Wolves Worlds Apart
This is a crossover between Warhammer 40,000 and Game of Thrones, I don't own either Warhammer 40,000 and Game of Thrones, all rights go to Games Workshop and G.R. .
Rest eluded Fi'inar once more.
A howl of sorrow filled the air, giving sound to this silent world of white, it rushed between the snow laden tress like a spectre upon the biting wind. It rang of pain, a wounded soul, a cry for help? A warning to the pack?
Born of beast unmistakable it was, for no man could mimic such sorrow as this in a single primal cry.
Only the cry of wolves held such power.
He had heard it all before, he thought in sadness as piercing eyes of pale blue slowly opened, like the thawing of ice upon a frozen lake and took in the surroundings with familiarity.
The biting wind was first to catch his notice, it stung at his face as it carried the ever falling snow to him, a mane of earthen brown hair flowed wildly at the winds mercy behind him, along with the long braid of the same hair that descended from his cheeks and chin to brush upon his armoured abdomen.
No other movement was given as he stood like a bulwark to nature's wrath, his eyes set, brow frowned in thought. The snow blasted by him in great gusts against his unyielding form, like a mountain in a hail storm, a spirit from worlds afar. A giant of fury and fire in a world of snow and ice.
Clad in great armour of pale blue, he could be mistaken for a statue of pure ice; were it not for pelts and bones that lay on his person, or the paganistic runes of gold and totems upon his armour that seemed to crackle and hiss with faded lightning.
A armoured pauldron of stark yellow broke the cold colours of his armour upon his left shoulder, while the image of a black wolf head sat at it's centre, partly obscured by the great pelt he wore over his shoulders.
His gaze shifted across the sight before him, one that he was now so intimately familiar with, a sea of trees and snow, far off mountains lost to the haze the snowstorms wrought, while a mournful howl still carried upon the winds.
It felt like home, but this was not Fenris, he knew that to be true, too timid, too calm and the spirits were silent.
At the thought his hand tightened instinctively around the spine of the runic staff he held in his right, it's adorning totems hung from wrappings and string pulsing to life in pale flashes and arcane energy like baleful storms rose from the eyes and jaw of the wolf skull that lay atop the medium.
While his left twitched for the bolt pistol holstered to his hip, gene enhanced physiology alert at the knowledge he was within an unknown land, but kept controlled and calmed by the mind that knew that this was not real.
It was a dream he knew, a vision, one that came to him often, and he had yet to discover it's meaning.
Movement foreign to the concert of winter before him broke him for his thoughts, the mournful howls that acted as the dream's orchestra fell silent, usurped by the sound of cracking branches and displaced snow, as a shape to his right plummeted to the ground not ten steps away.
It did not serve to infringe upon his calm though, as such a sudden intrusion would to any other that would bare witness to it, contrary it was expected and in parts desired, though it in turn caused his furrowed brow to loosen in sadness, as it had the first time and every other identical dream state he had suffered through.
With great strides Fi'inar sloughed his way through the deep snow, steps practiced and confident, witchsight overlaying and seeing more than his material pair.
He came to a stop at a steep rocky incline that broke the monotony of tree and snow, as a Astarte of the Vlka Fenryka he was bestowed with terrible and herculean frame, yet the rock formation before him towered over him still.
His gaze cast downwards almost lackadaisicaly to a familiar scene, a scene that held so many meanings to one such as Fi'inar, all of which served to bring a feeling of great unease.
His Chapter's herald lay before him, a stark white wolf that would have been perfectly invisible with the snow around it, were it not for the stains of red that clagged it's fur.
She was no Fenrisian Wolf, barely the size of a pup to it's cousins worlds away, but to mortal eyes she was great, a creature of past eras, a Dire Wolf.
Fi'inar dropped to a knee with a gentleness that seemed out of place for a giant such as he, his runic staff laying to his side.
The blizzard threatened to bury them both, and he knew time was short, dreams and visions answered to their own capricious whims.
Running an armoured hand across it's pelt, from muzzle to collar he followed a path he'd made before in a different dream, sight and sense looking for something he did not already know.
Her throat was slit, he knew that already. From collar to leg, from leg to ribs, then shoulder and spine, fractures and cuts, welts and burns; a spear tip lay imbedded between ribs and broken arrowheads pin cushioned her back, the remnants of tree branches shattered around her.
Her tale was that of pain and hardship, and he could not decipher it's correlation to the Sons of Russ, was it a warning of a fate yet to come, perhaps a mirror of the Chapter's soul in the wake of the Battle of the Fang, with the loss of the cure to the Wulfen curse; or was it something else entirely.
Nothing new, nothing to further the story she was trying to tell him, he thought with a harsh sigh, resting a hand in the scruff of her broken neck.
An eye of chilling, soulless blue suddenly snapped open, and he met her gaze once again with an iron will befitting an Astarte, and once more he looked for answers to the unknowns that weighed heavily on his mind.
It was an unnatural shade that coloured the eye that looked back at him, he'd come to that conclusion many moons ago, it held a mockery of life as her head raised to look at him in jolting motions of false animation, her other eye revealed to be naught but an empty socket rimmed with a rot that quickly spread to the rest of her body like a Nurgle plague.
He withdrew his hand.
She couldn't see him, for her soul had parted, yet he knew something saw him through those chasms of ice and it set his bones with a chill not even the storms of Fenris could.
It reeked of the Neverborn, Daemon and foul spirits.
A gargled growl escaped her throat and Fi'inar reluctantly stood from his kneeled position, understanding that time was slipping from him and his observations of the scene were at an end.
He held her gaze as the fire started, erupting from her chest like a wound born from a Volkite weapon, it slowly consumed her, fur, bone, flesh and all, yet her icy gaze was last to burn and turn to embers adrift to the wind.
It's meaning was the one thing clear to him, wolf's blood would be spilt and washed away with ice and fire.
