Work Text:
"Your forest," Guilliman said, and Lion could hear the suppressed irritation in his voice, "doesn’t like me."
As he spoke, Guilliman impatiently tore apart a branch that had suddenly sprouted in front of him, just seconds after he had nearly tripped over another root. To this, Lion had no response. This illusory forest of Caliban allowed him to move freely, taking him wherever he wished to go. But ever since he first brought his brother, the Imperial Regent Guilliman, through this passage, the forest had relentlessly caused trouble for Guilliman. For some reason, Guilliman always struggled in this vast woodland—constantly snagged, caught, pulled, tugged, and tripped. Branches tried to knock him down, vines sought to ensnare him, thorns aimed to trap him, and mud worked to sink his feet. At first, Guilliman faced these petty, annoying challenges with his usual stoic resolve, but as the war grew more pressing and he had to rely more frequently on Lion’s Forestwalk to shuttle between worlds, his disheveled encounters with the forest became more frequent. Guilliman’s temper flared hotter, and Lion observed that he was likely one step away from blasting wildly at the obstructing roots and foliage.
Lion had secretly chuckled to himself a few times at Guilliman’s expense. His brother was the same as ever—when faced with unexpected problems, he’d abandon his so-called calm restraint and reveal that furious, exasperated expression. "This is the wild," Lion said dryly, "and the wild is what it is. The forest always catches you off guard. It doesn’t negotiate or bargain with you. If you want to deal with it, Roboute, you’d better abandon your usual civilized ways and get used to handling the wilderness."
Guilliman’s expression grew even more irritated. Today, he had just rushed off to secretly resolve a fierce conflict between a local government and the Officio Logisticarum several star systems away, leaving no time to don his Armor of Fate. Though a Primarch’s skin was tough, without the power armor to bulldoze through the forest as he once could, the woods were more unforgiving than ever.
"Really, Lion?" the Imperial Regent said. "I’ve been wondering—what exactly is the nature of this forest of yours? It’s a product of the Warp, no doubt. But do we truly understand its essence?"
Lion frowned, recognizing that critical tone again. He braced himself for another round of Guilliman’s lectures about misusing his Forestwalk, ready to throw back, "The Grey Knights told me you even summoned a daemon," to counter his brother if needed.
But Guilliman didn’t go there.
Panting, he yanked apart another vine that had dropped from a tree to strangle him, glaring at Lion. "I’m starting to think," he said, "Lion, this Caliban is your mind’s mirror—your dream, your memory. In short, it’s a part of your thoughts and feelings. The Warp gave it substance. But it acts according to your will."
"That’s nonsense!" Lion said, recalling the impassable rivers he’d seen, the dark creatures in the water, the Fisher King, and that empty castle—his sword and the Emperor’s shield—none of which he could have conjured up. "It’s just a mirror of reality,not my mind. The Warp twisted it into a metaphor, but it reflects what once was real. What, you think this forest is my delusion, and you’re walking through my fantasies?"
Guilliman forcefully snapped another branch blocking his waist. "I do suspect as much!" he snapped. "Look at how this forest treats me. It’s a lot like you, isn’t it?"
He glanced at the towering ancient trees, their layers blocking out the sky, mist shrouding their majestic forms and the boundless, mysterious space beyond. Without Lion guiding him, he’d never manage to navigate this forest. "You’re used to hiding yourself from others, just as this forest refuses to reveal itself to me. It’s always scheming to make things difficult for me—and it’s damn good at it!"
"Then why can my sons and even my Lion Guard move through it unhindered?"
Guilliman gave a bitter laugh. "Because they don’t know you as well as I do, brother," he said. "And you don’t hold anything against them. But you do against me. I know what you’ve thought of me all this time, Lion."
Lion furrowed his brow. "How many times do I need to explain it to you, Roboute?" he said. "I’ve been as honest with you as I can."
"True enough," Guilliman replied. "The last time, you were quite honest about what you think of me. And it seems to match the warm welcome this damned forest gives me."
"That was when we were arguing, Roboute!" Lion said.
"I don’t recall a time we weren’t arguing," Guilliman said wearily, stepping over a massive root that hadn’t been there a second ago, then deftly avoiding a second vine lying in wait. "Half an hour ago, you were still bickering with me over how I handled the planetary governor. By your own words, you can’t bargain with the wild. So since I can’t negotiate with you, all we’re left with is conflict—ow!"
Lion was about to retort to Guilliman’s nonsense when Guilliman, with all the grace of a noble stripped away, tripped over yet another root. The forest was endlessly inventive in tormenting him, even setting traps within traps. As Guilliman tried to get up, countless vines and tendrils surged from nowhere,grabbed his legs and waist and began to drag him backward.
