Rapproachment
Wind howled over the bleak landscape, a chill breeze that cut through men without slowing, numbing them to the bone. No trees existed on Vitgar III to impede it, and few mountains, leaving the wind free to do as it will. Guardsmen shivered and clung to their greatcoats, Space Marines donned their helms and shuttles bounced on their landing skids, wings quivering in the breeze. Roboute Guilliman found it harsh, unkind and indifferent, blind to the woes it inflicted. It was perfectly suited for what was about to happen.
"I still say we should have done this on Macragge's Honour," Cato Sicarius interjected.
"No," Guilliman refused firmly.
To the other side Chief Librarian Tigurius argued, "You hold supreme authority, he should come to you in your place of power."
"If you think I hold authority here, then you know very little. If you think I wield any power over him, then you know nothing at all," Guilliman stated.
His cheeks burned with wind chill, but it was nothing to trouble him. Guilliman's aides were equally indifferent, as were the Victrix guard ringing the bottom of the hill. From this bleak peak Guilliman could see vast Imperial armies spread out, whole armies lingering in parade formation. To the east regiments of the Imperial Guard stood in file, loomed over by Titans and Knights. Many Chapters had representatives among the crowd, standing solidly in rigid rows. Ultramarines, Imperial Fists, Raven Guard, Iron Hands, Salamanders, White Scars and more, all sworn to his Indomitus Crusade. For a century they had followed him to war, calling him Imperial Regent and Lord Commander. These armies looked to him as their general and leader, the armies to the west did not.
Arrayed in strange patterns Space Marines stood, fractal patterns laid out in their formations. Arcane symbols were presented, icons from antiquity no outsider could know. They were silent and unmoving, but their power was undiminished. Angels of Absolution, Lions Sable, Bringers of Vengeance, Angels of Defiance, Consecrators, Persecutors, Angels of Redemption, Sons of Caliban, Absolvers, Guardians of the Covenant, Star Phantoms, Knights of Abhorrence, Dark Angels. They were vastly outnumbered by their counterparts to the east, but Guilliman did not doubt their martial power.
"Who knew the Dark Angels had so many successors?" Tigurius breathed.
"And more are coming," Cato lamented, "Many of whom refused your calls to join the Indomitus Crusade."
Guilliman sighed, "They would not die for me, but they would die for him."
"You sound like you respect him," Tigurius commented.
"It is impossible not to respect him, but to like him… that is a challenge," Guilliman groaned.
A stir in the ranks, armoured figures falling in behind a marching figure. Guilliman saw Champions, banner bearers and Chapter Masters forming an entourage. Only one person in existence could command such a gathering of potentates, even Guilliman as Imperial Regent could not compel the Unforgiven to attend his personage with but a word. Steeling himself the Primarch stepped forth, marching down the hillside, to meet the parade halfway.
"My liege, we should remain here," Cato protested as he trailed along.
"It is beneath you to go to him," Tigurius agreed.
Guilliman kept walking and coldly said, "One does not summon Lion El' Jonson."
The trio descended to the base of the hill, where the Victrix Guard waited with axes bared. He timed it so he arrived just as the entourage met the slope, neutral ground where neither side was superior. Guilliman's keen eye accessed the crowd and saw Azrael of the Dark Angels among them. So proud a warrior, acting as a mere aide, he'd never thought he'd see the day. New icons had appeared on many figures, icons he recognised from the Dreadwing and Stormwing, badges not seen in ten millennia, among others that baffled even him.
Silence fell as the two parties met, and Roboute Guilliman finally allowed himself to do what he had been avoiding from the start, he looked upon his Brother. Lion El' Jonson, first Primarch, Lord of the 1st Legion, Lion of Caliban, Primaris Angelis Mortis, returned unto the world of the living. His armour was astonishingly crafted, perfect in every respect. He bore a fine sword of masterful make and a shield that throbbed with potential, even with his stunted psychic awareness Guilliman knew it was mighty, the work of the Emperor's hand. Equal to the sword gifted to the Lord of Ultramar upon his own return. Yet the most astonishing thing of all was the Primarch's face.
