Gwynevere al Moran stood aboard the bridge of the Invincible Reason, surveying the mass amount of personnel. Scribes and serfs of the first legion had monumental and innumerable tasks to see to so that the Gloriana class battleship functioned every minute. Many came from Caliban yet no small amount came from Tera as well. Yet all served in the singular purpose for the first of His angels, though it was argued they served more so for the Lioness.
A comunications channel crackled to life as Gwynevere finished the thought, and she focused her attention on it. "Understood consul, prime your men and ready for assault on Karkasarn."
"Yes, Tributary. In Her name."
"In Her name," Gwynevere repeated, and cut the channel. The newly reorganized Dark Angels were far from eager to prove themselves; too much of their gene mother tempered such emotions before their duty. Yet there was a palpable edge of anticipation in the air. With Leona's joining of her legion various changes came as well. The various knightly Orders from home became incorporated to this new World of space faring warfare, yet the Calibanite customs seemed wholly natural. Gwynevere momentarily thought back of her time with her lady wife, of the hunts and fights for survival together. Of when Leona took full control of their home. Of how Luther was given the gift of gene-seed augmentation, and how Leona's true father-the Emperor of Mankind-took her astride the stars in His wars. Lastly of how the Sigilite came to her with a proposition and a duty; be augmented to stand by Leona and keep her anchored to her purpose.
"Lady Gwynevere," a cool and commanding voice called. Her chest picked up slightly, her new secondary heart hitching slightly higher in rhythm, as Gwynevere turned to see Leona join her on the bridge. Even without her battle plate, Leona filled the room. As Gwynevere stood on the command dais steps, Leona stood astride slightly lower down. Yet the primarch's head still crested above her mortal wife.
Am I still fully mortal? Gwynevere thought. But she paid it little mind as she gazed into her beloved's face. "My Lady Leona", she intoned and bowed formally. Decorum would be maintained on the eve of battle, her face impassive, but her gaze was still fond as it lingered on the primarch.
Leona's augmented senses would no doubt catch the increased heart rate and slightly flushed warmth of Gwynevere, but the warm eyes of her wife was what softened the Emperor's daughter most. Face equally stony and unreadable, Leona took in all her surroundings within a moment. Cold concentration was all that remained on her features, yet her eyes returned the warmth to Gwynevere. Both women adhered to formality and dignity at all times, and some few perceived a coldness between the two. Yet as they both knew there was nothing quite so far from the truth. "Are the Wings of the Legion primed?"
"That they are, all praetors and command squads await the order to descend."
Leona nodded. "This will be our first major victory for others to come. Any word from the 13th?"
"None so far, though I may urge that we await till the battle commences." Leona's perfect golden brows flickered higher slightly in a question to her wife. "If we wait until then, our warriors' prowess will be significantly remembered; a sudden and decisive victory in front of the 13th will cement us in their minds as staunch allies after our gathering at Caliban."
"Our legion is strong and tested already in their time without me," Leona said. Her eyes swept out at the data streams and holographic displays on the various displays, doubtless intaking everything without breaking her line of thought. Gwynevere remembered those same eyes in their years on Caliban. Luther may have brought home his daughter from the wilds where beasts akin to nightmares made flesh made their home and taught her the ways of mankind, but there was always a calm predator in that gaze. One that watched, judged, and waited.
Gwynevere used to be afraid of those eyes when she was younger. But now? They entranced her.
The sound of cloth tearing broke Gwynevere's thoughts as she looked down. Her uniform was torn slightly at the hem of her collar and the cross-seams of her shoulders. She cursed to herself quietly, but not without hearing the soft chuckle of Leona. Doubtless the Lioness heard and guessed what had happened. This was not the first occurrence since the gene augmentation she partook of. As her body adjusted to the transhuman physiology, not the same level as a space marine, yet still a marked improvement from baseline human with reflexes and strength to make one of the legion pause in sparring, Gwynevere found that her clothing was being stretched to its literal limit. "Third time since arriving in the system," Leona whispered low enough for both of their augmented senses to catch.
"I am aware, my love," Gwynevere said through clenched teeth. "I must retire to our-"her breath caught as she corrected herself. "My chamber, in order to seek a replacement."
Leona glanced at her wife. "Our chamber, beloved, "she emphasized.
Nodding slowly, the Tributary of the First Legion turned and walked briskly to leave the command dais. "I will aid you in donning your plate when required," she said aloud. Formality was bred into her and her family in their world, and damn her if she would allow it to falter when the situation demanded adherence to its tradition. Which, as Tributary tasked with the diplomacies between the Space Marine Legions and running a secondary command structure to her legion under Leona, meant it would be every day as she breathed.
Leona nodded without looking as her wife left, and her lone figure stood still while resuming her vigil over the bridge. In the view ports, the legion's ships were spread across the distance. Karkasarn below waited, as yet unaware of the might of the Lioness and her Circles, joined at last, and how they would be unleashed.
Leona El'Johnson, daughter of Sar Luther, daughter of the Emperor of Mankind, Lady Primarch of the First Legion of Adeptus Astartes, the Lioness, paced her chamber as she awaited for the assault. Akin to a confined predator as she walked back and forth, her steps were graceful and whisper quiet. Her agitation would make even battle hardened veterans of the Unification Wars pause in her wake.
Her wife watched with a bemused look on her face.
"We could launch now, attack and be done with this waiting. We are ready," Leona growled. Metal reverberated with the base depth, revealing the primarch's frustration clearly. Her golden hair fell about in a wave in front of her face, concealing it and giving the Lioness a more feral air.
"Beloved, why-"
"My sisters have glories to their name and I cannot afford to wait. My sons from Tera are tested, and the ones from Caliban are ready to prove all of us the same. Why must we wait on the 13th?"
