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Chapter 189: Narration and Reciprocation
🕑 Added 2025-09-26 10:46:34 +0000 UTCChapter 189: Narration and Reciprocation
Those words made Gareth's mind go blank for a moment.
Arthur's voice held a kind of tolerance he hadn't felt in a very long time. The feeling was so real that Gareth instinctively opened his eyes, wanting to find his mother, to tell her about everything he had endured, all the injustices he had suffered.
"I think... you are like my mother," he said, his voice so quiet it seemed to make the air in the corridor freeze.
Arthur looked genuinely surprised.
"When I was a boy, only my mother would treat me this way... would talk to me. She never spoke of the hollow codes of chivalry, nor did she care for the Imperial Truth. She would encourage me... I don't know if you understand, it's just..."
The more he spoke, the more Gareth's words became jumbled. He was overcome with regret, feeling he had misspoken. He suddenly remembered that a Primarch might not be like them. They were the sons of a god.
"..."
Arthur's gaze suddenly became distant, a hint of far-off nostalgia in his eyes. The bright motes of light danced across his face, as if he were traveling back to a simple, warm childhood.
"I was lucky," he said, almost boasting. "It wasn't just my mother. My father was like that too."
The words made Gareth speechless, and the panic in his heart instantly dissipated.
"I had a complete childhood, and youth," Arthur continued. "So I know that feeling very well. Of course, I never experienced old age. I had not even shouldered the burden of a family before I came to this universe. The wars I have seen are far fewer than yours. I still have much to learn."
In truth, many of the Primarchs had never lived as normal humans. The fact that they had been willing to fight the Great Crusade for humanity was a testament to the sheer power of the Emperor's charisma. They were like something out of a legend, arriving on a world only for its people to fall to their knees in worship.
"I understand, my Prince," Gareth said, swallowing, his voice a little dry.
"Tell me more," Arthur said, abandoning his plan to leave and finding a place to sit. "Tell me about your past. Help me understand your doubts."
"I know that most of the warriors among you crave honour, but that is all I know."
Communication was crucial. The misunderstanding between the Wolf King and Magnus, the way the Khan's loyalist and traitorous sons made decisions on their father's behalfβthey were all lessons. Of course, the vast majority of Dark Angels knew exactly what they were doing. Most of them were clear-headed; even Luther's rebellion had failed to win widespread support.
Perhaps that was the problem. They were too clear-headed. They knew the Lion's nature, and knew that speaking to him was pointless.
But Arthur was different. He genuinely wanted to talk to these Dark Angels, to lay all the cards on the table. He did not want to build a wall of silence and authority, to treat his Legion as a mere tool for executing orders. At his core, he still believed in collaboration, in the idea that honest communication could forge a loyalty stronger than blind obedience. Even a tool needs maintenance, needs oil. How much more so a person?
Not everyone was like the Iron Warriors, engaging in self-destructive rationalizations, tormented by Perturabo yet still crying, 'I love my father, please, father, love me'. The Dark Angels were closer to a modern, professional army. They lacked some of the fraternal and filial bonds that tied other Legions together. They had things they wanted to say.
Arthur could feel it. These warriors were not without their own thoughts. They had endured the destruction of Caliban, millennia of exile, and carried a heavy past. But he truly did not know what they wanted to say.
"...I do not have such lofty ideals, my Prince," Gareth said after a moment of silence. Finally, under the pressure of countless unseen eyes, he sat down opposite Arthur.
"I first wanted to study medicine because my mother was growing ill from environmental toxins. I just wanted to heal her. It was the same after I became an Astartes. Now, to be an Apothecary... I am content."
"I don't really understand the honour and knightly codes my father always stressed." He thought for a moment, searching his memory. "I never saw the Great Beasts of Caliban he described. And my instructors... they usually scoffed at the knightly codes. They didn't really believe in the Imperial Truth, either."
"Mm," Arthur nodded in understanding.
The Lion had promoted the ways of chivalry: humility, politeness, the strong defending the weak. But the Lion himself never accepted being questioned. And when those Imperial administrators brutally exploited the people of Caliban, they, the Knights of Caliban, could do nothing. In their era, there were no more Great Beasts to slay, because the Lion and his knights had already killed them all before the Legion arrived. So the beliefs the Lion gave them were hollow. And the Terran-born members of the Host of Crowns were from the old noble classes of Franc and Albyon. They knew all about knights, and their disdain was understandable.
As for the Imperial Truth, other Legions might not know, but the Terran-born Dark Angels who had fought in the Unification Wars knew exactly where it came from. Their disbelief was also understandable, and it did not stop them from dedicating themselves to the salvation of all mankind.
"But we do not lack the courage to die for our ideals," Gareth added, perhaps feeling his words were a little treasonous and wanting to speak up for his comrades. "My Terran instructors, they longed for honour, but that is not why they became Astartes. They could endure the most grueling campaigns, and they could accept hiding their own deeds for the sake of security."
The knight carefully organized his understanding of his battle-brothers, no longer concerned with so-called secrets, trying to articulate their thoughts in simple terms.
"It is more a kind of confusion. No one ever explained to them why they had to do these things. No one explained what would happen after it was done. So they could only try to find out for themselves, and then weave a truth from the information they gathered."