Lion El' Jonson had aged. His face was craggy and hair grey. He sported a beard, and his eyes had gone hard, flint chips in a craggy face. Ten millennia had the Lion slept, and he wore every moment of it upon his brow. Time for Guilliman had passed in a flash, a hundred centuries reduced to nothing by the frigid grip of stasis. The Lion had lived those years, in slumber true, but he had been alive. Yet time had not weakened him in the slightest, it had hardened him like old oak. Lion El' Jonson radiated threat, without moving he was the most dangerous person present, more lethal than Cato Sicarius and his Victrix Guard, deadlier even than Roboute Guilliman.
"Hail Brother," Guilliman said in greeting.
"Roboute," Lion El' Jonson replied without warmth, his voice oozing menace.
Cato Sicarius made the mistake of speaking, "You will address the Lord Regent with proper respect!"
The Lion's eyes shifted and his gaze hit like a thunderbolt. Utter disdain, dire threat and humbling abjuration all combined in one look. The Lion's rebuke was harsher than an hour's berating, more terrifying for its silence than all the bluster and shouting in the universe could dream. Cato Sicarius' tongue fell silent, his voice stolen, leaving him dumbstruck.
The Lion's gaze returned to Guilliman and the judgement within was plain. Guilliman felt the unnatural compulsion to shiver creep over him. He'd faced horrors of the Warp and Xenos abominations without flinching, but the Lion unnerved him in ways that could not be explained. He'd almost forgotten what it was like, but was potently reminded that while Curze was pitied among their Brotherhood and Russ tolerated, it was the Lion who the Primarchs feared.
Guilliman tried to cover with a smile, "The last time we did this you had your sons do some formation marching. I suppose they are a bit rusty but I'm sure you'll have them whipped into shape soon enough."
The Lion's reply was blunt, "I warned you."
Guilliman sighed, "Ah, it's going to be one of those conversations."
The Lion's eyes narrowed, "I warned you against empire building, I warned you about usurping authority from our father. Yet when I awaken I find you have gathered all civil and military authority to yourself. Imperium Secundus wasn't enough, so you build Imperium Tertius. Twice, before our mutual slumber, and after. Imperial Regent, Lord Commander of the Imperium Entire, you should have just called yourself Warmaster and been plain with your ambitions."
"You dare impugn the Lord Guilliman's honour!" Tigurius spat in anger.
The Lion did not bother to look at the outraged Librarian and spoke only to his Brother, "Convince me not to end you."
Guilliman sighed, "It had to be done. The Imperium needed leadership, and I was the only candidate available. Nobody else could have done it. It is not pride to say so, merely fact. Steps had to be taken; else extinction would befall us. The Imperium needed a Primarch to lead it and there was no one to share the burden, no other Brother to share authority with."
Lion's condemnation was harsh, "Then you shouldn't have handed power over to clerks and politicians. Your High Lords failed to live up to their responsibilities, their corruption was inevitable. You broke the Legions, you pulled our teeth! I studied the records, I learned of the War of the Beast, the Age of Apostasy and of Vandire. These calamities would not have occurred had the Legions been extant. But worse is the rise of priests and preachers. You allowed the Imperium to worship the Emperor, against his explicit orders."
"I did," Guilliman sighed, "I hated it, but humanity would not be denied. I struggled to understand why and concluded the Imperial Truth was insufficient. The great lie of the Imperium was no foundation to build an empire upon. It was a mistake to deny gods exist, that Chaos exists. The Emperor made mistakes; we cannot hide from that fact. I too wish to teach mankind to set aside superstition, but such an endeavour is the work of millennia. We cannot simply rip away faith and expect reason to flower; mankind must be weaned off slowly."
"You do not deny my accusations?" the Lion growled.
"I will not lie," Guilliman stated, "I did what had to be done. We could not survive a second Heresy war, the Legions were too vast a power for one man to wield. Mankind had to learn to govern itself."
