The Times and Trials of Klightus

The following article is a /tg/ related story or fanfic. Should you continue, expect to find tl;dr and an occasional amount of awesome.

Otherwise known as The Shy Guardsman on sup/tg/. The story of the Guardsman Klightus and Sister Bethany.

Storytime

First Story

There are a few reasons why a noble family sent one of their number to join the guard. Most frequently it was so that they could come back a hero, raising the family's status.

Sadly, in Klightus' case, it was the exact opposite.

He'd never been good at the political game. He'd been captured by scum twice by the age of ten, and according to his father, he just didn't "get" it. After the third time, his father threatened to not pay the ransom next time. That was enough to keep him at home from then on. No, he was sent to the guard in hopes that he'd die. Maybe a glorious death, maybe one that would leave his family proud. But they just hoped he died quietly. That would be enough.

So far, he'd failed them in that, too. He'd been accident prone as a child -- he'd grown tall, and that height had left him awkward for many years. He'd spent a lot of time with the family's chirugen, and had picked up a lot. Now, he served the Medicae. While, true, he served in the field, so far he'd been spared front-line combat for the most part.

Most of the time. This wasn't one of those times.

"Klightus! Where in the Emperor's name are you?"

"On m-my way!" He fell into a sprint, shrapnel kicking up dust that stung the eyes. He paused behind the cover of a tree, firing off a couple of shots at the traitor scum. Needed to clear his path. Needed to get to the wounded. He needed... A glance revealed a traitor Russ drawing bead on his location. Klightus wasn't sure if he should be honored or insulted that they felt to use that much overkill on him. Either way, he needed to move. It didn't take much to convince him to sprint again.

The tree exploded, throwing him off his feet. For a long time, there was only a high-pitched whine and a throbbing inside Klightus' head. Distantly, he became aware of a pain in his bicep. A shard of wood. Without thinking, he pulled it out. That's when he really noticed the pain. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to dwell on it.

"Klightus, if you don't get your ass over here RIGHT NOW, I swear I'll send you to the Emperor myself!"

Finally, he found the two soldiers in question. Their cover wasn't good, but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that one of them was lying on the ground. Klightus fell to his knees next to the conscript. He'd taken shrapnel to the face -- the man could be saved, but the eye couldn't. Better to take it out and get the guy shooting again than grant him the Emperor's Benediction.

He'd just worked the biggest shard of shrapnel free when the cover started to get peppered. Klightus snatched up his lasrifle and glanced. A group of them were making a charge. Damn traitors. With the sudden odd high-pitched whine in the air, he could barely think. Gritting his teeth, he took aim and fired...

Only for the traitor to explode. Klightus blinked and looked down at his lasrifle. That... shouldn't have caused that...

It was then that SHE landed. Right next to him. If his sphincter hadn't of been the size of purely theoretical particles before, it was now. She looked down at him, one of her ice blue eyes hidden behind her white hair. A quick look to the injured conscript, and she returned her attention to the advancing traitors, her bolter blazing into life again.

Klightus didn't need any more of an order. He spared one more shot downrange, only scoring a glancing blow, before returning his attention to getting the soldier back up and firing.

It was an hour later before the battle was done. Klightus limped back across the battlefield, clutching his arm. Every step sent fire up his leg and into his back. He'd twisted his ankle at some point -- at least, he hoped that he'd twisted it. He was afraid to check. He shouldered his rifle and bent down to pick up his helmet. He wasn't going to get flogged for losing it. Again. It wasn't until he pushed himself back up, grimacing the entire way, that he realized that one of the Sisters was standing in front of him.

He pushed his eyes slowly up to her face. Ice blue eyes. White hair. Now he could see the fleur-de-lis on her cheek. He tried not to grimace as he made the sign of the aquila over his chest -- his arm might have been bandaged, but it still hurt like hell. "Th-thank you, s-s-sister, for your assistance in ensuring the Emperor's will... be done this day." There was a long moment before she nodded once, letting him drop his arms.

"You are bleeding," she said softly.

"Oh?" Was he? It took a moment before he remembered his arm. "Oh, this? I-I-I... It's nothing. It shouldn't be... um... infected or anything. I've t-treated it and said the litanies to-"

"Not that," she said, sounding a touch amused. A gauntlet pointed down at his leg.

And the piece of steel jutting out of it. That made him wonder -- was it the ankle that was causing him all the pain, or the shrapnel. His face began to feel as if a thousand pins were prickling it. "Oh, fiddle-dee-dee," he said, his voice breaking. "That will require a Tetanus shot."

With that, his world went black.

---

In retrospect, it was kind of funny that pain wasn't the first thing he noticed. Not that there wasn't a lot of it. Instead, it was the incense. But his eyes didn't want to open. The cot was warm. His body felt like lead. Lead and pain, but lead none the less. Nothing wanted to move. Nothing wanted to work.

But the incense made him force his eyes open. Medicae didn't burn incense. Nor did Medicae tents have that kind of roof, really. He forced his eyes down only to see... a statue. Saint... he couldn't remember her name offhand. A warrior hospitaller. Yes, he knew her. That, as well as sheets finer than anything he'd ever had as a Guardsman, told him that he wasn't with Medicae right now.

Klightus pushed aside the sheets, looking down at himself. Bruising, yes. To be expected. But it had already started healing nicely. His leg and arm were bandaged, as well as his ankle. From the looks of it, even the minor lacerations had been attended to. He... wasn't going to argue. With a wince, he quietly made his way out of the cot, kneeling before the statue. If this saint had watched over him while he was unconscious, then the least that he could do was give her proper thanks. Even if the fact that he was only in his undergarments made his skin stand.

"You are awake."

The voice made him jump, turning quickly to look at the source. Bad idea -- it made him woozy, seeing double. No, not double. There was only one of everything in the room, save for the two sisters before him. Two pairs of ice eyes stared down at him. Almost completely identical, save for a small scar on one's cheek.

"Careful," said the one. "You have been unconscious for some time. You lost quite a bit of blood. We feared that we might have to send you to His loving embrace."

Well, it looked like he'd failed his family again. Shame tinged his cheeks, even as he tried to deny that small point of pride deep inside.

The one who spoke turned to the other. "Tell Sister Superior." The other nodded and left the grand tent. It all felt so surreal.

But there were things that needed addressed. Looking up from his position on the ground, he forced words to his lips. "H-h-how b-bad was it?"

"Three days. Sister Bethany was forced to hand feed you. When the fever came, she tended to that as well. We would like to keep you for a few more days." The air was heavy with unsaid words. She looked away from him, back to the statue. "Your commander has demanded we return you to him as soon as you awoke. He was not pleased when I brought you here, but there was little that he could do. Keeping you here, however..."

Klightus found himself blushing as he looked away. "I th-thank you for your divine kindness, as well as your d-divine wrath against the enemies of the Emperor."

"You may regret those words." He looked back up to her. Her face was hard. "Sister Bethany will escort you back to your regiment. I believe your commander seeks to put you directly back into harm's way." She must have seen his wince. "This, most certainly, will kill you. However, Sister Superior has informed me that all of the transports are either in use or in need of repairs. I'm afraid that it will be a long trip."

Klightus was never good at politics, but even he could see what was going on. The commander had found a way to force their hand. Who knew how, but they were were disobeying by complying. By following the letter of the orders, they had bought him time to help recuperate. His ears felt warm.

Which left when the tent opened, letting in another blast of cool air. The other sister, Bethany he supposed, had returned, carrying his gear. His pack looked so very empty. With even, graceful movements, she placed it on his cot. A moment later, she made her exit again. To don her armor, he supposed.