He paused, as if calculating how many beatings he was going to get for this. Then, meeting the Lord of Knights' gaze, he summoned his courage and said, "I think that is the reason for the schism in our Legion. Including the Primarch and the Emperor, no one was willing to explain. They were like my father, living in their own world."
I see. So, in short, neither the Primarch nor the Emperor had a clear plan for the future, or if they did, they never told the Astartes. This left them feeling insecure. And the Dark Angels were a Legion of action, with the authority and the combat prowess to find things out for themselves. But because of individual differences and different channels of information, their perceptions diverged, and suspicion grew between them. Some believed they understood the Primarch's will; others saw traitors everywhere. And so the suspicion grew, and the schism widened.
Suspicion breeds heresy.
Sometimes, Arthur truly did not understand what the Emperor and the Primarchs were thinking. If they had just been like Guilliman and made a spreadsheet to tell the Ultramarines what to do now and what to do later, the number of traitors would have been at least halved.
"My Prince, since you initiated this open dialogue, we have been much more candid. And it has made me realize our Legion is not as extreme or neurotic as I imagined," Gareth said, his confidence growing. "Zahariel told me that back on Macragge, there were those who suspected the Lion of treason, who suspected the Legion of treason, who suspected Lord Guilliman of treason. They suspected each other, they were wary of each other, but in the end, they were all loyal."
Looking into Arthur's attentive face, Gareth finally stated his conclusion. "I don't think they are simply craving honour. This includes the Calibanite warriors. What they need more is an answer. An answer from their Primarch, from the Emperor."
"Even if that answer is not as good as they imagined, even if it is a lie, or something terrible... it is better than nothing."
Having said all this, Gareth touched his face, already imagining the feel of a ceramite fist connecting with it.
"Of course, this is just my personal opinion. My Prince, you could speak with more of the Dark Angels. I don't think they would refuse."
If we're going down, we go down together.
"Thank you for sharing this with me," Arthur said with a smile. It was not the shallow, authoritative smile of a superior. It was a genuine, almost relieved, smile.
"This conversation has been very enlightening."
The first step had been taken. The rest would not be so difficult. He then rose and, under the gaze of countless unseen eyes, left the medicae bay.
He knew what these warriors wanted.
Not some hollow honour, not empty praise.
But an answer.
Yes, what they had always wanted was that simple. Not a medal to pin on their chest, not flowery words in a battle-report, but a reason that would let them sleep at night. An answer that would explain all their sacrifice and perseverance.
[To the First Legion:
Greetings, warriors of the First Legion.
I know you, and I know this Imperium.
You have served with unwavering loyalty, and have not received a commensurate reward.
You have been given the most difficult tasks, only to find you receive nothing when you complete them in the best possible way.
You are filled with uncertainty about the future, yet no one has shown you the way.
You are men, yet almost all who know of you have never valued this fundamental truth, so deeply engraved in your souls.
I will not say that some of your past actions were wrong. Nor will I blame those who made wrong decisions. That is all in the past. And now, we have a chance to begin anew.
Do not swear an oath to me. Do not make a promise to me.
Do not offer me your loyalty simply because of the identity that speculation has given me.
Unless you believe I am worthy.
Instead, allow me to offer you my loyalty.
I swear to you, here and now.
I am Arthur Pendragon.
I am not the Emperor's son, nor am I your Primarch.
Our paths have crossed by fortune. I am gladdened that you have seen a familiar spirit in me and have been willing to accept me. I count myself lucky to have had the chance to know such exceptional men.
My first order is to unite you again. We will fight for the same ideal. From this moment, we are no longer a broken Legion.
I promise you that I will walk with you into the long night.
And together, we will walk into the light.]
Every Dark Angel received a gift. A gift from Arthur.
A comprehensive plan, outlining the Dawnbreakers' vision for the future of human society, and what they intended to achieve. It included a proposal for the handling of the Dark Angels Chapter and its successors, and a charter for the place of the Astartes as a whole. Parts of it were naive, and even made some of the more experienced members smile.
But when their eyes fell upon a letter, and a finely crafted longsword, their expressions all turned solemn.
It was their story.
The wars they had fought, the pain they had endured, the honour they should have had. All of it was recorded on the blades in an open cipher. As long as the traditions of the Dark Angels survived, someone would remember them.
And on each blade was the same inscription:
[This is history, the essence distilled from your glorious lives.
Even when the flesh one day perishes, we will endure in the spirit of those who come after. We will live on in the First Legion.
Everything can be repaired, reforged with iron and blood, and through this, a form of immortality can be achieved. As long as we still remember.
I will remember you.]
The next day, the Round Table chamber was silent and solemn.
The Lord of Knights surveyed the assembled ranks. Every seat was filled by a knight in armour, sword at his side. Even the most ancient among them had his fists clenched, the metal of his gauntlets creaking softly. The bright lights from the vaulted ceiling fell upon yellowed parchment scrolls, covered in dense annotations in dark brown ink.
Together, they would weave the future.
Their shared future.
THUD!
A drinking horn was slammed onto the table. The corrosive Mjod ate away a thin layer of the wood.
"Oath-father!" Red-mane wiped a splash of the drink from his face and looked at Alm. "Let's go to war."
A month. A whole month. The Dark Angels had treated them to the finest food and drink, meeting their every request with a smile. And as a result, they had been drinking on the Silent Vow for nearly a month.
And had done absolutely nothing.
