Everqueen Reclamation - 57

“Pack! I want pack!” 

The Emperor forcibly stopped himself from screaming as the wails continued.

Leman had been sobbing for the wolves that had adopted him ever since he had woken up, and nothing that the Emperor did made him stop.

He had brought Leman to his private chambers and tried to make him as comfortable as possible. He had tried lavishing the boy with the best food the ship's chefs could make. He had tried conjuring toys, telling his best stories, and even brought the best drinks from his personal wine cabinet, since his foresight suggested Leman would grow up to become very fond of alcohol.

None of it had worked at all. Leman remained utterly distraught, wailing and beating the carpeted floor with his hands while his legs flailed, ignoring the lavish bed that George had prepared for him.

George had truly forgotten how frustrating children could be. Horus had already been mentally an adolescent by the time he had found him, so things had been more manageable than this.

But Leman was still very much a toddler in both mind and heart despite physically looking like an adolescent. A toddler raised in the wild with only a limited understanding of civilization at that.

And for all that he recognized George as his father, the simple fact was that he was not a familiar presence to the boy. He was someone new and almost unknown. 

George was at his wit’s end at how to handle this and calm the boy. In theory, he could just wait for Leman to mentally mature but that was a process that would take months. Even Primarchs didn’t grow that rapidly.

And George wasn't sure he could take several months of these sobbing tantrums. 

Isha, the traitor, had only watched the whole thing with amusement, refusing to get involved, citing that Leman was his son and the terms of their agreement made it clear they would not interfere with how they handled each other's children.

But then he felt a gentle knock on the door of his mind from the Eldar warp-construct, radiating a mixture of amusement and pity.

+What?+ He growled mentally.

I thought you might appreciate a suggestion, came the far too amused reply. Since the boy wants his pack so badly, have you considered simply…bringing them up here and taking them along on this journey?

+I have.+ George retorted, almost insulted that she thought such a simple idea hadn’t occurred to him. +But this dependency isn’t good. Leman must learn to be independent and not rely on mere animals so much.+

He is a child. All children are attached to things they eventually outgrow. Isha countered. You can bring them along and help him slowly outgrow them, or you can forcibly separate them and wait for him to stop screaming. The choice is yours.

George groaned. Was he really about to consider bringing some overgrown mangy mutts engineered by people far too enthusiastic about ancient Viking culture aboard his ship just to calm his infant son?

As Leman continued to scream and cry, having long since somehow surpassed even the enhanced lung capacity that George had engineered into the Primarchs, the Guardian of Mankind realized there was only one answer to that question.

Yes, yes he was.

Sighing, George conjured an illusion of himself to keep his son occupied, before teleporting away down to the planet's surface.

The icy winds of Fenris blasted his face the moment that he landed. It didn't truly inconvenience him in anyway, but the petty part of him was still annoyed.

Was there ever not a storm on this blasted planet?

Scowling to himself, George strode through the storm, the ice and snow melting beneath his feet with every step. He could have prevented it, but he didn't feel like it.

It didn't take long for him to find the wolf pack his son had been part of. They were still in the cave where he had found them originally, but this time, they were all fully awake, feasting on the flesh of dead prey.

But they noticed immediately when he came in, each of the wolves snapping up to look at him with eerily intelligent eyes, their teeth still dripping with flesh and blood. They were still hungry, but fear of a greater predator was overriding that instinct. Slowly, the wolves withdrew behind their mother, who regarded him warily. Not yet hostile, but mistrustful.

George observed them for a moment. The smallest of the pups was still easily the size of a fully grown dog, and the mother was the size of a tank.

Not for the first (or even thousandth time) he wondered why exactly ordinary humans thought engineering animals into enormous living weapons for what had essentially been a planetary amusement park at the time was fun. 

Especially since it was hardly as if it added any historical authenticity. George was fairly certain he would have remembered if there had been tank-sized wolves wandering around Northern Europe during the late First Millennium. At the very least, someone would have found fossils of them eventually.

George considered a few options for how to take the wolves in. They were intelligent enough he could try negotiating with them, but…honestly, he couldn't be bothered.

A simple flex of his will was enough.

The eyes of each wolf flashed briefly with golden light as he tamed them, binding them to his will and instilling programming into their minds.

"Come now,” He said, clapping his hands. The wolves obeyed, lining up neatly like well-trained dogs. That was essentially what they were now, despite their physical appearances.

With another flash of light, they were back on the Epona, in front of Leman who was still wailing…somehow, ignoring the illusionary copy of his father.

George was certain that the boy's lung capacity shouldn't have been this strong at this stage in his physical development.

But that would end now, hopefully.

Dispelling the illusion, George cleared his throat to attract Leman's attention. “Here, son. I have brought your pack.”

