{oOo}

The codes that admitted the ship through the orbital defenses were ancient.

If the registry was to be believed, the ship itself was even older - a Strike Frigate built for the Space Wolves to replace vessels lost during the immediate aftermath of the Heresy and condemned as unsalvageable sometime in the 33rd Millennium.

When Ragnar Blackmane learned the pedigree of the Stormbird that settled upon an icy platform jutting out from the Fang, he was impressed to learn that it had been constructed on Terra itself, before the Great Crusade, as part of the initial equipment of what was then known only as the VI Legion of the Astartes.

"Who's aboard that thing?" Gunnar asked, looking at the large transport settling uneasily onto the platform. While there was in theory enough room for it, the ice made the landing hazardous.

Beside the Wolf Lord, Ranek crossed his arms across his chest. "That's what we're here to find out."

"You could get the whole Great Company aboard a ship that large," the Wolf Guard grumbled. "How do we know this isn't another of Madox's tricks?"

"We don't," Egil told him.

Ragnar shook his head, setting his topknot swaying. "The codes are genuine. The Great Wolf woke half the Ancients to check their authenticity. He wouldn't tell me what they said."

"That's keeping things awfully close to his chest."

"He usually has his reasons." Ragnar stepped forwards as the Stormbird settled at last and the engines began to spool down. "And we'll find out who's aboard any minute now."

The four Space Wolves fanned out slightly as they advanced towards the forward hatch of the troop transport, automatically spacing themselves so that no sudden assault could overwhelm them at once. However, the hatch lowered slowly, unlike the sudden crash typical of the Thunderhawks that they were more accustomed to. Either the machine-spirit was exhausted, possible in a craft so old, or those aboard were deliberately taking their time in order to avoid the appearance of aggression.

Shadows inside masked the face of the Astartes standing at the top of the ramp but it was clear immediately that he was a giant even by those standards and wore armour the same grey that adorned that of the Space Wolves in front of him.

When he stepped forwards into the light, Ragnar got an impression of an ivory mane of hair and a beard woven into long braids, but what caught his attention were the eyes. Golden eyes.

Wolf eyes.

The new arrival bared his lips, revealing the unmistakable long fangs of an aged Space Wolf. "Your welcome is not warm, warriors."

"Nor is Fenris, as you should recall," Egil replied when neither Wolf Lord nor Wolf Priest seemed inclined to respond.

"It has always welcomed me."

Ragnar remembered the feel of a spear in his hands. He had seen this man portrayed a thousand times but now he faced the reality.

"Russ..." he murmured.

The Wolf-King nodded solemnly. "Aye."

That simple word elicited gasps from Egil and Gunnar but Ranek sank to one knee, gesturing sharply for the two Wolf Guard to follow suit. Only Ragnar stood face to chest with his ultimate progenitor as a second giant, this one cloaked and hooded in black, stepped forwards to join the conversation.

"Why have you returned, after all these centuries?"

A thin smile touched the ancient Primarch's face. "A wolf-time is upon the Imperium. An age of strife and darkness, but also an age of great deeds. Such things require... preparation. The gathering of lore, the forging of weapons... the assembly of heroes."

He stepped forwards, his companion remaining at the hatch. Lights flickered behind them, illuminating capsule after capsule, each marked by the eerie stillness of a stasis field. "My lost brothers have much to learn about themselves," Russ observed forebodingly as he set foot on the stone of Fenris for the first time in nine eons.

{oOo}

AN: Another drabble for the "Heresy and Rebirth" continuity.