~Honey and Vinegar~
~796. M30~
~Segmentum Pacificus~
~Charnac's Pride~
~Roboute Guilliman, Lord Commander of the Imperium and Imperial Regent~
"You spoke of how fast your kind grows, but it still boggles the mind." Asarnil commented as they shared another glass of wine. He sipped from a tall glass as they stared down to the second floor where his sisters were currently being given a lesson by the attendant Eldar scholar brought along on the trip for this exact purpose. The Eldar looked ancient, very unusual for their kind, as he guided the three through another lesson on… sociology it seemed.
The Eldar scholar, a male by the name of Rastilyn, was well-spoken and quick-witted from the conversations that Guilliman had with him. Quickly capable of understanding the point of the various lessons outlined in the curriculum Guilliman had written out, as well as pointing out several additional lessons that might be helpful, and several lessons that should probably be handled by Guilliman himself.
He had educated many Eldar before, and was apparently the personal tutor of Asarnil and his father before him. Highly recommended by the Dragonlord, and Guilliman could see why. Rastilyn had done about as well as could be expected thus far.
Currently, he had cleverly guided Petra into serving as a helpful aide to get the other two up to speed, required with her pre-existing education on Olympia compared to Kassandras nothing and Aurelia's abuse. This gave Petra the chance to show off, while still helping the other too, and thus aided all three in socialization to some extent. Most importantly, it let Aurelia learn without feeling like she was going to get beaten for being wrong.
It helped that the old Eldar knew an absolutely ridiculous amount of information, enough to actually keep up with the pace of a Primarch's absurd growth once he had been prepared by Guilliman's lesson plans and warnings. Not enough to keep pace with Petra's burning desire to learn everything there was to know about mechanical engineering, Eldar didn't use such nearly as much as Humanity did, but well enough to keep pace with just about everything else.
Guilliman sipped his own glass, turning his gaze from the scene below him back to the letter being drafted on the table before him. "How long does it take Eldar children to grow?"
Asarnil hummed for a moment, before replying. "Depends on what you mean. Physical maturity is perhaps two or three decades. Spiritually we never stop developing."
"And mental maturity is never reached, of course." Guilliman dryly quipped, causing the dragonlord to snort in the midst of taking another sip.
"You almost made me spill my wine, you ass. That would require three-thousand acts of penance to appease my kingly wrath."
"My penance is having to deal with you."
"Six-thousand now, your debt grows by the word."
Guilliman ignored him, and returned to drafting his letter. The gods of Chaos were certainly aware of his actions now, which means that they would likely attempt to focus more of their efforts on other potential weaknesses and paths to ruin everything for everything else. That meant that his other siblings would likely be targeted more actively for their malicious influences.
Unfortunately, he couldn't possibly be everywhere at once. He couldn't afford to retrieve all of them, educate all of them, manage all of them, and guide all of them to their effective best when their intended educations and legions had already been prepared and readied at Terra. His creator would need their support to lead those legions in the rapid expansion of the Imperium once the Great Crusade began in…
…about a year and a half, if memory serves. That's when the Astronomicon will be first lit…
He realized he should probably mention that. "Asarnil."
"Hm?" The dragonlord was leaning back, sipping on his glass and staring at the ceiling, his legs propped up on the railing of the balcony before them.
"In about a year and a half, the Emperor will likely light the Astronomicon for the first time."
"...Astronomicon?"
"A kind of psychic lighthouse, to aid warp-travel. It will be lit on Terra at the start of the Great Crusade."
"Ah, I'm familiar with the concept. I assume you're worried about what that might feel like to the Eldar?"
"Yes."
"Don't worry, from what I remember, Charnac is very far away from Terra, we probably won't even feel it."
Guilliman paused, stopping his scratching pen for a moment, before rolling it in his hand. Asarnil picked up on this, a brow raising as he spoke again.
"Does it reach that far?"
"The Astronomicon was bright enough to shine over the entire galaxy."
"...How many humans fueled it?"
"At the beginning of the Crusade? Just the Emperor."
