The Wolf King of Fenris
The World of Fenris, 819.30M
Fenris, a world of untamed wilderness and primal beauty, greeted Franklin Valorian with its harsh embrace. The planet's surface was a tapestry of rugged mountains, frozen tundras, and vast forests, all under the watchful gaze of two moons. The air was crisp and biting, carrying the scent of pine and snow.
Franklin , stood atop a snow-covered hill, the Deathsword in his hand dripping with the life essence of countless beasts, the Eldar God of War, demanded with barely contained excitement.
"More, more!" Khaine's voice echoed in Franklin's mind. "This world teems with worthy prey!"
Franklin chuckled, his breath misting in the frigid air. "Easy there, old timer. We're not here to depopulate the planet."
The Primarch of Liberty surveyed his trophies - the head of a massive Wyvern, the pelt of a Fenrisian Mammoth, and the tusks of a great Ice Troll. Each kill had sent a surge of power through the Deathsword, feeding the shard of Khaine within.
"Your Father approaches," Khaine hissed. "We should strike now, while He is distracted!"
Franklin rolled his eyes. "And get our asses handed to us? No thanks. We're here to meet family, not start a war."
As the twin moons of Fenris rose high in the sky, Franklin found himself approaching a massive stone fortress. The scent of roasted meat and spilled mead hung heavy in the air, accompanied by the raucous sounds of celebration.
"Father's here," Franklin muttered, his keen senses picking up the familiar psychic imprint. Denzel, who had been silently observing his Primarch's hunt, nodded in agreement.
They approached the fortress gates just as a hush fell over the gathered crowd inside. Franklin's enhanced hearing picked up the conversation within.
They slipped into the great hall unnoticed, blending with the crowd of warriors and nobles. At the center of attention were two figures – one, a giant of a man with long blonde hair, dressed in furs and wielding a massive sword. The other, slightly shorter but no less imposing, wore a simple robe that seemed to shift colors in the firelight.
They watched as the Emperor of Mankind engaged in a series of contests with the blonde giant, whom the crowd referred to as Leman of the Russ. The first was an eating contest, which saw Leman devour three whole oxen while the Emperor struggled to finish one. The second was a drinking contest, where Leman emptied the royal cellars dry, leaving the Emperor swaying on his feet.
Franklin couldn't help but laugh at the sight of his father, the most powerful being in the galaxy, losing so spectacularly in these mortal contests. "Oh man, this is gold," he chuckled.
But the third contest changed everything. Leman, emboldened by his victories and no small amount of alcohol, began to boast. "You're no match for me!" he roared. "I bet your father was a grox and your mother a rock!"
The hall went silent. The Emperor's eyes flashed with a power that made even Franklin take a step back. Without a word, the Master of Mankind threw a punch that connected with Leman's jaw. The sound was like a thunderclap, and Leman of the Russ, the undefeated King of Fenris, crumpled to the ground unconscious.
"Oh shit!" Franklin exclaimed, unable to contain his laughter. "He just got knocked the fuck out!"
The hall erupted into chaos. Warriors reached for weapons, unsure whether to defend their king or bow to this display of superhuman might. It was at this moment that the Emperor's gaze fell upon Franklin.
"My son," he said, his voice carrying easily over the din. "I see you've finally arrived."
Franklin stepped forward, a crooked grin on his face. "Hey, old man. Quite a show you put on there. Gotta say, your drinking game needs some work, but that right hook? Solid gold."
The Emperor's expression was unreadable, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Franklin. I trust your journey here was uneventful?"
"Oh, you know, just the usual," Franklin shrugged. "Killed a wyvern, hunted some mammoths, collected a few trophies. Nothing major."
As they spoke, Leman began to stir. The blonde giant pushed himself up, shaking his head to clear it. His eyes focused on the Emperor, then on Franklin, confusion evident on his face.
"What... what happened?" Leman growled.
The Emperor turned to him. "You have been defeated, Leman of the Russ. But in doing so, you have proven yourself worthy. I am the Emperor of Mankind, you are my son."
As the revelry in the great hall of Fenris continued, the Emperor's mind touched Franklin's. In an instant, a torrent of information flooded the Primarch's consciousness, conveying years of planning and millennia of purpose in mere moments.
Franklin's eyes widened slightly, the only outward sign of the psychic exchange. He saw the grand design his father had for humanity - the Great Crusade, the unification of mankind, and at the heart of it all, the secret Webway Project. The sheer audacity of the plan was breathtaking.
