Twin Blades

Chapter the Fourth: Regrets

Time Setting: Prior to and during the events of Halo 2, level “Sacred Icon”


It was a good thing the stateroom door was locked, because the Arbiter and Rtas ‘Vadumee were both laughing like Jackals and playing like Grunts without a care in the world.

A private dinner had somehow evolved into feeding each other tidbits of curried meat while curled up on the couch, with Rtas on the Arbiter’s lap. It seemed like a natural progression to take a little nibble of one another, and both of them liked what they’d discovered. The next thing Rtas knew, his back plate was on the floor and the rest of his armour followed in short succession. When the Arbiter finally started tugging at his thigh guards Rtas couldn’t wait any longer—he unzipped his jumpsuit, hands shaking with the need to get it off as quickly as possible. He almost hated having to get up long enough to shed the thing.

The Arbiter still had half his jumpsuit on, but instead of getting to work, he stopped and watched ‘Vadumee with undisguised admiration.

‘Vadumee found himself laughing as he wadded the thing up into a ball and tossed it across the room, right through the door of the head. For all he knew it landed in the toilet. He didn’t care. He turned back to the Arbiter and grabbed hold of his jumpsuit at the waist. “Stand up,” he growled.

And the Arbiter obeyed him. In seconds the Arbiter’s jumpsuit had joined his.

The next thing he knew the two of them were pressed together, exploring one another. His knees were shaking, but he couldn’t bear to let the Arbiter go. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this exultant, this glad to be alive…

And then the Arbiter released him. Rtas let out a little whine of disappointment.

The Arbiter clutched his hands and said, his voice a low and intense growl, “We either head to the bunk right now or we hit the floor. Your choice.”

The floor was tempting because it was so immediate, but it was also scary. Rtas did not consider himself the adventurous type. And he certainly didn’t want to remember his first experience with the Arbiter to be something awkward and cheap. “Bunk,” he whispered and let the Arbiter pull him towards it.

The Arbiter tried to toss him into the bed. ‘Vadumee grabbed the Arbiter’s shoulders and pulled him down on top of him, and when the Arbiter struggled, he licked his neck until he submitted.

“Who gets the top?” he asked, his voice rasping. He suspected that the Arbiter—notorious for sleeping with half the fleet—probably liked that position. The challenge was, so did he.

He might also be convinced to like the bottom…it probably wouldn’t take much convincing…but he wasn’t giving in to the Arbiter so easily.

“Me,” the Arbiter replied.

“You think so?” Rtas teased, his voice husky. “Seems to me that if you want to be top, you’d best be able to hold that position.”

And he rolled over forcefully, so hard that he flipped the Arbiter over onto his back, and they landed on the other side of the bunk with their positions reversed. The Arbiter laughed as his shoulders slammed into the mattress.

‘Vadumee wasn’t sure which one of them would be on top when they got too frisky to tease each other any longer, but he honestly didn’t care. He was going to win either way and…

The Arbiter was already surrendering, it seemed. ‘Vadumee’s hide quivered as they moved together, tighter and tighter, swaying like a dance, seeking the position where one swift thrust would…

The pillows collapsed under his weight and Rtas ‘Vadumee woke up alone.

His stateroom was empty except for himself. The bowl from last night’s dinner still sat on his table. But the Arbiter was gone.

Reality had gone very differently from his dream. In reality, he’d freaked out the second the Arbiter took his back armour off of him, and that had been the end of it.

At the time he’d tried to convince himself that it was just as well. The Arbiter got around, while ‘Vadumee was the settling-down type. The Arbiter was looking for quick thrills, and ‘Vadumee was still grieving his dead bondmate Kusovai. It would have been a brief tryst, nothing more, and the heartbreak would not have been worth it. ‘Vadumee had told himself that he had not wanted to sleep with the Arbiter anyway.

His dream had convinced him otherwise.

Know thyself. It was one of the first things he taught to SpecOps recruits. A soldier needed to know exactly what he was capable of. He needed to know what he could accomplish on his own, when he ought to call for assistance, and when he was completely over his head. He had to be aware of his own strengths and weaknesses so he could play to his strengths and work on improving his weaknesses. He had to understand his own desires, needs, prejudices, and goals.

And Rtas ‘Vadumee had been lying to himself very, very badly.

Getting angry at the Arbiter for inviting himself in, making himself at home, and doing his absolute best to get Rtas out of his armour was making excuses for the fact that Rtas had let him in, joined him for dinner, and fallen into his lap, tasting and touching and…

…and making himself frisky all over again at the idea, because glass it all, he had loved every damned second of it.