The ashes danced around him for a moment, akin to playful spirits, but he felt sorrow and pain within them, but also fury and vengeance as the embers smote with life and rushed from him with striking speed, flowing past trees and rocky mounds, then far up the tall rock face and then finally out of sight.
Fi'inar stood unmoving for a moment, frozen in thought, a sharp contrast to his action when the dream was new and fleeting, where he burst into movement, chasing the fleeing embers with a hunter's disposition.
Now only his gaze followed after them, seeing them dance atop the lip of the rocky incline.
Another sigh escaped his corse beard hidden lips, a sigh filled with exasperation and frustration, as his eyes sparked and glowed with pale lightning.
With a raise of his right arm he brought his runic staff's heel to thud against the ground below him, power enveloped his form in shows of lightning and warped air, snow uprooted and displaced at the staff's assault, freezing mid-air as reality contorted in a flash of light, to then only moments later remember themselves and regain their place on the ground below.
When the light and power left Fi'inar's eyes he was no longer standing at the incline's foot, no, now he stood atop it's summit, above the tallest of trees, were they no longer shielded him from the worst the storm had to offer, yet once more he refused to let it bother him as he stood vigil to the dancing embers that ran from him once more.
They stopped their motions when they fled just past the incline's lip, and slowly with undulating movement they coalesced into a form, one that still struck a pit in Fi'inar's stomach, the Cataphactii plate was easy to recognise, and the burning red wolf head on a field of golden embers upon it's shoulders was even more so.
The Varagyr.
And then they were gone, across the sullen sky they fled, far off untill gone to all but his witchsight, yet his attention shifted to what the embers flew to, something that throughout all these recurring visions was a source of great confusion and intrigue.
A great wall of ice and snow towered the horizon before him, vast and ancient like The Fang. Like he unrelenting to nature and the whims of mortals.
With grim features he acknowledged it to be no natural construct or simple labour of men, marks of sorcery an age old remained among it's form, strengthening and preserving it far longer than the bonds of reality should have allowed.
He watched as the last wisps of embers faded over the wall's corona with one final mournful howl echoing across the air.
And then he felt it again, coming from behind like the cowardly Lions of Caliban, a freezing presence.
His hand clenched tighter around his runic staff, power born from the ancient spirits of Fenris flooded his soul and danced at the tips of his fingers and mind.
He spun on his feet faster than a mortal eye could track, his armoured gait offering momentum to his already superhuman strength, runic staff blazing with fire and lightning as it slashed at the air behind him with a crack of thunder, wind and rock broke away from his being with a pulse of power.
No resistance was met at his blow, just falling snow and frigid air
Yet he had finally seen it, as it saw him, how many dreams had he tried but to no avail? How many times had he returned to the materium and howled in rage for all his brothers to hear?
But now he had an image to conjure to the antagonist that plagued his mind of late.
A crown of ice and night, a face of glacial countenance and cold malice, and familiar eyes of souless blue.
And then Fi'inar awoke.
M39.674
Segmentum Solar, Uncharted System
Gladius-Class Frigate, Howl of Morkai
The thundering steps of two demi-gods echoed against the gothic rockcrete walls of the Gladius-Class Frigate's cathedral like corridors, tapestries blew and candles flickered as they passed by heroes, martyrs and saints of gold in wall coves. Their coming was like a storm heeding no will but their own, drowning out all lesser noise and demanding all attention be given to them.
The air held a fine mist of incense that hung above the heads of those that walked these halls, occasionally set into wisps as servo-skulls flew by in the need to perform their intended tasks.
At their passing, chapter serfs and lowly menials rushed to press themselves to corridor walls in panicked motions, reverent in thier disposition to the two mighty figures as heads bowed and hands formed the aquila.
The two Wolves of Fenris paid them no mind.
''Fourteen weeks we've been at voyage in these stars, fourteen damnable weeks since we had a taste of battle, why is it we must leave the pack while Blackmane hunts Greenskins sectors away?!" came a gruff, snarling voice.
It's owner was a menacing man of youthful countenance but with a cunning born of age also, his head was shaven clean, while fierce eyes of hazelnut were roofed by bushy brown eyebrows, a scar ran down his right, passing from brow to jawbone, fading into a beard that twisted down into a medium braid with a wolf tooth at it's end.
Like all Wolves of Fenris he was clad in pale blue plate, pelts and bones adorned him, but his armour also told a story, an insight to his saga. Across his breast two wolf heads of aged gold looked away from each other, while a rhombus gem of brilliant ruby sat at the centre, similar artifice coated his right shin and left knee. Purity seals while not great in number were still enough to earn recognition from those within and without the chapter of his deeds.
A combat blade of artificer design rested on his left hip, sheaved within a dull brown skin, it's silver wolf head hilt glistened in the candles' luminance as he walked with the grey wolf tail at it's end swayed with every step.
His right pauldron and knee held the colours of red and black, like a maw of fangs bearing down at those who look upon it, a Grey Hunter he was, centuries old and experienced in the craft of war.
Like the other that walked next to him, his left pauldron was a brilliant yellow with a black wolf's head emblazoned upon it, warriors of the Blackmanes Great Company, their Wolf Lord, Ragnar Blackmane.
"Quit yer sulking will ya Jorkil, you're a son of Russ not some brooding Lion spawn, you sound like some welpling Blood Claw still new to the feel of his armour, the Jarl had his reasons, and that is enough of an answer, besides, the Rune Priest has finally summoned us, maybe you'll get the answers you seek, and me my peace All-Father willing." answered a calm, morose voice akin to rumbling thunder and aged with time, yet strength was clear to hear underneath.
A head of stark white hair held in a tight ponytail turned to look at Jorkil as he spoke.
The Astarte was ancient, a weathered face beaten by time and tribulations, yet unbowed and unbroken to all. The glaring red glow of a bionic eye sat on the right side of his face, while the other was a haunting yellow where pride and weariness shone in equal measure. A neat full beard almost camouflaged the long fangs that revealed themselves when he spoke.
