Lith she/they /it Possibly a non beany creature. Pan-romantic. Has at least 10 years experience being an adult. Likes anime, newly into Warhammer. I draw , paint minis. This blog is my infinite reblog zone (almost nothing is tagged here). If you only want to follow my art i'll reblog everything @lithartdump
The healer watches him as he pauses with his hand over the panel. For the first time since she had found him half-buried beneath slag and blood, there is no uncertainty in his posture. The wandering survivor who had hidden beneath a trader’s coat is gone. In his place stands something older. Harder. A lord of war wrapped in borrowed humility. The hatch cycles open with a hiss of pressure and the grind of old seals.
Two Blood Angels stood beyond it, armor the color of fresh-spilled blood, bolters held across their chests in disciplined readiness with one of them holding a dataslate. The corridor behind them was crowded with more crimson giants and a pair of mortal serfs carrying auspex equipment. One of the serfs was already raising a scanner. The lead marine begins the formal inspection litany.
“By order of Commander Arceo, Blood Angels Chapter, this vessel and all passengers—”
His voice stops, the words die in his throat as looks up and freezes. For a heartbeat, no one moves. The marine stares. Helm tilting slightly, as if his autosenses had malfunctioned. Then his gaze lockes onto the face standing inside the compartment—the scarred features, those pale eyes, the bearing that no disguise could erase. The second marine looks up from the dataslate, then freezes as well, breath catching sharply enough to be heard through the hum of the ship.
“By the Throne…” the younger one whispers.
The lead marine swallows hard.
“Commander… Dante?”
The corridor behind him erupts into sudden motion. Astartes who had been standing at ease snap rigid. One lowers his bolter entirely. Another takes an involuntary step forward as if to confirm the sight before him. Dante stands very still. Not hiding. Not posturing. Simply present. The healer, standing beside the bunk with her satchel at her shoulder, watches the realization spread through the corridor like a shockwave. Dante inclines his head once.
“It has been some time, Brothers.”
The younger marine makes a strangled sound that might have become a laugh or a sob. The lead marine drops immediately to one knee, fist striking his breastplate with a resonant clang.
“Commander Dante,” he says, voice rough now, stripped of all inspection protocol. “We believed you lost. Your beacon vanished after the assault. Recovery teams found only wreckage. Your armor transponder was destroyed. There was... nothing.”
The second Marine follows an instant later, then another farther down the corridor. One of the serfs made a choking sound and nearly drops his auspex. Dante inclines his head once.
“So I am told,” he says quietly. “Recovery teams arrived too late.”
Silence answers him. Not the silence of uncertainty, but of men trying to reconcile what stands before them with the reports they had carried for weeks. Charred drop-site. No recovered body. Destroyed command beacon. Presumed fallen. And now he stands in the cramped quarters of a civilian freighter, alive.
The kneeling officer looks up at last. “The fleet mourned you, my lord. Commander Arceo ordered search operations until the outer storm fronts made recovery impossible.”
Dante’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes.
“Arceo lives, then.”
“He does.” The officer hesitates, “He will wish to see you immediately.”
Only then does his gaze shift to the woman beside Dante. Confusion joining the awe on his face.
The auspex serf finally finds his voice. “My lord, the unidentified passenger—”
“Enough,” Dante says.
The single word carries the weight of command. Every Blood Angel in the corridor straightens instinctively.
Dante looks at the kneeling officer. “She found me in the wreckage after the battle. She carried me from that place. She kept me alive when no one else could have reached me.”
Silence. Every eye in the corridor turns to her. The weight of it should have been unbearable. Gene-forged warriors of the Blood Angels staring at a wandering healer as though trying to reconcile myth with flesh. She meets their gazes calmly.
“I did what any healer would,” she says.
A faint, almost disbelieving sound comes from one of the younger Marines farther down the corridor.
“Anyone?” he echoes.
The officer silenced him with a glance. Though officer’s expression makes it clear he did not believe that for a second, but he bows his head.
“Then the Blood Angels stand in your debt.”
The officer rises from one knee, though his posture remains deferential in a way it didn’t when the inspection began.
“Forgive the intrusion, my lord. Our orders were to secure the vessel and identify all passengers. We did not expect…”
He trails off. Dante’s mouth twitches faintly.
“Neither did I.”
For the first time since boarding the Ashwing, genuine emotion broke through the disciplined masks of the Blood Angels. Relief. Alive. Their Chapter Master is alive.
“Commander Arceo must be informed immediately,” the younger marine breathes.
“He will be,” Dante says. “But first, your inspection.”
“Yes, my lord.”
One of the warriors makes the sign of the aquila across his chest. Another simply bows his head, lips moving in silent prayer. The inspection became almost ceremonial after that. Cargo seals were checked. Medicae compounds logged. Passenger records reviewed. No one questioned the healer further, though several marines look at her with open curiosity.
Dante glances once toward the healer. She meets his gaze steadily. No triumph. No claim. Only the quiet certainty of someone who has found a dying man in the ashes and refuses to let him become another name on a casualty roll. When it is finished, the lead marine keys his vox.
“Bridge, this is Sergeant Malthus. Inspection complete.” He pauses, glancing once more at Dante. “The Regent lives.”
Even through the vox static, the stunned silence on the other end was palpable.
Then a hurried voice: “Repeat.”
Malthus’s eyes never leave Dante.
“The Regent lives.”
The words seem to ripple outward through the ship. Footsteps sound in distant corridors. Vox traffic surges. Dante exhales slowly. Beside him, the healer feels the atmosphere change, not just in the compartment, but in the vessel itself. The moment his survival became known, everything shifted. They are no longer passengers on a smuggler’s cutter. They are carrying the living heart of the Blood Angels home. Malthus straightens.
“My lord, Commander Arceo requests that you transfer immediately to the Crimson Oath. A Thunderhawk is already preparing for retrieval.”
Dante looks to the healer. Not at the marines. Not at the corridor full of Astartes. At her. The gesture is small, but every Blood Angel present saw it. Every one of them understood that the woman who had found their Chapter Master in the ashes wasn’t leaving his side by accident. Malthus’s eyes flick briefly toward the healer.
“Commander Arceo has requested that your savior accompany you as well.”
The moment passes as naturally as it had begun. Mira disappears into the maze of wagons, already retelling the encounter with increasingly enthusiastic gestures. By the time she reaches her parents, the wings have undoubtedly doubled in size in her recounting. Laughter follows her in little bursts, carrying easily over the creak of wheels and the low complaints of burden beasts. Life, having paused only briefly, resumes its familiar rhythm. Jarek claps his hands together once.
"Right!" he calls, his voice carrying the practiced authority of a man accustomed to organizing chaos. "If you've finished gawking, those crates won't unload themselves."
The caravan master points an accusing finger toward the speaker without even turning.
"I heard that."
"I meant you to."
Another ripple of laughter spreads through the camp. Sanguinius watches the easy exchange, something almost wistful settling behind his expression. There is no hierarchy here beyond necessity. No ceremony. No expectation beyond the day's work. Men and women drift naturally back to their tasks, arguments forgotten as quickly as they began.
"Come," the healer says quietly beside him. "Before someone decides to pay me in stories instead of supplies."
He follows as she makes her way through the loosely arranged wagons. Unlike the hurried bustle surrounding them, her progress is unhurried. People greet her as she passes, some with words, others with nothing more than a raised hand or an inclined head. A young mother catches her sleeve.
"I used the salve you left."
"It helped?"
"The swelling was gone by the third morning."
"Good."
"And my son's cough."
She smiles faintly.
"Gone?"
The woman nods.
"He finally sleeps through the night."
"I'm glad."
Nothing more is said. None is needed. Further along, an elderly man beckons her over from where he sat repairing a harness.
"My knee's predicting rain again."
She crouches beside him without hesitation.
"It always predicts rain."
"It was right once."
"Twenty years ago."
"And?"
She rests gentle fingers against the swollen joint, pressing lightly around the scar tissue.
"It still isn't raining."
He sighs dramatically.
"I was afraid you'd say that."
She reaches into one of her satchels and places a small, wrapped bundle into his weathered hand.
"A fresh poultice."
He turns it over between his fingers.
"You always know what I need before I ask."
"You always ask for the same thing."
"Hm."
He grunts approvingly.
"Fair point."
