AN: This short one shot takes place in the AU setting of my Reclamation Series. As such things are not a direct translation from Halo because I have merged the continuity with events from Mass Effect and figured out my own crazy way of interpreting how these conjoined time lines would affect each other and events. I left the time this fic occurs ambiguous but added in references to certain events that will give you a hint as to when this happens. A younger Thel'Vadamee reflects and accepts a path in life that he will later question. I wanted to show a parallel between his induction as a Zealot and Shepard's swearing in as a UNSC Marine. Hope you enjoy it.
Ministry of Fervent Intercession, High Charity, Paza System, Nahan Nebula; 14th Cycle, 19th Solar Cycle, 9th Age of Reclamation [Covenant Standard]; 177 Units [Local Time; Covenant Standard]
The Ministry of Fervent Intercession was an oasis of tranquility and purity in the often chaotic commotion and filth of the holy city of High Charity. A place for the worthy, which in his mind was synonymous with the sangheili and sangheili alone. Unfettered and free of the disruptions and offenses so common when among the rabble. Like the unggoy and their propensity to breed like vermin. They turned entire sectors of blessed vessels into cesspools of sniveling and ravenous burdens with their large numbers. Praise the ancients that unggoy were so simple minded and jittery that they never questioned orders.
The same couldn't be said for kig-yar. Vile opportunistic beasts. They flaunted their disregard for every tenet of the Covenant with every squawk and raspy squall that left their accursed beaks. Why the hierarchs saw wisdom in bringing their kind into the holy union was something he would never fathom. It wouldn't be remiss to say the majority of his career had been spent chasing down the errant and sly tricksters as they sought to import and export goods from infidel sectors.
It was no small blessing from the ancients that species like the lekgolo and yanme'e had purpose and served faithfully without complaint or complications, even if their bizarre and alien natures made them difficult to work with at times.
Then there were the beggar races. Pitiful beings, like the Yonhet, offering nothing but devotion to the holy union. No skills on the battlefield. No talents to ply in trades. No lust to destroy the enemies of the holy union. Worthless. But at least all those species knew their place and lot in life. Beggars. Servants. Fodder. Mercenaries.
They had no aspirations above their station, or if they did, they kept it to fevered dreams and whispered conversation in dark corners. The same could not be said for the Jiralhanae.
Even the name made the blood in his veins course a bit quicker and warmer. Ungrateful arrogant parasite ridden vermin. The hierarchs had saved them from themselves and the apathetic nature of the infidels. Their gratitude should be shown in blind obedience and devotion. A healthy dose of deference to their betters wouldn't be remiss, either.
But it wouldn't do to dwell upon the politics of the Covenant. It was of no concern to him. He was no Councilor nor even a Fleet Master. He was a warrior, and instrument of the prophet's will.
And he was here, in these hallowed halls of the holy union's most faithful servants, for a much greater purpose.
Thel'Vadamee closed his eyes and drank in the soothing atmosphere once again, his breaths long and steady from a lifetime spent in training. Some of his first lessons had been to calm his traitorous emotions and tumultuous impulses this way. To remain stoic and controlled in the face of adversity and conflict. It had become a well practiced routine. A moment of contemplation. He used it to collect his thoughts when speaking before his House of Vadam as their Kaidon. He used it to review his objectives before combat missions. And now Thel used it to prepare his nerves for what awaited him outside of this small chamber.
Opening his eyes he was graced with the same beautiful and ornate settings. The smooth walls had the faint honeycombed texture familiar to all Covenant structures. A gift of strength from the ancients making their holy vessels as capable of withstanding harsh punishment as the will of the Covenant.
They were adorned in shades of pink, red, and purple. The colors of a Sangheili warrior, past and present.
A single blue-white light lit the room. It was shaped like the glyph for devotion. Another gift of strength from the ancients.
Lifting his right arm, he used his left to run it across the pebbled and webbed layer of his combat skin. The first layer of his armor as he was to be reborn as something greater.
"The Minister will see you now, Initiate Vadam."