Like Jorkil his armour held much honours and wolfen artifice, but in greater numbers than the Grey Hunter, his saga was long and established in the annals of the chapter's history.
He held the markings of a Long Fang upon the knee and shoulder that was not reserved for the colours of his Great Company, a black wolf skull upon a field of white hid behind a great wolf pelt cloak and strings of fangs and runes.
"Aye but his reasons make little sense to me Skald'mor, why pack together such a ragged group to follow the Rune Priest, two Blood Claws welps young enough to remember the taste of their mother's milk, a single Grey Hunter, Long Fang and Iron Priest. And for Hells sake why the honoured ancient Surtir Hellfrost?" Jorkil replied pushing forward his question again, undaunted by the elder's false insults.
Skald'mor heaved a ragged sigh, welps never let him rest.
"Those welps both tamed Thunderwolves Jorkil, you know how rare it is for any not of the Grey Hunters or Wolf Guard to do so. As for you, I need not say a thing, soon you'll be amongst the Wolf Guard with a saga such as yours." Skald'mor replied in a tone that stated what he said was as obvious as the moon rising with the sun's setting.
"You know just as I, something has Fi'inar worried, he's been keeping to his chambers lately, communing with the spirits and whatever's got him spooked was enough to concern the Wolf Lord too. Clearly we are being gathered as a group of notable warriors for some important task, this be no normal calling, hence the need for a venerable one such as Surtir, the lron Priest being here purely for his sake." stated Skald'mor with an air of seriousness.
Jorkil nodded at the elder's words, he was not a fool, he noticed the change in the Rune Priest's demeanour these past months and how it also affected their Jarl. He knew Ragnar was in too thick to change direction with his hunt of the vile Orks, so the making of this pack was reasonable if another hunt was needed elsewhere.
But to summon and awaken Surtir Hellfrost? a venerable figure of the VIka Fenryka, a Dreadnought able to call anyone but Bjorn the Fellhanded a welp; dire needs must be at hand.
"While I'm here only to keep all you younglings from scraping in the dirt with each other and angering Fi'inar and Surtir." Skald'mor said with a laugh in his voice and toothy smirk on his lips.
Jorkil's boisterous laughter answered him.
"Try as you might you old fool." Jorkil laughed as Skald'mor's smirk grew more vicious.
A large bulkhead door hissed open as they approached, after the servo-skull embedded within the door's cogitator face scanned them with a beam of sweeping green light.
Beyond the frame the Frigate's bridge stood before them, serfs within scurried about in ordered motions, while others sat at cogitators performing their task, and a few scattered tech-priests of the Mechanicum of Mars conducted their ritualistic menstruations.
The room was circular in nature and akin to a cathedral's sermon hall in style, large enough to host a full company of Astartes on both the higher and lower levels.
A green glow basked the area and all those within it, born from the round hololithic table at the bridge's centre that projected a star system neither Jorkil or Skald'mor was familiar with.
Fi'inar stood before the hololithic, his presence other-worldly as he gazed at the chart of glowing green, a large raven sat upon his reactor pack, pecking at the underside of one of it's wings untill the opening bulkhead caught it's attention. It stared at them as they entered, beady black eyes of controlled instinct looked at them in familiarity, it gave a few chittering sqwarks at them when they grew closer and then turned to look at Fi'inar.
Skald'mor and Jorkil took possession of his right and left, gazing at the unfamiliar star chart with interest. Only three celestial bodies appeared to reveal themselves to the Wolves, a star, a planet and it's moon.
"Brothers" Fi'inar greeted after he allowed them their observations, his tone was welcoming but it was clear his mind was distracted.
"Rune Priest" intoned Skald'mor as his gaze fell to Fi'inar, while Jorkil inclined his head in acknowledgement of his brother's words.
"Yer seem less troubled Fi'inar, that scowl that sent the mortals and welplings running with their tails between their legs is gone. What changed?" questioned Skald'mor when he noticed the change in his brother's features.
A grin full of fangs grew to shape on Fi'inar's lips at the question.
"Aye, you'd be right, something has changed Skald'mor. I've always preferred to hunt an enemy who's brazen enough to reveal themselves to me and doesn't sculk in the shadows like a fearful pup." he said with false humour.
Both Long Fang and Grey Hunter gave him a look of confusion and intrigue, willing him to expand on the cryptic words he spoke.
At their stares Fi'inar just waved a hand dismissively.
"Later my brothers, I'll share the council that was had between I and the Jarl, when the pack is full, for now listen to what I have to say."
Jorkil looked a bit disgruntled but held his tongue, something Fi'inar was greatful for, he knew if he said the same words to the two Blood Claws they'd bite, being the inpatient pups they are. Jorkil was past such rumbustious tendencies but he knew how he hated the stagnancy and secrecy of the current situation he found himself in.
"For now know that this is our destination." Fi'inar said while gesturing to the single planet with the hololithic with a wave of a hand.
"Visions from the spirits have guided us here, and with the Wolf Lord's command we are on route to this very world" Both Skald'mor and Jorkil looked at him intently, relieved to finally have a understanding of their course.
"I believe many a trial will await us brothers, a threat of foul nature to the Sons of Russ exists, the dreams were clear in that aspect, harm to the Wolves has been forseen. Yet that is not all, this world holds more than just a threat to us, something of great importance lies there, the visions showed me a spectre of an ancient brother of the Varagyr." he ended in a whispered seriousness that brought a shiver down the spines of his brothers.
Fi'inar stepped back from the hololithic, he felt Skald'mor's and Jorkil's widened eyes follow him, reaching up to the raven's perch he willed it to hop to his hand and brought it back down level to his armoured chest. Reaching into a pouch at his belt he retrieved a scrap of dried meat and gave it to the now eager avian, who snatched it with a appreciative sqwark.