Sanguinius stands a respectful distance away, watching each encounter unfold. No one crowds her. No one demands miracles. They simply... trust her. The realization settles deeper than he expects. Respect here hasn’t been won through fear. Nor through strength. Nor through titles. Only through years of returning. Years of remembering names. Years of helping because help was needed. He finds himself wondering how many journeys it had taken to build something so quiet.
His thoughts are interrupted by the unmistakable scent of fresh bread. A pair of brothers stand behind a folding table balanced atop old supply crates. Their makeshift stall overflows with rough loaves, dried fruits, smoked strips of meat, and hard cheeses wrapped in cloth. One of them catches sight of the healer.
"There you are."
"I said I'd come."
"You also said before midday."
She tilts her head slightly.
"It is before midday."
"Barely."
"It still counts."
He snorts.
"I suppose it does."
Without another word, he begins assembling a small bundle.
"No charge."
She immediately shakes her head.
"No."
"You've patched up half this caravan over the years."
"And you've fed me for almost as many."
"So?"
"So we barter."
"You always make this difficult."
"I make it fair."
He relents with theatrical resignation.
"You drive a terrible bargain."
"I've been told."
She lays several bundles of dried medicinal herbs upon the table, followed by two small jars sealed carefully with wax.
"For burns," she explains.
"And the other?"
"Deep cuts."
The baker's expression sobers.
"I was hoping I wouldn't need more."
"You probably won't."
"But if I do..."
"You'll have it."
He nods quietly before sliding the bundle of bread toward her.
"This and a little flour."
"You've added too much."
"I know."
She opens her mouth to object. He raises a flour-covered hand.
"Call it interest."
For the first time since entering the caravan, she laughs—a soft, genuine sound that draws more than one curious glance.
"I'll never convince you."
"No."
"I'm still going to try."
"I'd be disappointed if you stopped."
Sanguinius accepts the bundle she hands him, surprised by its weight. The baker finally turns his full attention toward him.
"So," He folds his arms across his apron. "you're the fellow with the wings."
"So I've been told."
"You eat much?"
Sanguinius blinks.
"I... beg your pardon?"
"I've got to know how much bread to bake if she starts bringing you every season."
A beat of silence hangs in the air. Then, before Sanguinius can think of an answer, the healer speaks with complete seriousness.
"An unreasonable amount."
The baker lets out a booming laugh.
"I knew it!"
Sanguinius looks between them, vaguely betrayed.
"I've only eaten what was offered."
"So far," she replies.
"So far," the baker agrees cheerfully.
For a brief moment, surrounded by flour dust, warm bread, easy laughter, and the simple commerce of ordinary people, Sanguinius forgets entirely that he had once fallen from a burning sky. He is simply another traveler standing at a market stall, carrying provisions beside the woman who had saved his life. And somehow, that feels no less extraordinary.
As the baker disappear into the back of his wagon in search of another sack of flour, Sanguinius shifts the bundle beneath one arm, his gaze wandering over the caravan with idle curiosity. Now that the first novelty of his arrival has faded, smaller details begin to emerge. Not everything the traders carry has come from scavenged ruins.
Near one wagon hangs a length of crimson cloth, faded by years beneath the desert sun but carefully mended wherever it had frayed. It is embroidered with a pattern of interlocking circles that stirs something just beyond reach in his memory.
Further along, several spear shafts leaned against a crate, fashioned from pale, resilient wood he hasn’t seen growing anywhere near the clinic. The shafts had been polished smooth and wrapped beneath the heads with braided strips of crimson leather. His attention lingers. The binding. He knows that weave. Not because he had studied it. Because his own hands had once learned it. His fingers unconsciously touch the banner fragment tucked safely beneath his belt.
"...Where did you get those?"
The spear-maker glances up from sharpening a blade.
"These?"
He lifts one casually.
"Good work, aren't they?"
Sanguinius steps closer.
"They're unfamiliar."
The older craftsman smiles.
"Not around these parts."
He runs an appreciative hand along the smooth haft.
"People of the Pure Blood."
The words land with quiet force.
"It’s said that they've got forests hidden somewhere out beyond the eastern mesas." He shrugs. "Never found them myself."
"They come to you?"
"Every season or so."
He nods toward the spear.
"Trade timber, leather, woven cloth."
"And these?"
"The bindings?" The man chuckles. "Wouldn't dare change them."
He rubs a thumb across the crimson braid.
"They say every knot has meaning."
Sanguinius stares at it. He remembers. Children sitting in circles around evening fires. Older hands correcting younger ones. Patient voices guiding them. The memory vanishes before he can grasp it fully.
"They're good people," the trader continues, unaware of the storm quietly unfolding before him.
"Proud. Quiet. Keep to themselves mostly. But if they promise something..." He taps the spear, "they keep it."
Another voice joins in from a nearby wagon.
"They saved us once."
A woman looks up from repairing harness straps.
"Three summers back." She nods toward the western horizon, "Storm caught us in the flats. We would've been buried. The Blood found us and led us through canyons nobody else knew existed."
The spear-maker snorts.
"And refused extra payment. Said guiding lost travelers wasn't something you sold."
Sanguinius lowers his eyes. A warmth spreading quietly through his chest. Not pride. Not exactly. Recognition. Fragments continue surfacing. Campfires beneath stars. Children carrying water before elders asked. Voices reminding one another— No guest leaves hungry. No traveler walks alone. He had known those words. He had lived them.
"They barter honestly," the woman continues. "Never seen one cheat. Never seen one steal."
She smiles to herself.
"Wish every tribe were like that."
Without realizing it, Sanguinius began smiling. Small. Almost imperceptibly.
The healer, standing a short distance away while examining jars of preserved herbs.
"You've remembered something."
It wasn't a question. He looks toward her.
"I think those are my people..." His voice is softer than before.
The conversations nearby continue uninterrupted. No one realizes what those simple observations have given him. The healer's expression softens.
"I'm not surprised."
He looks once more at the crimson bindings wraps around the spear. Neither is he. For the first time since awakening in the desert, the memories returning to him don’t carry only pain or confusion. Some carry home.
The next days pass with quiet purpose. The rhythm of the clinic settles around them as naturally as breathing. Mornings belong to the flight shaft, where Sanguinius dedicates himself as he slowly relearns what his wings remember even when his mind doubts. Some attempts end with smooth, controlled landings. Others end with clipped feathers and muttered frustration, though each failure leaves him wiser than the last. Below, she tends her terraces, brews medicines, and listens, not merely for the sound of his wings, but for the confidence gradually returning to each beat.
Afternoons belong to the ordinary labors that sustain life. They check the snares together, taking the familiar circuit through the ridges. Some days the desert offers little more than empty loops and wind-scoured tracks. Others reward patience with enough game to replenish their stores. The hides are scraped clean, the meat carefully preserved, nothing wasted. Together cleaning the water catchers vents of sand and gathering what water it had managed to collect.
When the heat becomes too great, they retreat indoors. She teaches him which herbs must be bruised rather than crushed, which roots must be dried in shade instead of sun, how to recognize when a tincture has steeped long enough by its scent alone. Sanguinius learns quickly. Not because he has memories of these things from before, but because he gives every lesson the same attention he would a weapon.
By the second evening, neat rows of the travelers' cakes cool upon woven racks beside the hearth. They are darker than the first batch, baked longer so they will survive the journey to the ridge and back. She lifts one, tapping its crust with a fingernail as she inspects the batch.
"Better."
He glances over from where he is wrapping dried herbs in waxed cloth.
"I used less water."
"You listened."
"I have a good teacher."
A faint smile crosses her face before she turns back to packing. The preparations are modest but deliberate. Several loaves of the cakes. Bundles of medicinal herbs tied with twine. Small jars of salve sealed in wax. A pair of cured hides folded tightly. Nothing extravagant. Enough to barter should the opportunity arise. Sanguinius watches her arrange everything with careful economy.
"You've done this often."
"For years."
"You trust them?"
She shakes her head.
"I trust patterns. The same caravans tend to survive."
"And the others?"
"They become stories people stop telling."
Silence follows that observation. He understands it better than he wishes.
Morning arrives beneath a pale sky streaked with high, thin clouds. The air carries a strange anticipation as if it carries word of the strangers passing though the usually barren region. Not danger. Movement. She notices it before they even leave the clinic.
"The wind's changed."
He pauses while fastening the worn banner fragment more securely inside his belt.
"What does that mean?"
"They're close."
She shoulders a travel pack with practiced ease while he lifts the larger bundle of goods.
