Bedevilled Angel
Adomael was going to die. He'd long accepted that truth, it was inevitable for one of his kind. Death came for them all, by the knife or gun, up close and personal or from afar by unseen hands. An Ork could gut him just as easily as some distant hand could push a button and end his life. Despite his armour and genhanced body he was but flesh and blood, fated to end some day. Adomael had known this for all his post-human life, but it had not bothered him too greatly, not until today. He was going to die today and the thought was vexing.
Adomael sat upon a rock, dressed only in a coarse tunic. The wind brushed his bare skin, chill at this altitude. Bird song and the rooting of grubs tickled his Transhuman ear and the wind in the branches was a constant rustle. The mountainside was thickly forested but the ledge before his cave gave him a fine view over the sloping foothills. Three moons were visible in the blue sky, the rest hidden by orbital vectors, not the best vista he'd ever seen, but it was appreciated anyway. He made sure to drink in every detail, soaking in the sight. It would be the last time he ever saw it afterall.
A heavy tread behind. That was deliberate, as good as a knock on the door. This being could have approached without the slightest murmur, plunging his sword into Adomael's back before he even knew the visitor had arrived. It seemed Adomael didn't merit the mercy of a quick death, his killer wanted to toy with him first, as a predator played with the prey before the final stroke fell. He should have expected it really.
"You do not rise?" A deep voice echoed off the rock face.
"I am enjoying the view," Adomael replied.
"You are unarmoured."
"I left it in the cave, it's not like I can stop you either way."
"You think little of yourself."
"Not so much as I do you," Adomael snorted.
"Insults, it seems you desire death."
"Don't pretend the outcome was ever in question, just strike and get it over with."
Another tread at his side and a giant stepped into his peripheral vision. Despite himself Adomael looked up, taking in the glory. Mighty armour of superb artifice, Icons strange and familiar, their meanings subtle and veiled. A shining sword in hand and a weighty shield that hurt to look upon. Power and authority wrought in flesh, judgement walking as a man. Lion El' Jonson, Primarch of the 1st Legion, First son of the Emperor, Lord and Master of the Dark Angels in all his glory.
Despite the passing of centuries Adomael had not forgotten the sheer presence of a Primarch, the way they became the lodestone of attention. Yet he was shocked by the Lion's face. Age hung upon him, weathering features and greying his hair. The vitality and beauty of youth was gone, replaced by lines and shadowed eyes. Lion El' Jonson wore ten thousand years on his face, the first indication Adomael ever had that a Primarch could age, but despite that he remained under no delusion his Gene-father couldn't kill him.
The Lion spake, "Adomael, Brother-Captain of the 34th Order, 345th Expedition. Seneschal of the Outer Marches."
Adomael shrugged, "Once maybe, then exile, outcast, turncoat and Traitor."
"You blame me for that?"
"The first certainly… the rest I suppose I have nobody to blame but myself."
The Lion stepped further into his view, sword gleaming in the sunlight. Adomael's body froze on instinct, knowing to move was to die. How strange, a Legionnaire Astartes was conditioned to fight, e every instinct honed for combat. but the sheer pointlessness of resistance was plain. Lion El' Jonson could end him in an instant, both of them knew it to be true. He could rage and spit defiance but it would end the same, he found he had no energy for futile gestures.
"You were expecting me?" the Lion asked.
Adomael shrugged, "I heard of your return from the other Fallen and knew you'd get round to me sooner or later."
"Then you must have heard my call to rally."
"A summons to our executions," Adomael snorted, "Very cunning: why chase us around the galaxy when you can entice us to your side? Makes it much easier to claim our heads, you are ever the hunter."
"I have not killed the others like you," Lion refused.
"Yet," Adomael countered, "Once you reach a critical mass, then there shall be a reckoning."
The Lion sheathed his sword but Adomael was not assuaged. The Primarch could kill him with his bare hands, even if he were armed and armoured Adomael could not change that. Hell, a fleet and armies to command could not dissuade the Lion from his course once set. The hunter of Caliban never relented once his quarry was in his sights.
The Lion looked about, "This is a humble place to meet."
Adomael shrugged, "This is where I awoke after Caliban was lost. I travelled the galaxy for three hundred years, fought for many causes, betrayed more. Found other Fallen, ran from the Unforgiven, yet in all those centuries I never found any place that soothed my soul like this vista does. It seemed a fit place to die."
Lion looked down upon him, "You are determined to die, but my offer is life. I have brought others to my side, given them fresh purpose and my oath of clemency for past crimes. You could share that Brotherhood as a Risen Angel."