"Leona-"
"Luther as well, bitter about being told to stay on standby on Caliban. Why must he tempt my patience?!" Leona hissed, and swung a fist. A metal wall crumpled inward, shrieking as if in pain, yet Leona did not stop. "I need obedience in my soldiers, not temerity. If we receive another word from him in his communications about requesting to see battle, I will show my father just-"
"Leona!" Gwynevere commanded. Leona paused, blinking, and peered at her wife. Gwynevere was out of her uniform as a servitor labored to adjust the next set with her new physical dimensions. Auburn hair collected in a single tail swung back and forth in tandem with her head as Gwynevere grimaced. "Love, sit down."
Leona's grimace mimicked Gwynevere's. "I-"
"Sit down, now", Gwynevere said softly. Yet in the smooth silk of her voice was an unwavering stone. Leona blinked and sat in front of their bed.
"Gwyn, I am not-"
"Shush," Gwynevere interrupted. Her whisper was not quite a hiss but it was reminiscent enough to halt the lady primarch. Brisk steps took Gwynevere from one side of the room to standing just above Leona. An uncommon sight, but one that served well enough.
Leona's green eyes met her wife's cobalt counterparts and remained still. She vividly remembered the first time they met, as Luthar displayed his new find from the Caliban wilds after staying his Order's hands at attempting her destruction. Many of the families, including Gwynevere's own, found her as fascinating as they did fearsome on first sight. Yet Gwynevere was one of the few who did not flinch from the gaze.
Hesitant? Yes.
Afraid? Certainly.
But never a flinch. Never any sign of retreat.
Leona was fairly certain that despite not understanding it at the time, for her it was love at first sight.
Gwynevere's hand stroked Leona's face, finger tracing the jaw to temple. Leona did not shudder, but leaned into the electric feeling. Breathing deep, she could smell Gwynevere and appreciate every facet. The perfumed scent of the wild trees of home, the ozone stink from travel, the sterile burn of their cleaned quarters. And the steady thrum of Gwynevere's new double heartbeat was a new sound that Leona found immensely mesmerizing in this enclosed space. "I," her mortal wife whispered, "am going to keep you here for the next three standard hours," and pushed the lady primarch backwards into the bed. Leona could have resisted, but she did not dare.
"Gwyn, we cannot. There is no time before-"A small hand pressed itself to Leona's lips and stifled any resistance. Lips softer and sweeter than any dream killed any protests in earnest.
"You, my lady wife, are going to stay here and watch your lady wife sleep. You will also keep me close to your chest and sleep for the minimum minutes you need as well." Gwynevere nested her head into Leona's chest, resting forehead to collarbone as she breathed deep. Hands that could snap ferrocrete and destroy monsters softly traced the back of Leona's love as softly as they ever had. Gwynevere sighed contentedly. "My little lioness," she whispered.
"Little knight," Leona whispered back. Before her eyes closed for the limited amount of time to rest, Leona felt a gaze on them both. One eye found the perpetrator and shone with an intense warning of leashed violence straining to release. The hooded shadow of a Watcher in the Dark retreated quickly from an alcove. Lip twitching, Leona settled down into the now slumbering form of Gwynevere and let relaxation take her further into their time together. She was also fairly certain that the Watchers could not communicate with humans, yet felt a distinct impression of excitement from the alcove. As well as fervent support.
Power thrummed through the bridge as the battle commenced. Leona's place on the command throne was positioned perfectly to display her command and intake every bit of data coming through. Gwynevere stood behind and to the left of the throne, a holographic display switching every few seconds as she relayed commands to various battlefront commanders.
"Ravenwing and Ironwing, maintain your destination parameters and speeds. Join battle on the flanks of the 13th squads within your vicinity."
"Affirmative Tributary," two voices answered.
The display shifted. "Stormwing, once you take key targets, reinforce and capture points decima and beta."
"In her name," came the next response.
"Deathwing formation alpha, maintain battle ready status. Teleportarium activation in T-minus 500 seconds."
A miniscule pause answered, but it was enough that Gwynevere latched onto it. "Deathwing commander Tiberius, respond."
"We have enemy command revealed on our scans. Requesting permission to launch," came the gravelly voice of the veteran praetor Tiberius.
"Negative, formation delta is tasked with capture of enemy command. Await order to launch."
"Tributary, my men are from Caliban and need to be tested. Requesting permission to launch."
Gwynevere's rage turned to black frost on the comunications channel. "Praetor Tiberius, maintain your discipline and prove to your men what the first legion means to humanity. Keep to your position and time, and refrain from attempts of glory as if you are all newly minted squire's baying for a hunt to be 'blooded' in some wayward beast's offal. If I hear you mention anything further about preemptive launches outside of my schedule I will have you escorted before our lady Primarch and explain how you failed her and how you attempted to thwart our operation before throwing you into a reconditioning chamber myself. Confirm status."
"Status confirmed. We await further orders lady Tributary," though the voice was that of a man unflappable in the face of untold wars, there was an edge of contrition in it nonetheless.
"T-Minus 465 seconds," she napped, and moved to the next channel to confirm orders. A support crew in the command level below built specifically for Gwynevere's duties did not falter in the demands of what was before them. Despite the interruption their work was immaculate as Gwynevere compressed lost time into affirmations for more squads of waiting legionnaires.
On her command throne Leona glanced sideways at Gwynevere. She nodded once, small and concise, in approval of the lady Tributary's action. Neither would suffer orders questioned at this crucial hour. Both knew that this day would cement their history as a legion. Leona issued commands in tandem with her wife, her words echoing as final decisions across an expectant world as her sons marched forth to realize their duty.