My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 412: Guilliman Has a Mother
Inside Macragge's reception chamber, Mortarion sat in silence.
He lounged carelessly in a single-seat sofa, almost slumped into it, his scythe resting against the armrest at his side.
Behind him, on a couch sized for Space Marines, Vorx and Garro sat upright and rigid.
Across from Mortarion stood an empty armchair built for a Primarch—the other participant in this meeting had yet to arrive.
Lady Tarasha Euten walked forward in small steps. The slightly aged human noblewoman carried a teacup that looked enormous compared to her frame.
She headed directly toward Mortarion.
From behind, Vorx was certain he saw his father's posture grow faintly stiff.
Mortarion straightened slightly and pressed a control on his rebreather. The murky vapors hissing from its vents ceased.
He considered standing, but if he did, he would have to crouch and bend just to reach the mortal woman's tea.
So he remained seated and accepted the cup.
Mortarion lowered his eyes, watching black-and-yellow machine grime from his fingers rub faintly against the smooth white porcelain. For some reason, he found the sensation agreeable.
Euten smiled warmly. Then she turned and seated herself on a side chair beside the empty Primarch-sized armchair.
Mortarion watched her. He held the teacup, but had no intention of removing his mask.
"Allow me to introduce myself," she said evenly. "I am Robert Guilliman's adoptive mother, Tarasha Euten."
Mortarion's eye twitched slightly at the word, as if recalling the meaning of an obscure term.
…Adoptive mother.
She was Roboute Guilliman's adoptive mother.
He thought of his own adoptive father, and remembered that, with Hades' help, that damned creature's head had long since rolled from its shoulders.
He had no mother.
Mortarion reflected that neither Hades nor Calas had mothers either. Hades never spoke of his parents. Calas, however, would occasionally mention his mother in the deepest hours of night—she had died early.
As far as Mortarion knew, Calas' mother had been a resilient and great woman.
That was the entirety of his understanding of the concept of "mother."
So then… would Euten be like that? Or like his adoptive father? Or perhaps something in between?
The thought flickered through his mind—but it did not matter. Mortarion was indeed surprised that Guilliman had a mother, but it would not affect the mockery or anger he intended for Guilliman in the slightest.
Above Macragge, the navigator houses of the Death Guard were working relentlessly.
The moment they discovered a viable route back to the true warfront, the Death Guard would depart immediately without lingering in this wretched place a moment longer.
Mortarion did not understand why a tranquil star system would light itself up like a beacon, as though calling for aid.
Or did Guilliman truly believe the situation warranted reinforcements?
Mortarion felt his anger burning—quietly, steadily.
Calm. Stay calm, he told himself. You must not… place too much faith in an optimistic fool.
Seeing that Mortarion remained silent, offering no reply, Euten drew a slow breath and continued smiling.
"I apologize that Guilliman has not yet arrived. It seems he has urgent matters within the Legion."
Mortarion gave a slight nod.
"I understand," he muttered, then lapsed back into silence.
"Your commander is not with the Legion?" Euten asked gently. "I've heard he is quite fond of Macragge. Guilliman once gifted him two Macragge tapestries."
Beneath the hood, Mortarion's vacant gaze snapped sharply into focus, predator-sharp.
"He is not currently within the Death Guard. Why do you know of him?"
Euten smiled.
"Those two tapestries are treasures of House Konor."
…Mortarion remembered that he had ordered that half-mad oil-stained mechanic to steal those damned tapestries.
"Hades did indeed like those two tapestries," Mortarion said dryly.
Euten smiled gently.
"I heard of this outstanding commander within the Death Guard long ago—skilled in diplomacy and reconstruction, devoted to ensuring that people may live and work in peace. I imagine the Death Guard must be such a Legion as well."
Beyond asking Guilliman about certain matters concerning the Death Guard, Euten naturally consulted her own intelligence network. That was why even a Primarch could find it troublesome to face certain highly respected nobles.
In some ways, nobles who governed entire star systems possessed sharper—and more cunning—political instincts.
And this noble was Euten: the woman who had raised Primarch Roboute Guilliman. Even if she had grown old, even if she now spent her days baking biscuits, even if her brilliance had long been overshadowed by her husband, King Konor, and her son, Roboute Guilliman—
What ill intent could she possibly have? She was merely a mother trying her best to shoulder some of her son's burdens.