Asarnil stared at him for a minute or so, raising the glass of wine up to his lips again and again, until the cup was drained. He then held out the glass, which was quickly refilled by a nearby maid, and took a final sip.
"Roboute. I mean this in the kindest manner. Your father grows more terrifying the more I learn of him."
"I would think the Aeldari were perfectly capable of something like that?" Guilliman raised his brow. "Your people's knowledge of warp-craft is far more developed than humanities."
"Oh certainly. The greatest of our psychic amplifiers powered by a cabal of a hundred farseers could manage such a feat. You're claiming your father could do the same, with primitive amplifiers, by himself."
"...He was able to keep it lit even when he wasn't physically present." Guilliman added, sipping on his wine to cover his twitching lip.
Asarnil gave a mighty groan and set his wine glass down, throwing his hands in the air and leaning dangerously far back on his chair, balancing on two of the legs and nothing else. "But of course! Of course he could do that!"
He suddenly rushed forwards, legs of the chair slamming onto the floor, and jabbed a harsh finger at Guilliman. "Your debt increases! Nine-thousand acts of penance!"
Guilliman raised a protesting hand and brow. "How did I earn that?"
"Your Father is ridiculous and is giving me a headache to contemplate. The debt falls on you, his son! Pay with your life!"
Guilliman did his best impression of Dorn. His face went completely still, save for a lone eyebrow which raised slightly. He spoke in a voice like stone, cold and dry.
"No."
Asarnil staggered back in mock-pain.
—
Ever since entering his protection, his sisters had slowed their growth dramatically, owing to their now much-safer environment. They grew at about the same pace that Guilliman was familiar with, with each terran year passing they grew roughly the equivalent to two and a half years biologically.
Petra had entered his care at the human equivalent of perhaps twelve or so. Kassandra had been roughly the same, but thinner from her malnutrition. Aurelia was already a grown woman in body, and that was several months ago. Their ages had begun to balance out since their respective arrivals.
Petra and Kassandra looked to be on the edge of adulthood, physically perhaps seventeen or eighteen, and roughly six feet in height. Aurelia had stagnated almost completely since, remaining essentially unchanged since her retrieval, rendering her a 'young adult woman' at about seven and a half feet tall.
It was his own height that surprised him.
"I distinctly remember being shorter than this." He muttered to himself, comparing his height against the nob in the doorframe leading into his personal chamber. It wasn't much more than a bed and a desk to write upon, with a small chest tucked against the wall to store what few possessions he actually had, and many cases filled to the brim with papers.
And of course, the massive map plastered against the wall, thoroughly pinned with thousands of scraps of paper that referenced specific pages or collections of pages in his various piles of notes. That and the nice clay mug that he had been gifted upon leaving Charnac, it was a nice mug, and he really should go wash that at this point. It's been awhile since he had rinsed it out.
He frowned, and compared himself to the doorway again.
He had been almost three meters precisely for most of his life. It was a nice, round unit of measure that he could reference at any point. But now, looking at the door, he was almost certain it didn't fit anymore. He was maybe a quarter-foot taller than he should be, and he had no idea why.
It wasn't a very large problem, he was already too large to purchase anything mass-produced to wear, all of his clothes had to be custom made regardless. Being any taller didn't provide him any particular advantages either, and it was slightly troublesome to note.
Shaking his head, he shelved the issue for the moment, and strode out of his room. Pausing briefly, he returned and grabbed his mug, heading for the kitchens. The mug had a very amusing line in Eldar written upon it.
Lann Caihe. Water-bringer. The Aeldari term for 'second-in-command', but more importantly, the literal translation made the line on the cup a pun. The cup brings water to the mouth. He had been given a mug with a pun on it, the gesture was downright human in its humor.
His lips twitched up thinking about it.
He walked through the living-quarters of the ship, heading for the kitchens, and considering what was on the agenda for the day. They were going to link up with the other Charnac ships soon enough, at which point one would break off and head to Terra with his letter. From there they would move onto Barbarus and retrieve Mortarion, or whatever his name was now that he was a woman.
