Editing Warhammer High (section)

==Motherhood==

Lotara Sarrin had done many things during her life. She had become at the age of twenty-nine one of the youngest flag-captains in the entire spread of the Emperor’s expeditionary fleets when she was promoted to command the Conqueror. She had met and gained the respect of its master, the Primarch Angron of the XIIth Legion, and become one of the very few he trusted. She had burned worlds and destroyed ships for the Legion, gaining many awards for her exemplary bravery, steadfastness and patience, her self-control and level-headedness. She still wore the Blood Hand, a red handprint across the chest of her uniform given to her after the Ashul Stellar Principality war.

Yes, she had seen and done much during the final dying years of the Crusade. But all of that had little prepared her for what she was now. A mother. And not just any mother, mother to a very special child.

She was fast asleep at the moment, which was a relief. Lotara had thought the harsh sirens of damage control bad, but a crying baby was something else. Nothing she had experienced during the years of Void War had prepared her for the rigours of motherhood, it was a ‘learn as you go’ situation. None of the others were much help; none of them understood what it was like to be married to the red angel. Their husbands were not broken, always forced to fight the implants which buzzed in their brains demanding blood and death.

Their regular get-togethers annoyed Lotara. She was obliged to go of course, but she didn’t like it. She was used to the chaos of the Conqueror’s bridge, not the twittering of a gaggle of mother hens. Though she had to admit some of the other mothers, most notably lady Misja the wife of Lord Vulkan were very nice to her.

“Lady Sarrin, a pleasure to meet you at last. Do you mind if I call you Lotara?” Misja had said warmly when they had first met, shaking her hand before she could even react. After that Lotara had warmed to her, and had grown to feel somewhat fond of the Lady of the XVIIIth. She had helped Lotara with some of the basic understandings of motherhood, and she had to admit that she would be even more lost if it wasn’t for Lady Misja’s guidance.

The others though treated her warily; she was a breed apart from them. She stuck out like a sore thumb clad in her naval uniform, the red hand proudly borne on her chest. None of the others had brought exterminatus to worlds at their husband’s command. None of the others had seen ships die and worlds break. But she had, and she would not give up her position for all the gold on Terra.

Reclining on a couch in the spacious lodgings provided for them both, Lotara gazed over at the cot sitting prominently in the corner of the room. She was spire-born, the scion of a noble Albian family who had decided to buck family tradition and serve the Imperium hands-on. Juveat treatments kept her looking in her mid thirties terran standard, and her long blonde hair was bound back in a ponytail to keep it from her face, a habit from her days commanding the Conqueror. Though now there were bags under her eyes, and she was wearier then she had ever been fighting the Emperor’s foes.

A thin wailing came up from the cot and sighing, Lotara got up and padded over to the crying infant, gently picking her up and holding her close.

“There there Furia, mummy’s here. Hush now.” She still felt foolish saying those words, but they did the trick, and Furia’s wails ceased, and she gurgled contentedly in her mother’s arms.

Mother. It was still a novel concept even though the novelty had long since washed off. She remembered the day Angron had come to her with news of his new arrival, and his proposal to her.

“Lotara.” He had growled. “I need someone who I trust; who I know will never let me down. There is only one woman who fits that bill, only one I know can do this.”
“My lord…”
“I am no one’s lord Lotara, and I grow bored of telling you that.” Angron smiled a predatory smile which scared most people out of their wits. But Lotara wasn’t most people, and she knew it for what it was, bluff. “Now will you do as I’ve asked?”

Asking was a novel thing for Angron. But he had done so, and she couldn’t refuse him. They were joined on matrimony the next day, and shortly afterwards baby made three.

She was brought back to the present when little Furia stopped gurgling, and Lotara saw that she was asleep. She continued to cradle her, feeling her small warm body and the faint coo of her soft breaths. Gently she laid little Furia to rest in the cradle, then turned as she heard a familiar stomping sound coming from outside.

Angron strode into the room, instantly filling it with his blunt, savage grandeur. He looked uncomfortable now that he no longer wore his armour, and the dreadlock-like cables of the Nails snaked from the back of his head into the flesh of his shoulders.

“You’re back.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” Angron grunted. “The Nails were biting badly, so I took a detour while they cooled down.”

