Editing Story:ROAD TRIP! (Warhammer High)/Part Four (section)

===He Who is the Ancient===


Only few hours later, Alex was leaning back in bed, reading before turning in, when Freya’s slate beeped.  In an instant she had vaulted out of bed and landed beside the slate on its table, eagerly reading it over.  As Alex pushed sheets and blankets out of his eyes, he watched as his girlfriend’s hair twitched from side to side.  She was so engrossed in the message that she wasn’t even moving her eyes.  Alex waited.

“FUCK YEAH!” Freya suddenly yelled, and leaped nearly the whole distance from the table into the bed.  “I was hoping he’d be there!” she said, shoving the slate in Alex’s face.

He blinked, leaning back from it.  “Why don’t you read it to me, baby, I can’t read Juvjk.”

“Oh, durr.”  She held it up and eagerly read aloud.  “‘Freya, my little lass, who would your father leave in charge other than me?  We’re looking forward to welcoming you home, dear girl, and this boy toy you’ve been playing with,’” she said, as Alex paled.  “I think he was kidding.  Anyway: ‘I know you wished for this to be a getaway, but with the Sons of Vulkan and Sons of Russ both being mobilized to fight the green scum, the Fang will be quite busy.  We’d be honored if you took the time to come down to us and speak of your life since you left the pack, naturally, but of course your companions would have to undergo decontamination before leaving, given the state of things.’  That’s fair, plagues on Fenris are horrifying.”

She sat down next to him, following the message’s words with her finger to show him her progress.  “‘Little pup, I know you’re eager to see home, and I imagine if your friends are truly on a voyage of luxury, seeing us in our most sacred rituals is not on the itinerary.  Would you like to come ahead on a Blizzard and carry out your duties before they arrive so that you can do as you will with them when they get here?’”

“The hell is a Blizzard?” Alex asked, baffled.

“Local variant Stormbird with the rocket pods ripped out and extra engines on it.”  She read on.  “Not much more.  ‘Whether you do or not, little pup, your brothers await you.  Eternally your servant, Bjorn the Ageless.’”

“Holy shit, isn’t he one of the Great Ninety?” Alex asked.

“Yep.  One of the ninety Terran Space Marines to live out the entire Crusade, out of the quarter million who started.”  Freya clicked the message away with a happy smile.  “He’s my father’s oldest, dearest friend outside of his blood relatives.”

“Very cool.  Are you sure his thing about boy toys was a joke?” Alex asked.

“Who knows?  But I suspect that if Bjorn is running the show, you’ll be just fine.  He might even offer to take you on one of his hunting expeditions to the equatorial jungles,” Freya said.

“Will I survive it?” Alex nervously asked.

“You probably won’t even set foot out of a transport.  You’ll see, you won’t have to do anything.”  She grinned as she opened the transcriptor.
“Elder Bjorn, warrior of the Rout, I would be overjoyed to come back home in a Blizzard.  Dispatch one that I may come back, if you could.  I will need my formal dress, which I brought from home, so I will simply bring it with me.  Sincerely, Princess Freya.”  She tapped the key and sent it.

“Little Pup?” Alex asked with a smile.

She turned wide green eyes on him.  “Bjorn’s nearly four thousand fucking years old, he can call me whatever he wants.”  Her eyes narrowed.  “You, however…” she said.

Alex reached over and gently ran his fingers over the helixes of her ears.  She twitched and giggled.  “Quit it.”

“Nope.”  Alex leaned over and whispered.  “I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry.”

“You better not…”  Her words trailed off with a sharp rise in inflection as he tickled her ears again.  She bit her lip and pulled away, trying to hold back another giggle.  “If you do that in front of the Brothers, I swear I’ll break your wrists,” she said, rasping a bit.

He wiggled his fingers menacingly and grabbed her shoulders.  She shrieked and tried to flee, but ‘stumbled.’  His hands traveled down her sides to her ribs and resumed tickling, until she grabbed his hands and forced them away, panting.

“All right, all right, that’s enough,” she gasped.

Alex sat back on crossed legs, looking smug.  She glared up at him with all the force she could muster, which wasn’t much.  She scrambled up and brushed herself off, still mumbling about his unjustified assault.  “I’ll go get ready for the flight.”

“Sure.  And let me know if he’s being serious about that whole boy toy thing,” Alex called after her.

Bjorn the Eldest stood fast as Freya emerged from her transport, already clad in her formal trappings.  She hadn’t felt the need to wear them on Nocturne, as much as she would have liked to, but here?  She was among kin.

The truly ancient Marine watched with lidded eyes as Freya paused a few paces from him.  She went still, her eyes searching his face.  He did the same, then slowly bent forward a fraction and inhaled deeply.  Everything he needed to know came to him in an instant.  Freya calmed the nerves she always felt when returning home; then she asked why she was bothering.  He could tell.