"Your sire's ambitions are vast," Khaine's voice whispered in Franklin's mind. "But beware, mortal. Even gods can fall."
Franklin mentally shushed the Eldar god, focusing on his father's words.
"You have proven yourself, my son," the Emperor's voice resonated in his thoughts. "Your methods of compliance, your 'managed democracy,' have shown remarkable efficiency. Malcador and I see great potential in your approach."
Franklin couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. "Well, you know what they say, Dad. You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Or in our case, with the illusion of choice rather than outright subjugation."
He sensed a flicker of amusement from the Emperor. "Indeed. It is for this reason that I entrust you with knowledge of the Webway Project. Your ability to shape worlds to our cause will be crucial in the times to come."
The implications of this trust weren't lost on Franklin. He knew that this level of confidence from the Emperor was rare, even among the Primarchs...Three Primarchs.
"I'm honored, truly," Franklin responded. "But I gotta ask - why me? Why now?"
"Because, Franklin, you understand the necessity of guiding humanity while maintaining the illusion of freedom. The Webway Project requires absolute secrecy, yet its success will depend on the cooperation of trillions. Your methods may prove invaluable in this endeavor."
As the psychic conversation concluded, Franklin found himself looking at his father and newly discovered brother with fresh eyes. The Emperor turned to Leman Russ, who was still nursing his jaw from the earlier knockout punch.
"Leman Russ," the Emperor spoke aloud, his voice carrying authority that seemed to resonate with the very stones of the hall. "You have shown strength, tenacity, and a warrior's spirit. These qualities will serve you well as a son of the Emperor and a leader of men."
Leman straightened, his blue eyes sharp despite the alcohol still coursing through his system. "I will not disappoint you... Father," he said, the last word coming out somewhat awkwardly.
The Emperor nodded, then turned to Franklin with a smile that seemed reserved only for him. It was a smile of understanding, of shared secrets and mutual respect.
"And you, Franklin," the Emperor said, "I have a task for you."
Franklin raised an eyebrow, his signature grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Oh? And here I thought I was just here for the party."
The Emperor's smile didn't waver. "I need you to help your brother acclimate to his new role. Teach him the ways of leadership beyond the battlefield. Show him how to rule with more than just strength of arms."
Leman bristled slightly at this, but remained silent, his eyes darting between the Emperor and Franklin.
Franklin nodded, his expression becoming more serious. "I understand. Don't worry, Dad. I'll make sure our resident wolf learns some new tricks."
It was then that the Emperor's gaze fell upon the sword at Franklin's hip. His eyes narrowed slightly, recognition flashing across his features.
"I see you've made some... interesting friends," the Emperor said, his tone carefully neutral.
Franklin's hand unconsciously moved to the Deathsword. "Oh, this old thing? Yeah, it's been quite the companion. Got some attitude, but it gets the job done."
The Emperor's eyes met Franklin's, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Franklin knew his father recognized the Crone Sword for what it was - a relic of the Aeldari, and a powerful one at that.
"Be cautious, my son," the Emperor said softly. "Such weapons often carry a weight beyond their physical form."
Franklin nodded, his usual jovial demeanor tempered by the gravity of the moment. "I understand, Father. I'll be careful."
As the Emperor turned to leave the great hall of Fenris, he heard Franklin's voice behind him.
"Father, before you go, how fares my brother Horus?"
The Emperor paused, turning back to face his 11th son. Franklin's brown eyes, so often twinkling with mirth, now held a depth of concern that reminded the Emperor why he valued this particular son so highly.
"Horus is doing well," the Emperor replied, his voice carrying the weight of millennia. "We have fought side by side for 17 years now. He grows stronger and more capable with each passing day."
Horus, his bright star, his second found son. The Emperor had watched him grow from a young man into a legendary general, leading the Luna Wolves to countless victories across the galaxy. Horus was charismatic, brilliant, and utterly devoted to the Imperial cause. And yet...
The Emperor's gaze lingered on Franklin, taking in the easy confidence, the hint of mischief in his eyes, and the unmistakable aura of competence that surrounded him. In many ways, Franklin was Horus's opposite - where Horus was serious and intense, Franklin was jovial and relaxed. Where Horus sought constant approval, Franklin seemed content in his own skin.
