliman asked, looking at the two dead marines and one dead terminator over his shoulder
Cato nodded. "Except for...one. The psyker. I had help from...a turncoat."
Robavam raised his arm weakly at that.
"Melor's safe." Cato said, his voice sounding far away. Everything felt so far away. He was conscious for just long enough to hear his gene father yelling for an apothecary before everything went black.
Part 4. Cato's still not paying rent. At least I started reading his books now.
When he's needed most, he will crack. He thought that should've been obvious.
Cato Sicarius x female reader you are the only light in his life
Divider by @squishyowl, and once again I apologize for so many @ s. He won't leave me alone man.
Song - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NNNPgIfK2YE
As you stared up at Primarch Roboute Guilliman, you were filled with a mix of potent awe and fear.
He had sent Titus to fetch you while Cato was away, occupied with an Astartes's daily tasks. He'd been courteous and quite warm with you, which had gone a long way to ease your worries about being summoned by the Primarch. But standing before him now, you felt them all rushing back.
He was huge. You'd seen him from a distance, but up close, even just sitting down he was massive. Not just tall, but broad and well muscled. Bigger than even the Primaris marines. His expression was neutral, but you could see creases in his forehead where his own concern was showing through. That helped you wrap your head around him. You started paying more attention to his features as well. His skin was fair, hair was blond, and eyes were the most beautiful, startling blue you'd ever seen. That helped you ground your view of him. Once you got past the whole...Primarch-ness of him, he was quite a good looking man too. His face looked like it belonged on the back of a coin. You could see where Cato got it from, and you amused yourself by imagining Guilliman with a beard.
"My lord Primarch." You bowed low to him.
He returned the gesture with a nod, and bid you stand. "My lady. I apologize for summoning you here with little warning. I am tied up with preparations, but I had a spare moment, and I'd like to speak with you."
"Have I...have I done anything wrong?" You asked.
"No, you have not. Don't worry." He gave you a reassuring smile. You felt better almost immediately. "You have recently gotten close with Cato Sicarius, and I would like to ask you about him. That's all."
"I see. You're not...displeased with it at all?" Because I'm not leaving him even if you are.
"Of course not. It is unusual, but harmless. In fact I think you have been doing him some much needed good. He loves you very deeply." After a moment, he added. "Many Astartes forget they too are human. Cato having you will help remind him of that."
You thought for a moment. "Then you've noticed that he's acting weird too? I thought I was the only one."
Titus gave you a soft smile. "Not all of us have hung our brother out to dry."
Guilliman nodded. "I have noticed his odd behavior for a while. When Titus came to me about it, I realized I cannot let it lie any longer. Which is where you come in. You know him well. I wanted to ask you what you've noticed about him. What you've seen."
You breathed a sigh of relief. Happy to not be in any trouble with the Primarch, and also that someone seemed to finally be taking notice of Cato's...issues.
"I thought someone would never ask." You admitted. "I've been trying to help him the best I can, but I think it's something far out of my wheelhouse."
"It's not an easy subject to broach."
"It's not." You agreed. "Well...let me think. He avoids his battle brothers a lot. Before we got together if he wasn't on duty I would find him in strange places. Doesn't really talk with anyone besides me either."
You paused.
"I've noticed he never seems to be calm. He always seems tense. Paranoid, even. Like he's just waiting for something to go wrong. Even when we're alone together I can feel tension in him. Sometimes I'll catch him staring off into the distance for minutes on end. He hears screaming, or music. He's woken up screaming more than once. Really, really bad nightmares. Night terrors even."
"Does he tell you about any of it?"
You nodded. "He tells me everything. I've been trying to be there for him. I told him if he needed just one person he could trust with this I would be that. He's told me about the Emperor's Will, and Damnos. Black Reach."
The Primarch was silent for a moment. "Thank you for your honesty. And for looking after him. I would like to say that he hid it well, but I think the truth is that he was not hiding it at all."
"You have so many other things demanding your attention, lord." It felt weird trying to reassure a Primarch, but you honestly didn't blame him for Cato's poor state of mind. "What are you going to do exactly?"
"I will have to consider it. This whole situation is delicate. But I will not leave it alone any longer. It appears to have grown into something where I cannot. Please, continue on as you are with him. You do him good."
You nodded. You doubted you needed to tell him you stuck with Cato because you loved him.
The Primarch let you go, and you gave him a little curtsy before you left. He smiled.
Titus turned to him. "What are you considering?" He asked.
Guilliman sighed. "For now? I will have to leave it to consideration only. I have received a message from the Redeemed."
"Was their mission a success?"
"If you consider rooting around in the Imperial Palace for one document a mission." He said with a rueful smile. "But yes, it was. I will have to leave soon, and go with them to Medusa. You will all learn what it's about when I return."