With great reverence, she fell to her knees, then clasped her hands over her waist and bowed her head, still silent.  Bjorn reached down to touch her shoulder once, running his hand under her chin to raise her head.  She looked up at him, eyes brimming.

He finally offered her a faint grin.  “Rise, little pup.  Your brothers await.”

She rose and wrapped her arms around his arm, grinning into the blue ceramite.  “I’ve missed you, you crotchety old fart.”

“Show some respect, little pup, or I’ll kick you from here to the Wylds,” Bjorn said sternly.

“Bah, you couldn’t even catch me now!” Freya said dismissively.

“Probably not, no,” he said.  He turned to gesture broadly down the corridor behind them as the Blizzard settled into its cradle with a clicking of cooling engines.  “Now, would you prefer to speak with the Lords first, or address your kin?”

“If I’m wearing the bloody thing, I may as well use it,” Freya said, fingering the rich furs of her formal outfit.  The simple-looking garment of pelts, leather, and hand-spun cloth folded over her body like a wrap, but was held together at the waist and collar with broad and beautifully carved stone clasps.  The dark brown calfboots she wore ended far below the soft leather skirt shorts she was wearing over them, but the details of both were obscured.  She was wearing her own personal favorite part of the assemblage over them.  It was a floor-length deep grey cowl, lined with white wolf furs, and with a pair of small silver totems of the moon dangling on the ends of draw-strings.  With a tug, she could close the hood over her face, pull the cloak around herself, and become an anonymous Fenrisian woman in an instant.  She wondered if her father was aware of how much she appreciated that touch.

“Then so be it, little pup,” Bjorn said.  He turned down the corridor and started off towards the chamber where the other senior members of the Rout awaited.

“You know, you don’t have to call me that anymore,” Freya said in Juvjk.  “I’m a pup no longer.”

“Such openness,” Bjorn noted.

Freya blushed.  “I mean that I have finished the mandatory part of my schooling.”

“Ah, but you invite more?” Bjorn asked.

Freya shrugged.  “I want more.  A poor student is the one that stops learning.”

“Wise lass.”  Bjorn paused, partway down the corridor, and eyed the girl carefully.  “When do you intend to take up your role?”

“I honestly do not know,” Freya confessed uncomfortably.  “Will I not choose?”

“You will.”  He resumed his course, as intractable in his Terminator armor as a glacier on its migration.  “Are you ready?”

“As much as I can be, Bjorn,” Freya said.

The hatch swung open.  A wide circle of thick metal chairs surrounded a depressed holotank, over which a transparent mesh was extended.  The tank was powered down, but when it was lit, Freya knew, the Lords of the Rout could stare down into its depths and see entire sectors stretch out below them.
She walked, fearless, her head held high, over to the edge of the mesh, pausing for her lords to acknowledge her.  The circle of Wolves – some in the trappings of Rune Priests, others clad in burnished battle armor, others yet in the elaborate accoutrements of the Iron Priests – were deep in discussion about something.  As soon as she came within range of their senses, however, all of them paused.  They went silent as she came to a halt at the edge, each staring at her, expressionless.  She bowed her head once, ignoring her natural sense of intimidation.  “Brothers,” she said softly.
They nodded and rose individually, coming around the mesh to clasp her hand or ruffle her hair, smiling now.  The glint of superhuman fangs in the dim blue lights of the room was everywhere.  She blushed as the silent greetings continued.  “It’s good to be back after seven long years,” she finally said.

“So I imagine,” a baritone voice said.  An Iron Priest emerged from the throng, his ravaged face peering down at her.  “Lass, you’re grown strong.”

“Thank you, metalshaper Kannd,” she said, bowing her head slightly.

“And beautiful too,” a Long Fang observed kindly, taking in her elaborately braided red hair and sparkling green eyes.  “We shall have to see if your companion is worthy of your company after all,” he joked, to a few chuckles.

Freya winced.  “I would ask that you do not.  He is a not a warrior, and I do not want him to be.  Even if I did…he has undergone a trial on this journey more horrible than any we could give him without an amputation.”  She wasn’t phrasing it as a joke, either in voice or scent.

Bjorn raised a brow.  “How so?”

“I am gifted with a father and mother that love me, a rabid fandom that adores me,” she said drily, referring to her oceans of fans on Terra, “and a pack to call mine.  His father has wounded him so bitterly and horribly that I would feel ashamed to try him more,” Freya said.  “More than that…I leave to him to speak.”

“I see.”  Bjorn shrugged.  “I suppose it is your decision.”

“Besides, I assure you that Father has…’tried’ him already,” Freya added.  “He hardly let Alex out of his sight from the minute they met.”

One of the Long Fangs laughed.  “Do you fault him?”

“No.”  Freya half-smiled.  “Not at all.”

“Then we’ll leave it to him,” the Long Fang said, and if Freya had been listening as closely as she could have, she would have heard something odd in his tone.