He then looked back to his waiting brothers.
"I'll say this much to you both now, Blackmane and I have been in talks with the Great Wolf himself, and as of our departure from the rest of the Great Company, our pack and everyone aboard the Howl of Morkai are on an unofficial Great Hunt for the Wolf King himself."
"You jest!" shouted Jorkil in awe.
"He wouldn't jest about something like this lad." countered Skald'mor as he searched Fi'inar's eyes, a question hidden in his own. Fi'inar inclining his head in affirmation.
Silence permeated between the three brothers at the declaration, incredulous looks marring their faces.
Jorkil stepped forward suddenly, placing his palms on the sides of the hololithic table he gazed at the planet with new eyes, Skald'mor's eyes followed him. Fi'inar could hear the two hearts of his brothers quicken the pulsing of blood through their veins.
"The Primarch." came Jorkil's awed voice.
Skald'mor looked from him back to Fi'inar and brought a armoured hand to stroke his ashen beard.
"All-Father, we knew something to be troubling you and the Jarl of late, but this." He sighed. "Have the others been informed lad?"
"None but Surtir know of our task in full". Fi'inar let loose a humoured snort. "And he refuses to be sent back to slumber once more." Skald'mor grinned at the image, Havel will be at his wits end having to deal with a restless Wolfen Old One inturned in a Castraferrum dreadnought with such a fiery temperament.
"Ulrik, Ivar and Havel will be informed soon, I wished for your council first brothers, Surtir has already given his own; He believes we should tread carefully and not allow our few numbers to be used against us, a mindset he shared with the Jarl, and that is why we will be venturing to this world with a force of Kaerls under our command."
Jorkil finally turned round to look at the Rune Priest once more, eyes hard with a steely determination only an Astarte could conjure.
"A sound strategy, if what you say is true, a foul threat lurks on this unknown world, the Kaerls will be our eyes and ears to where we would remain deaf and blind, you have my support for this action Rune Priest." Jorkil said with a nod of his head.
"Aye, the pups won't like it, they'll gnash their teeth and howl in protest, nothing a quick nip to the neck won't solve but it's a fair plan seeing as the Jarl is in need of all the men he can muster to deal with the greenskins. How long till we arrive? we've been in warp for weeks now." came the concurring voice of the Long Fang as he turned to look at the large arched windows that would normally present them with a view of the void they inhabited, now nothing but dark blast shields of adamantium blocking out the view of the hellish immaterium and stave any maddness it would cause the crew.
"Shortly brother, I can feel the ebb's resistance fading, soon we'll breach the veil and we must be ready, go forth and gather the pack in the embarkation deck. Jorkil muster the Kaerls also, I will meet you there once we reach the planet's orbit." answered Fi'inar, to which both his brothers answered with a quick bow and left the bridge to complete their tasks.
While Fi'inar returned his gaze once more to the hololithic, mind drifting back to the fates now presented before him.
Less than a Terran day cycle later was when he felt it, just before the Howl of Morkai breached the other side and birthed itself from the warp in a blaze of swirling pink and purple energies.
His senses screamed at him.
And with the blast shields now lifted it was reveled to him as of why.
The Frigate had made exit into the heart of a asteroid belt, her void shields blazed to life in fractures of silver energy around her as asteroids bombarded against them without relent or reprieve.
It was never without danger when sailing an uncharted system, it was always at the back of the mind of any Imperial officer worth his salts, yet the preliminary aurgur scans shouldn't have failed to pick up a celestial body, especially in such a vacant system.
Fi'inar struggled to think as the bridge descended into a cacophony of shouts and orders as the ship's captain and officers put the frigate through such evasive manoeuvres that the plasma core started to strain, willing the tech-priests on board to rush to appease the beleaguered machine spirit.
But it was all for naught, a colossal planetoid careened into the Howl of Morkai's starboard engines, shattering void shields and crumpling a third of the ship's support structure. Fi'inar was lifted from his feet at it's impact and crashed into the railing that adjoined the stairs leading to the upper balconies of the bridge, they inturn crumpled under his weight.
Sirens blared and emergency lights flashed an oppressive red, the glare of nearby fire reflected off the metallics of his armour as he righted himself from his position on the now broken stairway's lip, a trickle of blood seeped from a shallow wound on his forehead, a wound that healed itself in moments thanks to his gene-forged physiology.
Around him lay broken bodies, some moving in pale imitations of his movements, while others lay lifeless and crooked or buried underneath rockcrete debris from felled walls and column structures.
Groaning and rolling an arm he noticed the still able bodied crew return to their stations, the captain miraculously alive and unharmed upon his command throne, flinching as asteroids hammered against the now unprotected ship.
"Captain Kastma, what in Fenris' name just happened." Fi'inar roared as he neared the aforementioned captain who to his credit held his ground with the Rune Priest, even offering a snarl of his own, but not directed at Fi'inar.
"Milord, a rock the size of a kracken just took out a third of the lower ship, we've lost all propulsion and void shield capabilities." he said flinching again as another thundering rumble shuddered the bridge. "And the fething buggers ain't letting up." he then stopped as a stream of data flooded a cogitator to his right, he gave a fresh snarl at it.
"And to make matters worse we'll soon be caught in that planet's gravity field once we exit this infernal asteroid belt, and with no propulsion or steering I don't have to explain what that will mean milord." he finished in a urgent tone, pointing out past the arched windows in the background of the asteroids, to a blue marble that was steadily getting closer.
Fi'inar swore in Fenrisian tongue.
"Prepare for planetfall, do what you must Captain, see if you can bring her to rest in the sea west of that central continent." Fi'inar said in a heavy voice while turning to make his way out the burning bridge, his raven familiar swooping from it's perch at the ceiling to his shoulder once more.
Captain Kastma nodded in grim determination, he knew how surely a suicide order this was for all of them, yet it was all they could do and hope, pray the Emperor will guide them to safety.