"I expect to see my sister returned after she presents you," the more talkative sister declared.

That threat was read loud and clear. From his kneeling position, he made the sign of the aquila to her. "The Emperor's will b-be done."

The two of them stayed there for several long moments, neither moving. She expected him to stand. There was no way that he was going to do that with her there. Perhaps she sensed his discomfort, perhaps she grew tired of waiting, but regardless, she bowed her head to him and left him to change.

Not for the first time in his life, and he doubted it would be the last, Klightus silently cursed his body.

He took his time getting changed, out of stiffness rather than... anything else. By the time he left the tent, the sister was standing outside awaiting him in her armor, her bolter carried at ease. "S-Sister Bethany?" She nodded to him, her eyes closing slightly. Okay, this was kind of awkward. "I was t-told that you would... You would be escorting me?"

As if to answer, she retrieved a crutch, offering it to him. Great. They were walking. To Emperor only knew where. This might take a while...

---

The going was both boring and entertaining. His escort wasn't the talkative type, but... He had to admit, there was something about the cut of her armor... It also didn't help with her height. He was the tallest purestrain human in the regiment, but she... Perhaps it was the armor, but she came very close to looking him in the eye. That alone was enough to keep him somewhat distracted from the pain.

For every two hours they marched, they rested for fifteen minutes. She would come and look him over critically -- probably ensuring that he wasn't about to fall over. Each time, she presented him with a little bit of food, water, and painkillers. Which was both a good thing and a bad thing. By the fourth stop, Klightus wasn't feeling any pain, but he was also feeling rather woozy.

Perhaps she sensed this. Her ice blue eyes narrowed this time as she watched him, a slight frown on her face. Wordlessly, she wrapped an arm around him and guided him over to a tree. She didn't speak, but it didn't take much urging to get him to sit and rest against it. He smiled up at her to thank her, but already Sister Bethany was walking away, collecting twigs.

His eyes opened to find a fire going, the only thing keeping darkness from invading their small makeshift camp. He found a blanket wrapped around him. Honestly, he didn't remember falling asleep. He blinked twice, looking around. Her silver hair was the main thing that gave Bethany's position away next to the fire. With a smile, she brought him a bowl of some sort of stew. He tried to thank her again, but his throat felt thick and dry.

A few mouthfuls to ease the gnawing of his stomach gave him a little courage. "Sister B-Bethany? I..." She tilted her head curiously, the light from the fire playing on her face. "I don't... know what I did to deserve you treating me like this, but..." He swallowed hard. "I just wanted... to say thank you. I feel like I don't... deserve hospitality such as this. I'm just-"

She crossed the short distance between them. Somehow, Klightus found himself extremely aware of just exactly how close she was to him. An even expression on her face, she took both his hands, forcing one to take a spoonful of stew and putting it into his mouth. That... pretty much said it all. Shut up and eat. Blushing, he swallowed and looked back down to the simple silver bowl. With a nod, she settled next to him against the tree, taking up her bolter and pointing it into the darkness.

He didn't remember falling asleep again, but he did awaken briefly during the night. His neck hurt, and his cheek felt pierced. Opening his eye, Klightus found out why -- in his sleep, his head had found its way onto her shoulder. His eyes closed again, thinking that he should move.

Thinking was as far as he got.

It was subtle motion that woke Klightus up. The slight movement of the head caused by what it was resting on moving. He forced his eyes open, only to be greeted by a pair of ice blue.

Oh. Right.

He jerked his head away and found himself blushing all the way up to his ears. "Sorry, I-I..." He glanced at her and found her to be smirking ever so slightly at him. Somehow, he didn't feel insulted by it. She made her way to her feet, stretching, before she brought herself down to a kneel. Ah, right. Morning prayers. He should have known. Heck, she'd probably been holding off on them to let him sleep. That was... awfully nice of her. Almost...

He quickly pushed the thought out of his head as he forced his own body to move. Nothing more than the after effects of drugs, he told himself. And, no matter how much he wanted to believe it might be otherwise, he couldn't. She wasn't...

Right, stop that line of thought right there. Now that his neck simply hurt instead of feeling like it was going to snap off, he settled down himself for prayer. A prayer to the Emperor's grace, for seeing Klightus to safety and continued life, for gifting him with one of His blessed daughters, for His continued protection against danger both without and within.

It felt odd to pray in silence, but somehow he felt that it was better this way -- it didn't feel right to say them out loud if she was praying so quietly.

After an eternity of the only sound belonging to the forest around them, him singing all the mental praises and recanting every appropriate litany that he could think of in his head, she finally moved. He didn't feel right ending his prayers before she did. With this reprieve, he pulled himself up to his feet to wander off to the bushes.

The privacy wasn't just to relieve himself. Though the tear in his pants granted him the ability to see the bandage on his leg, he couldn't check the wound. Now, however, he could. They'd done a good job of taking care of him, but they'd stitched it up fairly soon. Frowning, he pushed at the sides, watching the opaque liquid seep out between the stitches. He would have preferred to keep it open a couple of days to keep infection from setting in. Still, he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

With a sigh, he washed it off with water from his canteen before re-bandaging his leg. His ankle hurt, but that was a secondary concern now. His arm, however, looked like they'd had to dig in it. That wasn't surprising, considering that wood shrapnel had caused the wound. Had to get all the pieces out. After a moment's pause, he re-bandaged it. Best not to dwell, right?

---

Back at "camp," Sister Bethany had gotten the fire restarted. He had to wonder, did she sneak off to relieve herself... Yes, best not to think. Not while his neck was still stiff and the side of his face still hurt from resting on her. She looked up at him as he approached, a hint of a smile on her lips. Enough to make a man's chest feel tight.

"I j-just wanted to thank you again for..." She stood in one fluid motion, holding the bowl out to him again. Right. Klightus could figure out the total meaning. Quit thanking me, she was saying. Fair enough. He could focus on food for a bit. Leftovers from the previous night's meal, but he could live with that. Especially since he was finding that they had much better rations than the Guard did.

The star this planet orbited was threatening to set. Klightus' leg felt like it was on fire. He wasn't sure which hurt more, the ankle or the wound. Soon, though, they'd camp. He'd put his leg up and maybe sleep some more. That was always what he prescribed when a patient had a wound like his. Elevation and sleep. He kept going over facts like this in his head, more to take his mind off the pain than the woman leading the way.

Which only made it that more abrupt when she suddenly stopped. Her posture changed from purposeful to guarded -- that told him everything. His free hand gripped his lasrifle. He'd let go of the crutch if they came under attack, but for now he wanted to see what she saw.

He wished he hadn't. The scene of carnage in front of him was something that nobody truly wished to see. It looked like a camp of Guardsmen had been attacked. Probably a checkpoint in the supply route. It wasn't until he noticed one of the banners that he truly came to regret the sight.

As quickly as his leg would allow he moved to the first Guardsman he could find, rolling the body over. It had already become stiff and had started to rot. But the laurels were what Klightus was looking for.

"Thank the Emperor," he sighed under his breath. He looked up to Sister Bethany. "This is the Fifth. I was w-worried that it was the Third for a moment. I..."

"KILL THE SERVANTS OF THE IMPERIUM!"

There it was. That brief moment of panic whenever he was suddenly presented with combat. His head snapped up to the source of the voice; a group of the traitors were running out from the cover of a tipped cargo transport. They had lasrifles. They'd looted the bodies for their lasrifles. His mind was still reeling from that revelation when there was the sound of an explosion next to Klightus. Almost immediately, one of the renegades exploded.

