Faces crowd around the narrowing well of his vision. Aeonid Theil, helmet cast aside to reveal a tear-streaked face; Marius Gage, frozen in horror, until a strike from an unseen enemy almost takes his head off, and he turns to defend himself, his brother, and his lord.
"They mourn me already," Guilliman realizes. "I am dead. I cannot die now, not now. There is too much to do. Too much, too much. What will Russ do without me, or the Khan? Too much…"
Theil screams for an Apothecary. Someone tugs at his ruined breastplate, ripping the ornate gorget free with a squeal of rending metal. A white gauntlet flashes past his dimming eyes, as the cool relief of morpha pushes back the exquisite burn of Fulgrim's poison for a breath, but can not stop it and the pain surges back anew. His pulse slows. Colored spots whirl around his eyes.
"Father" he whispers, around the poisoned blood that is frothing at his lips and at the gash in his throat. "Father, who will guide them now?"
"What is he saying" cries an anguished voice. 'What does he say?'
"Please", Guilliman thinks. "Save me"
His hearts quiver one last time, drawing themselves in for a further beat that will not come. The voices of his sons sound far away.
His hearts relax.
The fountain of blood at his throat slackens, then ceases altogether.
Darkness envelops him.
He stands at a precipice. A roaring, terrifying sea of souls haunted by the laughing of mad gods churns all around, red and ugly.
There is a cold, golden brilliance, The roaring sea vanishes. Sorrow engulfs his soul and Roboute Guilliman is no more.
The first time he wakes, awareness comes in a burst of white-hot agony. He tries to scream, to lash out against it, as if movement could drive the pain away, but his limbs remain unresponsive, and his lungs are empty. He cannot move, cannot scream.
He has been engineered to be unable to fear, but even still, something very close to panic grips him, and then darkness is pouring over him again, and he knows nothing more.
The second time he wakes is much like the first, pain clawing at him as he struggles to make sense of his new reality.
He is pinned in place, unable to do as much as twitch, and something cold and twisting moves in him as his limbs refuse to obey his commands. It's a new experience; and an entirely unwelcome one.
"A stasis field" he realizes.
Theoretical: He's been frozen in a stasis field's protective chamber as a last desperate gamble by his sons to save his life. They would only have done that if there was no cure for the poison in his veins.
Practical: If the stasis field fails, he will die.
He is trapped.
His breath wants to hitch, but he isn't breathing, his hearts feel as if they must pound double time, but that would require them to be beating in the first place. A shiver needs to run down his spine, but his nerves have been frozen. All that remains is his mind, spinning and spinning as it tries to relay signals to his unresponsive body.
They should have let him die. Better that, then the purgatory he finds himself in.
Darkness returns before the horror can truly sink in.
The third time he wakes is gentler, if only for the fact that awareness and pain filter in gradual waves, rather than jerking him suddenly into excruciating awareness. Slowly a familiar voice drifts down through the agony, older and frailer than when he'd heard it last, but it would take more than mere time to make him forget his mother's voice.
"...Gage is doing as well as he always has and your sons and realm flourish under his rule," Tarasha Eutun is saying, "Trade with nearby sectors increases, and we are slowly erasing the damage done by Horus's Tantrum. I hardly dare to say it, but your realm is at peace."
At peace? He can barely comprehend those two short words, has no frame of reference for them, has never truly experienced them. He was made for war, made for conflict, created to destroy civilizations and then build them up better than they were before. He has dreamed of peace, wished for a time when his talents can be put to better a purpose than endless battle. Now he does not know if he should be glad it has finally come, or angry that he can have no part in it. In the end, all he feels is relief, at least his mother can enjoy the security he fought to give her.
She chatters on, detailing the scrabbling and petty feuds of his court, and how promising the youngest neophytes are, and-
"Oh! I almost forgot! Gage finally declared Aeonid Theil the Captain of the First Company." She laughs, almost as if she can sense his surprise. "I know what you'd think, but Theil has grown up since you were shut away. He isn't the irreverent sergeant who stole your swords and collected demerits and censures as if they were honors to be won, he's truly come into his own. We all knew he'd be Gage's choice as second in command, after Caspean was killed. For all their bickering, they work well together; I think Theil's optimism keeps Gage's pessimism at bay."
"Theil still holds onto the hope that we'll find a miracle for you in my lifetime, but I fear that will soon come to its end. I am old now." She trails off and he can hear the hum of a hoverchair, and knows she speaks the truth. His mother had sworn she'd rather be dead than ride about in one of those infernal machines. Perhaps his sons will find a cure soon, before he loses her.
"I miss you, my precious boy, I miss you more than I can say." she whispers, " I love you Roboute, never forget that I…" she trails off, voice catching in the way he knows means she is trying not to cry.
He wants so badly to go to her, wipe her tears and swear that he's here, that he's alright. He strains futility against the stasis field pinning him in place, knowing it's useless but past caring. His mother needs him.
As if summoned by his struggle, the darkness returns, nipping at the edges of his thoughts as he forces himself to stay awake. He bent space and time once in order to reach her in the aftermath of Kurze's attacks, breaking the laws of the universe to comfort her. He'll do it again.
"Be brave my precious boy, we shall not meet again in this world, but never doubt my-"
His eyes snap open. An impossibility made possible by need.
Whatever she was about to say is cut off by a startled gasp as she presses her face to the glass face of his stasis chamber. She whispers something, but the dark is pulling, stronger than before, and he tries to smile, but the field is too strong, and he hopes she understands, because-.
The dark takes him.
Tarasha Euten will swear to her dying day that her son opened his eyes for her. No one will believe her, of course. It is a well-known fact that no one, not even a primarch, is conscious while in the death grip of a Stasis Field Chamber, much less able to move. The word of one old woman, no matter how well respected, will not change that.
Author's Note:
I debated with myself a lot before finally deciding to post this. Stasis is the first story that I've felt confident enough in to even consider sharing, but there comes a point were you just gotta take take the plunge and publish something, so here I am.
Please try to keep in mind that I'm still very much a novice when it comes to writing, so any constructive critcism/critique is welcome (and let's be honest, desperately needed).
Last but certainly not least, a massive thanks to my wonderful beta Spooky-Cadet!