But Adomael scoffed, "Some crimes are not equal to others. I know many who rebelled against you were duped, played false and told you have thrown in with Horus. I was not so blind, I knew you would never turn, and yet I took up my Bolter and rebelled anyway. I chose to follow Luther, knowing it was treason. There is no forgiveness for that."
Lion El' Jonson looked at him for a moment then turned about and sat down. Rock crumbled under his bulk, his mass beyond the properties of flesh and Ceramite. Adomael was still dwarfed by his Gene-father's bulk but the gesture struck him to the core, the Lion lost his veneer of authority and became a tired of old man, weary of endless duty.
The Lion sighed, "Tell me of your sin."
Adomael frowned, "You surely know."
"Tell me anyway."
Adomael shrugged, "The assault on Horamere, the Tech-wrights and their Infernal Engines. You arrived to command us and all were honoured by your presence. You ordered the assault with brilliant insight, but directed my Marines to assault the third gate. I asked why, when the fourth gate was weaker by far. You did not answer and I did my duty, at cost of half my Brother's lives. Victory was swift and total, but afterwards I was reassigned to Caliban, never to return. Exile, stripped of all rank and honour, all for the sake of one question."
The Lion nodded, "An all too familiar tale."
"You should know," Adomael snorted.
"And yet worse than you have accepted my offer, and joined my Risen Angels. You could too."
"No," Adomael hissed.
"Just no?" the Lion growled dangerously.
"Centuries have I waited to know the truth," Adomael repeated, "To learn why my question offended you so."
"I…"
"Tell me why I was exiled! Tell me why you forsook me!" Adomael shouted.
The Lion's face grew pained, "I possess a singular focus. An absolute commitment to the chase, to exclusion of all else. When I set my sights on a target nothing else exists, only the prey and the means to execute it. It was what made me such a deadly swordsman, and peerless strategist. Others wasted time with grandiose gestures, personal displays of prowess or espousing one principle or another. Not I, I sought only the enemy's destruction, total and without fanfare, by the most direct means possible. None among my Brother-Primarchs could match me in war. Not Guilliman, not Ferrus, not Horus."
"He's back you know," Adomael snorted, "Guilliman I mean."
"I am aware," Lion growled, "He broke the Legions, assumed all civil and military authority. This I must address with him in time."
"Arrogant blowhard, trying to order the galaxy like a set of toy building blocks."
The Lion growled, "He is yet my Brother, his missteps are mine to challenge, not yours."
Adomael shrugged, "Agreed, but what is your point?"
Lion sighed, "My absolute focus cost me perspective. I excluded all irrelevancies, including the feelings of others. I wilfully blinded myself to anything that did not pertain to my hunt, anything that did not fit… was cast aside. I did not consider the wider implications of my actions. When Perturabo stood in a room with me and asked me to supply him weapons, I did not even think to question his loyalties. My gaze was fixed on the Warmaster's office and I did not consider if Horus' machinations were deeper than I knew. The same was true for the Great Crusade, and the Heresy, always I was committed to the task at hand, never concerned with anything else. It is my greatest failing."
Adomael was shocked by the confession, "You admit to making an error?"
Lion nodded, "I was wrong to exile you, all of you."
Adomael was stunned, never had he thought to hear such a thing, "I have never known any Primarch to admit he was less than perfect, in any matter."
"How many Primarchs have you met?" Lion countered.
"Ha, fair point," Adomael snorted, "But why do you seek us out now?"
Lion looked over the forests, "I have failed my father, I have failed my brothers, I do not wish to fail my sons too."
Adomael had never expected to hear that, he thought his gene-father was a known quality. Fierce, unrelenting, intemperate and unforgiving. Never had he suspected such depths were hidden in that closed book, such doubt and self-awareness. The Lion had always been one to keep his cards close to his chest, so this was a revelation. Adomael was stunned by the confession.
"You offer us a place at your side?" Adomael dared.
"I have had considerable time to reflect on my errors, I wish to do better by my sons," Lion admitted, "I wonder if that is why I was allowed to age, instead of skipping millennia as you have done. To temper my instincts with wisdom."
Adomael's eyes narrowed, "And if I have more… questions, in the future, what then?"
"I will try to answer, as best I can," Lion allowed, "Can I count on you to follow me again?"
Unbidden Adomael's lips spoke the words he had never expected to utter, "I am with you, once more I am the Lion's leal son."