Seems that Sister Bethany didn't have that moment of panic. Which was enough to break him out of his reprieve. He lifted his rifle, shouting the Litany of the Lasgun and firing. Almost immediately, however, Sister Bethany occupied half of his field of vision as she stepped in front of him. She was protecting him, putting herself between him and harm's way.

Well, bugger to that. Klightus might have been Medicae, but he was a Guardsman, and every Guardsman was a rifleman. Dammit, he was not going to let anybody die for him. The Litany of War poured from his lips as he took aim again. The Oath of Vengeance was screamed as the enemy charged. The Death Incantation spat out of his mouth, leaving his throat raw. He might die today, but by the Throne, he was not going to let go without a fight.

He was halfway through the Litany of Accuracy (surprise attacks never left one with time to prepare the litanies properly) when he noticed something landing nearby. It wasn't thought which propelled him, but instead instinct which slammed his body into Sister Bethany's hard armor, bringing them both to the ground a hair before the grenade went off.

The world was eerily silent for a moment, though that faded to a persistent ringing in the ears. As much as Klightus wanted to contemplate how long that ringing might last, they were still being shot at. Virtually being thrown off of the Sister didn't help matters any.

Klightus glanced around and saw two things. The first was a chimera that had somehow been destroyed. (If this group needed to scavenge weapons, how did they do that?) The second was the corpse next to it. It didn't take long for a plan to form.

Sister Bethany had already raised to a crouching position, her bolter firing. For as loud as it was, she was oddly silent, a look a pure wrath on her face. Good enough for him. He forced himself to his feet, slapping her shoulder and pointing at the Chimera. "Cover," he yelled before running towards it as best he could. His leg did not want to work at all.

Moments later, Bethany made a controlled retreat behind the Chimera. She used the cover well, at least, peeking out to fire controlled shots, each one hitting their mark. How many of these guys were there?

Klightus, though, had other concerns. Namely, the corpse in front of him. Long dead, no sense in even checking, but that wasn't his concern. It was the Guardsman's weapon. Since Bethany had her side covered, he moved to the other. Unlike her, though, he didn't fire.

Though the Chimera offered good protection against the lasrifles, it would limit one person's cover, making it easy for them to be flanked. Sure enough, within moments a traitor poked his head around to fire.

Unfortunately for him, Klightus pulled the trigger on the melta. Unarmored as he was, the traitor had no chance at all. Without waiting to make sure that he was dead (what was the point?) Klightus pushed around the corner, firing into the cluster of traitors quickly trying to backpedal from the heat. Those that dove out of the way met a grisly fate from Bethany, who had decided to leave cover.

Bethany's bolter fired one more time, with one last fleeing traitor meeting a messy fate. Gasping for air, Klightus leaned against the ruined Chimera. His throat felt raw, as if it might be bleeding. The entire battle he'd been screaming litanies and oaths in rage. Now, however, he was beginning to wear down.

Slowly, the high that he'd been riding ebbed out of his body, leaving him to actually be able to see his surroundings. To see Bethany march from corpse to corpse with a flamer, setting the defeated ablaze. Where she got it from, he didn't know. But he appreciated her zeal right now.

Or at least he would have. His body was beginning to communicate with him again. "Although my b-body is broken... Al... Although my blood p-pours away... Although my time may... GAH! End. The Immortal Emperor will greet me, and embrace m-m-me with His holy aura..." Klightus felt his body slumping to the ground, his leg no longer able to support any weight at all. "If only I r-remain... constant to Him... Through this time of..."

His hand went to the tear in his pants, gripping his wound. Bad idea. Glancing down, he saw red in the bandages. Plenty of red. "Of torment..."

Pain speckled his vision. Had he pushed himself too far? Would his family get what they had prayed for? The world began a slow, jerking spin as he slumped to his side on the cold ground.

Boots approached. He forced his eyes open again, looking up to Bethany. How weak he must look to her. How pitiful. She barely looked like she'd worked up a sweat, and here he was, fighting to remain conscious. Some hero of the Imperium he turned out to be. As her gauntlet reached out to gently touch his face, he let his eyes close.

---

Consciousness came and went. He was briefly aware of being alone. Then came the dim knowledge of being carried. He wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not, but he could have sworn that Sister Bethany forced him to drink something. Then warmth. Comforting warmth. The kind that made you think that you might have been released from your torment and taken into the Emperor's embrace.

Finally, his eyes opened. Somehow, he was in a tent. Somebody had made a pallet of blankets for him to sleep on, and had tucked him in tight. It was warm. Nice. Somehow, finer than the sheets he had back home, even if he was comfortably numb. Funny how situations like this could make creature comforts seem drastically different.

He rolled his head to the side. His eyes didn't want to focus. After a moment, he recognized what was lying next to him. His clothes. Including his personals. That made the brain come out of its fog a little more. He looked over to his other side...

...to see Sister Bethany curled up under a blanket. Not the same one as him, but they were sharing the pallet. That brought his brain as close to fully operational as it could get. His head turned sharply to stare at the roof of the tent, his eyes wide as saucers. His breathing came in sharp, shallow pants. He became aware of the fact that, despite his personals lying right next to him, he was wearing undergarments. Somehow, that was even more terrifying.

Curiosity, however dangerous a thing it might be, is hard to ignore. Klightus took a deep breath and looked back to Sister Bethany... right into those pale eyes. Immediately, his head snapped back to bore holes through the roof. Despite how out of it he felt, he still could feel his cheeks burning.

Sister Bethany, however, didn't say anything. Now that he thought about it, she hadn't said a single word since he'd met her. Odd. She rose and moved across the spacious tent to a stove, turning it on.

He couldn't help but look again. For once, she wasn't in her armor. She was in robes. Rather nice ones, somehow looking both comfortable and official at the same time. He watched her work, idly noting the small scars on her legs and arms. What little he could see that weren't covered by the robes. As she turned, holding a cup, his eyes couldn't help but wander to her neckline, noting a scar that ran across her shoulder, and further down...

But just as he was staring at her, she was staring at him. He blushed again, looking away -- he hadn't felt this embarrassed since he was thirteen and his sister caught him staring at one of the servitors. Though now the part of his mind that delighted in tormenting him wondered why he had never stared at any of the Sisters Famulous.

But then she was kneeling at his side, helping to lift his head. He let her give him the pill and took the recaf eagerly. The warm liquid spread through his chest pleasantly -- a sure sign of dehydration. It made sense. They said he'd lost a lot of blood, and with how hard they'd been pushing... and the further bleeding...

As if reading his mind, Sister Bethany moved the blankets, causing a moment of... Panic? Fear? It wasn't a happy emotion that shot through him, but he wasn't sure what it was exactly. It dissipated, however, when she started to unwrap the stained bandages on his leg.

He'd popped a stitch. Several, from the looks of it. A part of him knew that's what had happened, but that didn't make it any more pleasant to see. Somehow, wounds on other soldiers were easier to swallow than his own. "Um... Could... Could you get me m-my-my pack?"

She nodded once and stood. He'd briefly forgotten just how tall she was, and the angle... was enough to make his eyes firmly on a mark on the tent's ceiling. She returned a moment later, laying it down to give him easy access to the contents. What little there were left -- he hadn't restocked after the battle. Still, there was enough.

The needle and thread, both sterilized, were produced. He said a soft prayer, followed by three litanies -- it never hurt to beg the Emperor for a little bit of extra help. Especially when his hands felt so numb. That, though, was a good thing -- he only felt pressure when the needle pierced the flesh of his leg.