"Horus has been an invaluable asset to the Great Crusade," the Emperor continued, choosing his words carefully. "However, he still lacks some of the independent capabilities you've demonstrated, Franklin. At least for now."
As he spoke, the Emperor's mind raced, considering the complex web of relationships and destinies that he was weaving. Franklin Valorian, his first-found son, had proven to be a cornerstone of his plans in ways he had not initially anticipated.
The Emperor's thoughts drifted back to the day he had discovered Franklin on Nova Libertas. The young Primarch had already united an entire star system under his rule, creating a bastion of human civilization that had not only survived the Age of Strife but thrived. The Emperor had been impressed then, but Franklin's subsequent achievements had far surpassed even his lofty expectations.
The Emperor didn't voice his deeper concerns. He was acutely aware of the growing jealousy in Horus's heart. The discovery of each new Primarch had chipped away at Horus's sense of uniqueness, his special bond with the Emperor. With Franklin's unprecedented success constantly weighing on the Primarch of the Luna wolves and the discovery of Leman Russ, that jealousy threatened to bloom into something more dangerous.
Franklin, on the other hand, seemed to grasp the bigger picture intuitively. The Emperor marveled at how his 11th son had taken to his role. Despite his jovial nature - or perhaps because of it - Franklin had proven to be incredibly efficient and effective. The numbers spoke for themselves: 3,021 worlds complied in just 17 years. It was an astounding achievement, one that even Horus hadn't matched.
The Emperor allowed a small smile to cross his features. "Your methods have proven remarkably effective, Franklin. The efficiency of your Legion is... impressive."
As he spoke, the Emperor's mind raced with calculations and projections. Franklin's "managed democracy" approach had allowed for smoother transitions, less resistance, and ultimately, faster compliance. It was a model that could potentially be applied on a galactic scale, easing the path for the Imperial Truth to take root.
Moreover, Franklin's understanding of the larger stakes - his awareness of the Webway Project and the true threats facing humanity - made him an invaluable ally. In many ways, the Emperor realized, Franklin had become the big brother figure among the 3 Primarchs, being the First One Found is just a bonus.
"Your brother Horus has been at my side for many years," the Emperor said, his tone measured. "He has carried the weight of the Crusade on his shoulders. Your success, Franklin, while commendable, may be... challenging for him to process."
Franklin nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. "I get it, Dad. Family dynamics can be tricky, especially when the family business is conquering the galaxy."
The Emperor appreciated Franklin's perceptiveness. It was yet another quality that set him apart - his ability to read between the lines, to understand the unsaid.
As the Emperor's footsteps faded, Franklin turned to face Leman Russ, only to find the Wolf King's icy blue eyes fixed upon him with a mixture of suspicion and barely contained aggression.
"I do not recognize you as a brother," Leman growled, his hand moving to grip the haft of his great axe. "Prove your worth, southlander."
Franklin couldn't help but chuckle, his brown eyes twinkling with amusement. "Always gotta do things the hard way, huh? Alright, big guy, if that's how you want to play it."
With a flourish, Franklin reached into what seemed like thin air, his hand disappearing momentarily before reappearing with two weapons - a power sword for himself and a power axe, which he tossed to Leman.
"Use this," Franklin said, his tone light but his eyes serious. "That iron axe of yours wouldn't last two seconds against a power weapon."
Leman caught the axe deftly, his eyes widening slightly at the weight and balance of the weapon. He gave it an experimental swing, the energy field crackling to life along its edge.
"Show him our prowess!" Khaine's voice roared in Franklin's mind. "Let the wolf taste the blade of a god!"
Franklin mentally shushed the Eldar deity as he took up a fighting stance. "Alright, Leman. Let's dance."
The two Primarchs circled each other, the revelers in the hall quickly backing away to give them space. Leman struck first, his new axe describing a vicious arc aimed at Franklin's head.
Franklin parried the blow with ease, a year of training under Khaine's tutelage evident in his fluid movements. He countered with a swift riposte, the tip of his power sword stopping just short of Leman's throat.
"First blood to me, brother," Franklin grinned.
Leman snarled, batting the sword aside with his free hand and launching into a flurry of attacks. The Wolf King was a whirlwind of furious strikes, each blow carrying enough force to shatter Power Armor.
Yet Franklin met each attack with graceful precision, his sword a blur of motion as he deflected and countered. It was clear to the onlookers that the Liberator was holding back, matching Leman's fury with calculated restraint.