"You are leaving?" Titus asked.
"I have to. I made a promise."
He looked at the wedding ring sitting on his desk. Gold and silver, patterned in intricate Medusan knotwork. It was sized for a finger bigger than his, and hung on a platinum chain.
"And Cato?"
"Help him however you are about to. I will need him before long."
Titus nodded. "I will do my best."
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Cato wished Guilliman had taken him on his excursion. But the Primarch had been adamant. It was best if he undertook this mission alone, so as soon as the Redeemed had returned to Macragge, he'd been gone.
He hadn't quite resorted to begging, but it had been close. He was getting desperate to get off of Macragge. To get away from the Fortress of Hera, from his brothers. Even the civilians, who all looked at him like he was some kind of hero. It gave him a strong desire to start scratching at walls. Moreover, at least on campaign Cato had a solid excuse to avoid sleeping, even if he had an opportunity to.
Sleep was hazardous. With sleep came dreams, a jumbled mix of different pieces of his past all ground down into a slurry of nightmares. On campaign he was either locked in combat or planning strategy or doing a hundred other things. While he was stuck at home, he didn't have that. And even Astartes needed rest eventually.
Well, "home" was a relative term. He didn't remember the last time the Fortress of Hera had felt like home.
You, bless your sweet heart, were always chiding him about getting sleep. Even before he'd been blessed with you in his arms, as his serf you always made a point of looking out for him. Telling you off in that softly displeased manner that even Space Marines needed got tired and how he needed to go get some rest. You didn't know then, about his nightmares.
Granted, he didn't always have them. Whenever you cuddled in bed with him, his sleep was far more peaceful. Those nights were always the best for him. Holding you close, pressing his face into your hair, feeling your small, soft body snuggled against his. It was nothing short of blissful.
But tonight his bed was empty aside from himself, and his sleep was as troubled as it always was.
It was like an ocean. A geometrically perfect ocean of chrome and malevolent emerald green. The sky overhead was dark with an approaching storm, and the plain shrouded in mist.
And it was dead silent.
There were necrons. Endless, endless necrons, a legion of them stretching all the way to the horizon. Like every single last one of the mechanical horrors had made their way to this battle, and were all standing before him in a great gray sea.
He didn't fear them though. Cato Sicarius feared nothing. He was a part of the greatest army the galaxy had ever seen, and he was their zenith. No xenos filth would stand before he and his brothers today. No matter how many of them there were. He knew no fear.
"The day shall be ours, brothers!" He bellowed. "For the Primarch! For Ultramar!"
It was like a parody of every speech he'd ever given before a battle, all watered down and weak.
When he turned back to look at the ranks of his brothers behind them, he saw not a single one of them had moved. They all stood as stock still as the necrons, weapons held at the ready. It was like the legion of the Great Crusade come again. Had there been so many before? And they all stared at him. He could feel it, hundred of pairs of eyes all glaring at him. Judging him. Looking at him like he was an idiot.
In front of them stood Marneus Calgar and Severus Agemman. Both glaring at him in the same manner. Like he was a fool.
"Well?" Calgar asked him.
"What are you waiting for?" Agemman continued.
Cato wanted to ask what they were talking about, but his tongue felt leaden in his mouth. His jaw hurt, and he couldn't move it. Like it had been welded shut.
"You want to be Chapter Master?" Severus echoed him. "Then go ahead. Go prove that you are worthy of it."
Cato wanted to scream that being Chapter Master was the last thing he desired now. He wasn't fit for the job and he knew it, but his mouth wouldn't work. He couldn't say anything, so he did as he was bid, his grip tight on the Tempest Blade.
He wanted to weep at what he saw in front of him.
The necrons had changed. They weren't metal anymore.
They were still necrons, but necrons made of flesh and bone and sinew instead. The shape was still the same, twisted into something made of glistening red meat.
Somehow, covered in organic matter, it looked even less human. The once metal skeleton, now bone, twisted and spiraled together in strange shapes. Raised red veins and ridges of flesh formed odd, vaguely geometric patterns in the muscle. He could see squishy, pulsating organs in their abdominal and chest cavities, barely held in place by spars of bone and stringy loops of meat.
Emerald eyes glowed with malevolent luminescence like the lure of some deep sea fish. Ivory teeth leered from lipless mouths curled into a mummy's dry grimace. The air stank of raw flesh and blood enough to make him gag.
"I can't." He whispered.
"You must." Said Calgar and Agemman.
This time Cato was the one who began to scream.
And then he woke up. His face wet. With tears or sweat, he couldn't be sure.