After the third time, however, shaking hands clumsily set the tools of his trade aside. Bethany, again, lifted his head to feed him some recaf. It turned out to be a bad idea, but to his credit, he managed to roll enough to keep from hitting the pallet. Sadly, rolling onto his bad leg was enough to make him actually feel it again. It and his arm.

His stomach emptied and shaking, he tried to find a position that was comfortable. Tried and failed. If Bethany thought any less of him, she didn't let it show. She pulled the blanket back around him and set about to cleaning up the mess.

He wanted to apologize, but his body just wasn't up for it.

When Klightus awoke later in the day, Bethany was already in armor. She sat on a stool, his lasrifle across her lap, anointing it. Yes, the Machine Spirit deserved appeasement. Twice now it had been in combat. He wouldn't blame it for needing a little attention.

He was content to watch her work, the white hair framing her face. The guided movements of her hands. The small nick on her jawline. The tattoo on her cheek, almost like a beauty mark.

She rose, carefully setting the lasrifle aside, and moved to the tin cup on the stove. She turned to him and moved slowly to his side again. When did she notice he was awake? She held the cup questioningly until he tried to lift his head. Once again, she helped him, holding the cup to his lips. Short, careful sips. No more than a single swallow at a time. Finally he let go, falling back...

---

The sun was setting. This time his head was clearer.

"Um, Sis... Sister Bethany?" She turned to face him, smiling faintly. "If you... If you don't mind me asking, uh, but are we... You know, s-s-safe here?"

That question seemed to amuse her enough that she left the tent for a few minutes. When she returned, she had an object in her hand. It's purpose was immediately obvious.

"M-mines. I see." He fidgeted a little, debating. "Did you put them, um, close to the camp?" A shake of her head. A wide perimeter. Right. "O-Okay. Then could you... get me my crutch?"

She looked at him quizzically for a moment until realization dawned. There was laughter of sorts -- quiet, more jerking breathing through her nose and a smile that reached up to her eyes than anything. But she had the decency to get him his crutch and grant him the privacy to go outside in peace.

They were still in the camp. She'd taken down the Commander's tent and set it up in a more secure location. The smell of burnt flesh was on the air still. Considering that he couldn't see any bodies... Well. Somehow, that told him to stay that much closer to the tent.

By morning he was feeling much better. Human, in fact. His leg still ached, but he'd refused one of her painkillers for it. Later, when he needed it. Besides, he wasn't sure how many she had. He did notice his pack was heavier -- she must have repacked it for him.

They paused at the edge of camp long enough for him to say a prayer for those who died. While he'd gotten dressed, she'd removed the mines. Though it would have been a pleasant surprise to any future scavengers, eventually somebody would come to reclaim the equipment here for the Guard. They didn't want to accidentally take them out on accident.

At least, he hoped they didn't.

For three days, they travelled. Each day, Klightus got a little bit faster. Each day, his leg hurt a little bit less. And each day, he found himself becoming more and more fidgety.

It wasn't necessarily because she didn't talk to him. Truth be told, he didn't really talk to very many people. He'd always end up stuttering, and then they'd laugh at him, even worse if they knew he was nobility. Fighting the urge to try and talk to people was always the hardest part. But there had always been people talking around him. Three days of walking, and he had no idea what to do with himself, to occupy himself.

Even with Sister Bethany, Klightus was lonely. And somehow, now that he was recognizing landmarks, it seemed to get worse. Simply knowing that they were going to be at the sight of the battle soon made him feel... dull. Hollow inside.

Sister Bethany must have recognized it. As they sat for what he was sure would be their last lunch together, she prepared what must have been the most extravagant meal thus far, giving him an extra large potion. It wasn't until he saw how small of one she herself received that he was finally stirred to words.

"Sister B-Bethany, you don-don't have to that. Here, t-take some. You need to keep your strength up as much as-" The glare that she shot him could both melt ice and freeze oxygen at the same time. Quickly, he drew back. "Then again, I'm n-not the type to insult a p-proper lady like yourself b-by refusing such a wonderful gift. That would be like s-saying that the Commissar had terrible taste in r-rotgut. ...Which he does, b-but you d-don't say that if you like your limbs. Um, I mean, thank you? ...And sorry?"

Judging by her smile and the way her shoulders were shaking, he was guessing that she was amused. That sent a small thrill up his spine. He'd done good, that time! His own smile was eager and earnest.

"Um... when... When I was young, there was a member of Orders Famulous... S-Sister Kandra. She ended up t-taking care of me. A lot, I guess. But, um, when I was six, I... sort of fell off a balcony. ...and through some glass. Um, you probably, you know, saw the scars. But anyway, while she was helping me recuperate, she told me... She told me two things.

"The first was that I should a-always trust in the Emperor's guidance, that H-He gave of Himself f-for humanity, and that through Him, I would find all that I n-needed, so long as I remained f-faithful and p-pure. And I have! But, uh, that isn't the important part." He drew a breath. "She also told me that... If I w-was ever in trouble, hurt, l-lost, or in n-need of guidance... or whatever... She said to always find an Adepta Sororita. That she w-would help me."

Klightus bit his lip. It stung a little -- he must have gnawed a hole in it at some point. "What... I'm trying t-to say that... I... Thank you, Sister Bethany. I... You and your Order came at the right time. For us, I mean. You s-saved a lot of Guardsmen, and... me. And you went out of your way to help... me." He looked down at his food, hard. "I... I don't know w-why, but... Thank you."

He never saw her reaction. He was too embarassed. He'd started out so encouraged by her mirth that he just started blubbering, and now... Klightus focused on his meal until it was done, then kept his distance until they were ready to leave.

---

It was getting close to dark as they crested the hill, giving them a clear view of the battlefield. Klightus stopped, leaning on his crutch as he surveyed the area.

Nothing.

An entire regiment leaves a huge mark on the land. The scars were there, but there weren't any of the people. He did up the math in his head, and the numbers didn't quite add up. The only way that they could have been gone like this is if they started packing up within a day of the battle. Tops. For the first time in hours, he looked to Sister Bethany directly, but her hard gaze on the horizon gave him no sense of satisfaction.

Until her hand shot out, pointing into the distance. He followed her gaze, squinting. For several moments, he found nothing... and then, it looked like a Rhino transport, but... No, an Immolator.

Klightus opened his mouth to ask, but Bethany was already on a direct march. Well, at least she answered the question in her own way. Grunting, he walked, mentally repeating the words of his commissar -- move as if you have a purpose. He had a purpose, all right. Like finding out where in the Emperor's grace his regiment was.

As they approached, the Sisters took note. One in particular stood forward. "Sister Bethany." Her gaze turned to him. "Guardsman Klightus Gramon." He blushed at the use of his House name. "We expected you yesterday. Was there a problem?"

Bethany turned to look at him. It took a moment before he realized that she expected him to explain the situation. "W-we, uh, we found the remains of the Jignur Fifth Regiment. They... had been destroyed, I'm afraid. S-slaughtered to a m-man, as far as I could tell." He paused. The Sister's expression didn't make him want to continue at all. "We were also attacked b-by the traitors."

"I see," the black-haired Sister said evenly. "Sister Bethany, do you have anything to add?"

Bethany thrust out her hand. Klightus couldn't see what was in it, but gauging by the way the other snarled, he wasn't sure he wanted to. "It is as I expected. We've already had confirmation elsewhere." The Sister paused. "As you can see, the Jignur Third Regiment has already been called away to another location. Shall we transport you?"

Bethany shook her head. That seemed to surprise the dark-haired one. "I see. Interesting. Might I suggest that you camp here for the evening? If the two of you have been under fire, then you may wish time to rest and pray in peace."

Bethany nodded, and Klightus made the sign of the aquila over his chest. He was more than willing to defer to their judgement.