She nodded. Though the Nails were not as bad as they were during those last years of the Crusade, when Pain tics had flawed one side of his face and chronic nosebleeds had left streams of blood running down his chin, the Nails still bit him every so often and when that happened he had to get away before he was drawn into a killing frenzy to sake the thirst of the agony engine in his brain.

“How’s my daughter?” Angron asked.

“''Our'' daughter is fine,’ she replied. “She’s fast asleep at the moment, and will remain so if you can keep quiet.”

“When she’s awake she screams like those elder hag women, what are they called?”

“Banshees.” Lotara answered.

“Yes them.” Angron rumbled. “I just wish I could shut her up the way I shut them up.” He mimed a sweeping blow from Gorefather, and chuckled. To anyone else that would be horrifying, but Lotara had spent enough time around Angron to understand his unusual sense of humour.

As if in anticipation, a faint cooing sound rose up from the cot.

“Speak of the Daemon.” Angron rumbled.

“You’ve woken her.” Lotara scolded as she went over and gently picked up Furia.

“Look Furia, daddy’s back. Say hi to daddy.”

“You know how ridiculous that sounds?” Angron commented.

“Mothers have been talking like that to their children for millennia, and nothing’s gone wrong yet. Hell, my mother spoke to me like that, and have I turned out poorly?”

Angron didn’t answer, and Lotara rolled her eyes.

“Do you want to hold her?” She asked, holding Furia out. Angron rarely held or played with Furia, and this concerned Lotara. She was his child; he couldn’t be a bystander on her life even with the omnipresent problem of the Nails.

“Every time I take her she just starts crying. She doesn’t like me.”

“She’s your daughter, of course she likes you. You just need to show her that she shouldn’t cry. She is born of your blood you know.”

Angron grunted, but he carefully took Furia in one massive hand with a gentleness none of his brothers would have believed he possessed.

For a few seconds he held her, and she stared right back at him with wide eyes.

For a split second Lotara swore she saw something fleeting in his eyes, a faint fragment of a lost emotion the Nails had burned out of him. But whatever that emotion was it departed as soon as it appeared, leaving Angron the same way he always was, a mountain of barely controlled rage.

Furia started to cry, and he handed her back to Lotara.

“Like I said, she doesn’t like me.”

Lotara clicked her tongue – a habit of hers when she was on the verge of losing her temper, which seemed to happen more and more often these days.

“I wish you’d show a bit more affection for her. She can’t grow up with you emotionally distant all the time, except when you’re angry.”
“It’s hard to show affection when that part of your brain has been lobotomised.” Angron snarled. “Sorry if I’m not as emotionally engaged as you’d like, Lotara.”

“You should be. She is your daughter, your future. With her, you have a chance to start again, to make amends for the sins of the past.”

She wished she had never spoken those words, but they slipped from her mouth regardless. Angron hated being reminded of Nuceria, of his greatest failing. He didn’t say anything; he just strode to the window and gazed out across Startseite, the home custom made for the Primarchs and their families.

“I never wanted her you know.” He said. “I never wanted to be saddled with parenthood, but father insisted. He forced it on me, on all of us. That is why you are here, to help me with this burden. He stole me away from my first family, and now he thinks giving me a new one will fix that?”

“He didn’t do this just for that. He did this so you would have something to live for now that the Crusade is done.”

She switched to Nagrakali, the language unique to the XIIth Legion. She only did that when she had to make a point to him. “We cannot change the past Angron, but we can change the future. You can give Furia a better childhood then you had, a loving family, freedom, peace. You just have to be willing to play a part in this. I can’t raise her alone, she needs you as well.”

He didn’t say anything, and after a while Furia finally fell asleep.

“I’m taking her to bed. Will you be joining us?”

Angron shrugged. “The Nails still itch. I’ll spend a few hours in the training cages.”

As Angron stalked off, Lotara realised something. As long as the Nails were in there, as long as they buzzed in his brain, he would never truly appreciate his daughter, their daughter. The Nails were shackles, preventing him from immersing himself in his daughter’s life. She would have to do the unthinkable, convince him to have them removed. She knew the Emperor could do it, but Angron had refused time and time again.

Would she be able to do it? Succeed where even the Emperor had failed? She would have to try. For Furia’s sake, she would try.