He looked to the intruder into his sanctuary and nodded. The sangheili wore the crimson armor of a Zealot, the holiest of warriors in the union. The arms and blades of the prophets.
Standing from his meditation pose he followed his guide into a much larger and grander chamber. His eyes adjusted to the dark and saw the small pink glowing inscriptions in sangheili script etched upon the floor illuminating a pathway across the room. To either side a standing gallery of sworn zealots watch mutely in shadow, only the glint of their eyes and armor discernible. On the far end on a dais, bathed in the blue-white light of holy symbols and ancient glyphs, sat a prophet atop his floating throne.
The Minister that had requested his presence.
Dressed in more humble attire and lacking jewelry or adornments save for the crown of his office, this prophet lacked the ostenatious or flamboyant nature of his peers. But that was to be expected. This ministry was not for pomp and circumstance. There was no political maneuvering to navigate.
The Ministry of Fervent Intercession had one stated purpose and one stated purpose only. To ensure the holy union achieved it's divine mandate of the great journey.
To that end it selected, trained and commanded the Zealots. They would scour the galaxy in search of clues and paths which would bring the Covenant closer to fulfilling it's purpose. Nothing would stand in their way. Nothing could. They were the most gifted and devout warriors within the ranks of the Sangheili.
And now Thel was set to join their ranks.
When the new High Prophets had been anointed they had declared a new age, the Ninth Age of Reclamation. They saw the previous hierachs as being incompetent and lazy with their divine authority. It was the mandate of the hierarchs to guide the holy union of the Covenant towards salvation before the forces that doomed the elder races and ancients would return to cleanse the galaxy in scouring flame so it may be reborn once more. With their sacred vow for their tenure stated they had called upon by Ministry of Fervent Intercession to double it's efforts in securing a path to the Great Journey.
It was no coincidence that the ministry had increased the number of Zealots since the decree. Some remarked that it cheapened the exclusive valor of the ministry and it's servants. Others acknowledged the wisdom of the hierarchs. Time would not stand still while egos were soothed. Prophecy and destiny waited for no one. If a large increase to the ranks of Zealots is what is needed to avert damnation, then the High Prophets will be done.
He strode calmly, head held high, towards the prophet as his soon to be peers whispered and grumbled amongst themselves. It made no difference to him. He knew that he was no charity case. He had earned this honor. He belonged.
At times it seemed like only yesterday when he first adorned the cobalt armor of a novice Sangheili warrior with pride in order to slay infidels on their accursed planet. It was his destiny as a scion of the great house of Vadam to enter military service, but even then the whispers followed him. He knew what they spoke of. Could he carry the great name of Vadam, or would it carry him? From his own father to the Arbiters of ages long past, his bloodline was legendary and nothing less would be expected of him.
He had served faithfully but the whispers only intensified. Still he persevered. He rose through the ranks, distinguishing himself as a competent leader and ferocious warrior on the field of battle during the glorious campaign against the infidels.
When the opportunity came to join the special operations units he accepted the challenge and proved yet again that he was a credit to his clan name and the holy union of the Covenant.
When an elder of his own house and blood doubted his ability to be the Kaidon of their clan and sent assassins after him he proved that his people had not erred in placing him in leadership of the great House of Vadam.
When he had been rewarded with the command of a holy vessel he did not sneer at the fact it was only a corvette assigned to interior patrols. He used it to crush the piracy trades of the kig-yar and earned the praise of his Fleetmaster.
And now, when he had succeeded in attaining entrance into this honored and illustrious brotherhood, Thel had a great deal many a reason to hold his head high. The whispers did not matter. They never had mattered.
His discipline and skill guided him. His honor and tenacity molded him. And now his zeal would define him.
A withered and pale hand rose from the throne, signaling the silence and obedience of the zealots in attendance. As one they knelt and bowed their heads, a rippling wave of crimson armor glinting in the shadows.
