Domus Discordia Chapter 42

The cage was small and cramped, barely long enough for an Astartes to sit with his legs stretched out before him. The bars were cold and exposed, closing in on all sides, above and below. There was not enough room to stand, so all one could do was sit there, naked and cold. Wrethan didn't care though, it was better than he deserved.

Wrethan had not resisted when he was clapped in chains and dragged away, along with the other True Believers. Their capturers did not seem to know what to do with them and they had been left under the care of the Dreadnoughts while these cages had been hurriedly fashioned. The True Believers had been stripped of their armour and weapons then thrown into the cages, located in an empty Thunderhawk bay, while the Dreadnoughts watched on. The cages were too small, the bay was unheated, the lights never dimmed and they had no ablution facilities at all. By Astartes standards it was surprisingly generous of their gaolers.

Wrethan sat with his eyes closed but could still hear his compatriots talking. The True Believers were angry, they were resentful and they weren't being quiet about it. Wrethan could hear heated words being exchanged, accusations and threats of retribution. They didn't understand why they had surrendered, they didn't understand why they had not fought to the death, they simply couldn't process the concept of it. Wrethan kept quiet though, he understood, he knew exactly why it had been essential that they offered no resistance.

Wrethan's enhanced hearing could hear more than a few plotting to escape and a few others scheming to end his life at the first opportunity. One Marine was even trying to chew his way out of his cage, using his acidic salvia to dissolve the bars. He was quickly disabused of that notion by Dreadnought Hibernia, who loudly stomped over and informed him that if he persisted in his efforts then he would receive a Frag Cannon blast to the face. Between the cages, the Dreadnoughts and the unexpected appearance of the Librarians, there was no possibility of escape. Many of the True Believer couldn't have fled if they wanted to, one hundred and seventy-seven of them had gone into the battle and only ninety-one of them had survived. Half their force, annihilated in two minutes and every survivor bore crippling injuries of some sort. Wrethan was not concerned either way, even had his capturers been foolish enough to leave them unobserved he would not flee. It was his duty to stay here.

After a day or so had passed Wrethan heard footsteps approaching, smaller and less thunderous. He opened his eyes and saw the sight of Apothecary Memnos in scuffed white armour. Memnos was slowly working his way up and down the rows of cages, checking each survivor's injuries in turn. He was followed by a bevy of servitors, bearing pliable bowls filled with synthi-gruel, which they disturbed to the prisoners one by one. They were also escorted by Dreadnoughts Agincord and Tonnant, just in case anybody got any silly notions of resistance.

Wrethan waited serenely as Memnos spent an hour feeding the captives and checking their wounds. A few were so badly injured that they had to be assisted to eat, an indignity they bore stoically. Eventually Memnos came closer and two cages down Wrethan heard Captain Tygra snarl some invective, but a mechanical growl from Dreadnought Tonnant put a stop to that. With his torso missing both arms and shoulders, Tygra had to have the bowl of gruel held up to his lips but he guzzled it down, resentment burning in his eyes. Memnos moved on and soon reached Wrethan's cage. Here the Apothecary crouched down and said, "Wrethan you seem hale, an oddity in this company."

Wrethan calmly replied, "As the Emperor wills."

Memnos looked thoughtful and queried, "You're not plotting to escape?"

Wrethan was utterly serene as he replied, "I am exactly where I am supposed to be."

Memnos glanced over his shoulder and said, "Give me a moment."

Agincord growled louder but Memnos spat, "He's not going anywhere, give me some space."

The Dreadnoughts slowly ground around on their waist gimbals, giving the appearance of privacy but Wrethan was certain they could still monitor everything. Memnos passed a bowl of Synthi-gruel through the cage bars and quietly muttered, "I needed to speak to you, I need your counsel."

"Oh?" asked Wrethan taking a mouthful of Synthi-gruel, which he was reassured to find was as completely unpalatable as it had ever been. As the old joke went, their armour repair paste tasted better.

Memnos leaned in and whispered, "I have to know why you surrendered."

Wrethan swallowed, ignoring the familiar gag-reflex then said, "Because it was the right thing to do."

"The right thing," Memnos sighed, "I don't even know what that is any more."

Wrethan raised an eyebrow and remarked, "Surely you of all Brothers should be proud of yourself, you alone among Apothecaries retain your honour."

Memnos shook his head and uttered, "There are things you don't know about me, things I can't escape from. I have killed innocents, cruelly and with malice of forethought, now even my hypno-indoctrination cannot suppress the turmoil in my hearts. I see their faces when I close my eyes; I hear their cries when I eat, when I tend to my duties and when I mediate. They are with me constantly; I cannot stop hearing them, I can hear them now."

"You feel guilty," Wrethan concluded.

"Guilt?!" Memnos spat the word like it was an insult, "Astartes do not feel guilt, it is excised from our being. We do not tolerate such weakness."

"If only that were so," Wrethan sighed, "Space Marines were made to know no fear, but as for sorrow, anguish and remorse… in these ways we are not so far from human as many would like to believe."

Memnos leaned in and asked, "How do I get rid of it?"

Wrethan choked down his remaining Synthi-gruel and then stated, "You do not try. To avoid your guilt, to bury it under rage, despair, passion or avarice is the path to Chaos. That is the way of the Traitors, our lost kin who seek to drown their shame under an ocean of blood. To avoid such damnation you must atone for what you have done, you must seek the due punishment with an open heart. Accept without reservation or self-deception that you deserve your penance, only then can your guilt be expunged. Only then can you strive to be better than you were before."