The chatter of the Sisters, even if most of it was prayer, was somewhat of a comfort to Klightus. It was something to focus on, to think about. A welcome distraction from his own mind.

Not so much when the dark haired one approached him. He stopped his work on the lasrifle to make the sign of the aquila. "I realized that introductions had not been made. I am Sister Intias. May I sit?"

"Um..." Klightus looked around. She shouldn't have to ask. It was well within her right to do whatever. "Okay? Is there s-something that you need?"

She eyed him evenly as she sat. "Perhaps. You seem nervous, Klightus. Is there something the matter?"

"No. N-no, nothing at all. No. I... I just... I'm not..." He felt himself blushing. "I'm not good. With people, I mean. I mean, I don't... I... should probably just shut up now." He felt like burying himself in his hands. Or under a large rock.

Intias didn't seem amused, at least. He wasn't sure if this was good or bad. "I see. Interesting." Bad. This was bad. "The battle that occurred here. I'm told that you were part of it."

"Yes, I was. I... I'm a M-Medicae. In the field. I... I participated, yes."

"I'm told that you fought, too."

He hoped she wasn't putting him on trial. "I d-did. There were times where shooting back was more important than treating w-wounds. You c-can't keep Guardsmen on their f-feet if your position is... overrun."

Her eyes narrowed. "Do you know why we took you with us?"

He glanced around, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. Even more eerie by the fact that they were sitting outside. "...Because I was wounded?" His voice was high pitched. He felt like he was a teenager again.

"Hardly." She leaned forward, her stare boring into him. "You fought bravely. You fought, and treated your fellow Guardsmen, despite multiple wounds. Many sisters noted the speed and skill you displayed. But you've not a single medal to your name. Only your laurels. Tell me, why is this?"

Klightus shrugged, honestly confused.

"To be truthful, either your skill is exemplary, and thus worthy of notice, or your comrades were not showing proper devotion to the Emperor's work. We wanted to know which was which."

He paused, taking in a breath. Things were starting to make sense. "Y-you suspect me of being a h-heretic?"

One of Intias' eyebrows raised. "That is one possibility, yes. Does this make you nervous?"

"No." His shoulders slumped. "No, it makes me... kind of guilty." His eyes found a spot on the ground that was apparently very interesting, even though he wasn't actually seeing it. "I.. You're w-wasting t-time on me."

"Are you saying you are innocent?"

He drew a breath. Why did part of him feel like crying? "No. I... I g-get afraid on the battlefield a lot. S-sometimes, I feel the urge to run away. So I charge. When I can. When I can't, there's a-always shooting."

He didn't dare look at Intias. Even now, fear was crippling him. "An interesting response. A confession to cowardice, yet an attempt to overcome it. I believe I understand why Sister Amalia and Sister Bethany chose the route that they did." He looked up at her. "To judge one man is a simple affair. To judge and purge an entire regiment, however, can be time consuming. Especially if they resist judgement."

She stood sharply. "I suggest that you be truthful in all matters, Guardsman Klightus Gramon. Be truthful, and guard yourself. If you are untainted, there is no gaurantee that the taint of Chaos may not work its way into your soul."

As she took her leave, Klightus realized that he would get no sleep tonight.

---

They left the next morning as soon as prayer was done. It was nice to be able to hear it for a change; Klightus committed as much as he could to memory. Their prayers were more intensive than what he heard in the Guard and, honestly, they gave him more peace. Especially after the previous night. He needed whatever peace he could get.

Sister Bethany could tell that something was wrong. Maybe it was his yawning, or the fact that he couldn't bring himself to keep his head up, constantly looking at the ground in front of him as they walked. Her curious, concerned looks earned a half-hearted smile in return before putting his head down and continuing on.

Lunch, needless to say, was a miserable affair. Before, he'd watched in marvel as she turn rations into something that was not only hot but also fairly tasty. Instead, he just thought. Even after she gave him his tin dish, he spent more time thinking than pretending to eat. At least, until she knelt in front of him, her hand on his shoulder, her ice blue eyes looking at him worriedly.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, taking a bite to prove it. She didn't move. The only thing that changed was her expression. She wasn't buying it at all. With a sigh, he had to give in.

"Sister Intias t-told me," he muttered, doing anything he could from looking at Bethany. "She... told me why you're escorting me. B-because either I'm tainted or..." Klightus sucked in a deep breath. "Or my regiment is. And I... I've never been anything but loyal, Sister Bethany. Even in the tower, I said my p-p-prayers and followed the cult. I've never turned m-my back on the Emperor, not for one moment. I can't. But..."

He looked up at her, his throat feeling tight. "You have to believe. When you s-see everything that you've helped do, you have t-to believe in your orders. That what the c-commander or commissar tell you t-to do are the right thing. That they're p-pure. When you s-see a child that isn't a mutant who's been... You have to b-believe that they're right. That they do the Emperor's w-work unquestioningly. If you don't..."

He closed his eyes. "I've seen what happens if you don't. I won't be like that, a h-h-h-heretic. So you p-put your head down and you t-trust in them. And if they're t-tainted..." He clenched his eyes shut, focusing on what he needed to say, words that seemed to be caught in the back of his throat.

"I hope it's me," he blurted out finally. Now the words "I h-hope that I'm the one t-tainted! I hope that they're all pure, and that I'm j-just... I'm going to die, and I'm f-fine with that. I'm going to go to the Emperor's embrace. But... I've just been trying to keep all of them alive this entire time, and if they... aren't... If they're no better than the traitors, heretics in disguise, then I've... Then I've been..."

Adepta Sororitas power armor was not designed to give anybody but the wearer any form of physical comfort. Some might argue that it was designed for the opposite. But Klightus felt no pain as Bethany hugged him. The armor was somehow warm to the touch, comforting. For once her silence was welcome.

And, in time, he returned the embrace.

But the only good things that could last forever were the God Emperor and the Imperium. They eventually released each other. Klightus wiped at his face before looking up to her. Bethany had a serene expression. Sister Kandra had been right, it seemed.

"I'm fine," he forced out. A cough, and more firmly, "I'm better. Honestly. You... still have your judgement to make, and I have to live by it. I... For what it's worth, Bethany, thank you. I... This has been... We should finish our meal. We're behind schedule, yes?"

He gave her the best smile he could. Hers was small, but encouraging. As he ate, however, he couldn't help but still feel the memory of her hand stroking his hair.

Superstition is a powerful thing. Klightus firmly believed in the idea that if something happened a few times in a row, there was a good chance of it happening again. As the sun began to fall, a sense of dread came over him. Since he'd left the Adepta Sororitas camp with Sister Bethany, nothing good had ever happened at dusk.

He wasn't disappointed.

The sound of a truck made the two of them glance at each other for a moment before moving off the road they were walking, hiding behind trees for cover. The truck stopped short, the headlights blinding them. After a moment, the engine shut down and people started to get out. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but they sounded local. The headlights shut off.

As Klightus' eyes adjusted, he could make out one important fact: they were bleeding. He glanced to Bethany, her face hard as stone. She must have seen something that he'd missed, because her lip curled up in a sneer. He decided that he never wanted her to look at him that way. Already he was glad that he'd gone into the bushes just half an hour ago.

She flashed him one finger. He began to whisper the Oath of Allegiance quickly. He was halfway through the Litany of War when she flashed him the second finger. he finished the Litany of the Lasgun as she flashed the third.

As one, the two of them pushed their weapons out from cover, barely taking a heartbeat to sight the enemy before firing. Immediately, two of the figures fell, one instantly blown into his component parts. The other six turned and began to charge. "FOR CHAOS!"