It was time to be a warrior and take some responsibility. Whether or not it was a good idea, the fact remained that he was hot for the Arbiter, and that truth would not be chased away by logic or guilt. So instead of cowering here in his quarters, hiding from life until the Arbiter had come after him and tried to seduce him out of his solitary pain, he ought to start acting like a real Sangheili. That meant making an honest assessment of what he wanted and needed and acting accordingly.

And it was assuming he hadn’t already ruined it completely, and that the Arbiter hadn’t just gone to the mess hall and found someone else to keep him company. The very thought made ‘Vadumee feel sick, and he knew he was in a very bad situation, because if he wasn’t ready to give the Arbiter what he wanted, he was sure he was going to lose him. And yet Rtas wasn’t sure if he was ready to get that deeply involved. A voice hammered in his head, reminding him that he was going to feel miserable after the Arbiter inevitably dumped him for the next Sangheili to catch his eye.

He knew that. By the Rings, he was far too aware of that already. But the point remained, he was miserable right now. He was lonely and confused and horny as hell after last night, and maybe he could at least get some temporary help with the horny part. Surely it had to be better than hiding in his quarters waiting for the next insanely suicidal SpecOps mission to come down from the new Supreme Commander... Surely having at least something of the Arbiter to remember was better than having nothing.

Oh, by the Rings, he already had something to remember and he was going to be replaying last night in his memories every damn spare moment of the day, he just knew it. He wished he could have something, anything else to think about, because this was going to drive him mad.

He closed his eyes and wondered how it might have felt if he’d let the Arbiter take off his armour…if he’d watched the Arbiter bend down before him to take off his leg plates…to feel the air cold against his hot skin when the Arbiter peeled away his jumpsuit…to let the Arbiter look at him, and then, to touch him…there…where he…

His comm link buzzed with a noise so loud in the quiet room that ‘Vadumee flew up out of his bunk. He covered himself with a sheet as he reached to answer, as if he feared that the individual on the other end of the line would be able to tell that he was naked and aroused.

It was Admiral Xytan ‘Jar Wattinree on the line. “SpecOps Commander ‘Vadumee, we have a problem.”

Rtas shook his head, trying to forget things like the fact that his heart was pounding and his body was covered in sweat and his breath was rasping in and out of his chest and his shaft, which was usually tucked up inside his body unless he needed it to urinate—or to mate—was out and ready for action and didn’t seem at all willing to go back where it belonged.

“What?” he managed to say.

“The Honour Guard has been decommissioned.”

Wattinree was not making any sense. “What?” he repeated.

“I said the Honour Guard has been decommissioned.” This statement confirmed for Rtas that he had indeed heard correctly, but the words still didn’t make any sense.

“Since when do the Prophets suddenly not need any protection? Don they not need protection most of all in these troubled times?”

“Since they recommissioned an Honour Guard composed entirely of Brutes,” Wattinree said bitterly.

Just when ‘Vadumee thought that he’d be permanently horny all day… All of a sudden being frisky and frustrated sounded a lot better than dealing with this unimaginable disaster.

“Many of the councillors are threatening to resign,” Wattinree continued. “By the Forerunners, this could split the Covenant…and I’m not entirely sure the rogue councillors are wrong.”

“Why did the Hierarchs do it?” ‘Vadumee asked as his brain entered strategic mode. Gather information…create possible solutions…run scenarios…choose a plan and see it through. “It is not our fault that Regret is dead, and it is not our fault the Demon got away. They were the ones who made us withdraw!”

“I don’t know. They will not speak to me.”

Rtas ‘Vadumee set what jaws he had left. “They’ll speak to me.” His unusual role as the leader of SpecOps gave him influence beyond his rank.

“Let me know what they say. And watch out for that Arbiter.”

“The Arbiter?”

“The Arbiter is the Will of the Prophets. He might be one of us, but he belongs to them. Do not forget where his loyalty lies.” Wattinree signed off.

‘Vadumee was left staring at the comm unit. The Arbiter would not betray the Sangheili—he was sure of it.

But now he had something else to occupy his thoughts, and he was already sorry that his wish had come true.

*

The Arbiter walked through the hallowed halls of High Charity, noticing that in a very short day, things had changed.

A pack of Brutes was clustered around the Sangheili Honour Guards. As he walked, one of the Brutes yanked the spear from a reluctant Sangheili. An Honour Guard Ultra Elite bowed his head and handed his helm over to the Brutes, who promptly began scuffling over the right to wear it. Inside the main doors were two lines of Brutes wearing Honour Guard headgear. The long helmets, shaped for Sangheili wearers, stuck out over the Brutes’ faces like beaks.