Memnos took the bowl back and questioned, "Is that why you surrendered?"

"Partly," Wrethan said, "Now you should go, you have others to tend to."

Memnos stood up but before he departed the Apothecary asked, "Did you hear the news?"

"Guilliman lives," Wrethan remarked, "Yes, even here word reached us."

Memnos frowned and commented, "You don't seem very excited."

Wrethan closed his eyes and said, "It hardly matters, we will be executed long before he hears of us."

Memnos and the Dreadnoughts moved on, leaving Wrethan to his meditations. After a few minutes Wrethan heard a voice calling his name and he opened his eyes. Straight across from him was Captain Erathor, whose legs were neatly truncated at the thigh. Erathor saw him open his eyes and hissed, "Wrethan, did you mean it, are we to be executed?"

Wrethan replied calmly, "Do you doubt it?"

"Aren't you angry?" Erathor hissed, "Don't you want to do something?"

Wrethan replied placidly, "It is as it should be; we sinned and will suffer the consequences."

From further down the line Tygra spat, "Victor's justice, the winners taking out their retribution on the losers!"

Wrethan glared at him and growled, "Do we deserve any less?"

Tygra looked furious as he snarled, "They were wise to separate us, arms or not, I would kill you for your betrayal!"

Erathor concurred, "You abandoned the cause, you gave up the fight! What kind of Astartes are you?!"

Jeers came from all around as the True Believers repeated the calls and threats. Wrethan however felt his own ire stir and he barked, "Is that what you think of me?! That I abandoned the Chapter, that I gave up on us! Nothing could be further from the truth, I fought for the Chapter then and I fight for the Chapter now! Yes, even sitting here, in this cage, I fight for the sake of the Storm Heralds!"

"You are mad," Tygra sneered, "You've lost your mind!"

Wrethan drew in a breath and said, "Answer me this: What are Storm Heralds?"

Silence fell and Wrethan knew every one of his kin were listening intently as he proclaimed, "Are we our ships? Are we our armour or our weapons or the Fortress-Monastery? No, those are but the tools in our hands. What we are is a Brotherhood, a band of warriors, dedicated to upholding certain principles. Strip all else away from us and we will still have those ideals, we will still be Storm Heralds."

"You surrendered out of principle?" Erathor asked hesitantly, his voice uncertain.

Wrethan explained, "Loyalty, integrity, humble service and the protection of the Emperor's realm. These are the bedrocks of our identity, the foundations of our honour. We each swore to preserve those principles, against all threats, until our deaths. Those ideals yet live and so long as our principles survive the Storm Heralds will endure. Through our acts here our Chapter's honour can be saved!"

Tygra shook his head and said, "How does surrendering save the Chapter's honour?"

"Take yourselves out of the equation," Wrethan explained, "Consider this: two men fight, one led astray by lies, committing treachery and murder. The other standing for truth, against all odds, even when defeat seemed certain and danger loomed on all sides. Ask yourselves, who would you desire to win such a conflict? On which side of that line would you choose to stand?"

Erathor spat, "You peddle delusions and fallacies. The victor decides what is just, don't cling to higher notions than that."

Wrethan glared at him and snarled, "And what of Maxitio?"

"Maxitio," Erathor gulped going pale, "Maxitio… was my friend, the most honourable man I ever knew and I killed him."

Wrethan affirmed, "A good and noble Brother-Captain, cut down by his own blood kin. Maxitio lies in his grave while his killer still draws breath. Were it anyone else would, you not be screaming for justice? Would you not do all within your power to see your friend avenged?"

Erathor looked down and whispered, "I cannot deny the truth, I would not rest until his killer was dead. Maxitio's death demands justice."

"Do not hide from your shame, that is the path to Chaos," Wrethan stated, "Neither should you resist our executions, for they are most assuredly deserved. Our victorious kin see will justice done, they will restore our Chapter's honour and thus the Storm Heralds will rise from the ashes."

Yet Tygra spat, "They will do more than kill us, they will burn our gene-seed, cast our names from the Scrolls of Honour. We will have no legacy, our names will not be recited on the feast days, future generations will not even remember us."

"It does not matter if they remember us," Wrethan rebuked angrily, "We shall know that our deaths will restore our Chapter's honour. If we accept this without rancour, then the Emperor will see we are yet pure in our hearts and He will know the character of our spirits."

"You would have us go meekly to the executioner's chopping block?" Tygra spat.

"Our lives were forfeit the second we swore to serve the Chapter," Wrethan declared, "Our bodies, our minds and our souls, all offered up for the betterment of the Storm Heralds. Even the time and manner of our deaths was not ours to choose, the only choice any of us has have ever had was how we would face death when the hour came."

"I understand now why you surrendered," Erathor stated as he bowed his head, "I thought our only choices were between shameful death and lives of perfidy but I see now there is another option. We can yet die with pride, in the service of something noble, even if all others spit upon our names forevermore."

Wrethan lifted his head and declared for all to hear, "We die so the Chapter can live and it is right for us to do so. Join with me Brothers and let us commend our souls unto the Emperor. We shall meet Him soon and He shall see that we died for the nobility of our Chapter and that we knew no fear."