AN1: Welcome to "Betrothed"! This is my first Halo fic, so bear with me. I'm mostly into Phantom of the Opera, so this is bound to have some romantic junk in here sometime. It is, though, going to be angsty and, hopefully, funny (I try, at least.). I'm not too familiar with the characters, as I just beat Halo 1 & 2 recently (and only once), so any constructive criticism and information would be WONDERFUL. But, please, no flames. Also, I'm currently writing 2 other fics that I must keep updated, so this story is NOT top priority. In other words, don't expect quick updates, unless I have artistic inspiration...or something.

Well, I really hope you guys like this.

Oh, and please REVIEW!

- Kodu

Disclaimer: I don't own Halo. Duh.

AN2 (04/07/09): Ah, alas! I come crawling back. Many of your wonderful reviews have inspired me to dabble more in this story (I've still gotten some, years later!), and so now I'm turning my attention once again to good 'ole Arby/Human fic. At the moment, I'm going through these beginning two chapters to get re-acquainted with the story, and to edit any previous mistakes or inconsistencies. It's been, what, a little over three years since I've last updated? Ah... yeah. Sorry about that! I got sucked into an entirely different fandom, though I'm sure most of you know how that goes...

Excessive amounts of tl;dr aside (That's 'too long; didn't read' for those of you who don't already know.), I do hope any new readers find this story intriguing, and if any old ones still remain, I hope you'll be pleased with my changed writing style. I like to think I've gotten better.... Not sure, we'll see.

Anyways! Here's to old times! Huzzah!

- Kodu


1

Last Chance

Feet were dragging against the ground.

Two hairy arms held the being up.

Darkness, foggy recognition, then darkness once again.

Shouts from all around the room.

Shouting, shouting.

High pitched screams.

Oh, how they hurt!

Words, they are shouting words.

No, not words.

One word.

A single word.

Chanting over and over.

Her-e-tic.

Her-e-tic.

Her-e-tic.

Restraints that shocked.

They burn painfully.

I pity the creature in pain.

I pity.

I am the creature in pain.

I am.

Another burn, on my chest.

It hurts; I fear I cannot go on.

But I will not shout out.

I will not let them celebrate in my weakness.

I will not!

Will...will...n-not...

The Arbiter awoke, tossing the silky smooth sheets from his bed and flinging his legs over the side. One large, clawed hand pressed against his forehead to wipe away the sweat dripping down his alien brow. Three years, he thought bitterly to himself, clicking his mandibles together in frustration. Three years since that day, and yet I still have nightmares. A sigh - if it could be called that, as it sounded more like a choking gargle - escaped the Elite's mouth. He threw his hand from his forehead and slammed it, fist clenched, against the bed.

The small, military-style cot groaned in protest as the extra weight came down upon it. Three plastic-like poles holding it up creaked then cracked, collapsing against the hard, shiny white floor.

A string of Covenant curses flew out of his mouth before the Elite picked himself up, throwing the remaining half of the cot still standing to the floor.

Just my luck, he thought, snorting; then, speaking aloud, "I may be the Arbiter, but I am still a heretic."

The word 'heretic' died with a choking sound in his throat as he fought to control the rebellious sobs attempting to escape his mouth.

And heretics do not have the luxury of stable beds.

The Elite stumbled over towards a closet and swung the shining metal doors open. He coughed, then straightened up, striding down the rows of armor like the commander he was.

Was.

A truer word had never been spoken.

He used to be great.

He used to be revered.

But all that had changed after his failure.

He had lost in the battle to protect the most sacred ring, Halo. A single soldier had stood in his way. A man - no, not man, for he was strong as men are weak - but a wraith - yes, a fighting machine bread for warfare - had single-handedly destroyed the Covenant's religious symbol.

Stopping at a small alcove in the wall, the Arbiter began sorting through the shelves and shelves of differently decorated helmets, passing over the well-worn battlefield headgear for newer models suitable for his task.

Today he was meeting with the Prophets.

It had been three years to the day since he had last seen them.

Since he had been granted the status of Arbiter.

Since he had accepted the suicidal role not offered, but forced upon him.

And he wanted to look good for this meeting.

The Elite's claws rested lightly over one of the helmets as he studied it carefully.

It was ebony black with wisps of gold and silver around the eye holes. An elaborate symbol was painted across the brow in differing shades of the same two colors, thin lines winding around each other to form something roughly the shape of a spiked flower, though it would be more accurate to say it was a star on the point of explosion. It was an ancient symbol of an ancient race long lost through the threads of time and history, which meant 'Proud'.