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There was a small, unspoken fear when Guilliman left that he wouldn't return. Nobody said it aloud, but it was an undercurrent of tension all the same. Thankfully, it all turned out to be unfounded. The Primarch returned a few months later on the Redeemed's ship, safe, sound, and bearing some unusual cargo.
It was winter on Macragge. The Fortress of Hera was frosted in snow and icicles, and the neophytes were getting into snowball fights.
Of course, Cato didn't know that. When you'd made your way to his quarters to see if he'd gotten the good news, he was still fast asleep in bed. Snoring like a chainsword, nestled into his blankets, and drooling a bit into his beard. You giggled a bit, seeing your beloved captain looking so disheveled yet so cozy. It almost hurt you to wake him up.
"Peahen?" He asked groggily, his eyes fluttering open.
You kissed him on the nose. "The Primarch's returned."
That got his attention in a hurry. He sat bolt upright. "Did I oversleep again?"
"Not this time." You ran your hand through his hair. That helped calm him down a bit as he kicked his covers off. "Lord Guilliman is just an early riser it seems."
"I used to be."
You shook your head, throwing a body glove at him while he finally emerged from his blanket cocoon fully. Then you sat and set about polishing a few loose pieces of his armor. Helmet, pauldrons, gauntlets. He'd handle the big stuff.
"Don't bother with that." He chided, shuffling over with the bodyglove half pulled up to his calves. "You'll never finish it in time."
"Oh hush up. I want you to look nice in front of your gene-father. It'll go much faster if you pull that thing on and help me."
He rolled his eyes, but did as you asked, and ten minutes later his armor shone like blue tourmaline. The plume of his helmet was brushed out, and finally you helped him fasten his cape to his pauldrons.
"Oh look at you." You purred. "Always so handsome in your armor. Just like a peacock."
He tilted your chin back and pressed a brief kiss to your lips. "You do nothing but fill my ears with flattery."
"Someone needs to." You offered him his sheathed sword with some effort. It was affixed to his belt in short order.
"I suppose it's impossible to inflate an ego that has so many holes in it that it may as well be a shooting range target."
He offered you his arm, and the two of you walked down to the parade grounds to see just what had become of Roboute Guilliman.
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Cato took his place at the head of the other Victrix Guard, earning him a few stares since he was the last one there. He realized belatedly that his lack of punctuality combined with the state of his armor was probably sending a decidedly negative message. You might have liked his peacocking, but nobody else had ever did. He'd made an effort to stop. And now there's be snide comments for weeks about how he'd probably be late to a battle because he was shining his pauldrons. He sighed internally, already dreading it.
The Astartes were arranged into two columns, forming a path between them. Titus was standing a ways off with his Primaris, and Uriel with the men of the 4th. Calgar stood at the front along with the Victrix. Cato could've sworn he smirked at him as he passed by. The fresh snow from the night before was packed with footprints. Light wind sent small sprays of glittering powder skittering across the courtyard and ruffled his hair. They stood in silence, waiting.
Finally, the gates swung open, and the Primarch entered.
Trailing behind him came the Redeemed. Their armor gleamed, ceramite as white as the snow with gold trim. The chapter symbol, a wheel with eight spikes turned inward, flashed in the sun. So did their Chapter Master, and his crystalline...well, everything. Armor and body alike casting small rainbows on the ground.
The sword of the Emperor was sheathed at Guilliman's side. It took Cato a moment to realize he was holding something. Once he got closer, the Victrix captain had to bite back his shock.
In Roboute's arms was a tiny, tiny little baby boy. The infant was nearly swamped by the blanket he was swaddled in, black silk lined with the fur of a Medusan snow lion. Picked out along the hem in silver thread was a design of knotwork. Worked into the pattern was a gear with a hand in the middle.
He was fast asleep, his head resting against Guilliman's breastplate. Comically small. Roboute's expression bore a tenderness that none of the Ultramarines had ever seen on his face before. It made him look decades younger, stripping away the stress and pain in his eyes.
"It can't be." He barely heard Titus's whisper, and he was bound to agree.
Nothing had been said yet, but the obvious conclusion was hard not to draw.
Roboute came to a stop next to Calgar and turned to face his sons. The Redeemed lined up next to him, all solemn and oddly subdued.
"My sons." He began, quieter than he would have been normally. "I thank you for your patience while I was absent, and with the secrecy. This was too critical for me to risk. First, I would like to thank the Redeemed for their part in this. If not for you, this may have never been set into motion."
Kaleidius, the chapter master, dipped his head in acknowledgement.
"As for what this was all about, well. As it turns out, my brother was very, very good at keeping secrets."
But maybe in the end, he was the wisest of all of us for doing so.