Some matters, Euten understood, were ill-suited for discussion between Primarchs. They were too sharp, too unwilling to concede even the slightest ground in conversation.
Mortarion could not understand why this noblewoman was attempting to converse with him.
But she was correct in what she said—he could not ignore that.
"The Death Guard is committed to overthrowing tyranny and liberating the oppressed," Mortarion added.
"And to reconstruction and development after war."
This had always been Hades' insistence. Now, it was Mortarion's and the Death Guard's principle as well.
Euten inclined her head.
"A noble pursuit, my lord—building a haven for humanity. That is also what the Ultramarines strive for."
A hiss escaped from beneath Mortarion's mask. He thought of what he had seen of Macragge.
By the Lord of Death's standards—
He would judge the people here somewhat too leisurely. Too complacent.
Macragge was steeped in a certain indulgent ease. People worked only a modest portion of the day, then returned home to rest, with ample energy left for recreation.
Mortarion had seen the crowds who flocked to the plaza merely out of curiosity to watch the Death Guard descend. He had seen the banners they hung in their spare time. The crude respirators they had fashioned.
…Frankly, Mortarion did not like this place.
More than that, when he considered the galaxy even now being torn apart, he found it difficult to comprehend how such a peaceful, tranquil realm could still exist amid a galaxy ablaze.
Guilliman had even lit this star system like a foolish, glittering warp-lantern, as though afraid the fires of war might somehow overlook it.
A strangled breath rasped beneath Mortarion's respirator. On Barbarus, every transit route had long since been heavily fortified at his command.
And yet…
Mortarion fell silent in thought.
Here, people could afford not to work much. And even when they did, they could choose occupations they actually preferred. From the transport craft, he had seen Macragge's prosperous streets—and the food stalls laid out along them.
What astonished him was that those stalls had flown the banners of both Legions.
…Mortarion now understood why Hades longed for Macragge.
For someone like Hades—that indolent creature who delayed work whenever possible and competed fiercely for meals—there was no reason not to like this place.
Mortarion remained silent as a dreadful thought rose in his mind.
If—if Hades had not been born on Barbarus, but on Macragge, then perhaps—
Perhaps, given Hades' temperament, he would never have chosen to become a Space Marine at all.
Macragge's environment alone might have sufficed to satisfy his already minimal personal desires.
Hades was not warlike.
Mortarion knew that.
Mortarion fell into a long silence.
In the end, what could he even say?
At most, he could sneer inwardly—as expected of Macragge.
He steadied his mind and looked at Euten. Guilliman had Macragge. He had an adoptive mother. He had grown up in this indolent atmosphere, filled with what Mortarion deemed false hope.
That explained some of his foolishness. His arrogance.
Mortarion reflected slowly that at least Hades and Calas had always corrected him when he erred—though neither of them now stood at his side.
Still, that much had prevented him from becoming as foolish as Guilliman.
The Lord of Death's hoarse voice broke the silence. He suppressed his irritation, his vexation, his instinct to mock. Now was not the time.
Perhaps when Guilliman arrived, he could offer a few cutting remarks, ridicule his naivety, and then depart.
"Lady Euten. Macragge's prosperity is evident to all."
Mortarion paused, considering how best to extinguish this woman's overly earnest desire for dialogue.
"But you are not satisfied with it?" Euten asked gently. There was no aggression in her gaze.
Mortarion exhaled irritably through his respirator. What was the point of speaking to someone like this? Words were useless. He despised useless words.
He should speak to Guilliman—the one who actually held authority. Mock his foolishness outright, and perhaps the naive man in blue armor would reflect, at least for a moment.
At the very least, Mortarion would have tried to prevent Guilliman from erring again.
"The people here are too at ease," Mortarion said impatiently.
"Do they know what is happening now?"
Euten smiled faintly.
"Perhaps they do not fully understand. But the Legion does."
Her voice remained calm.
"To be truthful, my lord, we ourselves are cautious about what is unfolding. Everything happened too suddenly. The Astronomican went dark. All long-range communications were severed."
She shook her head and looked at Mortarion earnestly.
"In my personal capacity, my lord, I ask that you tell me what you know of the present situation. I am worried for Lord Guilliman. He has worked without rest for weeks because of these events, yet due to our limitations, we still do not know what has occurred."