"Frivolous decorations," he mumbled to himself while studying the intricate work of art. It was functional, in the very least, the blackened shade making it easy to lurk in the shadows without detection. A bit pointless, though. The only lasting art left was that painted with spattered blood.

It was regal in a traditional sense, and would suit his purposes nicely, so his donned the armor and worked the material to fit comfortably over his head.

The back of the helmet fanned out to cover the Elite's neck in black sheets of sghorri. The super-fine material was pliable like clay, yet tough like armor. When handled lightly you could fold and bend it to suit your needs, but when substantial force or speed is applied to it - say, a bullet from a gun - it will harden and deflect like any proper metal.

Two golden spikes, hard as bone, ran from the base of the helmet's neck to the top of the alien's head, gradually spreading out the higher they went, until it looked like two menacing horns protruded from the Elite's forehead, pointed at whomever he faced at the moment. Along the "bone" on the neck were black and silver daggers, curved towards his back.

The thin armor covering his four-part mouth had golden spikes attached to their tips, making it look like he had fangs.

With a grim smile, the Arbiter snapped his headgear into place, looking all the more terrifying than before.

Continuing on, he came across a few shelves with various weaponry ranging from plasma grenades to plasma rifles, and even a shotgun he had stolen from the enemy and disassembled for study.

Finally, he came to a rack stored with multiple styles of armor, all the various types such as breastplates, shields, wrist guards, arm guards, etc., stacked together in a matching set.

The Elite sorted through a few choices before selecting what would best match his helmet. They were, coincidentally, designed to be in a set, so both headgear and armor worked perfectly together.

He snapped on the breastplate first; jet black which could easily cloak him in darkness and the symbol from his brow set directly over the heart. Next came the metal coverings for his thighs and legs - all black except for a tinge of gold around the edges - and silver and gold shoulder plates which spread out to all black armor for the arms.

The Arbiter stepped out of the small armory of his closet and walked over towards a mirror on the far side of the room, surveying himself. His polished armor gleamed like a shining star, except for the underlying danger of the black behind that light.

He looked both powerful and menacing.

It suited him well.

A knock sounded on his door and the growl of a fellow Elite woke him from his reverie.

"The Prophets shall see you now," the gruff voice spat out, the heavy thud of his footsteps receding down the passageway outside.

Sighing, the Arbiter turned once more to his reflection and adjusted his armor.

"Today I either die, or fight. Either way, I fall with my pride."

-


-

"Sonya, get your ass back here!"

"Sir, yes sir."

Sonya smirked sarcastically, giving a mock-bow towards the soldier who had addressed her.

"And that's 'Miss Dabel' to you, Jonathan." she said as an afterthought, stressing his name in the hopes of annoying him.

"Listen to me, woman!" he said, gripping onto her shoulders and shaking her slightly. "You will not have this lip towards the Master Chief when he arrives, do you hear me?"

Shrugging off his hands, the young soldier backed away to get a better look of his face, her eyes very stern. "And you listen to me. I will not go around entertaining these glory-hogging 'war heroes' with the gift of my politeness. I'll act accordingly to those I respect, and if he's like the last man who ca-"

"Oh, not him again," Jonathan cried out, clamping his hands over his ears.

Sonya's amber eyes glinted in fury as she took a few steps towards her fellow soldier.

"He made a move on me, Jonathan. He tried to get me in bed! I had to do something!"

"Yeah, like complaining to a commanding officer," he retorted sharply. "Not punching one of the most esteemed captains in the face! You know he could have killed you if I hadn't gotten there in time!"

"Yeah, well he would've done worse if I hadn't done anything," she spat venomously.

They both sobered, looking away from each other and fixing their eyes on anything but the person in front of them.

"Just..." Jonathan began, but his words died off.

"Don't worry," the girl said, turning around and smiling at her friend grimly. "I won't do anything."

With a curt nod and a steely gaze, the soldier marched off, leaving Sonya to watch his back as he left. When he was out of site, she turned on her heel and strode towards her sleeping quarters, feeling heavily exhausted after their argument.

Sonya was a soldier on the ship War Monger. More accurately, she was the only female soldier on the spacecraft, or the entire squadron, for that matter. She wasn't anything that special, which was the reason she was sent to this particular ship. Her fighting abilities were mediocre, her strength average for a woman, but her intelligence and sharp-mindedness surpassed any of the highest ranking officers.