"You can hear them?"
"No."
A tiny smile.
"I can hear everything else."
She opens the clinic door. Outside, the desert has become strangely alive. Small birds skim low across the dunes. Tiny burrowing creatures have disappeared beneath the sand. The wind no longer blows steadily but arrives in long, uneven breaths, disturbed by something far beyond the nearest ridge. Many somethings.
"They're raising dust," Sanguinius murmurs, his keen eyes fixed on the western horizon.
She nods.
"So they are."
The walk feels different from every journey they've taken before. Not because the land has changed, but because they are walking toward other people. For days it has been only the two of them—the quiet clinic, the hidden garden, the forgotten ruins, the endless desert. Now voices wait somewhere beyond the ridge. Trade. Questions. Curiosity. Risk. He finds himself unexpectedly tense. She notices.
"You don't have to speak."
"I wasn't planning to."
"They'll stare."
"I know."
"They've likely never seen wings like yours."
He glances at the feathers folded against his back.
"I've thought about hiding them."
She is quiet for several steps.
"I don't think you could."
"No." A faint smile touches his lips, "Neither do I."
The ridge rises before them, its weathered stone broken by shelves of wind-carved rock. She slows, planting her staff carefully.
"They'll be on the other side."
He climbs the last few paces first. When he reaches the crest, he stops. Below, the old trade road snakes across the desert floor. Dust hangs above it in a broad amber cloud. Within it move perhaps two dozen figures alongside burden beasts laden with crates, water casks, rolled canvas, and scavenged machinery. Bright strips of cloth flutter from long poles to help keep the caravan together in blowing sand. Guards walk the perimeter with well-worn rifles and spears, their eyes constantly searching the surrounding dunes. Near the center, several children dart between the larger animals, laughing despite the heat.
The smell reaches him a heartbeat later. Smoke from cook fires. Leather. Metal. Animals. Humanity. The first gathering of strangers he has seen since awakening wounded in the desert. Behind him, she waits patiently.
"Well?" she asks.
He can’t quite keep the wonder from his voice.
"There are more of them than I expected."
She smiles.
"There usually are."
For another moment, he simply watches. People arguing over a broken wheel. Someone singing as they walked. A woman passing a skin of water to an older man. Ordinary lives continuing beneath the endless desert sky. Then he steps back from the crest and offers his arm. She finds it without searching. Together, they descend toward the caravan.
The first to notice them is not one of the guards. It’s a child. A little girl perched atop a broad-backed pack beast looks up from the carved toy in her lap. Her eyes widen. She tugs urgently at the sleeve of the drover walking beside her.
"Look."
The man barely glances up.
"We're almost stopped, Mira. Whatever it—"
He stops mid-sentence. Two figures are descending the ridge. One he recognizes immediately.
"The healer," he murmurs.
Word travels faster than the caravan itself.
"The ridge healer."
"She's come down."
"I thought she'd stopped trading."
"No, she only comes every few months."
The guards shift, hands relaxing rather than tightening around their weapons. A few nod in quiet greeting as the pair approach. Whatever reputation the woman has earned here, it is one built over many years. Then their attention settles on the man beside her. Silence spreads through the caravan in uneven ripples. Not because he carries a weapon. Not because he is impossibly large. Because of the wings.
Great white pinions, folded neatly against his back, caught by the morning light until they seem almost too bright for the dusty road. People stop walking. One of the burden beasts snorts uneasily. Someone mutters a curse word beneath their breath.
"...Angel..."
Another immediately elbows him.
"Don't be an idiot."
"But look at him."
"I am."
The little girl simply stares with open delight.
"He can fly."
"He probably can," her father says quietly.
Sanguinius feels every eye upon him. His instincts urge him to withdraw, to fold himself smaller, to become less conspicuous. Instead, he remembers what she had told him. They'll stare. She hadn’t sounded concerned. Merely certain.
Beside him, she continues walking with the same measured pace as always, tapping her staff against the hard-packed earth. The crowd parts for her almost unconsciously. An older woman, wrapped in faded blue cloth, steps forward with an exasperated laugh.
"You disappear for months, then arrive looking exactly the same."
"The desert has poor taste," the healer replies.
"It certainly does."
They clasp forearms briefly.
"You've grown thinner."
"So have you."
"I've earned mine."
"So have I."
The exchange earns a ripple of chuckles from those nearby. The tension eases. Not entirely. Eyes still drift toward Sanguinius every few seconds. The older woman finally turns to him.
"And who's this?"
The healer answers without hesitation.
"A patient."
Several eyebrows rise.
"He looks healthy enough."
"He wasn't."
The woman studies him another moment. Sanguinius inclines his head.
"My thanks," he says simply.
His voice is softer than most expect. The older woman nods once.
"Good manners."
"She insisted."
That draws the first genuine laugh directed at him.
"I imagine she did."
A broad-shouldered man emerges from deeper within the caravan, wiping grease from his hands with an oil-stained rag. His beard is threaded with gray, his left leg reinforced by a polished mechanical brace that clicks softly with each step.
"So," he says, looking first to the healer and then unabashedly at Sanguinius, "this is the surprise everyone stopped working for."
"It appears so."
"You bringing trouble?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"I rarely am."
He scratches thoughtfully at his beard.
"Rarely isn't never."
"No," she agrees.
"It isn't."
For another heartbeat he studies the winged stranger, he extends a calloused hand.
"Name's Jarek. I organize this wandering disaster."
Sanguinius looks at the offered hand as though recalling something distant. Then he clasps it.
"Sanguinius."
Jarek blinks.
"That's... an unusual name."
"So I'm told."
Their handshake ends. Jarek notices the strength in the grip without comment. Instead, his gaze drifts once more to the folded wings.
"They real?"
Sanguinius glances over one shoulder.
"I've never considered the possibility they weren't."
A bark of surprised laughter escapes the caravan master.
"I like him."
"You've known him for less than a minute," the healer says.
"That's all it took."
He gestures toward the center of the caravan.
"Come on, then. Market's not much to look at, but we've got water, food, and more gossip than any sensible person should consume."
As they begin walking, the caravan slowly returns to life. Conversations resume. A wheel is lifted back onto its axle. Someone starts arguing over the price of lamp oil with renewed enthusiasm. Yet wherever Sanguinius passes, people continue to steal glances. Not fearful ones. Curious ones. Wondering. He catches children whispering behind stacked crates before one finally gathers enough courage to approach. The little girl from the pack beast. She stands directly in front of him, hands clasped behind her back.
"Excuse me."
He stops.
"Yes?"
She points unabashedly at his wings.
"Are they soft?"
Several nearby adults freeze. A look of mortification instantly dawning her mother’s face.
"Mira!"
"It's all right," Sanguinius says.
He crouches slowly until they are nearly eye level.
"They are."
"Can I..." She hesitates, "...touch one?"
He looks to the healer. She gives the smallest nod.
"If you're gentle," he says.
The child reaches out with both hands. Her fingers brush the outermost feathers with almost impossible care. Her face lights up.
"They're warmer than I thought."
"I suppose they would be."
"They're beautiful."
The words are offered with the simple honesty only children possess. Sanguinius finds himself smiling before he realizes he is doing it.
"Thank you."
Mira beams as though she has been entrusted with an enormous secret before running back toward her family. The healer watches the exchange from a few paces away.
"You handled that well."
"I wasn't certain what to do."
"You didn't need to be."
He watches the girl disappear into the crowd, still excitedly telling anyone who will listen that the feathers were warm. For the first time since awakening in the desert, surrounded by strangers who should have feared him, Sanguinius feels something unexpected settle quietly in his chest. Not recognition. Not memory. Belonging, however briefly, among ordinary people living ordinary lives.
TW: Physical abuse, There isn't even smut in this :(
Flew too close to the sun. Created plot for my smut.
Somewhat beta read by an author who hates this chapter in general.
Due to working on other projects and the general highs and lows that come with writing, I will be aiming for an update roughly every 2 weeks.
<><><><><><>
The shower wasn't nearly as cleansing as I had hoped. I was thankful to be clean, but with that came the sensation of resentment about what just occurred.
Guilliman obviously didn't want to discuss what happened, and I was personally too weak willed to be around him without being manipulated.
My stomach rumbled.
I needed to get my shit together.
Tarrek was waiting outside when I begrudgingly left the privacy of the showers.
“Are you hungry, my Lady?”
