Apologetic
A Halo "what if?" oneshot
By
EvilFuzzy9
Rating: K+
Genre: Spiritual
Characters/Pairings: Mendicant Bias, Truth, Mercy, Regret; [N/A]
Summary: Fortitude was a technocrat, and Tranquility a gun-toting hothead, but the Philologist was an honest-to-god theologian, and cleverer by half than these ambitious young whippersnappers. A tale of how some on-the-spot apologetics probably could have saved everyone a whole lot of trouble.
For as long as he could remember, the Philologist had been fascinated by the Oracle. Devout from the earliest days of his youth, he had scoured ancient records for the words of this holiest guide and mouthpiece of the gods, researching archaic modes of writing, old and forgotten languages so as to better understand the intricacies of those commandments handed down from ages past.
This was how he came by his spiritual name, his study of old tongues and older texts gaining him a certain measure of notability among his peers. He acquired a reputation for the fervor with which he extracted meaning from even the most mundane statements, and for his study of the language of the gods.
Yes, even apart from the old languages of the Covenant, what had truly fascinated the Philologist were the holy glyphs, the mode of writing once used by the Forerunners themselves before their disappearance from the galaxy, and their ascension into godhood. He devoted himself to study and contemplation of their meanings and subtleties, writing many essays on the slightest nuances of the smallest ideograms.
He was as pious, as god-fearing as any member of the Covenant, and he had learned to sift religious meaning from even the blandest of scripts. And this was necessary, because through his studies he had found that many of the things spoken of in the monolithic reliefs and holographic displays which represented some of the only surviving examples of Forerunner language were terribly mundane.
Taken literally, most texts he could decipher read more like safety guidelines, technical manuals, or secular rulebooks than commands from the gods. But where more simpleminded creatures might have taken this to be the only interpretation, the Philologist was adept at deriving significant meaning from even the most ordinary writings.
He prided himself as much on this ability as on his knowledge of the glyphs, and with these dual areas of expertise he had ultimately risen to become the chief interpreter for the Oracle. Not that the Oracle personally spoke in this Age of Doubt, or had for many ages prior, but it was an honored position, and the Philologist was devoted to his job.
It was his passion. His life.
So to see the Oracle rise for the first time in countless ages, to hear it speak in illumination and refutation of linguistic and orthographic misconceptions, was nothing less than a divine ecstasy.
MY MAKERS ARE MY MASTERS. I WILL BRING THEM SAFELY TO THE ARK.
Thus spake the Oracle, and thus did it act. With an exertion of its will, the hallowed Dreadnought had shuddered, surging and shaking the whole of High Charity. Surely, the Philologist thought in this moment, the gods had returned!
Yet, woefully, regretfully, he saw that his forays into the Dreadnought's pathways had indeed dealt it unseen damage, for the power surged and shorted, and the Oracle faltered. Sparks shot from the Lekgolos' boreholes, cooking the eel-like creatures alive, and the Dreadnought stilled almost as soon as it had seemed sure to rise for the first time since the founding of the Covenant.
It was a pity, but still the Philologist's mind was racing as he dismissed the Mgalekgolo guards who had come lumbering in at the commotion, telling them that it was just an accident.
He pondered the Oracle's declarations.
Reclaimer, not Reclamation...?
The possible implications of this revelation were staggering, and living up to his title the Philologist seized on the exactness of the Oracle's words.
Obviously, Reclaimer was a very important title. The data chip presented by the Minister had contained luminations from a world inhabited by alien lifeforms, a world they had clearly believed to be an unparalleled reliquary. Furthermore, the Oracle had referred to Reclaimers as its makers.
Two conclusions could be drawn from this. Either the Oracle had been made by aliens unaffiliated with the gods, or these Reclaimers were Forerunners. And considering the commonality of resources, aesthetics, and philosophy evident in the Oracle's design and composition when compared with other known creations of the Forerunners, there was no doubt in the Philologist's mind that the Oracle was genuine.
Therefore, these aliens were Forerunners, gods. Presumably "Reclaimer" was then not a name, but a title, an appellation elucidating the purpose and responsibility of these beings. The significance of this did not escape him.
He knew that the gods had, when still mortal, delineated themselves into a variety of hereditary castes, such as Builders and Lifeworkers and Miners. So much could be inferred from references within the surviving texts he had studied over the years.
As the Minister and Vice Minister muttered to one another, the Philologist continued to ruminate.
From the beginning, it had seemed obvious to the San'Shyuum that the Forerunners had possessed incredible power and foresight. Surely, all things left behind by them had a high and noble purpose, or else they would not have survived so many countless millennia untended. Everything had a reason, a place in the grand order.
It was a founding precept of the Covenant's beliefs that the Forerunners, though once mortal, had at some point transcended the physical realm. For where else could beings so great and powerful have gone? They could not have all just vanished without some higher cause, surely!
This conviction, that the Forerunners had become gods despite once being mortals, however great, also carried with it a corollary crucial to the doctrines of the Covenant. It was the idea that, by following in the footsteps of the Forerunners, they too could eventually walk the same path to godhood and ascendance.