Sonya had a level-headed mind, most usually. She had been on the battlefield a few times, but mainly just stayed on the ship, sorting through or handing out weapons in the armory.

Standing in front of her bathroom mirror, Sonya picked up a comb and began brushing through the frizzy tangles that were her hair. Waves of light brown fell just below her shoulders as she released the mess from the tight bun it had been in.

Attacking the unruly strands with a comb, the soldier soon had the situation under control.

Slipping out of her camouflage uniform and into some flannel night clothes, the girl fell onto her cot-like bed, her eyes heavy with sleep.

But sleep would not come.

"Soldier Dable, you're immediate presence is requested on the bridge. The Captain wants to see you, and Master Chief will be here soon."

The voice died away as Sonya hurled a pillow at the closed door.

"Why me?" she grumbled, already half asleep. Going to her closet, she took out a fresh uniform just like the one she had carelessly thrown on the floor. After hastily tossing it on, she jumped out the door and made her way towards her destination at a half-running, half-jogging pace.

Flying past shining white halls and corridors, the soldier raced through the maze-like stronghold with practiced ease. It took her several minutes, as her room was on the opposite end of the station, but she finally reached the bridge, just in time to see a green-armored giant step through the sliding double doors and make its way towards her captain.

She burst through the doors and looked around.

Several heads sitting in front of blinking, winking, shining, beeping screens turned as she entered. These were dressed in all white, differing in rank by blue or red stripes along their left or right arms.

There were three levels to the room. The top level held the controls for weaponry, the middle for defense, and the bottom for maneuvering.

In the center of the bottom level stood a large, high-backed chair shaped sort of like a cylindrical tube blasted open on one side and smoothed along the edges. Or, better yet, one of those long pills doctors give to a person who can barely swallow their own spit without regurgitating it back up, but expect them to take the giant horse pill to 'make them better' anyways.

Surrounding the 'pill chair' were blue blinking lights, and to the left and right were two metal consoles that jutted out of the floor; various buttons of all types adorning the otherwise 'tabletop' surfaces.

The chair was elevated, sitting atop a gradually sloping hill of metal, and had a giant view screen in front of it.

Standing in front of the chair was the green giant. Having a better look, Sonya could tell he was of humanoid form and had a golden shade - much like the color of her eyes - over where his face might be.

Standing before him - and at a much smaller height - was a sharp looking man with large gray eyes and a hooked nose. Lines of age were scatted around his forehead, cheeks, and chin, and his white-and-gray hair did little to improve his appearance.

He wore a white navy-style uniform with mounds and mounds of pins and pendants, awards and medals, sticking out of his chest.

He was fairly tall and had wonderful posture for his fifty-odd years of age.

Those hawk eyes of his landed on Sonya as soon as she appeared, silently telling her to 'Get her ass over there,' which would be the second time someone had mentioned her derriere that day.

Obeying the command, she swiftly marched towards the captain and the giant, giving both a salute, then turning towards the white-haired man once again.

"You asked for me, sir?"

Nodding curtly, he answered: "At ease, soldier. And, yes."

Her shoulders instantly went slack and she stood in a more comfortable stance, waiting for him to continue.

"This, Miss Dable, is Master Chief. Master Chief, Miss Dable."

The giant turned his visor in her direction and stared for a few moments - apparently analyzing something - then turned towards the captain again.

"Dable?" he spoke, his voice metallic sounding, and slightly gravelly.

There was another pause, then he nodded. "Sonya Dable, Soldier 347 on the War Monger. Twenty-two years of age, 109 pounds. One living relative, an uncle by the name of Jonas Dable. Parents died in a Covenant attack two years ago. Female. Single. Has been working for the UNSC since March 12, two days after her family's death."

"H-how did yo-" the soldier began, but was cut off from Master Chief.

"Thanks Cortana."

"Welcome, Chief," replied a computerized female voice; Cortana, apparently.

Turning towards the captain, Sonya stared up at him in confusion.

"With all due respect sir, but why am I here? And why does he-"

"Know so much about you?" the captain said, cutting her off. "You can thank Cortana for that last part. And, come, walk with us. We have something very...important to tell you."

-


-

"Great Prophets, I am humbled by your request for me."

The Arbiter knelt before the three most sacred beings of the Covenant, one slender arm resting lightly against his propped up leg; his head bowed in submission to the three creatures in front of him.

