Recrimination

There was a tale he had heard once, a local retelling of a far more ancient myth. It told the story of a young man, who had loved a woman more than anything else in the world, facing fire and fury to earn her affection. In the end, she gave her hand to another. The young man, consumed with rage and bitterness, had transformed into a monster of pure malice, unable to accept defeat or forget the past. It was a tale meant as a warning.

The Prince didn't care.

They had taken everything from him, what little he had. They had also taken a woman he had loved - perhaps not as a lover, but as a leader, a sister, the only person in the entire galaxy who he cared about. They had taken his home, the only safe place he had in the system, and offered it up as a sacrifice to an evil they had awakened. No, the Prince didn't care that he had also become a creature of pure malice, that his every waking moment was consumed with hatred for those who had cost him his world.

In those cold moments, after the initial rage had subsided, the Prince had returned to his old tricks. Scheming and conniving, he plotted his revenge. His empty screaming at the impassionate void of space had done nothing. His callous conviction, driven by anger, though, would make the difference and maybe, just maybe, bring him to peace.

He watched as a Guardian, the Guardian, entered the cave and investigated his ship. There was another one with him; she didn't know the Prince, but the Prince knew her. Ana Bray, the exiled heir to Clovis Bray. She was essential.

The Prince's greatest talent was his ability to read people, and this Guardian was no exception. Orron, the Prince had learned his name was. One of the most curious things about spywork that the Prince had learned was that sometimes, the pawns moved themselves across the board. If Orron had been anyone else, the disposition of the pieces might not be so favorable. But the Guardian was a prideful man, domineering, imperious, and so the Prince had seen from day one. He had needed to do very little work to set his plan in motion, and would need very little to see it through. The irony of it made him smile, a bit. The Guardians would be the architects of their own destruction. Their greatest savior would also be their greatest flaw.

"Prince Uldren?"

Orron looked behind him, a distressed look on his face, though hidden under his T-shaped helmet visor.

"A prince of the Awoken. We didn't get along very well."

Ana snorted with derision. "Is that a common thread with most people you meet?" Orron disregarded her snide comment and continued. "He was thought to be dead in the aftermath of the Taken War, when Oryx destroyed the Reef." He looked to the side. "Ghost, the logs were updated...recently, right?"

Orron turned back to the ship as Ghost whirred for a minute before confirming. "Yes. This ship only crashed yesterday, as Rasputin indicated. Prince Uldren was the pilot, according to the shipboard bioscans."

Orron considered for a moment, holstering his pistol. Then: "We need to get this information to the Vanguard. This...could be bad…"

He could hear the fear in his voice. It wasn't abject terror, or even straight fright - more like the fear, the awe, that one has when seeing something that shouldn't be real. If Ana sensed it, she didn't make comment as she answered. "Correction. You can go to the Vanguard. I'm staying here." The Titan wheeled to face her, and she had assumed a sassy, hands-on-hips posture that was coming to define their interactions. He didn't really want to fight with her right now, but this was imperative. "No. You're going to come back with me, make a full report to Zavala, and then come with me on whatever assignment they give us next."

"Why? Don't trust me alone with Rasputin?"

"Whatever Uldren has to do with all this, Rasputin is also tangled up. You know more about him than anyone else, and your City needs you for it. For once, just once, could you get over your own damn ego and help us? Could you? I'm already going to be putting my career on the line for this, and you don't even have one." There was an unnecessary amount of snark in his tone, but Ana seemed to understand, finally. This was serious. She swallowed and bobbed her head.

"Fine. But just because you helped me."

"That's all I need, Ana. We can figure this out and end this unfortunate partnership."

With that, he strode forward, brushing past her as his Ghost hurriedly floated behind him. "Summon the jumpship. We're going home, Traveller save us."

