Hello everyone. Hope all are having a fine Friday. The other day there was a post about which traitor Primarch could be feasibly redeemed and the idea was knocking around in my head. Came up with a bit of fan fiction. Comments and critiques always welcome.

The drop ship broke through the clouds, immense and foreboding. It moved sluggishly, the engines obviously on low power and the flight suffered for it. Weapons festooned the outside but they hung limp, powerless. Other ships ringed it, weapons charged and constantly circling. They looked for any sign of treachery, eager to rip the drop ship into pieces.

A figure in gold watched the ship fall, a scowl etched deeply into his face. His hand clenched around the haft of his glaive and in his anger the weapon charged to life. An aura of lightning danced up and down the blade and the click of loading ammunition gave weight to his displeasure. “This is a mistake,” he murmured under his breath, his words dripped with loathing.

“Perhaps,” a voice replied, impossibly deep. The gold armored man turned, bowing low at the even taller figure garbed in gold and blue plate. “If it is a mistake, it is mine to make.”

“Of course,” the Custodian said slowly. “However...” While more resistant to the Primarch’s presence, he was not completely immune. The Avenging Son was a force of nature, a product of the Emperor himself. The Custodian was a fierce warrior, a competent soldier. He also knew he was utterly inferior to the Primarch.

At Guilliman’s gesture he continued. “However is it yours to make my lord? You are the driving power in the Imperium now, the Lord Regent. We are held together by you. If this mistake is fatal and you fall, then all will suffer. Will we have another such as you to guide us?”

Roboute Guilliman stared at the drop ship, waiting for it to make planet fall. It landed with surprising grace yet the force was enough to make the tanks tremble and soldiers stumble. Weapons continued to be trained right on the ship and the ship had yet to show any signs of retaliation. If anything it took the violent intentions willingly, a penitent under the gaze of threat and fury. “Perhaps we might,” Guilliman whispered and the Custodian could tell that the words were half hearted, as if a prayer said by one not wholly believing.

He followed the Lord Regent as they approached the ship, and soon more came to guard the Primarch. Honor Guard in cobalt blue joined more golden Custodians and Roboute was surrounded by a ring of ceramite and marines. Finally they reached the raised platform, ranks upon ranks of armed soldiers waiting and ready for what is to come.

With a hiss the ramp on the ship opened, falling slowly until landing with a dull thud. Every weapon raised, every eye watchful at the gaping maw of the ship. Then movement, a form descended the ramp. From far it was an imposing presence, tall and broad shouldered. Even wrapped in a grey shroud the figure boasted exceptional musculature. Every step the giant took guns upon guns followed, waiting for an opportunity.

Finally the figure stopped on the dais, eye to eye to Roboute. Hands came up slowly and the cowl was thrown back. Custodians and Marines cursed at the dark eyes and scarred face from records past, a face weathered by the storm and the fury. Tendrils of cables and metal grew from his scalp, cascading down his neck like a waterfall of metal. Whispers of traitor blew through the ranks but the figure did not take heed, his eyes only on Roboute.

“Give me a reason,” Guilliman whispered. The metal haired man tilted his head slightly and Guilliman felt his anger rise. “Give me a reason why. You are only here because of me. You were not obliterated because of me. My word spares you from death a thousand times over.” Despite his icy control, the words burned. “Tell me why I should not send you that way now. Tell me why I should not kill you with my own hands.”

Perturabo, Primarch of the Iron Warriors, one of the nine that fell, bent his head. “You would have many reasons to do so.”

His contrition was unexpected. For some reason it only made Guilliman angrier. Instead of mollification, he felt fury. “Of course I would!” Roboute’s control slipped and all within earshot flinched at the anger in his voice. “You betrayed us! You spat on the Emperor and joined the arch traitor! You let your anger and jealousy feed your bile and you threw mankind’s achievements to the floor!”