The Arbiter’s creeping feeling of impending disaster was somewhat mitigated by the sound of a voice raised in argument.

“I only wish to express my concern that the Brutes…”

It was Rtas ‘Vadumee. The Arbiter’s heart started to pound.

He needed to talk to Rtas. He needed to apologize for being too forward the night before and gambling his most hopeful friendship since being branded with the Mark of Shame for a shot at an evening of sex. Sex partners were easy to come by; friends were not.

But this was not the time or the place for that conversation. He watched ‘Vadumee try to get through to the Hierarchs, only for them to stonewall him again and again until he conceded defeat. Bowing his head, he said, “I shall relay your decision to the Council.”
Beaten, ‘Vadumee turned on his heel to leave, flanked by two of his SpecOps commandos.

The Arbiter stared at him, knowing that ‘Vadumee could not stop to talk to him, not here in front of the Hierarchs and two of his soldiers. But would Rtas stalk right by, completely ignoring him? The Arbiter wouldn’t blame him if he did.

Instead, ‘Vadumee gave him a nod of acknowledgement in passing. It was the first hopeful thing the Arbiter had seen all day.

The two Prophets were speaking to him. The Arbiter forced his attention to the Hierarchs, away from ‘Vadumee. But as they spoke, the Arbiter could not help but agree with Rtas. It seemed that all the Elites, not just him individually, were being branded with a giant, invisible Mark of Shame for something they did not deserve. Yet the Arbiter could not figure out how the Brutes were managing to sway the San ‘Shyuum in this manner.

It was a question for another time. He was being given a task: to retrieve the Sacred Icon that could unlock the power of the ring. And to restore his honour, and the honour of his people, he would not fail.

*

The Arbiter did not like riding into battle with Tartarus. He wished that he were in the SpecOps Phantom with ‘Vadumee, not here with these smelly Brutes. Tartarus in particular seemed to take great delight in informing him that the Demon was on the loose on the ring. It was as though the Jiralhanae chieftan were hoping to goad him into forgetting his mission in order to chase the armoured human.

Oh, and part of him wanted to. He was disturbed by how perceptive Tartarus was—the Brute might be ugly, and barbaric, but he was not stupid, and the Arbiter would forget that fact at his own peril. In the end, though, the Arbiter knew he had to get control of his desires. Last night had taught him that much. He could not play with the Demon when the Icon was still unsecured.

And he could not lose his focus with thoughts of Rtas ‘Vadumee.

*

Flood. As soon as he smelled that now-familiar odour, the Arbiter wished that ‘Vadumee was here more than ever. He felt very alone as he battled his way through the hordes of zombies. Why couldn’t Tartarus have sent him a pair of Jiralhanae to watch his back as he made his way forward? There’d been enough Brutes on that damned Phantom that Tartarus could have spared a few.

He couldn’t believe he would have been glad to see Brutes.

But when he made his way through the wall, a beautiful sight met his eyes…Sangheili drop pods. And not just any drop pods—there were SpecOps Sangheili coming out of them.

With a roar, the Arbiter joined his battle brothers, and with plasma rifles blazing, they pressed onward towards the Library where the Icon was kept.

Down one of the narrow canyons, a base camp had been established, complete with plasma turrets. A lone figure in death-white armour was manning one of the turrets, driving back the Flood.

The Arbiter leapt into action as he saw a combat form bounce down from the cliffs and sneak up on the gunner. With one swing of his energy sword he cut the abomination in two.

The white-armoured Elite turned.

“Arbiter! What are you doing here?”

‘Vadumee’s expression was more surprise than pleasure, the Arbiter feared, but there was no time to talk now as they flung themselves into battle.

They were fighting side-by-side, back-to-back, and it felt so very right. The position of Supreme Commander was a lonely one, and it had been a long time since he’d entered battle with someone by his side. And ‘Vadumee was a skilled swordsman, every bit his equal, and together they laid waste to the zombie horde.

Finally there was nothing moving on the field of battle except Sangheili, and the Arbiter had the opportunity to explain his mission.

‘Vadumee nodded, and as his Elites clustered around him, he pronounced to them, “We shall cut into the heart of this infestation, retrieve the Icon, and burn any Flood that stand in our way!” His SpecOps troopers roared joyously and charged forward. The Arbiter felt that same rising wave of desire that he’d experienced in the Phantom on the way to the gas mining platform; there was something about ‘Vadumee’s battle speeches that thrilled him and made him want the SpecOps commander so very badly.