From there, they would communicate with the last handful of Exodite worlds, and by the end of next year be back at Charnac. Once that had occurred, all of his sisters should be grown enough to be given command over provisional tasks and forces, and the expansion could commence.
The first task would be the establishment of communications between all allies in that region, and coordination of the fleets to specific centers of power. Ideally, the largest centers of pre-existing power could be swallowed up immediately, and then the remaining worlds could be conquered within the next twenty years.
Then industrialization and recruitment of a large enough fleet and army to go support the Imperium against the Rangda, which would be the first proper meeting between himself and his creator this time.
He passed by a maid, and several other servants on his way to the kitchens, eventually reaching the double-doors that would lead to the massive chambers meant to turn preserves into edible meals for thousands of Eldar on a campaign. It wasn't enormously luxurious, but the way their ships were built allowed the Eldar to store much greater quantities of various supplies.
Most importantly, they could store a larger quantity of some rather tasty jams. The red berry flavor was his favorite. Perhaps not the best use of such space, but they had extra storage left over after filling the cargo with all the essentials of ten years, double their predicted timeframe, so there was no true harm in it.
That, and there was an actual garden on one floor that grew fresh fruit. It was something he was planning on implementing if he could, fresh fruit was a tremendous boon for ship morale, especially when used as a minor reward.
He opened the doors and idly attempted to calculate what would be required to fit such a garden on his ships as standard, and what would have to be taken out for it to be economical. He brought his cup to the first sink he found, and started the process of washing it out. Maybe about one less naval gun than standard, not that larger shell-cannons, but perhaps one of the smaller side-cannons. That would of course leave his ships slightly undergunned compared to normal, but one cannon out of ten to thirty was not a massive sacrifice compared to the benefits to morale.
The real question was how was he going to source the water…
His eyes trailed up after cleaning the mug off, meeting with three sets of eyes at the other end of the kitchens. Golden and glowing, purple and glowing, and very light blue. He blinked, stood up straighter from where he was hunched down to wash the mug, and took in the situation in full.
His sisters were surrounded by various cooking supplies, pots and pans, ingredients, and utensils. They were in front of a heated oven. Petra had a container of something in her hands, and was bent down to place it into the oven. Aurelia was holding a bowl and a wraithbone whisk. Kassandra was holding a knife and in the midst of chopping slices of meat from a wider chunk.
Around them, keeping an eye on their activities, was a group of chefs and maids. They were currently looking at him as well. Just about everyone on the other side of the massive kitchen was wearing an apron of some kind.
A silent staredown commenced.
A humorous idea came to mind.
Slowly, he turned on the faucet again. Then filling his Primarch-sized mug, he turned the faucet off and raised the mug to his lips.
Maintaining eye contact, he drank as much of the mug as he could, before letting it fall to a rest in his hand, held slightly in front of his sternum. He glanced over to the oven, still open and still hot, then back to the container that was now dripping onto the floor in Petra's hands.
He pointed with his mug. Petra's eyes followed, before she panicked and rightened herself. Her face flushed in some combination of anger and embarrassment, before shouting at him. "We're using the kitchen! You're not allowed to watch!"
Aurelia gasped, glancing over at Petra fearfully. Kassandra simply stared, slowly starting to slice the meat before her again.
He raised a brow, before replying. "Well make sure to clean up once you're done, okay? We don't want to be rude."
"We were going to!" Petra shouted again, face still red, slipping hazard still on the floor in front of her. He nodded in confirmation, before raising the mug to gulp down the rest of the water inside, and turning to leave. He waved a hand behind him as he did. "Have fun then, lessons are still in the evening, okay?"
His turn-around coincided precisely with the moment his smile couldn't be contained anymore. He walked through the door, letting it close fully behind him, and then started to chuckle.
His chuckles continued all the way back to his room, where he deposited his mug once more, and settled into his writing desk. There, he reviewed the letter once more.
A letter that was meant for the eyes of the Emperor of Mankind. It was rather simple, all things considered.