"Long ago the San'Shyuum traveled in fear through the dark expanses of the heavens for a generation so that they might impart knowledge of the true nature of all creation. The joyful news that all was not destined to atrophy and desecration and that a path to salvation existed for those willing to walk it's treacherous path. We came upon your world with relief and trepidation. The first test of our resolve was at hand. Would we fail in our quest before it ever began? Or would we succeed in bringing more to the flock?" The minister's voice was strong, much stronger than one would expect from a holy one of his age. Yet again Thel reflected on the fact this prophet was unlike any other. The prophet's faith and devotion was authentic and steadfast, and it provided him with strength as his body lost it's own. "Our first contact was bloody and base, leaving our people at odds. Two species locked in the never ending dance of desperation and dominance while the sands of time continued to shift towards our inevitable destruction. Precious time, blood and resources wasted on vanity. This could not be allowed to continue."
Pausing in his sermon to sweep his gaze over his devoted warriors, the prophet looked troubled to Thel. Pained even. His position as the Minister of Fervent Intercession was less of a title and more of a way of life. He lived and breathed the holy union and honored those who showed the same fervor. The every success and failure of the Covenant was etched into his old and brittle bones. "In your people we saw courage, honor, pride and prowess. We sought an end to the conflict and your people reciprocated. Under our guidance your people have flourished, becoming the strength and resolve of the holy union to our wisdom and leadership."
Remembering the lessons of his youth, Thel recalled how one of his own ancestors had been an Arbiter who lead the Sangheili against the prophets. The legacy of that particular individual was both tragic and blessed. His staunch defense of Sanghelios had been one of the keys that forced the conflict to a stalemate. When the war ended in a truce and signing of the Writ of Union, it was with his blessing as one of the leaders of their race. For his actions in ending the bloodshed and bringing about a new and wonderful age of understanding for their people he was rewarded with an assassin's curved blade to his back. A gift from his own loyal commanders who saw his participation in allying with the reviled enemy an act of a cowardice and treason, and the desecration of the honor of every sangheili warrior that fought and died under his command.
The holy one leaned forward in his seat, a glint of religious fervor in his eyes giving him more life as his sermon peaked, "We face many foes, within and without. The odds are not with us, brothers, despite the tools left behind by the elder races and the ancients. Our survival is not assured. It is only through the devotion to Covenant and it's goals that we stand any chance of ascendance. Of ending this cycle of destruction and succeeding where all others have failed. Some have seen that wisdom and joined us in our holy crusade towards redemption and salvation. Some have rejected it. Many more are unworthy having immersed themselves in the tools of their own destruction. This matters not. Those who refuse to embrace reality will die in the scouring flames of our weapons or the machines!"
Reciting the mantra from his training, Thel's voice joined the chorus of his Zealot brethren in answering the prophet's call to his faithful. "The way of the Covenant is the way of redemption and salvation! Those who fail to heed it's call await subjugation and perversion!"
The Minister's eyes closed as he breathed in deeply, savoring the sweet sound of the reply as it echoed in the chamber. He leaned back into his seat and gazed upon Thel, who still knelt before his throne. "Even with this dedication, there are those who excel. Who show true skill and devotion to the way. You are one of those treasures, Thel'Vadamee. A warrior and devotee with few peers. They stand around you now." He gestured to the galleries with a prideful grin on his old wrinkled and leathery face, "Like them, you are will and clarity and thirst given flesh. You stand defiant and unbroken in the face of the harshest of training. Your achievement is to be awarded. Stand and receive your armor, warrior of the Covenant. The armor of a Zealot."
Doing as he was commanded, and as he had been taught would be expected of him in the ceremony, Thel stood, his arms raised and feet spaced apart. Several Zealots emerged from the gallery holding pieces of his new armor.
They attached the chest and torso plates, the pieces locking together and whirring with life as their systems activated. The prophet breathed deeply once more, closing his eyes and breaking into song as he recited the paean of the Ministry with a beautiful voice, "Do you accept the Mantle of the Covenant? The duty of a Zealot?"
Thel never cared much for song, and his voice was nothing to brag about, but it was expected of him to partake in the devotional hymn. As the Zealots attached his vambraces and pauldrons to his armor he cleared his throat and recited his part of they hymn "I accept the Mantle of the Covenant, the duty of a Zealot."