"I have heard from Guilliman that the Death Guard, yourself, and Lord Hades are exceptionally skilled in matters concerning anti-psyker and warp-related phenomena. Perhaps you possess information we desperately need."
She spoke sincerely.
"You may not understand our actions, but when one does not understand the present circumstances, this is the only thing we can do."
Euten paused.
"Forgive me, my lord. This is a mother's anxious request. You may… choose not to answer."
Mortarion fell silent.
If Hades were here, he would curse the cunning mortal noblewoman for maneuvering the blunt Barbarusian farmer into a corner.
Mortarion was keenly sensitive to malice.
But he did not know how to contend with kindness.
He breathed steadily. After a long silence, he finally spoke again, though his tone now carried a faint… respect.
"Lady Euten. You raised my brother Guilliman."
His question came abruptly.
"What does that feel like? Did you ever throw him from a cliff to make him stronger? Or cast him into a pit of beasts?"
His eyes burned as he watched her.
Euten had not expected the focus of the conversation to shift so suddenly onto her. The rhythm of the exchange faltered; she paused, momentarily caught off guard.
"No. No, I would never do such… cruel things to Guilliman. If anyone attempted such harm, I would do everything in my power to protect him." She spoke firmly.
"But such things would not have killed him. Guilliman is a Primarch," Mortarion replied.
"No, my lord. In front of a mother, to speak of such matters… that already crosses a line."
Euten answered decisively—even though it meant refusing a Primarch, and not just any Primarch, but one notoriously difficult, whose temperament even Guilliman found challenging.
Mortarion regarded her thoughtfully. Then, slowly, he removed his respirator.
He lifted the half-cooled cup of tea and drank it in a single gulp. The cup was instantly empty.
Clearly, Mortarion had never learned how to drink tea—or anything about the etiquette surrounding it.
But no one present would trouble him over that.
He swallowed the tea leaves as well, then fell into thought.
"You truly do not seem like someone who would do such things. I am… glad to realize that you treated Guilliman well."
So this is what a mother is… Mortarion thought. Certainly not like the adoptive father who had thrown him from a cliff. That explained why Guilliman treated his mother with such regard.
Euten's earlier words had genuinely shaken him.
Guilliman had someone who cared for him.
How… strange.
Because of that strange feeling, Mortarion decided to grant this brave mortal woman a little more respect.
That said, his intention to mock Guilliman later remained entirely unchanged.
It was odd, he had resolved to respect Guilliman's mother, yet had no intention of respecting Guilliman himself.
"I withdraw my earlier malicious assumptions," Mortarion said stiffly.
"If you felt offended by them, then I take back what I said."
Euten smiled, the tension in her posture easing.
"It was I who was too cautious," she replied. "Speaking with a Primarch requires courage. And you, my lord—"
"Look more frightening," Mortarion finished.
"I know. That is what they all say."
"With each world conquered, my brothers are hailed as kings and sovereigns. Only I earn titles such as Reaper and Nightmare."
He laughed—dryly. Without the mask, the expression made him look even more terrifying.
Euten smiled nonetheless.
"But I know that is not so. Appearance is never the standard by which one judges character. My lord, I believe you are a noble man."
"A novel evaluation," Mortarion said.
He stared at the emptied cup. Strands of tea leaves drifted lonely at the bottom. He considered her words. He did not resent being evaluated—though some of his brothers might find it impertinent.
Mortarion allowed others to judge him. Even to point out his faults.
Calas and Hades had done so often.
They had seen past his dreadful exterior and spoken candidly of his shortcomings.
His keen hearing picked up footsteps approaching in the corridor outside.
Slowly, the Lord of Death spoke again.
"Lady Euten, I must refuse your request. In truth, I do not know what has happened either."
"But."
He set the cup aside and extended a hand toward her.
"If you are interested, you would be welcome to visit the Death Guard at any time. The Death Guard is certainly safer than Macragge. Of that, I can personally guarantee."
The door burst open.
Mortarion turned his head and saw Guilliman standing there, wearing an expression of utter disbelief.
Mortarion arched a brow.
"MORTARION!!!" Guilliman roared.
At this moment, it was Guilliman who wanted to cut Mortarion down.
And Mortarion did not believe he had said anything wrong.
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