"You toy with him," Khaine observed. "The wolf has potential, but he lacks finesse. Show him true mastery of the blade!"
Leman, too, seemed to notice Franklin's restraint. His attacks became more ferocious, his snarls more pronounced. "Fight me properly!" he roared. "I am a warrior, not a child to be coddled!"
Franklin's expression sobered. "Are you sure about that, brother? I've been training with this sword for a while now. You might not like what happens if I stop holding back."
Leman's response was another savage attack, his axe cleaving through the air with murderous intent.
"Alright," Franklin sighed. "You asked for it."
In an instant, the dynamic of the fight changed. Franklin's movements became a blur, his sword weaving intricate patterns in the air as he pressed his attack. Each strike was precise, each movement economical yet devastatingly effective.
Leman found himself on the defensive for the first time, struggling to keep up with the speed and complexity of Franklin's assault. The Wolf King's raw power and savage skill were impressive, but they were being systematically dismantled by Franklin's superior technique.
"Yes!" Khaine exulted in Franklin's mind. "Show him the dance of death, the art of war perfected over several millennia!"
Franklin's blade sang as it cut through the air, finding gaps in Leman's defense that the Wolf King didn't even know existed. Small cuts appeared on Leman's arms and legs, testament to the precision of Franklin's attacks.
Yet Leman refused to yield. Each wound seemed to fuel his berserker rage, his attacks becoming wilder and more unpredictable. He fought with the ferocity of the wolves he was named for, each blow carrying the force of an avalanche.
"The wolf has heart," Khaine grudgingly admitted. "He would make a fine berserker if properly trained.
The fight raged on, the two Primarchs locked in a deadly dance. Franklin's technique was flawless, each movement flowing seamlessly into the next, guided by the ancient wisdom of the Eldar God of War. Leman fought with raw power and instinct, his attacks fueled by a combination of fury and growing respect for his opponent.
As the battle reached its crescendo, Franklin saw an opening. With a move of breathtaking complexity, he disarmed Leman, sending the power axe spinning across the room. In the same motion, he brought his sword to rest against Leman's neck.
For a moment, silence reigned in the great hall. Leman stood still, his chest heaving with exertion, Franklin's blade at his throat. Then, slowly, a grin spread across the Wolf King's face.
"Well fought, brother," Leman said, his voice gruff but sincere. "It seems there's more to you than jests and fancy words."
Franklin lowered his sword, his own grin matching Leman's. "And there's more to you than fur and fang, my wolfish friend. You fought well."
As the tension in the room dissipated, replaced by cheers and applause from the onlookers, Franklin could hear Khaine's voice in his mind.
"The wolf has potential," the god mused. "Raw and unrefined, but with the makings of a true warrior. He will be a valuable ally in the battles to come."
Franklin nodded imperceptibly, extending his hand to Leman. "So, think you can recognize me as a brother now?"
Leman clasped Franklin's forearm in a warrior's grip. "Aye, I can do that. Though next time, we fight with axes. See how well your fancy swordplay holds up then."
Franklin laughed, clapping Leman on the shoulder. "You're on, brother. But first, I believe you owe me a drink. I hear you Fenrisians know how to throw a proper feast."
As the two Primarchs made their way to the mead hall, surrounded by cheering warriors, Franklin couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. He had gained a brother today, not just in name, but in the bonds forged through battle.
Franklin and Leman materialized on the deck of the Sweet Liberty, the massive flagship of the Liberty Eagles. The metal doors before them thrummed with the bass of music unlike anything Leman had ever heard before. The Wolf King's enhanced senses picked up the sounds of laughter, cheering, and the clinking of glasses.
-----------------
Franklin's hand came to rest on Leman's shoulder. "Brother, you've shown me how the Fenrisians party. Now, let me introduce you to how we do things in the Liberty Eagles."
With a grin, Franklin pressed his palm against a scanner, and the doors slid open with a pneumatic hiss. A wave of sound, light, and scent washed over them.
The vast chamber before them was a riot of color and activity. Holographic displays painted the walls and ceiling with swirling patterns of red, white, and blue. The air was thick with the smell of various foods and drinks, some familiar to Leman, others entirely alien.
"Welcome to the Eagle's Nest," Franklin shouted over the music. "Our little slice of home away from home."
Leman's eyes widened as he took in the scene. Hundreds of Astartes, still in their power armor, mingled freely with mortal crew members. In one corner, a group of Space Marines were engaged in what appeared to be a drinking contest, downing barrels of a glowing blue liquid that smoked when exposed to air.