"I know there are going to be many questions. There will be answers in time, but they cannot come now. Things are still...delicate. I will tell you this though. His name is Melor, and he is very, very precious. I will be caring for him for the foreseeable future, and we will be protecting him for as long as necessary." He announced, and let his words hang in the air for a moment.
Cato could hear even some of the Victrix starting to whisper amongst themselves, and he couldn't blame them. There was obviously something unusual about the boy, even if he couldn't put his finger on what.
"My lord?" Marneus spoke up. "Forgive me if this is out of line. But may I at least ask why you have chosen to take on this responsibility?"
"Do you take issue with it?"
"No, my lord. I merely wish for a clearer understanding of your logic."
Guilliman sighed. "There is not much to it. I made a promise. One I do not intend to break, no matter how inconvenient it is. I owe him that much at the very least."
He stroked the short, fuzzy growth of black hair on Melor's scalp with his fingertips. Then, he turned to Cato, who felt like things were about to go very wrong for him.
"Captain Sicarius."
He stepped forward at his Primarch's order. Feeling like a psyker with how he had predicted Guilliman's next words.
"You have been captain of the 2nd, and you are captain of my Victrix Honor Guard. Many times over you have proven yourself to be valiant and a warrior of renown."
He wanted to laugh. Where the hell had the Primarch gotten all that from? He was barely competent. His record was full of poor decisions and good men dead at his hand. Ego leading him around like the blind leading the blind, and he was only renowned because his battle brothers couldn't stand him. But he couldn't make his jaw work to say any of it.
A part of him wondered if this was Guilliman's way of humbling him even further. Of bringing him down so low that he never forgot how much of a failure he truly was. Why else would he ask him to guard an infant? One who's significance he had yet to explain. It would surely keep him far away from any future battlefields. Maybe someone else would replace him as captain of the Victrix while he was relegated to nursemaid.
Over the sound of his blood in his ears he swore he could hear a pipe organ.
But...
No, surely not. One look into the Primarch's eyes told him that. There was love there, genuine love for that child. He wouldn't put the boy at risk by using him as a tool to rein Cato in. Which left an even more horrifying reality.
Guilliman thought he was a good man for the job.
"I am assigning you to be his guardian. I will be with him as much as I can, but I know for a fact it won't be as much as I would like. You will protect him when I cannot."
Cato felt like the ground was caving in under him. He didn't know if he wanted to scream or laugh. That child was probably safer with Ezekyle than with him.
"My lord." Cato began, his voice uncharacteristically weak. "I'm honored you think I am worthy of such a task. But I cannot accept this duty."
"Captain?"
"I am not the man you want for this, my lord. I cannot protect him."
Titus and Uriel shared uncomfortable glances. Even Calgar's usually unreadable expression was slackened a bit as he stared at Cato like he'd gone completely mad.
Kaleidius looked at him with surprising pity in those blank, pitch black eyes.
"Explain yourself, captain."
"I..." He felt like his throat was sewn shut. "I am not reliable, my lord. My record speaks for itself. Heavy losses and failure after failure. I look around and all I can see are my brothers who are not here. They’re all dead. My honor is in tatters. I cannot take on a task so important in such a humiliated state. I don't know why you still allow me to lead the Victrix guard like this."
He should have been demoted. He should have been sent back to the scouts like Leandros had been, to learn a lesson. He should have been executed.
His battle brothers stared at him. As if he'd just morphed into Horus himself in front of them. Most of them had no idea where all of this was coming from.
You knew. Watching from a doorway with some other serfs, and it took every ounce of your self control not to runto Cato and throw your arms around him. Titus and Uriel knew, given looks they were exchanging. The former's a mask of barely contained horror. If he'd known it was this bad, he would have talked to Cato himself.
The Primarch's expression softened, just a fraction, and his voice was more compassionate than another commander's might have been. "That is not for you to decide. I have made a decision which you have no right to refute. I understand that some of the things you have done haunt you, but you let that color your view of everything you have done. Do not let a few failings tarnish every achievement."
Roboute could see that Cato wasn't convinced in the slightest, but he nodded in assent. "Yes, my lord."
He complied. What else could he do? If there was a way to dissuade his Primarch's misplaced confidence in him, he didn't know it. What he did know is that when this too ended in failure, the consequences were going to be horrific.
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Cato knelt down, holding you close. Hugging you tightly, as tightly as he dared. His head rested in the crook of your shoulder, and you felt that spot growing wet.
You didn't care. You held him just as tightly, running your fingers through his hair. He didn't say anything, didn't make a sound. Just clung to you.
"Maybe Lord Guilliman is right." You told him softly. "I think you'll do just fine. Don't let every wrong thing you have ever done wipe out all the good."
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