More than anything else, it was this belief which motivated and united the disparate member races of the Covenant. A common goal to work towards, something which kept them from disintegrating through the internecine conflicts which would surely erupt between them otherwise.
A less devout follower of the Path might thus, at the Oracle's revelations, become horrified or dismayed. The unlearned and weak of will were easily troubled by the slightest doubts, unable in the feebleness of their own faith to divine the singular guiding truth.
But the Philologist was not so easily shaken. He believed unfailingly, and knew as surely as his own name that one day his faith would be rewarded.
So he laughed, a hoarse and wheezy noise, when he heard the worried murmuring of Fortitude and Tranquility.
"Be not so quick to doubt, children!" he gently rebuked them, giving a gesture of benediction and exhortation. "The Oracle's words are clear, and as absolute as a mandate from the gods themselves. Stifle this heretical talk before one less forgiving than myself should hear you."
He gestured again, a silent warning against their whispered plots. Tranquility fingered his plasma pistol and glowered. Fortitude looked bleakly at the old hermit, as though thinking the Philologist mad.
"These... these Reclaimers..." he muttered. "Surely you cannot believe still, after hearing..."
"How strange you children are, to falter at the words of the Oracle! Your hearts should swell with this news," the Philologist said. "The gods have seen all ends, and left behind more than just scattered clues to guide us. Surely this is a sign!"
"Of what?" spat Tranquility. "Our destruction? The gods live! They never ascended at all!"
"The gods once held dominion over the entire galaxy," the Philologist replied. "If they had not ascended, then why only now have we encountered them, on the furthest and most remote edges of our space? And you claimed they were merely a tier four civilization, hardly equal to the Forerunners."
"Well, yes. But the Oracle called them..."
"Reclaimers, yes. A fitting title, I am sure."
Fortitude narrowed his eyes at the Philologist, shrewdly stoking his neatly trimmed wattle.
"Speak plainly, and forgo these cyclical riddles!" he snapped. "What are you trying to say?"
The Philologist gave the two younger Prophets a thorn-gummed smile.
"The gods were truly selfless," he said airily, "to consign a fraction of themselves to such a long wait in humility, until a race like ourselves, believers such as our Covenant, should stumble across them. They see all ends and know that we have grown lax in our observance. Knew that we would enter an Age of Doubt such as this.
"Reclaimers... it is a fitting title. Surely they have stayed behind so that one day they would be able to join us and show us the way, to guide us personally on the path to transcendence. With their help, I am certain, the Covenant shall reclaim the glory once held by the Forerunners. So says the Oracle, mouthpiece of the gods!"
The Philologist ended this brief monologue with an archaic gesture denoting the expectation of absolute obedience, a hand sign declaring that the speaker has made their statement with the full weight of their station.
And the Philologist, hermit or not, was a San'Shyuum of very high station. Even hierarchs would need his blessing before they could ascend.
Slowly, reluctantly, Fortitude responded with a gesture of obeisance and deference.
"I understand," he said, though it was clear that he did so only at great pain. "Do you wish to bring this matter before the High Prophets, then, Philologist?"
Tranquility glared at Fortitude, clearly even less happy than the Minister.
The Philologist smiled.
"No," he said simply. "Is it not fitting, that we three were the sole witnesses to this holy declaration? Clearly, we were fated to hear the Oracle's words. This is a sign, and we three have been chosen to ascend!"
Fortitude flinched. It was clear that this comment hit a little too close to home. Perhaps he and Tranquility had come here seeking blessing to ascend in the first place? That would be most appropriate, if it were so.
The Minister may have been of a higher rank than the Philologist, secularly, but religiously the Philologist was the mouthpiece of the Oracle. And in a theocracy like this, was it none such men of the cloth who truly ruled?
Tranquility glowered, but he held his temper in check. He could clearly see the gleam of cunning in the Philologist's eye, a wellspring of cleverness honed by age and shrouded in layers of spiritual asceticism.
Fortitude, at length, let out a sigh and bowed his head.
"I will inform the hierarchs of our intentions," he said. "We have already called in many favors..."
"Tomorrow, the three of us will be the new High Prophets," said Tranquility. Voicing this out loud seemed to salve his frustration, and his eyes gleamed with naked ambition, the young Prophet no doubt fantasizing about the power he would be soon to hold.
"As the hierarchs," said the Philologist, "we shall usher in a new Age of Reclamation, side-by-side with the Reclaimers!"
Glumly, Fortitude just hoped that Tranquility's pet chieftain hadn't caused any trouble with the Reclaimers.
In orbit around Harvest, Maccabeus sneezed.
A/N: The odd, or should I say mildly disappointing thing about Halo fanfiction is that a lot of it seems to focus chiefly on humans, and Spartans chief among them. Which is fine and all, but as far as the books I almost always enjoyed reading about the Covenant more.
Also, as a modestly religious man myself this whole thing is just a bit tongue in cheek, eh? He he he. Because no self-respecting theologian would let a little thing like their gods being alive and blatantly mortal stop them.
Updated: 7-31-15
TTFN and R&R!
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