"That's our home-brewed Warp Whiskey," Franklin explained, noticing Leman's gaze. "Packs quite a punch, even for us."
They made their way through the crowd, Astartes and mortals alike parting respectfully for the two Primarchs. Leman noticed that despite the apparent revelry, every Marine remained alert, their postures ready to snap to attention at a moment's notice.
They approached a circular bar in the center of the room, manned by a grinning Techmarine whose mechadendrites were a blur of motion as he mixed drinks.
"Two Liberty Specials, Hephaestus," Franklin called out.
The Techmarine nodded, his augmetic eye glowing as he set to work. In moments, two large mugs filled with a swirling, iridescent liquid were placed before them.
"What manner of drink is this?" Leman asked, eyeing the concoction suspiciously.
Franklin laughed. "It's a bit of everything, brother. We call it the Liberty Special because it embodies our philosophy - a blend of the best from a hundred worlds, coming together to create something greater than the sum of its parts."
Leman took a cautious sip, his eyes widening as the flavors exploded across his enhanced palate. It was unlike anything he had ever tasted - sweet and bitter, burning and cooling all at once.
"By Fenris, this is... remarkable," Leman admitted.
Franklin grinned. "Glad you like it. Now, let me show you how we really party."
He led Leman to a raised platform where several Astartes were gathered around what looked like a glowing table. As they approached, Leman realized it was some sort of holographic gaming device.
"This is our strategy simulator," Franklin explained. "We use it for training, but it also makes for one hell of a party game."
They watched as two teams of Marines faced off, manipulating holographic armies in a complex dance of strategy and counter-strategy. The stakes seemed to be measured in drinks, with the losing team having to down shots of Warp Whiskey after each defeat.
Nearby, another group of Astartes were engaged in what appeared to be a contest of strength and endurance. They were taking turns trying to lift a massive power hammer, its head crackling with energy.
"The Hammer of Liberty," Franklin said. "Whoever can lift it and keep it aloft the longest gets to keep it until the next gathering. It's heavier than it looks."
As they moved through the party, Leman began to notice a pattern. Despite the apparent chaos and revelry, there was an underlying order to everything. The drinking contests were interspersed with tests of skill and strategy. The boisterous laughter was punctuated by serious discussions of tactics and philosophy.
"Your warriors party, yet they do not lose themselves to it," Leman observed.
Franklin nodded approvingly. "That's the point, brother. We work hard, we fight hard, and we party hard. But we never forget who we are or what we're fighting for. Every gathering like this is a celebration of our brotherhood, our victories, and the liberty we bring to the galaxy."
They made their way to a quieter corner where a group of veterans were gathered. As Franklin and Leman approached, the Marines raised their glasses in salute.
"My lords," one of them, a scarred veteran with a bionic eye, greeted them. "Care to join us for a round of War Stories?"
"War Stories?" Leman asked.
"It's a game we play," Franklin explained. "Each warrior tells a tale of battle. The others try to spot the embellishments or outright lies. It's a test of both storytelling skill and tactical knowledge."
They settled in, listening as the veterans spun tales of daring victories and narrow escapes. Leman found himself drawn into the game, his own warrior's instincts allowing him to spot the subtle exaggerations and tactical impossibilities in the stories.
As the night wore on, Leman found himself impressed by the Liberty Eagles' approach to celebration. It was a far cry from the raw, primal feasts of Fenris, yet it carried its own sense of tradition and purpose.
"You know, brother," Leman said as they made their way back to the bar for another round. "I think I'm beginning to understand your Legion better."
Franklin raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what have you learned?"
Leman gestured at the party around them. "Your warriors celebrate not just to release tension, but to strengthen bonds. Every game, every drink, every story - it all serves a purpose. You're building a brotherhood that goes beyond mere military discipline."
Franklin's grin widened. "Exactly. In the Liberty Eagles, every Marine knows that the warrior next to him isn't just a battle-brother, but a friend he can trust with his life. That's what makes us strong."
As they clinked their mugs together, the music swelled to a crescendo. The holographic displays erupted in a dazzling simulation of fireworks, eliciting cheers from the gathered warriors.
"To liberty," Franklin toasted.
"To brotherhood," Leman added.
As they drank, Leman couldn't help but feel that he had indeed gained more than just a brother today. He had gained insight into a different way of war, a different way of brotherhood.