“The Parasite is not to be trifled with,” ‘Vadumee said, quietly so the other Sangheili could not overhear. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Concerned as he was about the Demon and the Flood and the Sentinels and the possibility of the humans reaching the Sacred Icon first, Rtas’ words still made him feel good. They were a definite improvement over the previous mission’s announcement that his life was not one of ‘Vadumee’s concerns. Even if ‘Vadumee was not entirely convinced, he was still willing to trust the Arbiter’s judgment.

There were things the Arbiter had to say to him, but not now…not yet.

Regardless, Rtas was here with him now, and together they would drive on to find the Sacred Icon, and nothing the fates could throw at them would be able to stop them.

*

During a sudden lull in the fighting, Rtas grabbed the Arbiter’s shoulders and pulled him into the shelter of a nearby cave.

“What are you…” the Arbiter began.

“Flood forms?” ‘Vadumee asked, looking left and right for zombies.

The Arbiter looked as well. “I don’t see any.”

“Good.” Rtas tugged him another step back into the cave.

The two Sangheili looked at each other.

“Did you find someone else last night?” Rtas blurted.

“Do you hate me?” the Arbiter asked at the same time.

They stared at each other and then both laughed with relief.

“I didn’t find someone else,” the Arbiter said, as though he knew that Rtas needed to hear it.

“I don’t hate you,” ‘Vadumee said quietly. “If anything I hate myself for being a very bad liar, to myself and to you.” He put his arms around the Arbiter’s waist, a gesture of acceptance and submission, and the Arbiter felt his pulse thunder and his hopes soar, because he hadn’t ruined it after all, because it seemed he was going to have both a friend and a lover and by the Rings he couldn’t wait to get ‘Vadumee in bed.

“Don’t hate yourself,” the Arbiter replied, running his knuckles over ‘Vadumee’s cheek. “I know I come on strong. I was afraid…”

But ‘Vadumee never got to hear what the Arbiter was afraid of, because just then a Flood form shambled from the back of the cave. It was a carrier form, and just a few meters away, it exploded, spewing little infection forms all over the place.

The two Elite Swordsmen turned as one to face the coming threat.

*

The Sangheili left a trail of dead Flood behind them as they made their way to the edge of the chasm. Leaving the SpecOps team behind to cover their back, the Arbiter and Rtas ‘Vadumee emerged on the top of the gondola that would help them traverse the canyon. Through the falling ash, they saw the other gondola also begin to move.

“More humans,” ‘Vadumee said, sniffing the air.

The Arbiter scowled. “They must be on their way to the Icon.”

Rtas nodded his agreement. “On your way, Arbiter. I’ll deal with these beasts.” He grinned coldly, unsheathing his plasma blade, and ran off.

Something had happened to Rtas—something good. The Arbiter didn’t even mind having the SpecOps commander bark orders at him if it meant that he was getting back to his old, confident self. It was nice having someone else to protect him. It would be even nicer when this battle was over and they were locked in his stateroom, celebrating.

Tartarus’ cackling voice came over the comm link. “I see that coward didn’t join you. I’ll do what I can to keep the Flood off your back.”

The Arbiter was not entirely convinced he trusted Tartarus to watch his back, and his wisecrack about ‘Vadumee’s courage infuriated him. The Brute Chieftan didn’t know a damn thing about how much bravery it took for Rtas to even be out here fighting the Parasite. The only thing that could overwhelm his rage at Tartarus was his fear for Rtas.

The Arbiter didn’t want Rtas facing the humans without him. He wished he could ask the SpecOps commander to stay here, but of course he couldn’t—if the humans would be a challenge for ‘Vadumee, they’d be a worse threat to the SpecOps team without ‘Vadumee’s leadership. Nor could he get rid of the Brutes, because like them or not, he could use the support.

When this damned battle was over, he swore he’d keep Rtas in his stateroom, in his bed, for a day or more.

*

The Arbiter was on the verge of victory when Tartarus appeared and turned his victory to ash.

The Brutes were traitors. He had already guessed.

What he could not imagine was the fact that the San ‘Shyuum were the ones behind it all…that it was not the Brutes misleading the Prophets, but the Prophets guiding the Brutes against the Sangheili.

Tartarus, still laughing, slammed the Fist of Rukt into the ground and sent the Arbiter soaring through the air and down into the abyss.

The last thought that crossed the Arbiter’s mind as he fell headlong to his end was not sorrow at the ending of his life, nor bitterness at the Brutes and Prophets who had put him there. His last conscious thought was a heartfelt prayer that ‘Vadumee might somehow be warned and escape the coming slaughter.