A list of numbers, one through twenty. A list of planet names and coordinates. A list of predicted personality traits and manners of approach likely to be favorable.
Then, another clearly-labeled list.
Descriptions. Vectors of approach. Estimated forces required to combat. Specific hazards to keep in mind against. Potential weaknesses.
Then another list.
Descriptions. Coordinates. Potential strategic value. Potential means of acquisition. Considerations.
Three lists of what effectively amount to brief descriptions, numbers, and notes. Notes that looked very similar to Guilliman's personal notes on the subject matters in question. Notes that he was planning on sending to a very specific person, carried by a volunteer Eldar aboard the retrofitted Ghostdragon directly to Terra with a psychic broadcast of intentions once near the system through the webway.
Three little lists that had the potential to turn the Great Crusade into a focused series of lightning campaigns for strategic buildup and force accumulation.
His back-up plan for needing to accelerate his plans in response to alerting Chaos to his actions too early. It was a simple matter of delegation.
His creator had much more limited information the first time around. Even if he felt the need to verify all of this first, it would result in far more knowledge and a much quicker initial campaign with much less casualties and far more buildup against coming threats.
Guilliman was going to give the Emperor an effective map of every large consideration that he himself had for the Galaxy, and everything Guilliman knew about each.
It wasn't a guarantee of victory, but it was much closer, if at the cost of throwing everything predictable Guilliman knew of the galaxy off track. That was fine, he was already escalating.
—
"Eat it."
The demand caused Guilliman to blink, turning in his chair to look behind him.
There, standing behind him and holding plates of food, was his three sisters. He glanced down at the piled high trays, then up at Petra's firm glare. Aurelia looked as nervous as always, and Kassandra was simply staring at him.
Asarnil looked amused, on the other side of the table. Guilliman reached up to scratch his temple, and shook his head back and forth in a 'well why not' motion. "Very well." If his sisters wanted to go through the effort of cooking a meal for him, he would be sure to eat it. It was only polite after all.
He turned to sit properly in front of the table, which Asarnil had clapped his hands to get the maids to clear off already. Petra glared at him as she set the first dish down, a silent demand that he touch nothing she was placing on the table. The dragonlord raised his hands innocently, and leaned back.
Aurelia demurely set her own tray down, which contrasted with Kassandra practically dropping hers on the table. All three stepped back and stared at him, which he paused at. Taking up the knife and fork provided, he asked aloud and attempted to figure out what to eat first.
"What's the special occasion at hand?" Maybe the Eldar root-vegetables? Or the dragon eggs? He didn't know what wine to pair with this dish, and only had ambrosia on hand regardless. The caramel salt-sweet was distinctive, but he wasn't sure what to eat with it yet.
"Practice." Kassandra droned. Ah, they were trying to learn how to cook and using him as a test subject? He was familiar with the practice in theory, from the grumbling of his friends during his youth on Ultramar.
"Perhaps a slice of the salted hadrus and a bit of that bread, dipped in the gravy?" Asarnil suggested a mixed portion from all three dishes, immediately being glared upon by all three of his sisters. His amused emerald-green eyes met with the wrath of the adolescent Primarchs and was left unphased.
Guilliman considered it for a moment, before deciding it was a perfectly fine place to start. There was hardly a difference in what he chose to eat first after all. Loading his fork appropriately, he consumed the first bite of the meal.
…It was an admirable effort, but demonstrably amateur in execution. Slightly overcooked meat, unbalanced gravy, and chewy bread. Chewing and swallowing, he glanced over to give his initial thoughts.
His eyes met a set of three. Evaluating their expressions, he changed his course.
"It's delicious."
Judging from the immediate flashes of joy in their eyes, he knew he had chosen correctly. He readied himself to finish the entire meal. It was far from unappetizing, after all, and he needed much to eat anyway. It was either this or raw rations such as jerky and hard tack most of the time, a habit Asarnil called 'shameless' once or twice.
Besides, his sisters had made this for him for free, which meant it was good by default.