Leman's blue eyes widened as it landed on the wolves, his wailing ceasing instantly. "Pack!” He cried, launching himself at the mother wolf and hugging her.

The other wolves rallied around him, nuzzling the now calm boy.

George sighed in relief. At last, now it was over.

Unfortunately, it turned out he was counting his eggs before they hatched.

Leman stopped sniffling into the mother wolf's fur, a frown twisting his chubby face as he looked around at the pack. His eyebrows furrowed, and the frown deepened.

The boy reached out and poked the mother wolf's jaw, who merely nuzzled against him. Scowling, the boy poked her harder, and she only nuzzled him again.

With a truly ferocious look on his face, Leman turned away from the wolf and glared at his father. “Not pack!” He accused. “Fake pack!”

George was genuinely struck speechless for a moment before mustering a response. “This is your pack, son,” He tried to reassure Leman. “I checked personally.”

"No!” Leman insisted stubbornly. “Weak! Tame! Not pack!”

George had to resist the urge to bury his face in his hands. Not only did his son want these wolves, they also had to be wild and savage for him to believe they were the real ones?

"Very well,” George said. With great reluctance, he unshackled the minds of the wolves, removing the programming he had imprinted on their minds.

There was a moment of silence as the wolves seemed to process where they were and what had happened.

Then there was a cacophony of noise as they all started howling at the same time. The smaller wolves ran all over the room, smearing snow and dirt over the carpet. Others jumped up on the bed he had prepared for Leman, and began chewing on the silk sheets and pillows.

Leman, of course, joined the howls eagerly, imitating them as best as he could.

George wasn't capable of developing headaches, but his son was certainly doing his best to give him one, the ancient immortal thought, vaguely in despair.

The fact that he could feel Isha bubbling with amusement from the other side of the ship did not help at all.

+Don't laugh at me.+ He said waspishly.

I'm not laughing at you.

+Don't lie, I can feel it.+

Isha gave the mental equivalent of a shrug, clearly highly amused by his plight.

Grumbling, George turned his attention back to the wolves and Leman.

The mother wolf was the only one who was not howling, watched George with narrowed eyes. She wasn't intelligent enough to know exactly what had happened, but she clearly understood enough to classify him as a threat.

George stared right back. He was not going to be judged by an animal, of all things.

In the end, the mother wolf was the first one to look away, growling softly at Leman to attract his attention.

The boy stopped howling immediately to focus on her (George was not jealous of an animal's ability to command his son. He was not.) with wide blue eyes.

The mother wolf growled slightly, conveying her intent.

Why are we here?

Leman frowned, growling back in the same animalistic language. From a normal human, it would have meant nothing, but for a Primarch, it was filtered through his psychic aura, letting him communicate with the animal with ease.

So we can be together.

The mother wolf gave the distinct impression of a disapproving frown even though her face was incapable of forming such an expression.

Our place is not here. We belong to the wilds, to Fenris.

You belong with me! Leman protested. Pack together, always.

Yes. The wolf agreed. But your place is here, ours is not. You cannot cage us.

Not a cage!

Not for you. For you, this is home and freedom. For us, it is a cage. We cannot stay here with you. It would destroy us.

Leman was silent for several long moments, staring at the wolf with a conflicted expression.

Okay.

Leman then turned to George with a very serious expression. “Take pack home,” He said. “They can't stay here.”

If he were a normal human, George's eyebrow would have twitched. After all this, Leman was telling him to take the wolves home???

And apparently, a wolf was better at parenting his son than he was.

Wonderful.

But it wasn't as if he truly wanted the wolves aboard his ship, so George sighed and nodded.

Corralling the wolves only took a moment, and shortly afterwards, George deposited them back in the cave.

The younger wolves returned immediately to the meal they had been having earlier, but the mother wolf regarded George shrewdly for a moment longer. And for some reason, George didn't leave immediately.

Look after him. The mother wolf growled after a moment.

“...I will,” George said, giving her a nod.

The wolf gave a nod of her own, before turning away and padding towards her children.

Shaking off the oddness of the interaction, George teleported back to the ship once more.

Leman was neither crying nor howling any longer, but he seemed morose, curled up and hugging his knees to his chest.

"Son…” George trailed off, unsure of what to say.

But when Leman looked at him watery eyes, ancient paternal instincts awakened at last, and George stepped forward to pick up his son and wrap him in a hug.

Leman sniffled against his shoulder, but thankfully didn't start crying as George gently stroked his hair.

He had forgotten how this felt. It had been so very long since he had last consoled a distraught child.

Yes, it was exhausting and annoying but…the warm, solid weight of Leman in his arms made George's heart swell. 

His son was in his arms, safe and sound. Yes, he would need time to adjust and grow, but he was here.

And for that, all the tantrums and mood swings were a small price to pay.

No price at all, in fact.