Before the now stuttering and sparking bulkhead door closed, he heard the Rune Priest one last time.
"All-Father, grant us mercy"
Night
Winterfell, Stark Household
Wolf pelts shifted under the dim luminance of nearby candles, rippling left and right, like a disgruntled wolf pup their movements were, born of aggravation and frustration as a small form beneath them gave them motion.
The boy's dreams were restless once more, dissonant and plagued with agitation.
He dreamt of giants again, giants in armour of ice with wolfen features, kings among men and gods amongst mortals, a mountain of ice, rock and metal; a fang in a world harsher than the north, snarling at the heavens it pierced.
His dreams were reminiscent of the stories of yore, those carved into murals in the most ancient parts of Winterfell, deep below in the crypts thousands of years ago.
Like his brothers and sisters, and his Father, and his Father before him, they all knew the stories well, ones that reached back to house Stark's founding and the laying of Winterfell's foundations, from the age of the Long Night, when wights and White Walkers plagued the living, and were driven back by a King of Wolves and his warrior angels.
Like before he woke with a jolt, nerves frayed and body sweating, while his ears rang with phantom words he did not understand.
A sullen whine at the bottom of the bed answered his movement, as a wolf pup's head rose to stare at the shifting furs, yipping in concern as an annoyed sigh spoke back and the form slowly grew taller.
A head of brown shaggy hair was first seen as a child of ten sat up to appraise the whining pup, eyes of earthly brown set in a frown regarded him and a cupid face held a look of frustration.
"I'm sorry boy, didn't mean to wake you." the boy said sincerely to the little wolf.
A louder whine and lopsided head answered him, something that made him shush him urgently.
"Quiet, or you'll wake Mother and Father." he said in a hurried whisper, just as the bedroom door creaked open.
"Too late for that lad." came a strong voice full of humour.
Quickly looking over to the door he noticed both his mother and father standing within the frame, both dressed in thick nightwear to stave off the northern cold. His mother seemed stern and exasperated while his father looked mostly amused.
"Brandon, what are you doing still awake at this hour?" came his mother's voice as she crossed the room to the foot of his bed, face full of thunder and eyes full of worry. His father followed her smiling at his mother hen of a wife but also concerned as he looked to his second son.
The young Stark shifted uncomfortably under his mother's stern gaze, eyes shifting to his father, conveying a silent message that rid the smile from the Stark patriarch's face.
"The same dreams again?" Eddard asked as he came to fully stand next to his wife at the bed's foot.
Bran nodded.
Catelyn looked to Eddard, face losing it's thunder, and concern clear on her features now. Eddard met her gaze with a look of equal concern while she moved to sit at the edge of the bed and placed her palm on Bran's head, smoothing out his dischevled locks with a mother's love.
"It was the same as always, a giant in blue armour, a world like beyond the Wall, a great mountain shaped like a fang and wolves howling. But this time the giant looked at me and spoke in words I couldn't understand." Bran said, his gaze flickering to and fro from his mother and father.
"Try to get some more sleep my love, it was just a dream." she said smiling lovingly at her child, tucking a strand of hair behind Bran's ear, who nodded and turned over, burying his head back into the pillow.
With a final kiss upon his head she withdrew from the bed heading for the door, Eddard placing a hand upon her shoulder as he followed her out and closed the door.
Later in their bedchambers, all was restless.
"They've been getting more frequent." Catelyn said with worry to her husband, as she sat up in their bed.
Eddard rubbed his bearded face in slight worry as he turned and paced a few steps, clearly in thought.
"They're only dreams Cat, we can't look to much into them, he's always been fascinated with the old tales." he replied as he turned to look at his wife once more.
Catelyn frowned at him in response.
"And when should we start looking into it, every night for the past three weeks he's woke to these dreams Ned. You should have never took him to those crypts." Catelyn said looking sternly at him.
Ned sighed.
"All Starks learn the tales Cat, it's tradition passed down since the time of the First Men. How was I to know it would have such an effect on him, Robb, Jon and Arya showed just as much intrest and never had such dreams." he said as he came to rest next to his wife on the bed.
A frown crossed her face at the mention of Jon.
"It was still a bad idea to show those morbid murals to our children Ned, all those stories of White Walkers and undead, armoured giants and a King of Wolves." she said dismissively and arms crossed.
Eddard let a small amused smirk loose at her as she fumed, she was truly a mother wolf, of Stark blood she may not be, but she held a wolf mother's temperament all the same.
Reaching for her across the small space between them he gently coaxed her and she willingly let herself be he drawn to her husband as he held her to him, her head coming to rest upon his broad shoulder even though she didn't look to him, her mind still aflame with worry of her little wolf pup.
"Tomorrow we'll have the Maester look him over Cat, for now let's just try to get some sleep, it will do us all some good." Ned said soothingly while stroking her arm with the hand that held her.
Looking to her husband Catelyn's features softened their storm, his calm eyes willing her worries to subside and strong arm like a fortress to her aching heart. Offering a nod to his question she saw a smile bloom on his lips and he leant in, to which she reciprocated and a quick kiss was shared between Lord and Lady Stark as both then closed their eyes, willing sleep to come to them.
But sleep was sparse that night for not just Lord and Lady, but Winterfell as a whole.
A great crack of continuous thunder jolted both Eddard and Catelyn awake, and likely every soul within the North, like the hammer falling upon some Smithing God's anvil was it in sound.
The castle walls shook with drumming ruptures, threatening to loose the very foundations itself. Wood creaked and stone crumbled as Lord and Lady rushed from their bed, Catelyn instinctively huddling to Ned as scared eyes looked about in confusion.
"Ned, what's happening" came Catelyn's shaken voice, Ned's arms circled his wife protectively as he too looked stunned at the events around him.
"I don't know Cat, it's like the Gods are at war."