Oh. By the Throne, no. Klightus sneered as he sighted another, the three providing defence from their wild shots. "Smite the foe," he bellowed as he fired, this time only scoring a glancing blow. "Smash the enemy!" This time, he hit the heretic in the chest, but the man kept coming. "For the Emperor we bring death!" True to his word, he man's face sizzled, causing him to fall. And then there were two.

Or three. Klightus caught a glimpse of movement from the back of the truck. He didn't know what it was, but the fact that Sister Bethany's next shot wasn't aimed at the cultists told him enough. For now, however, he ignored the monstrosity with the pick and took aim at the closest cultist. Keep them from tying the both of them up, from having to watch their backs. Basic tactics; don't let yourself be flanked.

By the time that he finished the last cultist, the warp spawn was upon them, charging for Bethany. Its great pick-like weapon made an evil should as it swiped through the air. Unfortunately, the very thing that had protected them from the cultists fire now was working against Klightus. Every time he tried to draw a bead on the hulking beast, the forest worked against him. He would have lost the two of them had it not been for Bethany's bolt pistol firing.

He moved quickly, trying not to be awestruck. Not by the warp spawn, but by Bethany herself. The glimpses he caught of her evading the beast's attacks despite her armor... No, they were too close to get a shot off, damn it. Klightus charged, his rifle held at the ready, his bayonet pointed firmly at the enemy. It struck home in the creature's shoulder, missing the mark of the head.

That, at least, got the creature's attention. It swung its massive arm, only clipping Klightus. From a creature that powerful, however, a glancing blow was still something. Klightus hit the ground, his lasrifle being flung from his grasp. His world spun, even as he heard the firing of Bethany's great weapon. As he lifted his head, he realized why; he'd landed on, and destroyed, the crutch he'd been using. Now wasn't the time. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees, glancing at the monster...

To see the evil weapon strike home on Bethany, impaling her.

The sound of the impact hit Klightus like a gunshot.

---

There was no thought. There was no sanity. Klightus was only dimly aware of his actions, of what was going on. Rage had enveloped him. It roared at her. There was something in his hand. It shook its weapon, sending her sprawling to the ground. Klightus jumped. His armor protected him from the protrusions on its back. It startled, surprised by the action. Klightus reached around and put the weapon under its chin. It reached back to grab him. He pulled the trigger.

Heat enveloped his world as the melta sprung to life, causing his hair to singe. It started to topple.

The two of them hit the ground hard. It was still moving. Not much, trying to grip its throat, but somehow the accursed warp-spawn continued to live. That was enough to keep Klightus' rage alive. He found himself on his feet, rushing over to it, and firing his weapon. He screamed the Litany of Penetration, the Prayer of Smiting, the Death Incantation, the Incantation of Battle. He even made a disparaging remark about the creatures heritage. And he continued to scream, until the fuel ran out and the melta went silent.

The thing moved no more.

His hand was blistering already. His face felt hot. But as he drew in shaking breaths, Klightus had other concerns. He moved quickly to Bethany's prone form, falling to his knees. She'd been hit in the gut, good. That was potentially better than the chest, at least. Far better than the head. But her armor... His hands worked frantically.

"Machine spirits, please. I don't know how to help you, but..." He pulled to no avail. "If you don't let me remove you, I can't help the one you protect. Now get. Off! Please, release your hold on her! Please..."

Her hand moved. Weakly, but it moved to a clasp. Before she fumbled it free, he'd already gotten another. His hands worked faster than they had ever before. He pulled, discovering that he'd missed a clasp. Finally, though, the breastplate came free, tossed unceremoniously to the side.

He wouldn't say that the wound was good. There was no such thing as a good wound. But he'd treated worse. If she was untainted, she'd be fine. He'd treated, and saved, people with worse wounds... with a fully stocked Medicae tent to take them to. He cursed himself silently. Klightus had no idea how far away they were from the regiment. Bethany knew, serving as his guide, so he hadn't considered it important to know. Now he cursed himself. There was no way that he could drag her anywhere in time to safely...

All thought stopped as realization set in. Assuming the cultists hadn't corrupted it, they had access to a truck. Given how fast they'd moved, he could get her back to the remains of the Fifth. There, at least, might be the supplies he'd need. And if not, it wasn't too much farther to the Sororitas camp. He set to work on treating her as best he could, sweating heavily.

For once, there was no "good enough" for him. She had to be as stable as he could possibly get her before he moved her. All of his meatball skills were put to the test. He prayed that the Emperor would find his effort fulfilling, that He would grant her the ability to make it.

Finally satisfied, Klightus picked her up as gently as he could. Her blue eyes looked up to him questioningly. "It's going to be alright," he muttered half to himself. For the first time since she'd been hurt, she winced as he put her in the back seat of the truck, taking a sharp breath between her teeth. He leaned down to gently stroke her face, giving her a comforting smile. "Don't worry. I'm going to fix you up. You're going to be alright. You're going to do fine. We're just... We're going to go for a little drive is all. Alright?" He nodded before pulling away, closing the door.

"Don't make me a liar," he begged the Emperor under his breath before getting into the driver's side. The thing was... he'd never actually driven before. He knew the incantation to start the vehicle from having seen it done, but actually driving?

But the incantation worked. In his mind, he followed the route, figuring up which way to go. Oh, he hoped that they cleaned up all the claymores. As the machine spirit protested somebody who didn't know how to work a clutch, he pulled out, more determined than ever.

The truck literally skidded to a stop. Yes, he'd run over some corpses, but right now he didn't care. The machine spirit was still grumbling about the drive as he bailed out, sprinting into the half-collapsed field tent. Fortunately, it didn't seem to be too ruined, and the supplies weren't badly ransacked. Good. Things were... They weren't looking bright, but he could do this. He turned on torches to illuminate the tent and rushed back out to the truck.

The sight of Bethany made his heart catch in his throat. She was... so pale. Her chest was barely moving at all. His triage work was stained red, and...

No. His jaw set hard, making his teeth ache. No. He was a field Medicae. And he could... No. He would save her. No matter what. With shaking hands, he carried her into the tent, placing her on the chirurgeons table. Dropping his jacket, he paused only to wash his hands and begin the litanies. The prayers. Anything he could think of to draw the Emperor's mercy upon him.

Every single trick Klightus knew, he used. Tubes fed blood into her. His undershirt was wet with sweat. He sung hymns as he carefully made incisions, gave her injections, and irrigated the wound. But he had to leave it open. As much as the wound sucked into his own heart, he had to leave it open. Stare at it. Infection thrived in warm, moist places. He had to make sure that it didn't set in before he closed her up.

When he could do no more for her body, he found a stool. Sitting next to her, he began to pray. His voice was raw, but... He had to do something. He had to. Clutching her cool hand in his own, he placed his forehead on the chirurgeon's table, and prayed through the night. What else could he do?

Klightus didn't know when he fell asleep. To be true, he hadn't planned on sleeping. Hadn't planned on much of anything. But at some point during the wee hours of the morning, his exhaustion overcame his willpower. His forehead was aching from being the only thing supporting his head all night, and his pants were... wet. He'd been drooling in his sleep. His angry bladder told him that much.

His eyes moved to the vitals auspex wearily. By the Emperor, they were stable. Heartbeat, blood pressure... The were stable. It didn't mean that they were out of the danger zone yet, but... It was a start. "You're tough," he whispered, his throat horse. "And strong. That... couldn't have killed you. Couldn't have..." He'd seen what could happen, blood loss could weaken the soul, and simple wounds could...