I nodded, “Yeah but maybe we can grab food and eat it down on the lowest level.”
We started walking, “Why the lowest level, Miss?”
“I need to start working on a physical prototype for some of the scanning equipment I'm reworking. I think I might have luck finding some odds and ends there.”
We continued walking in silence before another thought struck me, “Is there anything specific you would like to do today, Tarrek?”
The astartes remained silent for a moment, “No, I don't believe so.”
“Well how about you show me your favorite part of the ship and we go there today after we find pieces for the prototype?” I offered.
I had a new plan forming in my mind. The barest hints of a whisper working its way into an idea.
“You have already been there, my Lady.” He responded.
“And where might that have been? Surely not the cafeteria.” We were approaching a slightly less busy mess hall at this very moment.
“No, my Lady: the sparring rings.”
I sought out a nutrient bar, “We should start sparring more then.”
The soldier was screening the area for any threats, as always, “It would be a good idea, my Lady.”
I ripped open the bar and dug in, “I don't know how to get to the bottom level from here, you'll have to lead the way.”
He nodded and stepped ahead of me. “How is your work going?”
I sighed, “Slow. I'm not sure how to calibrate the old sensors without outright losing some of the other key functions… the computers in them are getting overloaded quickly.”
He turned into a maintenance corridor and pointed to a set of double doors. “Elevator is this way, Miss.” We stepped in. “What are we searching for?”
I shrugged, “Ideally some wire, an old computer, some ground spikes, and a battery or two.” I should've brought my notes with me. “Oh, and also a box of dirt.”
The doors slid open to the factory floor. It was busier than my initial trip there. I was suddenly happy to have Tarrek as an extra set of eyes since it was loud and overwhelming immediately.
“Any ideas where to start?” I called over the machinery whirling around us.
Tarrek scanned the scene before gesturing towards a ramp diagonal to us. “A floor manager would have some insight.”
We made our way across the area slowly. Nobody gave us particular mind, but cleared the way due to Tarrek's presence. There were only two pairs of Ultramarines patrolling the area.
Finally we made it the ramp built to oversee the floor. A tall, gaunt human man stood on a section of scaffolding overhead. The ladder up wasn't meant to hold an astartes, obviously.
I turned to Tarrek, “I'll be right back.”
“Be careful, my Lady.”
I climbed up the ladder, trying to avoid my discomfort of heights.
“Excuse me, sir.” I startled the man looking down at the screen in front of him.
He immediately scowled at me. “What do you want?”
Determined to be unmoved by his irate tone, “Yes, I was looking for spare wire and computer parts for my research-”
“Bah,” he almost spat on me, “Ain't no damned spare bits for you to sell on the next planet here on my floor, girl.”
I blinked. “Sir, as I just stated they are for research-”
He took a menacing step forwards and shoved me back, I stumbled concerningly close to the ladder. “Get gone, you damn scrap slut.”
I nodded, “Uh, have a nice day.” I slowly climbed back down the scaffolding to Tarrek.
He held out an arm as I jumped down the last bit. “Well?”
I shook my head. “Dude was an actual bastard and damn near pushed me off the ledge for asking… we'll have to look elsewhere.”
“...my Lady?” Tarrek shifted.
“Do you think the next floor over would have anything?”
Tarrek didn't respond and instead started climbing the scaffolding.
It groaned under his weight.
I could only watch in morbid curiosity as he made it to the top in three graceful leaps from rung to rung.
Not a moment later, the man who was rude to me was dangling over the edge of his perch - a large Ultramarine hand keeping him aloft by his arm.
I panicked, “Tarrek, that doesn’t seem necessary!” I called out. People were gawking at the scene.
Tarrek looked down over the edge before jumping down and landing in front of me, floor master still in his clutches.
If the man was pale before, he looked absolutely pallid now. “Uh, my Lady, let me apologize profusely for my misspeaking…”
“What the actual fuck Tarrek?”
“My Lady, rest assured that he will be executed for his transgressions.” Tarrek was still holding the squirming man by his arm.
I shook my head so fast I made my self dizzy, “No, no… I'll settle for knowing where old supplies are kept.”
“Two floors over, my Lady… in the wing with all our smaller aircraft.” The man was crying at this point.
I nodded. “OK thank you… Tarrek leave the man to his work.”
Tarrek promptly dropped the man, who landed on the floor and immediately started bowing in supplication.
“Oh that's not really necessary-” I was immensely uncomfortable and people were looking.
Tarrek put a boot to the side of the man. In his armor, it was almost the size of his torso. “Ma'am I believe that this is far kinder than what he deserves.”
The man started sobbing and babbling nonsense even faster.
“Let's just go.” This was really uncomfortable. “The aircraft hangar, you said?” An unexpected boom to our current expedition.
He sniveling man nodded again, “Yes, yes my Lady.”
“Alright Tarrek lets go.” I turned in a random direction and started walking to the first set of doors I could find.
Once Tarrek led me to the far side of the ship, I could breathe a little more readily.
We paused to take some time in the aircraft hangar. Seeing massive jets come and go through the airlock was fascinating. Even aboard battle cruisers while in the military I had never seen anything quite as intricate.
Eventually, though, after I had stood in awe of the operation for long enough, we made our way across the internal airport and to the corner of the ship dedicated to junk.
It was glorious, the amount of stuff all shoved in a dark corner of our cruiser. It must have been collecting for decades. It was a treasure trove that I'd absolutely be able to utilize to my advantage.
We had been sitting through piles for a while and I was gently trying to correct Tarrek.
“I just don't think it's appropriate to threaten someone's life when they just happened to be slightly rude.” I explained for the hundredth time, it felt.
“My Lady, he should at least have his hands cut off for touching you, to serve as an example.”
I sighed, “Tarrek, I am not worth harming another soul over.”
Tarrek stilled from shifting through mountains of junk. An adeptus mechanicus scurried around somewhere on a large pile of old parts behind him. It was somewhat humorous to watch.
The Ultramarine started digging through old broken computers again. “I should have killed him immediately after gaining the Intel we needed.”
“No,” I threw a random screw at him. “We could have asked somewhere else. We were bound to find this place eventually.”
“My Lady, what if you fell when he pushed you?”
I shrugged. “You would have caught me.”
He didn't respond.
I narrowed my eyes, “You would have caught me, right?”
He nodded, “Always, my Lady.”
“Well,” I shrugged, “then I don't see why it was such a big fuss.”
“You are a Queen. In no place in this galaxy or the next would the floor master's actions gone unpunished.”
I set a promising piece of hardware to the side. “Tarrek, I am a political pawn of unknown value. There are tens of millions of people like me in this universe.”
“You are the sole wife of the Primarch Roboute Guilliman.”
I fished out another shiny bit of metal from the pile in front of me, “Who is to say I'll even be the sole wife of Roboute for long anyways? I'm sure he'd take a second or third if it meant he had the political alliances he wanted.”
Tarrek turned fully towards me. “You believe that of Primarch Guilliman?”
I sighed and tossed the metal bit aside, “I think he has multiple things in his life he cares about far more than me.”
Tarrek handed me a piece of thick metal that could be used as paneling on the prototype. I reached for it, he held it just out of grasp.
“You mentioned nobody caring for you yesterday. I cannot see that being true.”
I shrugged but felt my heart squeeze a little at the kind words, “I was feeling dramatic.” I learned further towards him to grab the piece.
He slowly placed it in my hand. “I care for you, my Lady.”
Its his job.
I pushed the ugly thought down and allowed myself to feel a moment of happiness in his statement.
I placed the piece in our growing “keep” pile.
“I care for you too, Tarrek. Thank you for being by my side. Even when it's boring.”
He looked around the room, “Admittedly I did not think I'd be an astartes who spends their time sorting through trash.”
<><><>
As a reward for his patience, I stopped myself from going overboard on the pieces we had collected and decided to delay putting a rough model together. Instead I opted to go to the sparring gym with Tarrek, as I had promised.
Tarrek made a quick stop at his room to change into just his bodysuit and we were on our way.
“So… whatcha thinking for sparring today?” I asked casually as we made our way to the ring.
Outside of his suit, he walked silently. “Let's work on your punching form.”
I nodded, “That isn't very fun for you.”
He gave a, dare I say, boyish grin in response. “To be honest with you, Miss, it's more fun than standing and waiting for you to work on research.”
“Fair enough.” I started to square off against Tarrek.
