The Iron Cage

[Marshal Rohr]

I

The cobalt blue dropship touched down amidst the wreckage and debris of the trenches. Burnt tank hulls and bodies armored in gold and iron littered the battlescape in miles for all directions. On the barrel of a destroyed basilisk raised to the sky was the tattered remains of a crème and black flag bearing the black cross of the Templars, the first company.

 

The dropships ramps lowered and from the belly of the Thunderhawk strode Roboute Guilliman. Armored in magnificent battle plate the dark blue of the Macraggian oceans, Guilliman was a giant amongst giants. The golden armored warriors eyed him apprehensively, a mixture of awe and foreboding. Lord Dorn had specifically told him to stay out of this. This was between Dorn and Perturabo, and no one, even a Primarch, would come between them.

 

‘Who is in charge here?’ Guilliman asked, his voice as cold as ice. The assembled warriors looked from one to the other, any semblance of the famed Imperial Fist discipline had disappeared in the first hours of fighting.

 

‘I am,’ said a warrior in black.

 

‘Sigismund, where is he?’ asked Guilliman, eyeing the ranks of gathered warriors. Their battle plate was scarred and burnt, honor markings and oaths of moment obscured beneath blood and the grey mud of Sebastus IV.

 

‘We think he is about a kilometer to the north, Lord. He and the remnants of the Huscarls went to engage Perturabo at a bunker complex there. We haven’t heard back from them in six hours. I was just about to lead my men after them,’ Sigismund explained behind his expressionless helm. The warrior had clearly been in the most intense of the fighting, dark astartes blood spattered the white of his pauldrons obscuring his heraldry and lending a fell aspect to his already menacing appearance.

 

Before Guilliman could respond the thump of artillery and the whistling of incoming ordnance scattered the gathered warriors. With a speed borne of genetic enhancement and powered armor the Astartes trained their weapons forward in preparation for the inevitable attack as the shells impacted to the north of the trench system.

 

‘Pilot, make for orbit with all due haste,’ Guilliman commanded the Astartes in the dropship. The shells began to creep closer to the trenches as Guilliman tabbed the vox controls on his armor.

 

‘Master Gage, begin landing at the predetermined coordinates. Lock in on my position and triangulate the location of the guns firing on us. Once you have a target locked, begin a full-scale bombardment to mask our landings to the north and east. Captain Orar is to begin his assault as soon as the guns are eliminated. The keep at the center of the defenses was a ruse as expected, have the 19th and 14th Companies divert to their secondary targets. Confirm,’ Guilliman waited crouched behind the flak board and concrete alongside the Fists. The artillery pounded closer with each passing second, throwing up wet mud and broken bodies.

 

‘Acknowledged, Primarch. Bombardment commencing,’ came the terse reply over the vox. The ground heaved as mass drivers and lasers powerful enough to carve through meters of armored plating rendered the artillery positions into craters. The shockwave tore at the defenses around the Imperial position, but he stood firm, crouched against the trench wall.

 

Once the bombardment had ceased the Imperial Fists were up and scanning the horizon, waiting for the attack. It never came. Sigismund cycled through the vox channels demanding status reports. The black armored knight walked towards Guilliman, his wicked sword clamped behind his back.

 

‘Lord, my men and I are going after the Primarch. Am I to understand you are coming with us?’ He asked, uncertain of the purpose behind Guilliman arriving alone.

 

‘No Sigismund, I am not going with you and your men. I am going after my brother, you and your men are to fall back to these coordinates and rendezvous with Chapter Master Gage.’

 

‘With respect, honored Primarch, I refuse. Lord Dorn is my Primarch and I will not retreat while he is unaccounted for,’ though Guilliman could crush the warrior with little effort, he saw the devotion within him. It would be appropriate to confide in him, then.

 

‘Sigismund, he is your Lord and Primarch; but he is my brother. You devotion does you great honor, and your desire to find him personally is noted. And ignored. You will do as I have commanded, do you understand?’

 

Sigismund was taken aback; the conflict within him was tangible. He would do his duty; it was nigh impossible for an Astartes to ignore a direct order from a Primarch.

 

‘Acknowledged, Lord.’ Sigismund signaled for his men to form up and move out. With a last look back at Guilliman, hoping beyond hope to be invited to help find his lord, he turned and joined his men in moving to regroup with the Ultramarines behind them.

 

Guilliman climbed over top the trench and set out across the battle-scarred wasteland. It was time he and Dorn settled this.

 

‘I am not losing another brother to madness,’ he said as he began the trek to find his wayward kin.