"You defy Father's design," the First Primarch pressed.
"The Emperor's design failed, I had to save what I could from the ashes."
"I remember such talk in Imperium Secundus."
Guilliman slowly reached to his belt and took the Emperor's Own Blade in his hand. He gripped it by the scabbard, keeping it sheathed as he unbuckled the belt and lifted it free. He held it horizontally and proffered it to his Brother. Silence already reigned but awe stole over all. The Astartes were watching history unfold, a moment that would last forever in the annals of memory.
"This should be yours," Guilliman offered.
"You present it to me freely?" the Lion questioned.
"And all the authority entailed," Guilliman explained, "I shall resign as Lord Commander and name you in my place. For a century I have wished for a Brother to share my burdens, any Brother. If you will have it, I shall invest you as commander of my Crusade, and retire to Terra, to set right the governance of the Imperium."
The Lion's eyebrow twitched, "You shall go off and play at being Malcador, and I shall remain out here and be... Horus?"
Guilliman winced, "I was going to say Rogal, but I suppose it's all the same. Take the sword, assume command of my armies, save the Imperium from Chaos and Xenos threats, it's what you do best."
Lion El' Jonson's eyes lowered to the blade for and instant then rose, "Keep it."
"Excuse me?" Guilliman blinked.
"Keep the sword and your office, I have no use for them," Lion said.
"I don't understand," Guilliman confessed.
Lion drew in a breath, "You made mistakes, many of them. Breaking the Legions, setting up men over us, I would have opposed these measures, but then I was not there. You were there, you made the decisions you did, and we must live with them. The Imperium you built was rotten and corrupt, but it endured ten thousand years. No other could have built an edifice to stand the test of time. Rogal, Corax, Vulkan, if they had attempted it their empire would have fallen in a century. Leman… if Leman Russ had tried it wouldn't have lasted five minutes. You did what no other could do, and for all its flaws the Imperium did survive."
Guilliman lowered his hand, "You do not claim the office of Lord Commander?"
The Lion said, "Building logistics, planning campaigns, organising defences, you are unequalled in these roles. Unless Rogal comes back I can find no other who has the capability to match the task at hand. You must continue your efforts to rebuild the Imperium; it is what you were born to do."
"And what will you do?"
"What I was born to do," the Lion stated, "There are threats you have not accounted for, dangers greater than those you have faced. My scouts reports a Tyrannd invasion of unprecedented scale crosses our borders, it will sweep the galaxy clean unless someone stops it."
Cato interjected, "The Tyranid menace died with the opening of the Great Rift. Its greatest tendril was destroyed at Baal. They are a spent force."
"Incorrect," the Lion refuted, "You have only faced their outrider fleets, the bulk of their forces are about to present themselves. I shall gather my Legion and destroy them."
"Chapters," Tigurius urged, "Chapters, not Legion."
"Do not quibble semantics with me," the Lion retorted, "The Dark Angels shall be reborn, our vaults shall be opened, arsenals unlike any you have dreamed of shall be unleashed. The First Legion will be the enforcers of our Father's will once more."
Guilliman lowered his head, "I shall send you whatever aid I can."
"All I need from you is not to interfere with my designs," the Lion said, "I shall not have my hands tied by your petty regulations."
Despite it all Guilliman smiled, "I wouldn't dream of it."
"Our enemies think our teeth are pulled and our swords blunted. I will teach them that they are wrong. The Lion of Caliban shall roar once more and the stars shall shake. As for you, Lord of Ultramar, I shall be watching you. Heed these words: loyalty is its own reward."
With that Lion El' Jonson turned and marched away, taking his sons with him. Guilliman watched his long-lost kinsman depart, stern and unforgiving as always. Roboute didn't know if he had the First Primarch's approval or contempt, but he was certain Lion El' Jonson would be true to his word. The enemies of man would learn what it was to fear once more. Despite the chill reception Guilliman whispered, "It is good to have you back, brother."