Ciaphas and Slawkenburg meet Roboute Guilliman

The people of Slawkenburg had mixed opinions of Roboute Guilliman. Some admired the 13th primarch for his pragmatism and dedication to bettering humanity. Others saw him as a monster, as bad as Mortarion and his servants on account of his unwavering loyalty to their hated former oppressors. Some saw him as a figure worthy of pity, too dazzled by the broken, rotting dream to see the folly of his actions and move past the mistakes his father made.

However, they were all united in the assumption that the arrival of an Imperial fleet in the Slawkenburg system, led by the primarch of the 13th legion himself, was not a good thing, at least not for them.

And as they'd soon come to realize, they were also all united in how completely and utterly wrong that assumption of theirs would turn out to be.

I confess that for a moment, I was tempted to run.

I had only ever seen statues and propagandistic renditions of these gold-plated giants before this moment, but I could still recognize them immediately. They were custodes: two of the Emperors own guardians, bedecked in enough ornamentation and finery as to almost be dazzling beneath the light of Slawkenburg's sun.

And yet, those baroque-plated behemoths somehow weren't the primary source of my terror. That dubious honor went to the honest-to-throne Primarch standing between them.

The stories, the paintings, all the religious scripture, the statues that I had seen… none of that even began to do Roboute Guilliman justice.

"Greetings, Ciaphas Cain." The Primarch of the 13th legion and Lord Regent of the Imperium spoke, and it was all I could do not to fall to my knees. "I must admit, it is a pleasure to finally meet face-to-face."

All the individuals who had accompanied me to the landing pad, without exception, allowed their jaws to drop. Even the two Astartes behind me looked more than a little taken aback. As was I; I'm not ashamed to admit that, at that moment, I discarded all protocol and etiquette in favor of asking a blunt, poorly-thought out question. "You consider meeting the greatest arch-traitor since Horus Luprecai a pleasure?!"

The primarch's lips twitched up in what was unmistakably a small, bemused smile. "You are too hard on yourself, Ciaphas." When my look of incredulous shock continued to echo the looks the entire Skawkenberg Council behind me was giving him, he elaborated further.

"Let's take a moment to review everything you've done to earn your status as the Imperium's alleged greatest foe. The only meaningful blows you have dealt to the Imperium of Mankind's forces consist entirely of the long-overdue deaths of Karamazov and that idiot Chenkov and the culling of a number of command personnel with far more fanaticism than sense serving under them. The protectorate you have founded has shielded Adumbria, Cassandron, and countless other colonies from destruction or worse, and its member worlds prosper to a degree that outstrips even Ultramar. Under your reign, humanity flourishes in ways not seen since the Golden Age of Technology, with ancient wonders from that bygone era commonplace objects available to any who need them."

For a long, long second, I was dumbstruck, elation and denial warring in my chest. "B…but Lord Guilliman," I finally managed, reclaiming some measure of my wits far faster than my companions, "I'm the leader of a force that worships the Ruinous Powers. I am about as far from the Imperial spirit as you can possibly get."

The Primarch cocked an eyebrow, face still adorned with that bemused smile. "Fair enough. But then again, if the Imperial spirit as it is taught was able to resolve the manifold issues plaguing this Imperium, I am certain it would have long since succeeded in doing so."

This time, I couldn't even muster a response. From any other, those words would have been regarded as sedition, as heresy. Adhering to orders, upholding dogma and dying in droves when ordered to were the pillars upon which the Imperium stood. Take them away, and what would be left?

But this was no malcontent menial, complaining about their lot, no greedy planetary noble seeking to expand their power. This was a son of the Emperor. And even if you put that aside, his words made a truly stunning amount of sense. I couldn't help but be reminded of all the times when I tried to subtly sabotage my budding protectorate by telling its members to abandon things I've been told all my life were utterly required for human society to function, only for my attempts to backfire and lead to the nascent empire I was unwittingly building succeeding beyond my most ludicrous nightmares.

This time, Hektor was the one to speak up. "...so you haven't come to burn Slawkenberg to the ground?"

Guilliman shook his head. "No. Quite the opposite, in fact." One of the Custodes produced some kind of legal document, and promptly handed it to Guilliman, who then stepped forward and passed it to me. My jaw dropped as I began to skim the thing.

It's a document vaguely similar to a Rogue Trader's Warrant of Trade, albeit one that gives its bearer even more free reign to do whatever the frak they want. Many of the usual restrictions binding a Rogue Trader are nowhere to be found, limited purely to stunningly low tithe requirements and a vague demand to "keep hostilities with the Imperium of Man to a minimum". And instead of giving me a starship and crew, it just gives me Imperium-sanctioned carte blanche to expand and rule the Cainite Protectorate as I see fit, the fact that it's an empire founded by Chaos Worshippers be damned. Oh, and there's a passage in there about immunity from harassment and/or purging courtesy of any Inquisitors who decide to investigate the sector that I'm apparently the lord of now, immunity that can only be circumvented via the direct approval of one of the primarchs.

In a nutshell, it's a document, given to me by one of the Emperor's SONS, that effectively says "keep doing what you're doing, we're totally fine with your association with the GODS OF FRAKKING CHAOS."

The rest of my retinue are peeking over my shoulder now, eyes going as wide as mine. Behind me, Jafar outright faints, his suddenly-limp body toppling backward and impacting on the metal deck with a soft thump. Honestly, I can't really blame him for losing consciousness. Rarely had I felt such a bewildering mixture of emotions; rapture, elation, terror, relief, all vying for my attention before I managed to settle on an all too familiar one: the sort of emotion usually accompanied by the words "What the frak?"

"Well, this is certainly a generous… erm… offer… but what, exactly, have I done to deserve this?" I ask, slowly, still half-convinced that this is some kind of bizarre attempt at a prank.

Guilliman chuckled slightly at that. Despite the twinkle of mischief in his eyes, it is patently obvious that this is not a joke. "Because you, Ciaphas Cain, have done more for humanity in a handful of decades than all the High Lords of Terra combined have done after 10 whole millennia."

BREAKING NEWS: CAINITE PROTECTORATE SANCTIONED BY PRIMARCH!

In yet another masterstroke of diplomacy, the Liberator convinced Roboute Guilliman himself of the nobility of his cause, prompting the primarch to issue an Edict of Tolerance that gives us total immunity from the brutal fist of the Imperium! More details will be shared as this story develops. AN: Like most of the Omakes I've done here, the scene kinda popped into my head from out of the blue. It stands to reason that the Imperium, when it next comes to the Cainite Protectorate, would come to wipe it out... and thus, given the kind of fic CC:WC is, it would only be natural for the Imperium to do the exact opposite, listen to reason for once (with a metric frakton of help from the 13th Primarch and Lord Regent, of course), and bring the Cainite Protectorate into the fold as the first Imperium-sanctioned Chaos Worshippers in the history of mankind.

Thoughts, questions, concerns? Feel free to quote this and share them with me.