"I'll be right back." He paused, though. He found that he didn't want to let go of her hand. Every fibre of his being wanted to be here, right now. He moved, ever so slightly, shaking. Every moment, he shook worse as his hands moved, raising hers. He hesitated, glancing up to her face. But she was unconscious, she... It was safe enough. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand, rubbed it against his cheek. Finally, however, he gently set it down.

The sun was shining outside. It was almost noon as he relieved himself. He should eat. He should... do something, he told himself. As he looked back at the tent, however, he knew that there wasn't much that he was going to be doing.

Inside, there was no change. That felt like a band had been released from around his chest. A part of him, the part that tormented him so, feared that he would come back to find her dead. His eyes fell to his pack. He reminded himself that he should eat... in a moment. He crossed over to her again, once again taking up her hand.

"Sister Bethany," he whispered softly. "I... know you can't hear me, but I just wanted to say... I know your job is to judge me, but this has been the best time of my life. Even with everything. You've kept me company. You've worried about me. At least, I like to think so. You helped me with my wounds, and watched over me when I slept. You kept me safe. You... No matter what happens, I have no regrets. I'm... happy. But I want you to live so badly... so very badly that I can taste it. Seeing you like this isn't right. You just... Live. Please, no matter what, live. I... I think I..."

But the words wouldn't come. Instead, he put his head back on the table and began his prayers anew.

---

The ration didn't really have any flavor, but Klightus had learned long ago that you didn't expect flavor from a ration. He tossed the tin away, wiping at his face. Four days now. Four days now, he'd been here. He'd kept her sedated the last two, mostly for her benifit. Yesterday, he'd closed her up. As far as he could tell, she was untainted by the weapon, but he was far from an expert in these matters.

And this was only his third time eating.

He settled into the stool next to her once more. There was a visible mark where he'd been resting his head all this time, be it for prayer or sleep. Once again, he took her hand in his and began to pray again. His prayers had become mere whispers. Half the time, he wasn't even sure what to say. Any words just came out. Half prayer for her well-being, half confessional.

The cool fingers against the back of his head startled him. His head snapped up to find her looking down with heavy eyes. At him. His heart nearly skipped a beat as a smile came to his face. "I... S-see, what d-did I tell you? We... You got through it just fine. Just fine indeed. I-I..."

He bit his lip as words failed him again. But she smiled. That was enough for him. It was a lazy, tired smile, but there it was all the same. That was enough to give him more encouragement than anything.

"You're... P-probably hungry. I should... I want to warn you that I'm not a very good cook. I d-don't... Um." He stood up, looking around. "Right, um... Stay right there. I'll go... you know."

Bethany allowed him to pull away, but seemed content to watch him work. If nothing else, that made his heart fly.

"Alright, so w-we're here." He pointed on the map. "And here's where they are n-now... So..." He thought about it a tick. "Okay, this road should be the fastest route, assuming it hasn't been taken out by the f-fighting. At least, if they haven't moved..."

She looked at him curiously. It hurt her, he knew, but she'd taken to sitting up on her own. They'd moved her to a cot last night. Her recovery was going superbly, but that could have just been sheer stubbornness on her part.

"Oh, when I was a kid, I liked to explore. I got pretty good at navigating. But it, uh, it got me into trouble a c-couple of times. So... yeah. I don't get to touch the maps, b-but whenever we move out, I p-pay attention. I l-like to think about alternate routes and stuff. Takes my m-mind off the upcoming fighting."

They shared a comfortable moment of silence, each smiling a little at the other. Funny that. A few days ago, he hated the silence. Now he he actually enjoyed it. A part of him wanted it to last forever.

...But he knew, deep down, that it couldn't. They had to go back. And then they had to part, one way or another. Maybe he was just being a fatalist, but it was still the truth.

"Sister Bethany, I... C-can you make me a promise?" The sudden shift in mood made her brow furrow. "I... I know what's coming, and... No m-matter what happens, can you... Can you let my parents know? What happened? I... They're still my family, and despite it all, I s-still owe them the same s-sense of duty that I d-do the guard."

Her confusion was plain as day. Her lips parted and she slowly shook her head. Quickly, Klightus took her hand in his. "Please. It's not much. Just a message. Just... s-something. Let them know. I c-can't send one myself, the c-commander has never l-let me. He s-says I'm just a spoiled noble. B-but... Could you do this... one thing for me? Please?"

Slowly, her face softened. Pity and concern enveloped it. Her free hand reached out to stroke his cheek, oddly smooth against his rough stubble. But she nodded, smiling sadly.

He sighed, feeling another weight off of him. He was almost completely free of all the chains holding him down. Just one last one... He closed his eyes and leaned against her hand. "Thank you..."

---

"Oh, please, Machine Spirit, please..." Klightus performed the incantation again, but the machine spirit simply grumbled at him. There was enough fuel, so why did the truck just stop? In rage, he balled up a fist... and stopped. No. The machine spirit was injured. It had performed well, all things considered, and had decided that it was time to rest. He shouldn't take out his frustration on it.

A gentle hand on his shoulder drew his attention. Bethany was back in her armor, though he hated the sight of her in it. With the hole, he could see the bandages, and that... He didn't like that. Her robes were better. More graceful, too. She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, tilting her head.

"Are you o-okay to w-walk?" She nodded. "C-can you, uh, get transport back to the Sororitas once we get there." There was a momentary pause before she nodded again.

That settled it, then. "I guess we're w-walking, then. It hopefully w-won't take more than a day." It might have just been an optimistic opinion, but it also might have been the pessimism talking.

She had "volunteered" to make lunch for them. At least, when he pulled out the rations, she grabbed his hand and got out her own. He... wasn't going to argue. Besides, she was better not only at cooking but at making a fire, too. He suspected that just came with being a Sororita, though.

While stretching, he saw a color that didn't quite belong this time of year. Winter was coming, but he could spy yellow flowers. He glanced back to her, then to the flowers as an idea began to form in his head. "Um, I'm going to... the bushes. Okay?" Bethany rolled her eyes and waved him off. Good, that would give him time.

His plan, however, didn't turn out to be so well thought out as he'd of liked. Apparently, he had absolutely no skill. First, they wouldn't weave. "By the Throne." Then, once he got them to start weaving, where he started would become unwoven. "Oh, Emperor protect me!" Then, as if to mock him, the stems began to break. "Oh, come on now!"

Motion caught him. Bethany was leaning against a tree, an amused expression on her face. She was still clutching her side, but at least he didn't see any blood. He took a breath before shaking his head. "I was t-trying to make this..." He made circular motions with his hands, fighting to try and find the right word. "It was on s-some of the murals at home, this-this thing of flowers that you wear on your head. Well, girls do. Or so I g-got from the mural. And I saw these and thought that maybe I'd... I d-don't know, maybe make one? For you? To put in your hair? ...Does that make sense to you?"

Her shoulders were shaking. She was smiling. That was good enough for him. He grabbed the largest flower and pushed himself to his feet. He felt like... he felt like he should just run away, like the weight of the entire planet was on him. But still, he held the flower out to her tentatively, trying not to look too stupid. When she took it, he let out a deep breath, closing his eyes. Which left him completely defenceless for what happened next.

The feeling of her lips on his made him jerk, but her hand was already on the back of his neck, holding his head in place. His entire body stiffened, every muscle suddenly going taunt until it felt like his calves were going to have cramps. But he did relax, his hands moving to gently frame her face.

After what seemed to be such a blissful eternity that didn't last for nearly long enough, she broke the kiss, moving just inches away. Klightus' heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest and she... was blushing. She honestly looked bashful over what she had just done. As he fought for something, anything to say, there was a sound behind them.