A frightening conclusion it was, but the only explanation that could come to his mind.
Shouts and screams outside could be heard, something that made Ned rush to the chamber windows and throw them open, unintentionally leaving a frightened wife behind him.
A door opened at that moment also and four figures rushed in, three instantly clambering to Lady Stark's side, while one lone other rushed to the window and Ned.
"Mother, Father!" came a mixture of voices, boys and girls of varying age.
"Children, come here, to my side." Catelyn said urgently, fear put aside for a mother's maternal instinct.
The three Stark children next to her obeyed her instantly, little Rickon buried himself into his mother's front that soon grew wet with frightened tears, Bran clung to Sansa's arm while his sister allowed her mother to drape an arm across her shoulders. All coming to the Stark matriarch's warmth and protection.
"What's going on, mother I'm scared." came Sansa's worried voice bordering hysteria.
"I don't know Sansa, I don't know." Catelyn replied to her firstborn daughter, hand moving from her shoulder to stroke her long fire kissed hair in comfort.
Ned felt Arya stand beside him, atop tiptoes she looked out the window that he also did, any fear she felt was subverted by curiosity.
Dawn was soon to break, the night sky's dark curtain was now coloured in shades of blue and purple, stars fading as their greater cousin began it's rise from the east sea.
He saw Jon and Robb already within the courtyard, calming shaken men and beast alike, Jon ordered men to quell frightened horses before they broke free of their reins, and Robb took men to calm the smallfolk before pandemonium could fully take root.
All stopped as the sun seemed to rise hours early, lighting the throne of the North in a golden hew.
To the skies all looked as night's veil was battered back instantly, though they soon came to the realisation that it was no sudden sunrise before them.
A great streak of flame thundered upon high towards Winterfell, high as any mountain it may have been, but it still brought with it blowing gales and a heat unlike any other, and the sound; Gods the sound was tortuous, a deep bass hummed and a rumble an octave higher worked together in a chaotic choir deafening all for miles.
Ned and Arya stood frozen at the apocalyptic sight as it grew closer, Ned swore he could feel the heat upon his face.
"Arya, Ned come away from there." he heard his wife call out, words he heeded as the belch of great fire soon raged over Winterfell's towers.
"Arya get away, now!" he shouted, scooping his small stunned daughter up in his arms and tackling the rest of his family behind to the floor, shielding them.
No sooner had he lain his body over them did a great gust of heated wind blast through the windows setting the chamber into a storm, a shockwave crashed against the castle shaking walls and flattening structures not made of stone to the ground. A crack of deafening thunder accompanied it, louder than any previous rattled every bone in his body.
And as soon as the sky's fury had come it was gone, an erie silence all was that remained. Ned didn't know how long he lay there, shielding his family, but it wasn't till he heard a great crash and shifting of stone in the far distance, followed by a faint rumbling quake, that he finally lifted himself from them.
"Is everyone alright, is anyone hurt?" he said in a distressed, worried voice, looking to the shifting forms in the low light.
"We're fine my love, we're unharmed." came the shaky voice of his wife, accompanied by Rickon's muffled crying. Eddard release a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Even in the low light he could see the look of fear and wide eyes of Sansa as she clung to her mother, while Arya and Bran sat next to each other, obviously quite shaken.
Turning back to the now half collapsed window, he looked to the far off horizon, beyond fields and forest, to the hills and mountains north of Winterfell, a great pillar of smoke rose to the dawn skies, nestled between two mountains, remnants of the great streak of fire lay strewn across their faces in patchwork of firestorms.
The sky's fury had found ground.
Gods be praised that it hadn't been Winterfell that met it's wroth.
Winterfell, Courtyard
Few Hours Later
Early morning in the north had always held a fragile magic, the sky seemed to be akin to cool crystals, frost glazed the land in sheets of diamonds and cold wind played a soulful melody to the waking populace of Winterfell.
Yet this morning held no such tranquillity.
The sounds of man and beast filled the frigid north air about the Great Keep of Winterfell. Stark men set about readying their horses and themselves, swords were sheaved in scabbards at their waists, round shields imprinted with the Stark direwolf were latched to the horses' breeching, while spears decorated with Stark grey banner were held aloft in the timid wind.
Much of the debris that had been caused in the chaos the night before had be cleared and set aside close to the walls, allowing ample room for the twenty men on horseback to gather as they awaited their Lord.
Jory Cassel looked each man over with a critical eye from atop his own horse, as Captain of the Guard it was his duty to his Lord to hold the men in high standards, keep them disciplined and their skills sharpe.
His duty was especially important after the events of the prior few hours. Such a cataclysmic sight had rent all but the strongest of wills to hysteria and discord, yet he and his father heeded their Lord's will and brought order to the men in the chaos of the night's happenings.
The smallfolk suffered the worst, claiming it to be anything from the wrath of the Gods, a time of ending and the return of the Targaryns and their dragons.
The scum thrived in times such as this, as pandemonium peaked, men of weak morals forsake their fellows for material greed, how many thieves had crawled from their holes last night? he'd not bothered to count.
Jory's thoughts were disrupted as the sound of horse hooves against packed earth was heard beyond the gatehouse leading to the Great Hall.
He sat straighter upon his steed as Lord Eddard Stark and his two eldest Sons, trueborn and bastard alike, entered the courtyard with purposeful movements.
His lord looked over the mounted men before him, a glint of steely satisfaction held within his eyes and northern pride as those old wolf eyes scoured across the men of his house, until finally settling on Jory, and there he could see it, apprehension also lay with his eyes, no doubt born from the task that was placed upon his shoulders the night prior, a call he had to heed, all in duty as Lord Paramount and Warden of the North.
"How goes the preparations Jory." his lord asked as he finished his observations and strode to him, Robb and Jon following ever in his shadows.
"Finished my lord, we are ready and await your command." he replied dutifully.
His lord nodded in content.