He appraised it quickly, “Shift your weight onto your right a little.”
I followed his command. “I have a random question.” I said, as we re-set spots and went over yet another version of a dodge.
“What is it?” He got back into his own position.
“Do you remember your family?” I asked before immediately rolling to the side to dodge a particularly fast lunge. My shoulder hurt where I had been trying to consistently fall properly.
He shook his head, “Not really. I know I had a sister but I left before any real memories of her.”
I frowned. “I'm sorry to hear that Tarrek.”
“I have plenty of brothers now.”He swiped at me - faster than before. I was getting better at timing things. “I have a question for you, if you'd permit me asking it.”
“Go ahead.” I dodged another startlingly fast swing.
“What was your family like?” He asked.
I held up a hand as he readied himself for another attack. I was getting winded. “I am the youngest of five. My parents were married for political gain, just like each of their parents were before.” I enjoyed the cool air for a moment. “It was peaceful, I suppose. I was far more fortunate than many on my planet… I always had food and shelter and I had the best education possible.”
“What were your siblings like?”
I laughed, “I was actually closest to my oldest sister; her and her husband are primed to take over my home. My brothers and I didn't get along, and my other sister was married off when I was young so I never really knew her.”
I swallowed, “My oldest sister… she's so smart. She reminds me in a lot of ways of my mom, but better. My sister is lucky too. She and her husband love each other a lot. When we were kids the two of them helped raise me and taught me how to draw and do math.”
“My parents weren't around all that much, truthfully. I'm the youngest of five so it's not like I had any great line of inheritance. They let me be for the most part.” I popped my neck and got back on the mat. “Why do you ask?”
He glanced towards the scar on my head, “I'm just surprised you were permitted to be harmed.”
I laughed, “I was a rebellious child. I don't think any of my family could have stopped me from getting a few scars even if they dedicated half their armies to keeping me out of harm.”
He smiled and lunged, I ducked out of the way quickly, “Well thank you for making my job relatively easy then, my Lady.”
When he came at me again, I let myself be tackled to the floor and laughed, “Don't thank me yet.”
He gave me a sideways glance as we got up, “Why wouldn't I?”
I felt lighter than I had in years, gazing across an empty gym, sweaty and semi breathless.
I didn’t respond, and instead started on my own attacks.
<><><>
I hadn't gone back to Guilliman’s room in a few days. This time it wasn't nearly as purposeful: I was simply busy getting the prototype working and hadn't returned. Tarrek sent someone to fetch my clothes and they always returned with fresh ones without difficulty. I had been using the showers near his room after regular sparring practice since they were more convenient than heading all the way back to Guilliman's wing.
I had been going non-stop, up until this moment.
The dirt I had found was too soft to drive the spikes of the prototype into. I sighed and sat down in my little work area.
As it would turn out, I didn't need to make a dirt box when the ship had multiple decorative gardens strewn about the area.
“Tarrek,” I looked up as a pair of businessmen walked by and purposefully avoided eye contact, “am I an embarrassment?”
The ever-patient astartes had made no comment when I took my box of prototype junk and started digging through the fauna decorating the ship earlier that day.
I had been at it for roughly three hours and had only been approached once by a brave soul who pointed out that I was about to step on a quasi-rare plant specimen.
The astartes shifted for a moment, “This behavior isn’t what I'd expect from a Queen, to be perfectly sincere, my Lady.”
I sighed and threw my spade in the ground. “This dirt is garbage. I can't get enough pressure with the sensors to get it to begin the program for basic readings.”
In his defense, Tarrek was attempting to be helpful while I tinkered with the small metal wedge in front of me.
“What does it need to begin reading?”
I dug some dirt up with my hand. The planter box was only about mid-calf height on me. It was loosely packed throughout.
“It's meant to read rock, so almost anything but this.” I looked around dejectedly before a small sprinkler caught my eye. “It may work in mud though!”
I started digging. “Tarrek, do you think you could fetch me a bucket of water from the cafe?”
He took a moment too long to reply again. “Yes, my Lady.”
I kept creating a hole where I could wedge the device into while Tarrek came back. Gleefully, I filled the area with water and dirt and let everything settle before attempting to start the prototype again.
It turned on!
Then it turned off again!
“Fuck.” I slammed my hand in the dirt.
At that moment, two Ultramarines came into the area and towards me.
I glanced at Tarrek nervously. He turned to face them and dipped his head.
“Brothers.”
They nodded in response. I stood up and started dusting the dirt off my pants.
“My Lady, Lord Guilliman is requesting your presence in one hour at his side-chamber meeting room.”
I nodded slowly, “Thank you, I will be there.”
They, too, stared for a moment too long before nodding politely in unison and walking away.
I started throwing everything into the bin I had insisted on carrying around. “Well at least I have enough time to clean up.”
“Are you sure you don't need to take a trip to the library first, my Lady?”
I gave him a sharp glance then looked away for a moment. Perhaps I could ditch Guilliman for the library again?
No. I had already snuck away from Guilliman while sleeping. I had planned on returning to our dinners, albeit begrudgingly. I may as well face Guilliman somewhere other than the bedroom. Perhaps we'd be on more even ground.
“It's tempting.” I exhaled, “But let's just drop this off and then I need to change.”
<><><>
Guilliman was even more imposing in his council room, where he was expected to be a commanding figure. My hopes of being brave and talking to him directly were quickly crushed by his aura alone.
“Little wife. I wasn't sure if you were coming.” He gave a slight smile.
I was scanning the room: it was plain, white walls with multiple planetary maps framed on the walls.
He cleared his throat and I returned my attention to him. “I am taking a meeting with your father soon. I believed it was appropriate to have you beside me for it.”
“For what reason?” It's not like I had any sway in the decisions made by Guilliman or my father.
His eyebrows furrowed for a moment. “Wouldn't you like to speak to your father?”
“I could have contacted my father at any time up until now. Why would I choose to speak with him during a meeting?”
The comm rang before Guilliman could answer. He gestured me to his side and I stepped next to him like a good wife as he answered the video.
“Ah Lord Guilliman, and my lovely daughter. It is wonderful seeing the both of you!” My father looked ecstatic. Never once had he ever spoken to me with such joy.
I dipped my head, “Father.”
Roboute smiled, sharp and dangerous as always. “It is good to hear from you again. I believe you wished to discuss the last bit of details about the trade routes you are supplying, correct?”
My father cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, all is going extremely well and I'm happy to say-”
I zoned out. Off-planet infrastructure wasn't my forte.
I only paid attention again when my father said, “And as for the troops promised, I am proud to say that we are able to double the number promised-”
“Double?” I interjected. “Where could you possibly have found double the troops?”
Father flashed a smile, “Your niece has started a very successful recruitment campaign in the local schools-”
I saw red. “Absolutely not. You are not draining the establishments I fought tooth and fucking nail-”
Lord Guilliman placed a massive hand on my shoulder, holding me up as much as the weight of it pushed me down. “While we both deeply appreciate your enthusiasm, I believe what my wife and I are trying to say is that, at this time, we are unable to provide supplies for more troops than expected. It is likely most appropriate for them to continue their schooling while on reserve.”
Distantly, I was ecstatic that my husband was supporting me. More acutely, I was fucking livid with my father.
“No, I think what I meant was-”
Guilliman squeezed tighter, my shoulder blade ground into my ribs and I decided to stop talking.
Ever the diplomat, the Primach continued to smile, “It is good to hear that our marriage brought you the resources to flourish. The trade routes we discussed will have officiants placed on your planet within the next season for you.”
My father immediately forgot about me and became entranced by my husband again, smiled dopily and nodded. “Of course, of course my Lord.”
“Well I am happy that you are all well, thank you for taking the time to finalize plans today.” Guilliman stated.
“Yes, well I hope you are both well and that my daughter is making you a happy man.” The words were stated casually, but I could feel them aimed at me.
Roboute laughed, like he and my father were old friends, and nodded. “Yes, yes, we are well.”
“Are you, daughter? Your mother wishes to know that you are content.” Father outright addressed me for the first time tonight.
The Primarch's hand felt noticeably heavier as he smiled down at me, eyes blazing.
I nodded and forced a diplomatic smile of my own. “Please let mother know that I am well.”
He nodded briefly before turning to Guilliman. “Well I will leave you two to your business. Reports will be sent to you shortly.”
The call ended.
Guilliman's hand stayed on my shoulder as he guided me to a large chair. “Take a seat.”