A sly smile crept to the holy one's face as he continued his reverent chant, making Thel positive that the old prophet was definitely amused with his inability to sing, "What is your charge, young Zealot?"
Thel scowled as he flexed his hands inside the armored gloves of his combat harness as they were placed upon him. He almost snarled the responding verse as he poured the conviction of his pride and confidence into his voice. He would not be made into a fool. "I am the will and blade of the Prophets. I am entrusted to search for knowledge and threats to our salvation."
Thel's orange colored eyes narrowed as the thigh plates and greaves were attached. The prophet's sly grin was almost maniacal now. He was relishing Thel's reactions. "How will you go about this?"
Stepping into his boots and eschewing his calm, Thel's voice was now defiant and proud in song, trying to pummel the prophet with his words, "My will and arm are strong. I will cut through infestations, through marionettes, through infidels, through the defiled, through heretics, through false gods, through machines and through flesh!"
Almost consumed with ecstasy between Thel's reactions and his own fanatical role in the song, the Minister's voice matched in Thel's strength and furor, "You stand before me no longer a Sangheili. What are you?"
The prophet's eyes opened and he bored into Thel with a strong and searching gaze while that insufferable grin refused to leave his old and decrepit face. And in that moment Thel realized that he still had much to learn. He had been testing him. Would he shrink in the moment, or would he fight back? Recognizing the challenge for what it was and steeling his voice one last time, Thel sang the final verse with conviction and strength. "I am the will and blade of the Hierarchs. I am the way of the Covenant. I am a Zealot."
Now fully armored sans his headpiece, his fellow Zealots back away into the shadowed galleries. A single Zealot stood by holding Thel's helm. His pale orange eyes glared at Thel with loathing and contempt. Thel recognized this sangheili. Jul, of a lesser bloodline to House Mdama, a primitive state on Sanghelios. They had crossed paths many a time, and Thel had always been impressed with the young sangheili's drive and discipline. Jul'Mdama would surpass his humble beginnings and forge a new chapter for the people of Mdama. Unfortunately, he also carried with him a great deal of resentment for stronger bloodlines and there were none strong than the House of Vadam.
No doubt he was a vocal critic of Thel's appointment to the ranks of Zealots. If Jul was still the same insecure and petty person as he had always been then Thel hazarded a guess that he was currently diminishing his own triumphs and successes in becoming a Zealot because Thel now held the title as well. It was tainted and Jul would resent him for that.
"Then it is done. Wear that armor with distinction. Always walk the path of the ancients so that you may succeed in guiding our Covenant where they failed." The Minister's closing remarks broke through the baleful heat of the staring contest between the two sangheili. He gazed between the two gauging their hostility and stroking the length of hair from the wattle underneath his chin.
Not wishing to be measured and found wanting by the Minister because of the petty insecurities of another, Thel held his hand out imperiously in silent demand that Jul relinquish his helmet.
Jul hesitated, his mandibles flexing in frustration upon realizing that he could not save face or deny the request during the ceremony. He shoved the helmet forcefully into Thel's outstretched hand and took his place back in the gallery where he glared murderously at his rival's back.
Thel watched Jul walk away out of the corner of his eye and slight turn of his head. Using the tense moment of silence for dramatic effect, Thel slowly donned his helmet and face the Minister, a stoic look upon his face. Now fully clad in his regalia as a Zealot Thel gave a reverent nod before he spoke once more in reply to the prophet's advice, "There is but one path, holy one. The way of the ancients. Anything else would be blasphemy and a betrayal to everything we know."
The old prophet's sly smirk returned, acknowledging the display of strength and command in the young sangheili before him. A great many things were expected of the sangheili of Vadam, but this one... This would be one to watch. Some are born to greatness and others attain it through their actions, and a few small few have it thrust upon them. Then there are those that have all three.
Sitting back in his throne and breathing deeply, the prophet noted how these ceremonies taxed his body and vigor more and more. But what he would give to live for another lifetime just to see what this young sangheili could accomplish. Yes, much was expected of Thel'Vadamee as a Zealot, but the Minister suspected he would surprise them all. "Spoken well, young Zealot."