"Good, it'll soon be midday and I can feel a chill upon winds, if we are to make good haste to Long Lake, preferably before the Sun starts to fall, we should be on our way." a feeling of trepidation filled Eddard, whether due to nature of his duty or something else was lost on him though.
"Aye my lord" was Jory's simply response.
Ned turned his head to his Sons, a serious look taking hold of his features, in doing so he saw another, above and beyond his sons, standing upon the wooded platform above the gate he'd just passed moments ago, there stood his Lady wife in all her sullen beauty, her Tully eyes staring at him in worry and pleading, while the embers of anger from an argument hours ago remained underneath.
She had begged him not to go, and he had argued his duty as Warden of the North demanded he go and investigate what had fallen upon the mountains near Long lake, she countered that both Boltons and Umbers were closer and a command upon raven wings would be enough.
Yet he deflected again, he wouldn't delegate duty to his bannermen like some southern lord, especially not to Roose Bolton of all people.
Casting one final apologetic look to her, he set a nod to his waiting sons.
"Robb, Jon." he said, more of a command than anything.
And with that he steered his horse past his men, Robb and Jon quick to his lead, making their way to the Great Keeps foremost gate.
No sooner did they reach the head of the mounted men at arms did they too follow in their Lords' trails, Jory as Captain coming to trot to Eddard's left, where he would await any command given by his sire.
Soon they left the Northern stronghold, like a horde of thunder upon the dull plains, they set off, their bearing north and to an unknown of terrifying origin.
Mountainside,
Beyond the Forrest of Long Lake
The fires had calmed somewhat, a northern chill
had battered them to fading flames and choked embers, the mountainside was a cruel place for such fragile life after all and fire struggled to breathe upon the little oxygen offered at such heights.
A great scar had been carved upon the mountain's face, an assault on it's once glacial beauty. A cataclysmic landslide of rock and snow was it's response, the mountain let it's wrath be known at the interloper that had disfigured it so.
In turn it entombed what was left of the Howl of Morkai, what hadn't been lost in the void, or burnt during atmospheric entry. The once great Astarte ship lay broken and buried, few fires remained with their choking smoke, and little of the ship's hull remained unburied.
It was at one such point in where the hull was still visible that something other than dying embers, shifting rock and flowing smoke was lucid.
A bulkhead door, twisted and malformed from the events prior, rang like a great bell, tolling in a thundering rythem, as it seemed to further warp and buckle, denting outwards we each great bell's toll.
Until all suddenly fell quiet once more.
It was a strange thing to see a seemingly immovable adamantium door suddenly bubble and broil, glowing a painful orange as it hissed and began to super-heat in nano-seconds, even more so as two golden beams of sun's fury burst through the door in a wild fire of flames and molten metal, as they ripped a great fissure into the hull of the Frigate now concealed by a veil of baleful smoke and embers.
That was, until a gargantuan form set the smoke aside with it's mass as it strode from beyond it's veil. Truly it was like a God of metal and fury came to the North, it's strides shook the already beleaguered mountainside as it fully came into view.
A Master of war; a Venerable Astartes Castraferrum pattern dreadnought stood like a bulwark of might and terror. Standing at a height greater than four men, with a bulk wider and stronger than a fortress gate, a venerable figure amongst a brotherhood of demi-gods.
Clad in thick, unyielding armour of ice blue, held in such artifice of golden wolves, ruby gems, runes and trims that it almost eclipsed the blue. A great round shield holding the sigil of the Sons of Russ and a pelt of brown fur hung from his right arm which held the multi-melta that still smoked from it's recent use.
His left arm was draped in parchment and purity seals that told others of his great saga, and his arm's end held one of the tools that help write it. A Great Wolf Claw clenched and unclenched unconsciously, tipped with an underslung storm bolter.
Surtir looked out at the stretch of land before him, as he stood upon the small snow covered plateau on the mountainside. The tall trees, the icy sky, the freezing wind that bellowed against him, the mountains that towered around him.
How long had it been since he had last heard his brothers' call to awaken, how long had it been since he had seen such a sight not embroiled in war, and how he allowed it to calm the wolf blood running through his veins? Decades, perhaps centuries.
He did not know.
He felt the ever dutiful presence of Havel come to his side as he held his gaze to the sight before him, arms and servo arms tending to the mechanisms of the cooling multi-melta.
The Iron Priest was a peculiar figure amongst the Sons of Russ, quite and withdrawn, forever armoured and helmed even with his brothers.
Wolf blood tempered by the teachings of the Cult Mechanicus no doubt, but the fury still remained and revelled when needed, the Canis Helix was strong, too strong to be forgotten.
Surtir appreciated his sullen silence, refreshing as it was, for he was old and tired, passed were his days of fighting and feasting, wisdom was his greatest weapon now, duty bound till the end.
His anger and fury were akin to soldering embers now, easily forgotten and overlooked by those around him, yet with kindling and air could become a firestorm of righteous hate.
The sound of heavy boot falls sounded behind him, as his brothers ventured out of the rend he just wrought and through the fading smoke.
Their number was few, eight in total, but each was as mighty as an army of strong men.
"Hells' sake, what cockeyed son of a grox got us in this mess" came a harsh and brash voice.
It's owner was a youthful bear of a man, with long hair held in twin braids about his ears, hair the colour of fire, and a long braid of hair fell from his chin and dark eyes held in a angry snarl.
A laugh to his left answered his rough question.
"When the ship split in half I thought it was you at the helm Ivar, and with the way you ride upon wolfback who would have disagreed with me."
A cocky voice sounded, it's owner was a man of equal youth, though held a contrasting look.
Sharpe blue eyes that held mirth and brazen confidence, messy ear length blond hair with a single plait at the left of his face, a face clean of any facial hair and an expression of youthful humour.