 

II

Dorn kneeled motionlessly amongst the bodies of his Huscarls and the Iron Warriors they had died fighting. The demi-god rested his hand upon the haft of his hammer, and waited.

 

‘Perturabo will reveal himself,’ he thought. He was alone and unguarded; surely the traitor would take the bait. He had been there for close to five hours when he heard the dropships. He did not even have to look, he knew who came for them. Guilliman had defied him and broken his oath. He would wait for his brother, then.

 

Guilliman found him kneeling amongst his fallen sons. Dorn’s black armor was nearly ruined. Gashes and rents ran the length of his body, the great eagle that adorned his shoulders had been torn completely away and lied fifteen feet from them buried in mud and gore. He approached him slowly, his breathing measured and calm.

 

‘You should not have come, brother. You swore to me,’ Dorn said without turning around. ‘This was my fight.’

 

‘What happened, Rogal?’ Guilliman asked softly.

 

‘It was a trap and I walked right into it. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. Now my sons lie dead and dying and I can do nothing. I have failed them.’

 

‘Brother, come with me. My men have secured the southern landing zones, and we can still leave before the Iron Warrior decides to finish this,’ Guilliman placed a hand on Dorn’s shoulder. ‘Please, brother. Come with me.’

 

‘No!’ Dorn shouted, quickly standing to his feet. ‘I will not leave! Perturabo will die by my hand, and I will have vengeance! All of them will die. Fulgrim, Angron, Magnus, every single one will die by my hand. You never understood, Guilliman. You were half way across the galaxy when it happened.’

 

This stung Guilliman, though he wouldn’t show it. How could his own brother think him so unfeeling? It did not matter now, they had little time before the Iron Warriors would break through and envelop his landing zones.

 

‘Rogal, this is hardly the time or place. Your men are being evacuated as we speak. We can discuss this once we have turned this planet to smoldering glass. You must keep your head, brother, or all will be lost,’ He turned to leave, expecting Dorn to follow but the Primarch remained motionless.

 

‘Damn you, Rogal, we have to leave!’ His famous calm was slipping. ‘They know we are here; they will not face two Primarchs in battle. Perturabo will shell us into oblivion and laugh all the while. Is this how you want to be remembered? What good will it do our father if two more of his loyal sons die?’

Dorn spun so quickly it caused Guilliman to pause.

 

‘Don’t you speak of him to me, Roboute. Don’t you dare! You have done nothing but attempt to ruin what he built. For the past ten years you have acted as if you were his successor. You think you know better than he did, that your reason and logic will save the Imperium. You want to destroy the Legions and divide his armies, all the while taking power for yourself. You are no better than Hor…,’ he never finished his sentence. Guilliman had grabbed him by the shoulders and stared directly into his eyes.

 

‘You know nothing, Rogal. Nothing! You have spent the past ten years blindly chasing the traitors. You have not seen what the Imperium has become. We are on the brink of destruction. ‘

 

‘Destruction by your hand! If you had been there, if you had just come when I warned you of Horus’ treachery he would still be alive!’

 

‘You think I don’t know?’ Guilliman was enraged now, his noble bearing completely gone. ‘You don’t think I did everything I could to make it to Terra? That I was safe and secure sitting in a fortress on Macragge, content to watch my brothers and father die?’

 

‘Coward! I saw him! I was there. I carried his body back. It was me who fought to protect him while you were crawling to his side. He always favored you, but it wasn’t you who was there when it truly mattered. It was me.’

 

‘Coward? Dorn, I did everything I could to return! Horus had countered me at every corner. There was no move I could make that he hadn’t anticipated. Nothing he hadn’t prepared for! I had to watch from a distance as everything I helped build was torn down, piece by piece! Do you think you are the only one who loved him? He was my father too, Rogal,’

 

Guilliman turned, shaken and furious. He had come to save his brother, and only a madman remained of the man he had respected. He began to walk from the trench towards the landing zones as Dorn grabbed him.

 

‘Don’t you walk away from me, brother. We are not done.’

 

‘Yes,’ Guilliman said, his voice cold. ‘We are done. You are not the brother I once knew. Your grief has blinded you, and I will not waste any more breath arguing over nothing while my sons die to save you.’

 

A look of uncertainty shadowed Dorn. His anger washed away in the realization that his men where still scattered and dying across the world. He released Guilliman and stepped away.

 

‘What of my own sons, you will take them with you?’ Dorn asked apprehensively.

 

‘They will come with me, I will leave you to your madness.’

 

Then as if a mighty dam had broken apart, the river of unfathomable grief poured forth.