"Rise," one spoke, it's voice aged, yet clear.

Following the command, the Elite tensed his well-toned leg muscles and pushed lightly off the floor, standing stock-still and awaiting his next orders.

Nothing was said for a few moments as one of the Prophets - Regret - waved away the two Brute guards who had been standing just inside the door.

As the purple-pink entrance swished closed with a click, the meeting began.

"Do you know why we have brought you here?" asked Truth, head slightly cocked to the side.

"No, Great One. I was told only to see you, nothing more."

"Good," broke in Mercy, turning towards the other two Prophets and conversing with them quietly for a moment. After their whispers resided, all three turned once more towards the Elite.

"Arbiter, you have seen first-hand what this battle with the inferior humans is doing to our precious people," Mercy spoke, studying his reaction to every piece of information they gave him.

"The humans are adapting," continued Truth with a serious look on his face. "Something we certainly did not expect. The Covenant..."

"...is losing morale," interjected Regret. "This war has lasted many years, and since the fall of the Holy Ring-"

At this all three looked down upon the Elite with great disdain and disappointment.

"- they have rapidly begun loosing hope," he finished.

There was another slight pause, in which the Arbiter spoke out with a rough, throaty reply:

"How do we solve this?"

All three looked at him for a moment, then burst out in shocking laughter. The laugh was harsh and gravelly; the Covenant alien took an immediate dislike to the sound.

"My son, we cannot solve this problem!" The Elite couldn't tell which one had spoken, but he was confused by the words.

"Then how do we win? I fear I do not understand, Great Ones."

They quieted until the room was once again filled with dead silence.

"We cannot win," whispered Truth, his words a broken echo throughout the cavernous hall.

"For two years," Regret instantly began to explain, "our forces have been in a deadlock with the humans. They are isolated to a small part of the universe as we scout and patrol the area around them, destroying anything that attempts to escape from their trap. We left them on several uninhabitable planets - some of those desolate rocks dying, others already dead. The plan was ideal at first: starve the humans out."

"But things got more complicated," continued Mercy. "They adapted to their surroundings, began to grow food and thrive amongst the decomposing planets. They can survive for a long time in that small universe. They would not be starving any time soon."

Truth broke in: "We have tried many times to break through their stronghold and destroy their means of survival, but each mission had failed. Yes, we have eliminated a number of their defensive troops, but have yet to completely take out their main food source. It is too deep into their base and too heavily guarded to even attempt an attack."

"The many failures," whispered Mercy, making the Arbiter strain to hear his words. "Have decimated our army's morale. They have no more confidence, Arbiter. They have no more hope."

"Fortunately," Regret picked up again. "The humans have had as much success as we in offensive maneuvers. Every time they try to push further out, we force them back into their little prison. As you can see, therefore, this war could take many years."

"Many years, Arbiter," spoke Truth. "You're children could be fighting against their children in a battle continuing years from now."

"What is to be done?" the Elite choked out, the seemingly impossible news that the Covenant was losing taking a toll on his emotions.

"Done, Arbiter?" barked Regret venomously. "The only option left. We attempt to make peace with the humans."

"Peace?" the Arbiter spoke incredulously. Then, realizing just who it was he was speaking to, replied more calmly.

"Even if we can send a transmission the humans will genuinely consider, how are we to agree to peace? Our ways...we are not like them and they are not like us. How could...how could this work? No peace treaty could possibly undo all the casualties we have already caused them, and they us, for that matter."

"You are a warrior," snapped Truth. "Rather, a heretic traitor! These are not your concerns, nor should they be."

Calming down, he slit his eyes and stared at the Elite. "Besides, we have made contact, we have designed a treaty, and they have agreed to it."

Another long pause, this time the silence seemed to cut into the Arbiter like a knife. So many questions raced through his mind that he couldn't string one sentence together before jumping to another one.

The only smart thing he did after that point was keep his mouth clamped shut.

"You question our authority?" they all spoke at once.

He shook his head 'no' vigorously.

"But you still wonder how we did it?"

A nod of the head confirmed a 'yes'.

Regret smiled slyly, leaning in towards the Elite; the Arbiter, in turn, leaning closer to hear what he had to say.

"A betrothal."

-


-

"Yes, sir?" Sonya questioned as the door to the bridge slid shut and the party - wiry old man, huge green giant, and fiery young female - slowly made their way to a more desolate place on the War Monger: the visitors lounge.

