The fourth time he wakes, the pain is less, faded to a choking ache, that, while not easily ignored, can at least be pushed to the corners of his mind while he focuses on opening his eyes.
The Darkness rises up at once to stop his efforts, and a voice in the back of his mind, one that sounds suspiciously like the Red King of Prospero, reminds him that his task is impossible, that the stasis field's might will prove too much even for him. He ignores the voice, after all, he defied the chamber once, and he can do it again. It may take time, but he is nothing if not patient, and he has nothing better to do. He will do it again. And so, slowly, ever so slowly, it works.
He cracks his eyes open to find that he isn't alone in the grand marble hall of the Temple of Corrections. It takes him longer than he cares to admit to recognize the pacing form of Aeonid Theil, for his friend is older, much older, than when last he'd seen him.
He should have known to expect that; of course, time has passed since he was trapped; judging by the fact that Theil's once black hair has faded to a dull gray, and the deep wrinkles that crease his friend's face, it has been far longer than he dares to contemplate.
But even more unsettling, is the look on Theil's face, the tired slump of his shoulders, and the blacked scorch marks decorating his armor, they speak to utter hopelessness, desperation, and uncertainty that does not fit with the man he remembers.
Theil had always been the voice of optimism. Even when they had held the line against the worst the Warmaster could unleash against them. When his friend's homeworld burned and they faced the combined fleets of two fallen brothers despite being outnumbered ten to one. Even when he ignored his friend's counsel and left to fight his daemonic brother. Even when he lay dying, Theil had never given up hope.
What has his friend endured to change that?
He doesn't want to know the answer.
"That's not even the worst of it, you know?" Theil says as he paces before the stasis chamber. "The Nobility's games are nothing compared to the dark whispers from the Eye. Reports from Cadia indicate that the Traitor Legions are reforming. They're massing for a war the likes of which we haven't seen since the Hersey, and this time we don't have the might of the legions to back us."
His friend laughs mirthlessly, "Funny, isn't it? You thought splitting the legions would prevent another Heresy, but without them, we're scattered and defenseless easy targets." His tone turns cold, "Billions will curse your name before this is finished, and they'll be right to."
He's taken aback by Theil's vitriol. The decision to split the legion into chapters had been one that he'd agonized over for years before implementing. The Legions were powerful, yes, but they were unwieldy and put too much power in the hands of too few men. If their leaders fell, the Legions would follow and the Imperium would descend into another war they could not afford to fight. Chapters were smaller, more mobile, and their command structure was spread among more men. If one leader fell, then the rest could intervene, stopping the corruption before the chapter was lost.
He had made that decision knowing that the unity of the legions would be destroyed. The grand armies of marines would be gone forever, their unstoppable power lost to history. He had been so sure that there would be no need for them, that the traitors' pitiful remnants could be easily swept away, never to rise again. He had gambled with what, at the time, had been sure odds. Theil had known that, hadn't he?
But now... if what Theil says is true, if this coming war is even half as terrible as Horus's Rebellion, then his decision has damned the very Imperium he sought to save. The scattered chapters will face the renewed might of the Traitor Legions and, bar a miracle, the tides of battle will wash them away. Cold horror settles in his gut, his theoretical has fallen short. He gambled with lives and lost, so now the cold practical: humanity will pay the price for his mistakes. What has he done?
"We lost Gage." Theil says unexpectedly, jarring him from his self-pity.
"He died well," his friend continues as if he hadn't just announced the death of his Chapter Master. "With his sword buried in the guts of the Deamon who killed him. But he's gone all the same. So now I'm the only man in the Thirteenth who can say that he knew you personally because Gage is dead because you split the legions and we didn't have the men to get him out and hold our position!"
"I'm sorry, that was unfair." His friend says when he has mastered himself. "You did what you thought was best, and perhaps it will prove to be so."
He is suddenly aware that Theil is clad in an unfamiliar set of Terminator armor, and bears the heraldry and sigils of the Chapter Master. How had he not noticed before?
"But we're not ready. Not for what's coming."
Theil sighs bitterly, then looks up. Their eyes meet for an instant, then his friend winces and turns away.
"We may be damned, but we will fight to the end. The Ultramarines will walk unflinching to our deaths just as you did, all those years ago."
He was a fool, confronting Fulgrim as he did, his sons shouldn't strive for that, surely there is another option.
"Chapter Master?" A marine in the livery of the Honor Guard stands at the entrance of his hall.
Theil turns, shoulders straight and a half-smile tugging at his lip, the picture of confident leadership. "Aye?" he asks, and his friend's voice holds no trace of the despair he had vented.
"It is time." The words hold a crushing finality.
Theil nods and with one last look at his stasis chamber, turns and strides toward the doors which fall shut behind him.
He sits in silence, worrying over the fate of his sons and the guilt of past actions until the darkness returns to sweep him into oblivion.
Chapter Master Aeonid Theil will not have the time to tell anyone that he saw his Primarch's eyes open. He'll try to convince himself that the sight was a vision brought on by fatigue and grief, or stress and wishful thinking, nevertheless, it gives him hope, and the strength he needs to face what is coming.
The war that will be known as the First Black Crusade sweeps across the Galaxy, Abbadon the Despolier's forces stream out from the Eye of Terror to wreak havoc, horror, and untold suffering. They are stopped at the fortress world of Cadia, but the price is high, almost more than the Imperium can pay.
Author's Note:
Heh, so funny story, I wasn't panning for Theil to show up, but he decided that he had some things to say, so who was I to argue? And for the record, the Codex Astartes is a great book, but it was written for an Imperium at peace, not for the Grimdarkness of the Far Future.
Big Thanks to everyone who commented and gave kudos. You're all amazing and your support means so much!
Please try to keep in mind that I'm still very much a novice when it comes to writing, so any constructive criticism/critique is welcome (and let's be honest, desperately needed).
Last but certainly not least, a massive thanks to my wonderful beta Spooky-Cadet!