He sat diagonally from me on his own massive chair. I realized then that some of the spots at his table were meant for humans. The majority were meant for his sons.
“Would you like anything to drink?” He asked. A computer tablet was down in his hands. He was clicking through it slowly.
I shook my head, resuming scanning the room for all its smaller details. My home planet map was to my right. I wonder if the maps chosen were relevant somehow?
He typed in some information on the screen in front of him before shutting it off and tapping his fingers slowly on the table. An oddly human habit. “For all of my planning, I did not expect you to be an impulsive soul.”
I remained silent.
His hand stopped moving. “Word got back to me that you have been able to begin trials with your research today.” A polite way to say that I was seen playing in the mud. “Tell me, how has that been? I haven't had an update since our last dinner.”
A small knock at the door, a tray of food was placed between us. In front of me, a cup of the hot drink I had grown fond of since the barista gave it to me the day of “the incident”. I frowned at the implication of him knowing my order.
I reluctantly took a sip, ignoring the food even though it was now our regularly scheduled meal time.
“There isn't much more to update you on since our last dinner. I just found some parts to make a prototype… er, replica… of the older models and now I'm seeing if I can get the updated programing to work under current conditions.”
“And finding equipment went well?” A pointed question, his tone slightly more terse.
Ah, he knew. I took another sip of my drink, “We were able to sort out parts without any real difficulty.”
His gaze lingered, I could feel it as if he were still holding my shoulder. “What would be your next steps?”
I hadn't considered it yet. “Well ideally we find some conditions that we can test the piece in. I don't know if we can create an environment here on the ship, so I suppose I'd be taking a trip out to a nearby asteroid for a day or two…”
Roboute reached forward and grabbed a piece of food, “Is that so?”
I hugged my knees to my chest, “It's an option. I could also give up on utilizing the old foundational programming and just start it all from scratch.”
“Hmm,” he scratched his clean shaven face, “how long would that take?”
I rested my forehead on my knees, “Months at least.”
“You make it sound like you're running out of time, my love.” I knew he was looking at me again.
I suppose there was no rush. “Yeah, but there's only so many projects I'll be able to get to in my lifetime, I just wish this one was going a little smoother so I could move onto different ideas.”
My lifetime. A blink of the eye compared to his.
He didn't seem to think of that fact. Or maybe he wasn't concerned.
“Unfortunately your work may be slowed further. I want you to begin attending basic meetings. Now that you know the ship and have had time to explore, it is time you start learning how to run it.”
I must have looked dismayed because he laughed lightly, “Just enough to know the inner workings more in depth. A few hours every other sleep cycle. You won't be a quarter master unless you wish to be.”
I let out a deep breath. “That seems reasonable.”
He dropped his voice slightly, “Then in the evenings you can return to our chambers.”
I rubbed my eyes hard. It had been a long day. “I still hate that fucking bed.”
“I had it replaced. The room is rearranged completely.” I remained silent and downed the dregs of my cup, “You would know if you weren't avoiding me once again.” He glanced at me pointedly.
I frowned, “I haven't been avoiding you. I have been busy.”
He grabbed a clean mug set aside on the table and poured a different hot drink into it before nudging it towards me. “I had been hoping to begin waking up next to you.”
“You never sleep anyways.”
He poured a cup for himself as well. Primarch-portioned mugs, I noted.
His brows furrowed, “You know that is untrue since you snuck away from me while I was sleeping just a few nights back.”
I scoffed. “I hardly snuck away. I made no effort to be quiet and you didn't budge at all.”
“I wished you by my side when I awoke all the same.” He took a sip of the drink.
I followed suit. “Fine then we can sleep together in the apparently new bed tonight.”
He glanced towards a video screen above us. “Unfortunately I have meetings for the next 16 hours.”
I couldn't help but roll my eyes.
“Now now little wife. Don't come off as too eager to give affection to your husband.” He teased.
The conversation was almost like our previous ones, over dinners.
He gestured towards my mug, “Do you like the tea?”
I took a more careful sip then nodded. “I've never tasted anything like it before.”
“It is from my home planet. I keep a small patch of the leaves on the fourth floor of the ship.”
“I didn't realize there was another floor to the ship.”
He nodded. “In places. It's not all connected. Come, I can show you before my next meeting.”
He stood suddenly. I followed suit and he led me to a set of stairs behind a nondescript door in the hallway just across the meeting room.
The passageway at the top was wooden: something even I had only seen rarely in my life of relative luxury.
Little terrariums were placed tastefully around the room. Sweet smelling blossoms stemmed from most of them.
A neat desk sat in the middle of it all.
“Oh it's just your office?” I was mildly disappointed.
He traced over a vine gently, “This is the plant from the tea you just tried.” He looked somewhat peaceful.
I lingered in the doorway. The room was borderline claustrophobic with the Primarch in it.
A more sinister thought came to my mind: He has to get through you to leave.
“I've been meaning to ask,” my gaze followed where he was slowly admiring some of his plants. “Who was the woman you were with?”
He paused. For the slightest of moments. If I weren't looking for any form of reaction, I wouldn't have caught it.
“A serf woman.”
“That you care for?” I asked kept my eyes glued to his face although he didn't make eye contact.
He moved slowly to his next set of plants, “No.”
I took a moment to reflect, “Then why do it?”
The primarch made his way towards his desk and cleared his throat, shifting through things for an excruciatingly long moment. “Our marriage clause didn't call for monogamy. I thought it appropriate when-”
My ears rang and my vision was hazy. A horrible sound was coming out of my chest. The reaction was immediate.
Oh.
I was laughing.
Hysterically.
It felt like my lungs were crawling up my throat. My stomach close behind. I was laughing to hard my body hurt.
“Husband, I would say go fuck yourself but I have no doubt you'll make full use of someone else to do it for you.” I finally managed between breaths.
Roboute, in all his stoic godlike demeanor, had the nerve to look somewhat upset by the statement. Or at least confused.
I didn't wait for whatever his retort was. Instead I took a step back down the stairs and out of the doorway, letting gravity and my body weight slam his office door with a satisfying ‘crack’.
<><><>
I thankfully didn’t run, or even power walk, out of the wing this time around. Guilliman didn't follow me and I was livid enough that I was secretly hoping to drag out the argument into the public eye. Let his people see what jackass he was to his wife.
Rationality won over quickly. It was unlikely anybody on the ship would be on my side. He was the most beloved son in the galaxy. I was likely only going to be seen as his first, and brattiest, wife.
Besides, just because monogamy was something that was practiced on my own planet and all of my siblings own marriages, it didn't mean that my father would have set the same expectations for mine.
There were going to be millions of other people in his lifetime far superior to me. It was time to make my peace with that.
It didn't make me less upset. But, wishing for a standard marriage with a Primarch was overall impractical. I didn't know Roboute's end goal, but I had unwittingly become a pawn in it.
The clarity hurt. But it was also liberating, to a degree.
You are a player in his game. Your marriage is words on a paper. You are a means to an end.
You are a really fucking good scientist.
“I am a really fucking good scientist.”
Tarrek turned, “My Lady?”
At this point I had been pacing my office for a bit. Talking to myself and shadow boxing Roboute Guilliman.
Emperor, I wished he wasn't the protector of quintillions of lives. If he were just a man I'd find a way to have him spend the rest of his life in the mines.
Well, maybe not that harsh.
But either way. Guilliman couldn't be harmed or else legitimate, warp-driven, chaos would ensue.
I laid down on the office floor. Tarrek was accustomed to the behavior by now. “Is it wrong to seek out my own happiness? Like if it was at nobody's expense?” I asked aloud.
“Astartes aren't meant to understand such concepts.”
I turned my head towards him, “You were right by the way. When you mentioned the infidelity being part of the contract.”
I sighed. “Either way. I want my own room. I'm sick of sneaking in and out of Guilliman's wing… maybe something on the second floor? The living quarters?”
“That is below your station, my Lady. And securing the area would be difficult.”
“Do you have a better idea? I'd settle for a pillow and blankets on the floor at this point. I'd just live out of my backpack for clothes…”
I wish I could read his facial expressions. In armor, it was impossible.
“My Lady, there may be some appropriate chambers nearer to the astartes section of the ship.” I didn’t expect him to offer a solution.
“Wonderful. Let's start getting my room set up there and then we can return to my research.”