The soldier could have rolled her eyes at the men who built that particular section of the ship. Like a war vessel would ever have visitors.

The room consisted of a vending machine filled with out of date snacks, two pots of withered plants, and four couches - two so stuffed you seemed to stand three inches higher when you sat down, and two so flat the middle of the couch ate a body whole.

Everyone decided to stand.

"Soldier," the captain began. "What I have to tell you is classified information. You cannot speak a word of it until the end of this week, when it will be publicly announced."

"Sir yes sir."

"Do you understand me, soldier? You have three days until you can mention this to anyone."

Confused at his repetition and strong emotion, Sonya merely nodded.

"Good," the old man sighed, his shoulders going slack for a fraction of a second before standing at attention once again.

"We have made contact with the Covenant."

"...Sir? I thought it was against orders to send a message out- "

He raised a hand to cut her off.

"Rather," the captain corrected himself, his steely gray eyes boring down upon her bright amber ones. "They made contact with us."

More baffled by the minute, the soldier replied with one simple question.

"Sir?"

"They had something very... interesting to say, too."

Eying her for a reaction, he continued on.

"They proposed a plan for peace."

"Peace!"

But he once again snapped up his hand, forcing Sonya to keep the thousands of questions, doubts, and opinions locked up inside her mind.

"And we accepted."

That was the last straw. She couldn't keep quite anymore.

"Sir, how? I don't - How could we - They just..." Panting for breath, she cleared her throat and strained with all her might to get a single sentence out.

"H-how did we...agree with their...plan for...peace?" she said slowly and deliberately.

"They gave us an offer we couldn't refuse. Free reign over what universe we have, had, and could possibly colonize, excluding their own territories. We can approach them, and they've given us their permission to study their ships and technology."

Her mouth dropped open, eyes wide in disbelief. Shaking her head, Sonya straightened up and closed her gaping jaw.

"What's the catch?" she answered, her voice laced with suspicion.

And her suspicion was rightly placed.

The captain looked down at his feet, the first time he had broken eye contact with the girl since the conversation had started. Master Chief, also had turned his head, the side of the helmet glinting off the dim lights above.

"The catch..." The old man looked up again, his face void of emotion. "The catch is, they want to unite our kinds, human and Covenant. They want a betrothal."

"B-be..."

"A peace treaty would not suffice, Sonya. The only way we or they could amend the actions took was to unite our species in blood. And the only way to do that is to marry into each other."

The words sounded wrong even to his ears, but it had to be done. He would not lose another soldier when the end of the war could be so close at hand. One simple matter, and everyone would be happy.

"H-how could you do this!"

Both men were taken aback by her sudden outburst of emotion.

"Did you ever stop to consider what you're doing to the poor civilian who's to be married to this - this monster!"

"No civilian," spoke Master Chief in his gravel tones. "A soldier."

"Soldier! Even worse! You'd make someone who has sacrificed their life to protect the people from the Covenant to marry and live with the very monster they were trying to destroy!"

"Soldier, stand down. This is neither the time nor the place for your lip," snapped the captain harshly.

Sighing, Sonya lowered her hands that had somehow gotten raised during the conversation, and slumped her shoulders forward.

"So...who's the 'lucky' soldier?" She put a sarcastic emphasis on the word 'lucky', making sure her frustration was very evident.

Looking from each other, to the girl, back to each other, the captain and Master Chief rested their eyes on her and let out a long sigh before the white-haired man answered.

"You."

-


-

"W-what?" The Arbiter stuttered, taking two unsteady steps backwards.

"You heard us," snapped Mercy, looking agitated at his incompetence. "There is to be a betrothal between our race and the human monkeys." It was apparent that this particular Prophet thought the act disgusting by the way he grimaced while saying 'betrothal'.

"It was the only way," answered Truth more calmly.

Shaking his head slightly, the Elite glanced from Prophet to Prophet, his dark black eyes filled to the brim with incredulity and suspicion.

"And why are you telling me this?"

Regret smirked sadistically and opened his mouth to speak, when Mercy interrupted him.

"Our Arbiter has the right to know these things. No others shall be permitted this knowledge until the appropriate time."

It was obvious by his wording that the Prophet expected the Elite to keep this information a secret, on pane of death, until they announced it themselves.

Regret glared daggers towards Mercy and gave a sound close to a snort. Tapping the side of his throne with impatient fingers, he voiced his opinion to his fellow Prophet.