 

‘I have failed them, brother, just as I failed our father. Now my sons lie dead on a god-forsaken world. I have failed again,’ Dorn hung his head. The Emperor’s fist, his chosen guardian, shamed in the mud of some world that no one knew, or would ever care to remember.

 

‘It was my fault. I wasn’t fast enough. The call came over the vox, and then I felt him in my mind. He had found Horus and was going to end it. I did everything I could, Roboute. Why wasn’t I fast enough?’

 

‘Brother, it was inevitable. Horus had made pacts with powers beyond even our comprehension,’ Guilliman pulled Dorn to his feet and looked him in the eye.

 

‘I deserve death, brother. Take my sons, Roboute. Make this right and remember me as I was, not as I am now.’ Dorn picked up his fallen hammer and began to walk away, towards the Iron Warrior lines.

 

‘I failed him too, Rogal,’ Guilliman called after him. Dorn remained silent, unfazed by the confession. Guilliman knew if he could not get through to his brother now, then all would be truly lost. He continued.

 

‘We all failed him. Everything I did, I couldn’t make it. Every move I made Horus had already planned for. He countered everything I tried. I was totally helpless, screaming into a storm. But, this isn’t the way, Rogal. We can make things right. Dying here won’t bring him back.’

 

‘What use is a praetorian with a dead master, Guilliman. What need does the Imperium have for me? I am a failure in their eyes, and if this is to be my end then I will not cost anymore of my sons their life. I am unneeded.’

 

‘I need you, brother,’ Guilliman said quietly. ‘I can’t do this alone.’

 

‘What?’ Dorn was taken aback by such a candid admission.

 

‘The horror of Old Night will descend on mankind once again unless we can right what Horus has done. The Imperium must be reorganized or it will collapse. Horus won, Rogal. Don’t you see that? Unless we act right now, everything we spent our entire lives building will burn. The Lion has disappeared, Russ and Khan have slipped their leash, Sanguinius and Ferrus are dead. Vulkan and Corax are rebuilding what remains of their Legion. The only ones who can help are right here, in this worthless trench on this worthless world arguing. Come with me, and we will give mankind the future our father envisioned.’

 

Dorn was silent in thought. Guilliman could see the conflict on his brother’s face. He was attempting to master his sacrificial nature with his duty as a Primarch. Guilliman knew no matter what Dorn decided in this moment, it would all be over. Finally, Dorn locked eyes with his brother.

 

‘Let us return to Terra, brother. We have an empire to rebuild.’

[Ace Debonair]

Nice.

 

Just read the whole thing; that's a heck of a story you have there. :D

 

The only bit that I'd change is this bit:

 

‘I failed him too, Rogal,’ Guilliman called after him.

 

‘We all failed him. Everything I did, I couldn’t make it. Every move I made Horus had already planned for. He countered everything I tried. I was totally helpless, screaming into a storm. But, this isn’t the way, Rogal. We can make things right. Dying here won’t bring him back.’

 

And even then I'd do would be add something like this:

 

‘I failed him too, Rogal,’ Guilliman called after him. When Dorn continued to walk away, Guilliman continued;

 

And that's just so idiots like me don't think the next speech is Dorn responding until halfway through the sentence. :lol:

 

 

EDIT: My crusade against typos continues.

[Brother Captain Ed]

Magnificent. Positively magnificent.

[Chaplain Hiltraud]

Great job, you conveyed the intense emotions nicely!!

 

Chaplain Hiltraud

[Legio Draconis]

I bow to you good sir, that was amazing.

[Marshal Rohr]

Thanks brothers

[Kassill]

Truly wonderful! :)

[GooseDaMoose]

I agree this was a really good read but I would've loooooved if it had just ended with:

‘I failed him too, Rogal,’ Guilliman called after him. Dorn remained silent, unfazed by the confession, and continued walking away.

'...I failed him'

Would in my opinion be a better grimdark, negative ending which I think the Horus Heresy-times deserve, instead of the happy flowery ending to an otherwise gloomy, gray and emotionally raw story. Course, everyone's a critic, if I had had the idea and skill to write a story like that I could talk but I guess I'll shut up :)

 

Anyway, I high five you with great reverence, sir.

[Dosjetka]

Great work M2C. You've greatly portrayed both Primarchs and their emotions :)

 

Ludovic

[Marshal Rohr]

I agree this was a really good read but I would've loooooved if it had just ended with:

‘I failed him too, Rogal,’ Guilliman called after him. Dorn remained silent, unfazed by the confession, and continued walking away.