His chest heaved as he struggled to rein his anger back. “You took a glorious future and burned it to ash. Your misbegotten sons plagued the Imperium for 10,000 years after, taking the lives of loyal citizens and soldiers. 10,000 years of destruction. And now you wish to meet with me?” He pointed a finger, a gesture more threatening than any laser sight. “Hurry up then, tell me why you are here.”

Perturabo remained quiet as Guilliman raged. A look of past defiance tainted the edges of his features, muscles twitched as he tried to control his own legendary temper. Yet in his gaze Guilliman saw something he never saw before, freedom and remorse. Perturabo looked up at the sky, past the waiting fighters and shuttles with weapons ready. He looked past the clouds and the peaks of mountains. “It is gone.”

“What is gone?” Roboute was ready for anger, for treachery, for bile, for literally anything else. He was wholly unprepared for this figure that stood before him.

“The Eye.”

“The Eye? What they called the Eye of Terror?” Guilliman snorted. “Yes, it was split open by another traitor’s son and the whole Imperium has been rent asunder by it. The Eye may be gone but a new scar is here, a gaping wound that is a thousand times worse.”

“But it is gone.” Perturabo looked Guilliman in the eye and an almost calm look grew on his face. “All my life I felt the Eye, could feel it watching me. It was like the sword of Damokles, always threatening, always there. I could feel it weigh heavy upon me, looking for my flaws and faults. Ignoring my achievements, reveling in my failures.”

He held up his hands. “The Eye blinded me. I was desperate, willing to do anything for it to turn its gaze. I fell from grace, ignored all but my base wants, let my past poison me. I thought nothing would change that. That I was only ever a play thing, a Lord Of Iron that is brittle and dross. Always doomed to be seen and judged.”

A smile shone. A slight relaxing in pressed lips. On any face other it would be a neutral expression. Yet on Perturabo’s face it was a grin. “But it is gone now. Gone forever. I no longer feel its hated gaze. I no longer feel the judgement of others beyond the veil. Only my own. And my personal failings, my true failings. It was there since time immemorial, but now it is gone. You know what is still here?”

Roboute shook his head. He had no more theoreticals now. He was truly in the unknown. Perturabo expanded his arms and gestured at the ranks of Marines and Astra Millitarum. “The Imperium. It endures. It has taken the fires of the Heresy, it survived the horror of Old Night. 10,000 years of fire and blood. The new scar that ripped it in Twain. All of these things should have ended it. Yet it has not. It is a shadow of its former glory but a shadow remained. It is true.”

He stared deeply into Roboute’s eyes and the Avenging Son did not look away. “If mankind can outlast the Eye, then what else can it do? I remembered the why we were made. I remembered my true purpose. I want that again. I want to atone. I want to be a part of something more again. I gathered what sons that would listen to me, made my way back. I took what others stole back, I punished them for the predation. Now I am here for your judgement. I will accept anything you say. All I ask is for a chance.”

Silence thundered over all. All eyes swept back and forth between the relics of a bygone age. “You will do anything?”

“Anything.”

“Any task you will do? Any theater you will perform? Even the same slights you imagined in the past you will take without complaint?”

Perturabo bowed his head. “Gladly.”

Guilliman knew what others would say. He knew what he should do. He knew that what happened now would be a reflection of 10,000 years of history, hate, and souls. He knew what had to be done. For the Emperor, the Imperium, for the ashes of the past.

“Then this is my judgement. You will be my weapon, my instrument. You will always be watched, you and any you command. At the slightest hint of treachery you will die. Your sons will die. Anything done that is not to my wishes and not for the good of the Imperium you will die. There will be no second chances. Am I clear?”

Ignoring the mutterings and whispers of the watchers Perturabo sank to one knee, a clenched fist against his heart. “I understand and I thank you. This is my penance. I will do what is asked and more.”

Roboute offered a mailed hand and after a startled look and a moment of hesitation, Perturabo took it with his bare one. The two stared at each other, wrist to wrist.

“For Courage and Honor,” Perturabo said softly.

“Be reborn brother. Iron within and without,” Roboute replied.