His hand went to his lasrifle, and hers to her bolt pistol. But instead of finding somebody trying to kill them, instead they found the pot boiling over. "Lunch," he said with a nervous laugh. Bethany, at least, smiled and threw her arm around her shoulders. In return, he wrapped his around her waist and helped her back to the fire.

Klightus heard the camp long before they saw it. There was no way that such a large number of Guardsmen could keep themselves quiet for long. But this was it. He kept his pace even, going through the marching drills in his head. Focus on anything other than having to say goodbye. One foot in front of the other, slow enough that Bethany could keep up. He had to present himself to the commander.

One foot in front of the other. Happiness was earned. One foot in front of the other. Happiness was spent in moments that one could reflect upon later. One foot in front of the other. Happiness was gained through devotion and sacrifice. And he had earned it well. And, in his opinion, he'd spent it well. The Emperor had seen his devotion and had aptly rewarded him. But, as with all things, it had to come to an end.

What a sight the two of them must have been. Her, wounded and limping along. Him, covered in blood, singed, his lasrifle slung and a melta in his hand. Guardsmen stared, but he didn't mind. Let them. Let them stare, make jokes. They didn't know. For once in his life, he didn't care what a damn one of them thought.

"Klightus," the Commander growled. "You were due to return to the regiment a week ago. They said that you had set off."

"Yes, s-s-sir," Klightus replied, forming the aquila. "They w-w-were unable t-t-to p-provide-"

"What kept you?" the Commander asked, looking at Bethany.

"S-sir!" Klightus swallowed. His entire body was shaking. "We found the remains of the Jignur F-F-Fifth Regiment, sir, where w-we were attacked by the insurrectionists. It c-complicated my injuries, requiring time to rest."

"You seem to be getting along just fine," Commissar Dariel responded evenly.

"Yes, s-sir." Klightus made the aquila again. "The stitches have h-h-held now." His throat felt like it was full of razor blades. "We then m-made our way back to where the Third w-was camped at. W-we were informed that y-you had moved to this location. A-after, we were attacked by cultists. Sister B-B-Bethany was injured in the f-fray, requiring we r-r-rest further. It h-has only been within the l-l-last day that we were a-able to finish the j-journey."

"Do you have anything to add, Sister Bethany?" The Commander sounded rather cross.

Out of the corner of her eye, he watched as she gestured to the hole in her armor, touched the bandages underneath, then smiled at Klightus with a nod.

"I see."

"Guardsman Klightus," Commissar Dariel cut in with a bark. "Where did you get that melta?"

"F-found it, s-sir. W-with the Fifth." He paused to take in a dry breath, staring the Commissar directly in the eyes. "It's empty, s-s-sir. I... I used all of it on a-a-a single c-c-cultist."

The Commander and the Commissar shared a glance. The Commander nodded. Commissar Dariel's hand moved to his side. Klightus squared his shoulders back, bringing himself up to his full height, and closed his eyes.

"Can't you do anything right?"

His brother's words stung his ears.

"You spoiled noble brats are all the same! Trying to get something for nothing. You can send a message to your family when you've earned it, but I don't see that happening."

The Commander never liked him, simply out of birth.

"You are nothing but a disgrace to this House! When are you going to contribute something to it?"

His mother's love...

"Looks like you got the good recaf. Hope you don't mind if I have some, do you? Heh. Of course you don't."

Why would the other men respect him?

"One more time, Klightus. One more time, and I'm not paying the ransom. You aren't worth it!"

How his father's words cut deep...

"Do us a favor and have the decency to do something right for once in your life and die quietly."

Yes. Finally. He would do what his family had always wanted. They wouldn't have to worry about him being a burden any more. For days he'd been worried about this plan, but now... Now he found it strangely liberating. He was free. He was happy, happier than he'd been in his entire life. He'd done his duty, but he could understand why none would see it. None except Bethany, and who would she tell? Who could she tell? No, a Guardsman doesn't seek out glory. He seeks only his duty, right?

He couldn't complain. In a short week, he'd found love, peace, and a place in the universe. The Emperor had seen his devotion and rewarded him. And now, by the simple guilt of telling the truth, he would be sent to His embrace at peace and happy, completing his duty to his family. Who could ask for anything more?

Klightus opened his eyes to look down the barrel of the gun and found himself smiling.

A gun which veered wildly off course when Bethany's gauntleted fist connected with the Commissar's face. The shot went wide, missing Klightus completely, forcing his smile to fade into confusion. Even more so when Bethany stepped forward, pointing her bolt pistol firmly at the Commissar's head. Klightus' mouth opened, but nothing came out save for a small squeak. The only movement from the Commissar was his breathing.

After what seemed to be an eternity, she turned to Klightus, fixing those ice blue eyes on him. Tears ran down her face, a face twisted into a visage of fury. That same gauntlet raised to slap him in the face, right across the cheek still tender from the flamer. Klightus staggered, fighting just to stay upright, tears misting his vision. He'd much rather of been shot than suffer that.

He righted himself slowly, his hand cradling the stinging cheek. He barely got his eyes opened when Bethany grabbed his shoulder and swung him around so he was facing away from the Commander. Placing an arm around his shoulders, she looked at him, her face full of concern. That look, those tears... Klightus decided that he hated that sight on her. Bethany nodded once to him. That was all the communication he needed. Wrapping an arm around her waist, the two of them began to limp out of the encampment.

---

Epilogue

"Klightus. It is good to have you home."

His face split into a wide smile. "Sister K-Kandra," he said warmly, forming the aquila.

"There is no need for that."

"We are all s-servants to the Emperor, Sister Kandra." The two of them spent a long moment smiling to each other before he stepped through the door. "I take it that they are w-waiting for m-me?"

"No," she said flatly. "Please, allow an old woman a few surprises." Was she old? There were wrinkles in her face, but at the same time...

"Then have they been derelict in their duties?" That took her by surprise. Yes, he had been learning. He opened his mouth to explain... No. No matter. This all worked out surprisingly well. "Then please, stay here a moment. There is one m-more surprise that I believe you will be able to appreciate. I c-can find my way."

It felt good to walk through the halls. To look at the murals. Especially in his uniform. It was a little hot in his greatcoat, but... Well, he didn't mind. Not at all. He made his way through Gramon Tower, easily finding the sitting room.

Both Mother and Father were there. They looked well, of course. You couldn't not, with their status. Mother had that look about her that said she'd just been through a rejuvenation treatment. Good. He was glad to see that she was keeping up appearances.

"Klightus," his father said flatly. "You live."

They both rose to get a closer look at him. "Y-yes father. I still l-live."

"And the Guard has let you come home between signings?" his mother asked. He could feel the venom in her words.

"No, Mother. I am n-n-not going on another tour with the-"

He'd forgotten about his mother's left cross. But he didn't stagger. He didn't dare. Now wasn't the time. He slowly righted his head, glaring down at his mother. "Feel better?"

"How dare you," she seethed. "You were to be a hero of the Imperium. You were to-"

"I hope we're not interrupting anything." The looks on his parents faces were priceless.

Klightus turned slowly to look behind him. Despite being twins, he could instantly tell them apart. "Mother, Father. I would like you t-to m-meet Sister Amaia." She bowed her head only the slightest touch, her ice blue eyes glaring daggers. "Sister Bethany." Bethany didn't bother with even the barest hints of politeness. There was a flash of white behind her. "And Katla Gramon. Come h-here, Katla..."

The little girl peeked out from behind Bethany, hesitated, then ran to Klightus' embrace. He looked at his parents. Oh, yes. This would be interesting...

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