“Please plan on sleeping tonight, Miss. You will be starting basic training for ship protocols tomorrow, per Guilliman's orders.” He reminded me.
I sighed. I had forgotten already. The prospect didn't sound as pleasing as it had initially.
<><><>
Thankfully, it was Shan who was in charge of teaching me the inner workings of the ship. It was overwhelming, but overall useful information that I begrudgingly admitted was necessary. There were emergency procedures I had never considered in case of attacks, fire routes, access hallways I hadn't even noticed: an entire underlying ecosystem to the ship that I had willfully ignored.
It took a lot longer than expected and I found myself yearning for some quiet time in my impromptu office, despite genuinely enjoying Shan's company.
By the end of the day my brain hurt from all the information that I insisted on outright memorizing. Instead of jumping straight into my personal project, I found myself sitting at the edge of the small bed in my new room and appreciating some of the silence.
“Tarrek?”
The door to the room opened and the astartes ducked in. “My Lady?”
“Today when I was talking to Roboute, he had known about my adventures in the dirt…” I trailed off. “I don't remember any other Ultramarines around to report my proceedings.”
“My Lady, there are cameras everywhere on this ship and you are well known at this point. It would be safe to assume that myself, Guilliman, and your four silent guards know of your proceedings at all points in time.”
“Silent guard?”
“The two other battle brothers that stand at the end of your hallway and deliver messages from Lord Guilliman. They are your personal guard as well.”
“And the others?”
“They remain in the same sector of the ship as you and maintain a larger perimeter. You likely will never see them unless something goes astray.”
I swallowed, tapping down the feeling of intense paranoia with the new information. “And, you mentioned that I was well known?” That didn't seem accurate.
“All Ultramarines and staff on this ship were expected to know your face and background prior to the wedding, per Guilliman's orders.”
Imagine that. Everyone knew me and I had yet to interact with anyone besides a handful of people regularly.
My palms were sweating. “I don't know what to make of that. With the factory floor manager situation… I assumed that I had some form of anonymity here.”
“No ma'am, Guilliman gave orders that none on this ship approach you unless directly ordered, for your safety and so you could settle in… it seems as though the floor manager did not follow those orders.”
<><><>
It was another three sleep cycles before I got the chance to get back to my office to continue researching. By the end of it all, I had the basic supplies orders and shipments planned along our route memorized inside and out.
When I got there I was immediately surprised by a large stone pillar sitting next to the doorway.
“Tarrek, do you know what this is?”
“Lord Guilliman ordered stone brought onto the ship to trial your sensors.”
I nodded slowly, taking it in.
“This could work to start.” I eyed the piece of rock. “I might be able to put a second prototype in it if we can find the scrap for another one.”
I don't think Tarrek was particularly impressed by the rock because he remained politely stoic.
I continued, “We will need a way to drive the sensing wedge into it.” I glanced at him, “I won't be strong enough to do it alone.”
“I will help, my Lady.”
I smiled. “Let's try it now.”
I grabbed the metal wedge that had been sitting in the office.
“Normally we have a team using large hammers, but maybe you can just wedge it in yourself?”
“And the piece won’t break?”
I frowned. “It shouldn’t. It’s meant to be driven into rock.”
Tarrek took the metal piece from my hand, making it look miniscule, and started tapping it into the pillar placed in the hallway.
A few solid taps and it held.
A firmer pound with his fist. The machine held, the pillar cracked and fell to the floor in pieces with a loud cracking sound.
I sat against the hallway wall in defeat.
I was going to have to scrap the whole project and build a new machine. Exactly the opposite of my first goal.
<><><>
The hangar was busy, per usual as I made my way back from the supply room, bag loaded down with metal trinkets and tools.
A quick chat with the overly pleasant head of air traffic control confirmed that all was running on schedule.
The ship I needed was just across the way, currently unloading munitions. After this landing, they were then headed to a local planetary drop spot before returning to catch up with Guilliman's slow moving fleet.
A quick two week stint, relatively speaking.
I made my way across the hangar quickly, trying to not look conspicuous as I approached the relatively small vessel.
Tarrek was showering and taking some alone time (which traditionally never boded well for him in regards to my own impulsiveness), and the four other guards who were supposed to be around were nowhere to be seen.
They were supposed to stop others from harming me, not me from myself, I quickly had surmised.
The pilot was quietly talking another ship merchant when I approached. They both paused their conversation and turned towards me once I was within a few strides.
I dipped my head, “Gentlemen, I apologize for interrupting but I need a private word with this ship's pilot when you are done.”
The tall merchant spoke, “We were just wrapping up, my Lady.” He spun on his heel and strode away quickly.
“Can I see the wares you're taking back, please?” I asked the visibly confused pilot.
“I will not be-” I gave him a pointed look that he thankfully understood. “Of course, you are welcome to see the basic return cache. Follow me.”
We were led into a cramped cargo space, full of empty containers.
“I'm sorry for putting this on you suddenly, but I find myself in urgent need of transit to Xanartha and you are the only ship headed that way at this time.”
The pilot shook his head, “Sorry ma'am, but the paperwork-”
“I can override all paperwork.” It was a bluff. I had no control over the freight and ship logs at all. I felt my demeanor crumble a bit in desperation but attempted to remain calm. “Do the math to include one more soul on board and we will leave as planned.” I dropped my supplies in the small hold and hopped out of the cargo ship and glanced at the massive hangar clock, “We will still leave in fifteen minutes, have the ship running. I will be back.”
I tried not to move so quickly that I looked suspicious or frantic, but it was hard when I was filled with adrenaline. The hangar supervisor gave me a curious look as I approached before bowing slightly.
“Ship 10245-10-D3 will be carrying some of my research to its next destination. I apologize for the last minute flight log changes. I came to ask if there was any more formal documentation I needed to submit since the poor pilot looked frazzled.” I gave my most charming smile.
The man tapped at his computer a moment, “I will have my men do a scan now. So long as it is not viewed as contraband, I see no problem.”
I nodded. “Thank you for the assistance. It's just two bags of machinery pieces. Now, I apologize I should go to the pilot one more time and make sure he knows who he's delivering things to. I'll be back this afternoon because there's another ship I want to put supplies on…” I rambled on, burning time.
“Of course of course.” He was still looking down at the computer.
I sped back to my little unwitting rescue ship; baseline guardsmen were wrapping up their final search as I approached.
“All looks good, my Lady.” One called out.
I looked her in the eyes and smiled again, “Wonderful. Thank you for going out of your way to help.”
The pair saluted and walked away.
The pilot dropped out of the ship momentarily. “Ship was just cleared for take off, time to go.”
I took a deep breath.
“Alright lets go.”
A quick glance around the hangar showed that nobody was particularly looking at us.
I might get away with this.
I made my way into the ship and latched it. “Don't wait for me to lock in, let's just get going.” I called up front to the pilot.
The ship didn’t taxi as it left the hangar, it simply lifted for a moment in the air before launching forwards at breakneck speed. I barely had time to brace myself against a secure crate before the acceleration launched me into a wall.
I clung to the crate for what felt like an eternity before slowly making my way towards the cockpit when we reached cruising speed.
Tentatively, I took the spare seat next to the pilot. I placed the extra headset on and slowly started screening channels - waiting for the inevitable signal regarding my escape. The pilot gave me a brief glance but remained silent.
It was about a six hour trip. I was hoping that Tarrek wouldn't notice I was gone until about two hours in, then they'd search the ship for an hour or two… I hadn't really planned this far ahead. I hadn't meant to actually escape. I assumed maybe someone would question my actions or get suspicious.
All channels remained quiet the full trip and I found myself only relaxing once we hit the atmosphere to descend at our final destination.
We landed on the edge of a large building in the middle of the local hive city. It constantly had ships coming and going from various platforms. Relatively few people were actually about.
I stood and grabbed my supplies quickly the second the plane settled. “Thank you, I appreciate your help.”
And then I made my way into the odd looking airport in front of me.
Nobody gave me a second glance as I moved towards ground level. My research suggested that this planet had rail systems that could get me to the edge of the hive and towards a farming area within another relatively short stint. Between this planet's relatively close proximity to where we were passing, and its perfect mix of open fields and wide-spanning transit systems, it was the perfect option. Too good of an opportunity to miss.
Making my way onto the train was easy and I found a small corner where I could sit and eat a nutrient bar. I hadn't had an appetite until now.