Lion was startled—this had never happened in his Forestwalk before. He drew his sword and strode forward, attempting to free his brother from the writhing green limbs.
Guilliman struggled too, trying to tear apart the vines coiling around his torso and stomp the creeping roots, but to little effect. "These things," he hissed, "damn it, they’re… they’re as strong as you, Lion!"
Lion swung at the vines binding Guilliman. But something strange happened—his blade sliced through them as if they were water, parting on either side only to seamlessly reform. His sword passed through without leaving a mark.
Both Guilliman and Lion stared at this bizarre phenomenon.
"I was right," Guilliman said. "This forest really is your embodiment. That’s why you can’t cut them."
Lion was practically fuming. He hacked a few more times, but the result was the same. The vines coiled around Guilliman’s wrists, climbing higher, pulling his arms above his head. Now Guilliman was utterly helpless, his arms and hands fully bound by the vines.
"This is impossible," the Lion roared. Though times had changed, he still had few answers for things his sword couldn’t cleave in two.
"Listen to me, brother," Guilliman said, forcing down his anger to maintain some calm, "if this forest truly is your mind’s reflection, then the only way to stop it from harassing me is for you to—at least while we’re passing through—grudgingly suppress your resentment toward me. We don’t get along, and working together is hard—I’ll admit that, from the past to now. But the Imperium only has the two of us Primarchs left. I know you don’t like me, but if we can’t set aside our differences and cooperate—"
"Now’s not the time for speeches, Roboute!" the Lion roared again. He dropped his sword and grabbed the vines trapping Guilliman with his hands. While Guilliman could at least budge them slightly, they wouldn’t yield an inch under Lion’s grip. "And how many times do I have to tell you? I don’t despise you!"
The vines slithered up Guilliman’s arms, tightening around his wrists. Their strength was immense, leaving red welts on the Primarch’s exposed skin. Guilliman looked at the Lion, and for a fleeting moment, a trace of sharp, buried pain flickered in his blue eyes—something he’d long hidden beneath his restraint and temper. It stunned Lion for a second.
"Really?" Guilliman said softly. "Your forest doesn’t say that. These vines don’t say that. They’re the truth lurking in your heart, Lion. When you hide it, they express your true self."
A fierce anger surged within Lion. He wasn’t lying, though Guilliman’s belief that Lion still disliked him wasn’t entirely baseless. The Lion had sworn to be honest with his sons and brother, but honesty was as much a talent as keeping secrets. He’d hoped Guilliman would intuitively grasp his feelings, but his supposedly clever younger brother was an idiot. Guilliman didn’t trust him, and he couldn’t express his trust to Guilliman. So what could he do? This forest couldn’t be his mind’s reflection. If it were, it would treat Guilliman—
Wait.
The leaves rustled without wind, whispering like soft laughter. Guilliman still struggled, but the vines held him fast in their embrace, unwilling to let go. Their rough surfaces slid across his skin. Perhaps squeezed too tight, a faint flush appeared on Guilliman’s pale face, a low gasp escaping his lips. "I don’t like this, Lion—"
Lion released the vines and stepped back. Guilliman looked at him in surprise. "Lion?" he said.
The vines didn’t want to harm Guilliman. Like the branches, roots, and swamps before, they sought to keep him here. Their method was clumsy, but the wild, unable to negotiate, could only act this way.
If this forest truly was part of Lion’s heart, then yes, Guilliman would be trapped here. A beast’s heart is full of thorns, its depths accessible only by treacherous, rugged paths that inevitably trouble those who tread them. The vines wrapping Guilliman traced his form, anchoring his place in this world. The forest read Lion’s thoughts—the deepest ones he’d never revealed to Guilliman.
And so, like a cat’s tail acting independently of its will, it began to move on its own.
"Lion," Guilliman called out again in distress, though the pain wasn’t physical. The audacious vines now tugged at his clothes. One even slipped through his collar, brushing gently over the long scar on his neck—not with brute force, but like a kiss long awaited.
A faint smile curved the Lion’s lips. He watched leisurely as the vines caressed Guilliman’s cheeks, pulling his collar wider to reveal more of his chest. Guilliman’s breathing quickened. "Lion, what are you waiting for—"
"Let’s test your theory," Lion said.
"What?!"
Lion reached out, brushing Guilliman’s arm with a gentle yet firm touch. His fingers traced the contours of Guilliman’s muscles, following the veins of his forearm. The vines mimicked his touch ambiguously, leaving a strange warmth. The Lion leaned closer, his breath grazing the ear of his flushed, vine-tangled brother.
"You think this forest reflects my true heart, Roboute," Lion said, his voice low and steady, laced with a hint of amusement. "So let’s see --
"What my true heart wants to do with you."
End?