"Aye? well if it was truly me at the helm, I'd have made sure you were still in the other halve of the ship lost to the void ya pretty faced bastard Ulrik." Ivar replied with a humoured grin at Ulrik, who only laughed once more.
Both were young, welps as their betters say, Blood Claws shown by their spartan bare blue armour and the red and yellow maws upon their right pauldrons.
Yet both sat upon high, perhaps arrogantly so, knowing they were of better stock and their sagas was already gaining renown.
The two Thunderwolves they currently sat upon calling out as truth to that claim.
The whirling sound of gears silenced them both as Surtir turned to face them.
Such an action brought a look of unease across their faces.
"Silence, both of you, before I toss you both from this peak, good men have been lost this day, they deserved a better fate than this, and you will show respect when respect is needed." Surtir's deep booming vocoded voice almost crashed against them as he towered over them, emphasized by the single step he took towards the arrogant pups.
Ulrik was quick to appease the angered ancient, if it were Skald'mor then perhaps he would have met his challenge with a good natured one of his own, but to challenge Surtir Hellfrost was akin to challenging the Great Wolf himself, a suicidal prospect.
"We meant no disrespect Surtir." he said, head lowered like chastised child.
Ivar remains silent, too proud to other his own apology, yet not brazen or foolish enough to hold eye contact with the glowing visor that seemed to scowl at him.
"Of course you didn't, yet disrespect you did all the same" Surtir replied, condescension and anger filling his tone as he walked between the two Blood Claws, their Thunderwolves quickly parting before him, heads lowered seemingly understanding instinctually that Surtir was the Alpha of the pack.
It was at that moment that the last of the Wolves of Fenris stepped out from the still smoking carcass of the Howl of Morkai.
"Rune Priest." Surtir acknowledged.
"Hellfrost." Fi'inar nodded to him as he looked from him to the rest of his brothers upon the peak, relieved none had perished along with the rest of the crew.
"Good to see you all unharmed brothers." Skald'mor said whilst shifting the humming plasma cannon he held with both hands.
His words received a nod from both Blood Claws.
"What in the warp happened Fi'inar, what befell us?" Ulrik asked, gaining the Rune Priest's attention.
"We transitioned right into an asteroid belt, one that was not within our charts of this system, needless to say someone's head will roll for this." came his rough reply as he looked upon the wreaked mountainside and then to the forests below.
Ivar spat to his side at this information, clearly disgruntled at such ineptitude.
"How many survived?" asked Surtir solemnly.
Silence answered, nothing but the chill wind and light snow spoke upon the mountainside for moments as all turned to Fi'inar.
"None that I can sense." he replied with a aggravated sigh as he looked back to his brothers.
His words were like a bell toll, shattering the silence between the brothers and giving clarity to the situation that was now presented to them.
Frowns marred the faces of the two Blood Claws at this, perhaps shameful at their earlier lack of respect, while Jorkil seemed to rolled his shoulders in aggravation, this earning a spark from his armour's reactor that had taken the brunt of the damage he was subject to at the frigates descent.
He grunted at that.
''Over 5,000 Kaerls, perished, All-Father guide them.''
Havel was quick to come to his side and give his examinations to the sparking reactor pack.
"Kentic damage and disrupted venting, power core stable, an easy fix." he said as his servo arms obeyed his neurological commands and went to work on the damaged reactor.
"What is our heading Rune Priest? Do we stay our course or forestall the hunt now that we are but eight on an unknown world." came Surtir's voice, earning looks from Ivar and Ulrik at his words.
"Hunt? What hunt?" Ivar interjected.
"Later, both of you." was Skald'mor's quick response akin to a sigh.
Fi'inar was silent at the ancient's question, clearly in thought at their course of action.
That was until Havel broke him from them.
"We should remove ourselves from the mountainside, the Howl of Morkai has received severe damage, state of the plasma core is unknown, possibility of rupture high and stability of mountain also called to question." he said as he finished his work on Jorkil's reactor pack and turned to Fi'inar, any expression was hidden behind his mark iv helm.
Fi'nar nodded and turned to Surtir once more, eyes clear of doubt and hardened.
"Our course remains the same, few we are but each of us are a hundred mortal men in mind, strength and skill, the hunt is still afoot brothers let this world test our mettle, I will speak to the spirits and through them, send a message to the Jarl, but first we must get our bearings." he said, then striding off to the side down a path in the mountain slope.
''Well said Rune Priest.'' said Surtir, seemingly in approval of the Rune Priest's words strode after him, engines roaring in eagerness and each great step the beat of war drum.
Havel was quick to follow the ancients steps, along with both wolf mounted Astartes as they sprung their beasts forward with eager howls.
Skald'mor looked to Jorkil as a biting gust of wind loosened a cap of rock and snow above the tear in the frigate's side they'd just exited behind them, sealing the tomb of over 15,000 men of the Imperium.
Jorkil sighed while shifting his bolter in his grip and looking off to the dawn's horizon.
"Come on Skald'mor, before you catch your death in your old age." he jested before heading off after his brothers' trails.
Skald'mor scowled at his retreating form.
"Not before you catch my axe in your chest welp." he mumbled with false anger as he followed him, the aforementioned power axe clinking at his hip with every stride.
End of Chapter One
Thank you for reading this chapter, please Follow, Favourite and Review if you enjoyed it and want more, I love hearing constructive criticism.
It's been awhile since I last wrote, but due to recent job changes I can now get back to writing if only a little bit, I will be revisiting all my stories, though some may be discontinued.
Also I hope I haven't insulted any Space Wolves fans out there, I'm not an expert on Space Wolves lore, I've gathered what I can from the Lexicanum and what I already knew of the Wolves of Fenris.
I will also be sticking to the TV series of Game of Thrones storyline, I have not read the books, so again apologies to any fans in advance if I get things wrong.
Note: This is set before the Indomitus Crusade, Fall of Cadia and Return of Gulliman and Leman Russ will take the place of Bran the Builder in this story.