The first bit of the ride was slow, with multiple stops within the city. I almost missed my own transfer station because of the volume of people circulating through the train.
The train past the outskirts was significantly less crowded with one guard and one conductor slowly meandering the aisles. I was able to grab an actual seat and settled in for the next bit of my journey.
The weather was supposed on and off storms - I couldn't carry a large amount of water plus my gear. I only brought two changes of clothing with extra socks, a very light tent tarp, and minimal rations to make it through the next two weeks before I needed to catch my return ship. The machinery weighed me down to the maximum I could tolerate for a few hours at a time and I couldn't physically carry more on me if I wanted to.
If I returned.
But if I didn't I would be without money, food, shelter, or any profitable skills in the countryside.
So I probably should plan on returning.
It felt nice to nap and gaze out of the window as we got further from the city and started passing through endless fields. I would have to find an area that was fallow where the constantly roaming tills weren't going to ruin my readings.
It was early morning on this particular planet when I finally arrived at the last stop before the train turned around.
Myself and three others got off the train. I immediately hopped the tracks and started making my way towards a rolling hill in the distance; a dirt trail showing that it wasn't an uncommon path to take.
I started down the route, forcing myself to ruck well until midday before taking a break. The hills were further than expected, but the path didn’t become overgrown and was still heading in an appropriate direction. The wind was starting to pick up and I could see clouds forming on the horizon.
Even as dirt was kicked up in my face, I found myself smiling - feeling like the gusts were blowing away my worries. How long had it been since I had felt the outside? Since my wedding… and even before then, it was barely anything. I hadn't realized how much I missed being on a planet until now.
It was time to pick up speed. My knees felt swollen as I forced myself onwards. The gravity was just slightly higher here - enough to cause fatigue gradually in all your joints. It wasn't anything that I hadn't handled before, I kept telling myself. I just couldn't afford to get cold in the rain, even in the mild climate.
How long had I been gone? Surely close to a full sleep/wake cycle at this point.
I hope Tarrek isn't about to get in trouble.
It had been tough deciding not to tell him. At the end of the day, I trusted he was more loyal to his brothers than me.
More time passed in silence. The ache in my left knee was quickly turning into a sharp pain with each step and it was significantly darker out.
Time to make camp.
Ducking off the small path, I made my way into a field of tall vines with an unknown small vegetable growing on them. They grew along carefully placed trellises and created a latticework overhead that would serve as cover from the rain.
I'd have to sleep light even with the extra cover.
Setting up my little sleeping bag and tarp covering, I settled in with a nutrient bar and started rebuilding my prototype. Some of it could probably survive jostling in my bag, but there were some pieces that would have to be assembled on-site.
Soon, it was too dark to work, and I didn't want to draw attention to myself with any light.
At some point the rain started coming down harder. My supplies did a good job of keeping me warm.
I half slept for a bit before a noise other than the storm woke me:
A helicopter, too low to the ground for standard protocols. At first it was a hum but as it got closer the sound of the propellers was almost deafening.
Bright beams accompanied it.
Did my tent blend in? Do I risk being seen if I move?
Should I run?
Is it worse if I do?
Maybe it's not for me.
Then, the sound of troops marching. I may not have been on a battlefield myself, but I had run enough drills with the local Ultramarine faction to have the sound burned into my memory.
Astartes weren't quiet, even when in groups of 3 or 4.
Even with the wind, their filtered mechanical voices carried through the air.
I made the decision to slowly pack my tent and leave my prototype to the side. I was far enough from the path that I was certain they wouldn't hear me. Especially not with the helicopter above. It was unlikely they'd see me from the path either.
The helicopter would likely see my supplies though, with how slowly and thoroughly it was maneuvering its light source.
Its too dark out to see… they're probably looking for a heat signal.
The vinyl of the tent could probably mask some of it, but it'd be loud to take with me through the vines.
Did I really want to run?
You planned on returning.
I missed the sun. I got to see it today.
I decided to start moving deeper into the thicket. Ideally back behind the search group instead of trying to stay in front of them. I didn't have any plan for survival past that, but that wasn't a concern at this time.
It was slow work, I couldn’t see much ahead of me. Rain was starting to get under the vinyl and I was cold.
Deeper in the fields the vines were getting thicker. Instead of leaving an obvious path to cut through, I was starting to wind my way through the messy rows.
The helicopter was passing where I had spent the night. It was behind me now, the beam ending within a few paces of my current location. Everything around me smelled overwhelmingly sweet acrid like pesticide-ridden dirt and whatever crop was growing.
I pushed on until the sound of the helicopter was no longer in my ears. In fact, it was absent altogether.
It had landed.
I needed to move quicker.
Abandoning my previous strategy and hoping the vines would give me all the cover I needed, I ditched my vinyl and started moving through the vines quicker - hoping that I was still going away from the main road. The clouds and thickets overhead were blocking out any constellation I could have used for frame of reference.
I was able to get good a good rhythm when I heard the exact thing I had been dreading.
Too close for comfort… less than a hectare away.
“Lady Guilliman, cease these antics at once.” an Ultramarine called out.
A terrible strategy, given that the vines were slowly scraping layers off any exposed skin, but I let instinct win and I started running.
“Stay in place and we will escort you back to the ship.” Even closer.
How much trouble was I in?
To my credit, I was able to run for far longer than I had expected, given that the astartes could use flame throwers and their hulking blades and mass to cut through the field whereas I was stuck dodging large roots.
However, I could tell that Guilliman’s hounds were catching up. I was tiring rapidly. There was no place to hide within the endless green and brown. The occasional calls were slowly getting closer and it was only a matter of time before they found my reckless path.
The sky was beginning to get lighter.
I paused for a moment before carefully slipping sideways into the bramble - hoping that it made my trail look like it disappeared.
Too tired to move quickly, too stubborn to face my defeat, and too scared to find out the consequences, I returned to picking my way through the field with no real direction in mind.
A loud crunch just to my right. A quick glance showed vines shifting in my periphery and blue armor.
I kept moving.
“My Lady, why are you still running?”
Tarrek. He didn’t have his helmet on, his voice unmistakable.
Something in his tone made me far colder than the rain did.
“I can hear you.” He called.
I pushed myself into a thick cluster of plants. He was unlikely to use a machete to make way through the cluster if I were in it.
I kept pushing forwards. His voice stayed at the same distance the whole time - neither gaining nor retreating.
Another call came just about an acre away to the right. Its response was out to my left.
I was being herded.
The thought alone made me want to throw up.
“I can smell you too.”
I started moving towards the astartes on the left, hoping to find a place where I could double back again.
He could've grabbed me by now.
A terrible thought.
“You're hurt, my Lady. Stop running.”
I will fight. My legs and hands were scraped through my clothes. Sap had combined with blood from my cuts and created an overwhelming itching sensation if I thought about it too long.
I stopped for a moment, letting Tarek continue his inevitable march towards me.
I'm better at dodging him while he's in armor.
I waited for the walls to close in.
From behind me, Tarrek leapt - a sudden and loud movement. I dropped out of the way and a piece of his ceramite clipped me. It hurt enough to cause my vision to swim momentarily.
Using the pathway his mass had created, I forced myself to run again and dip into a new thicket.
It was the dregs of any energy I had left.
I made it about half a minute before an armored hand stopped me, digging into my ribs enough that I could hear them physically creak.
Tarrek.
The look on his face was unreadable.
He didn't call for his brothers.
I shuddered.
“Let me go, Tarrek.” I attempted to order him. My voice was weak.
His armor dug into me more.
“Why did you run?”
Something along my spine cracked, “Let me go!” I shrieked.
His brothers hopefully heard.
His hand pushed me into the bramble as he let go, but his face was looming over mine. The heat coming off his used armor caused the foggy morning air to thicken into rolling steam. “You used my teachings against me.”
His breath smelled rancid.
I could only plead, “Please Tarrek. Let me go. If you care for me at all, let me leave.”
His expression didn't change. If he had any sympathy for me, it was long spent. “You try to flee the Imperium.”
He lifted his hand again, engulfing my face and neck in a too-gentle grip for the rage he was emitting.
His head moved to the corner of my jaw and shoulder, he rested it there as he knelt down, breathing heavily against the flesh. His weight made me sink into the thicket more, further ensnared.
“Why do you want to leave me?” It sounded as though he was about to cry.
I couldn't answer as the hand around my throat tightened and everything went black.
amandla
baratheonpilled
romaincrisis