"Idiot. Do not dance around this subject."

"I do not dance!" shouted Mercy, both sets of dark eyes shooting dangerous sparks at each other.

"Tell the fool what must be voiced!"

"He shall find out in time," whispered Mercy more calmly.

"The time is now," hissed Regret, twisting in his chair to face the Arbiter. "You must know -"

"No!" yelled Mercy once again.

"Shut up!" shouted Regret.

"Enough!"

The voice - belonging to Truth - echoed around the walls of the enormous room, the demand being repeated at least twenty fold.

His breathing deep and ragged, the Prophet took a few precious spare moments to regain his composure, then hovered over in front of the two bickering aliens, his eyes flashing in anger.

"Regret, your childish outbursts will not be tolerated -"

Mercy smirked evilly at the other.

" - But you are correct. Now is the time to tell him of his duties. He must know what is in store for him."

The ashen look on Mercy's face was enough to please Regret for the moment.

"B-but Truth," the defeated Prophet stuttered. "How do we know he will not rebel?"

Three sets of scrutinizing eyes fell upon the Arbiter, making him fidget under the glaring gazes.

"Because," whispered Truth, just loud enough for the Elite to hear. "He has no choice."

Then, as if he had just remembered the source of their arguing, he waved his hand flippantly. "Tell him, Regret."

Nodding, the Prophet came up beside the ebony-armored alien and spoke in confidential tones.

"You serve us, do you not?"

"Yes," replied the Arbiter without hesitation.

"With all that you are?"

"Yes."

"All your soul?"

"Yes"

"All your spirit?"

"Yes."

"All your body?"

"Yes."

"All your mind?"

"Yes."

The room fell into a dead silence; nothing stirred, nothing moved. After several moments you could hear the light tap, tap, tap of Mercy's fingers trailing across his throne; the shallow breathing of Truth's aged body; the calculated 'hmm'-ing of Regret's wicked mouth; the nervous shuffling of the Arbiter's hoofed feet.

"Whoever is selected for this...mission...must be strong."

Regret eyed the Elite.

"He must be trustworthy."

Again his gaze fell on the soldier.

"He must be desperate."

Confused at this last statement, the alien looked up and probed the Prophet's gaze for answers.

None were found behind that cool facade.

"You are strong,"

He continued.

"You are trustworthy."

A sinking feeling began to form in the pit of the Elite's stomach. His gaze once again fell to the floor.

"You are desperate."

"Desperate, Great One?"

Sighing in frustration, Regret lashed out with harsh words.

"Yes, desperate! You've betrayed your kind, heretic! You have failed. You are desperate for acceptance, forgiveness!"

Wincing under the verbal assault, the Arbiter held his tongue in check.

"You, Arbiter, are to be betrothed to the human female. She is to be your mate, and you are to make - her - happy!"

Huffing now, Regret turned away, giving a disgusted glance back in the direction of the Elite.

Shaking his head, Truth sighed and hovered over towards the soldier before them.

"Arbiter," he spoke almost kindly, though his voice was laced with authority.

Looking up with bitter repressed anger, the Arbiter stood a little taller, in spite of the serious mental blow he had just been dealt.

They were right, he had no choice in the matter.

To refuse orders before would have been life in prison, but now - with him walking on such a thin line - it would mean death.

The task was shameful, a blow to his pride, but he could live.

At least, he hoped so.

"Wipe that pitiful look off your face," snapped Truth harshly.

The Elite instantly took on a blank expression, repressing his emotions, something he had learned to do long ago.

"Do this for us, Arbiter," began Truth, his voice soothing and calm, as if he were speaking to a child "Do this for us, and you will be given the ultimate reward."

The other two Prophets leaned in to hear what Truth was about to say.

"Forgiveness."

"Forgiveness?" he whispered questioningly, the unfamiliar feeling of hope rising in his chest.

"Yes. Carry out your mission with proficiency and a sincere heart, and you shall be forgiven of all the crimes accused of you."

This strange feeling - hope - burst throughout his body, speeding through his veins like adrenaline would.

He was shocked, to say the least.

To be given complete amnesty over his heresy was unbelievable.

So, in this state of mind, he gave his answer.

"When do I meet the girl?"


Well, there it was. I'd love to know what you think, so please REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW!

- Kodu

AN2(04/07/09): Only a few subtle changes to this chapter, mostly things dealing with consitancy and grammar. On to the next chapter!