'...I failed him'

Would in my opinion be a better grimdark, negative ending which I think the Horus Heresy-times deserve, instead of the happy flowery ending to an otherwise gloomy, gray and emotionally raw story. Course, everyone's a critic, if I had had the idea and skill to write a story like that I could talk but I guess I'll shut up :)

 

Anyway, I high five you with great reverence, sir.

 

I'll agree with that, but the canon ending of the Iron Cage is Dorn relenting and coming with Guilliman :tu:

[GooseDaMoose]

I agree this was a really good read but I would've loooooved if it had just ended with:

‘I failed him too, Rogal,’ Guilliman called after him. Dorn remained silent, unfazed by the confession, and continued walking away.

'...I failed him'

Would in my opinion be a better grimdark, negative ending which I think the Horus Heresy-times deserve, instead of the happy flowery ending to an otherwise gloomy, gray and emotionally raw story. Course, everyone's a critic, if I had had the idea and skill to write a story like that I could talk but I guess I'll shut up :D

 

Anyway, I high five you with great reverence, sir.

 

I'll agree with that, but the canon ending of the Iron Cage is Dorn relenting and coming with Guilliman ^_^

 

But he would be. Like, he'd be walking away to return to Guilliman's Thunderhawk. He relents, but only because he doesn't have the will to fight anymore.

 

I love the idea of the Primarch finally just being unable to take the pressure anymore, and showing that somehow, somewhere, deep inside they're still just human. I mean think about all the intense weight of responsibility they have to deal with, diplomacy, tactical decisions, actual fighting, even bureauocratic stuff, it's like being President of the United States x a zillion. And then with the poopstorm that came with the Horus Heresy, the betrayal and loss they have to deal with. In addition Guilliman not being able to make it to the Emperor on time and Dorn, uh... also not making it to the Emperor on time They're bound to break down at some point.

 

I say you've raised very interesting issues with this story, except that the end kinda pushes them all aside and says "and then they lived happily ever after." You know?

 

I can stop bitching about this if you want, it's just that I think you wrote a really good story and with a minor tweak it would be awesomely awesome!

[Cptn. Palladorus]

This was amazing. Every official story I've ever read of the primarchs they're dumber than a box of hair and bicker like middle-school cheerleaders. You turned them into real people. Bravo. Go take your rightful place at the head of Black Library.

[Ace Debonair]

Dorn kneeled motionlessly amongst the bodies of his Huscarls and the Iron Warriors they had died fighting. The golden armored demi-god rested his hand upon the haft of his hammer, and waited.

 

‘Perturabo will reveal himself,’ he thought. He was alone and unguarded; surely the traitor would take the bait. He had been there for close to five hours when he heard the dropships. He did not even have to look, he knew who came for them. Guilliman had defied him and broken his oath. He would wait for his brother, then.

 

Guilliman found him kneeling amongst his fallen sons. Dorn’s black armor was nearly ruined. Gashes and rents ran the length of his body, the great eagle that adorned his shoulders had been torn completely away and lied fifteen feet from them buried in mud and gore. He approached him slowly, his breathing measured and calm.

I just spotted Dorn has a palette swap part way through. :P

 

Took me a while to spot it though, I must have read this five or six times by now. It's very good!

[Marshal Rohr]

Thanks for the spot! Second time that happened :P

[astartes88]

Bravo lad bravo

[Brother Augustine]

*Applause*

That was really good. Starring my two favorite Primarchs no less. I salute you good sir.

[Blackwyvern]

that is brilliant. just one small point, didn't Dorn die in the iron cage?

[GooseDaMoose]

No, he died assaulting a Chaos ship during the First Black Crusade I think.

[Sons of Horus]

That was a very emotional piece for something set in the 40k universe and I think it's wonderful :)

[DarKnight]

VERY well written Marshal.

[Pulse]

Stunning work mate, very much liked your interp of both Dorn and Guilliman. :)

[Olis]

If I may be so bold - if BL do an anthology during the Scouring I believe this would be a worthy addition, provided there's more to come. :)

 

Suffice to say I liked it. Very well written M2C. :tu:

[Ashur]

I like it a lot. Well done. :tu:

 

Specially that small ominous warning:

 

"Russ and Khan have slipped their leash"

 

The implications behind those words make me want to write a little something about the post-heresy reaction of my two favourite primarchs.

[Brother-Sergeant Bohemond]

very much enjoyed it sir, darn it all, you are making me love Dorn even more!

[DarkSavage]

Very well written, I believe that this captures the encounter that the two would've had. Please keep up the good work sir!