Ana was surprised at the spacious inside of Orron's jumpship. "Spacious" was relative of course, but the polished steel walls contained a small passenger and cargo bay, as well as an armory. Even with three Guardians, it would have been cramped, but it was nicer than Ana's own vessel, which was practically a fighter. Orron had brusquely ordered her to strap in, then stomped into the cockpit, helmet off. Ana had nodded, waited for him to pass, then gone to the tiny armory. There was still some impressive pieces in here. A massive white-and-silver rocket launcher that matched his breastplate in ornamentation. A couple of absurdly large swords only a Titan could use. And a hand cannon...it glowed black and green, like something out of a nightmare. She moved towards it, and there was some sort of pull, a need to touch it. A whispering, and then...Ana jerked back, colliding with the wall, as the ship jumped into warp. She wasn't sure what the hell that thing was, but she couldn't imagine what Orron wanted with it.

There was a low, mechanical sound, and the ship jerked again. They were here, back on Earth. She walked forward through the tight corridor and into the even tighter cockpit. Ghost hovered above Orron's shoulder, and she put her hand on the back of his pilot's seat, taking in the view through the cockpit bubble. A HUD in yellow gave a number of readouts, which Orron was concentrated on as he spoke.

"Told you to buckle in."

For once, Ana remained silent. Dry as ever, Ghost interjected.

"I heard you moving about."

She made an affirmative, amused noise, and watched as the City came into view.

Her first thought was that it looked...bad. Massive chunks of the Traveller were removed from the main sphere, blackened and jagged, orbiting around their parent like twisted moons. The superblocks of the city itself seemed equally shattered, and deep rifts had been rent into the ground, like a great beast had gouged the earth here, and all the people on it. The Tower - at least the Tower she had known - looked equally blackened, but around it, construction drones buzzed, and it at least looked inhabited. A blip appeared on the HUD and Orron tapped it.

"Guardian Vessel YJ-2921, we have your trajectory and speed, please identify your cargo."

"Tower, this is Guardian Vessel YJ-2921, cargo is Orron, callsign Tetrarch, and…" He hesitated. "Ana Bray." There was a quick crackle from the operator, then silence. The com crackled again. "Copy, Tetrarch. Follow the assigned course to Hangar 4, Landing Bay 7. Tower out."

Orron turned the com off, remaining silent as Ana stared straight ahead. She tried to get a sense of his mood. She couldn't't. He was silent the rest of the way into the Tower, and she saw why almost immediately.

Hangar 4 was smaller than the other three that was visible, higher on the Tower than the rest. As the jumpship coasted in, she saw a party waiting for them. The whole Vanguard - Zavala, Cayde, and Ikora - plus maybe twenty Titans in heavy Vanguard-marked armor, armed and standing at attention. Of course they were Titans, she thought. No other Guardians would make such fools of themselves, acting and looking for all the world like Cabal thugs. As the ship gently ascended, Orron straightened in his chair.

"Make yourself presentable. We're going to be transmatted down in a second."

Ana scoffed at the idea, but as she got closer, the look on Zavala's face frightened her a bit. She dusted her cloak off, just in time, as the unnatural buzz surrounded her...and then she was in front of the Vanguard, Orron beside her. Zavala wasted no time.

"Orron and Ana Bray, I am placing you under arrest for desertion, insubordination, and-..."

Ana stepped forward, drew herself up, and interrupted him. "Commander Zavala. Prince Uldren is alive. And he's not far from Rasputin."

Considering how their arrival had gone, Orron was surprised he was walking free at all. He supposed he had Ana Bray to thank for that. Zavala relented, taking their mission reports. Ana had actually followed through, actually done what she had said she would. For a brief moment, he almost didn't hate her. Almost.

They were walking down Orron's barracks hallway as he mulled over the events of the morning, Ana snarking away as the Titan mostly ignored her, occasionally grunting short responses where appropriate. They came to his room, and Ana looked at him.

"I'm not sleeping in your room, am I?" The mock-flirtiness in her tone made Orron sick. "No. You're sleeping in Palla's room, there." He jerked a thumb next door.

Ana leaned over, reading the name on the metal plaque. "Palla. She out on a mission?"

There was that rage again. He felt it welling up inside of him, felt himself struggling to contain it. In the close air of the hallway, he felt trapped. Ana stood there, the same fucking disregard for anyone but herself painted plainly across her face, in the playful glimmer of her eyes, like this was all a joke. He wished he was back out on the Martian glacier, the air venting his body heat and his emotions. But in here…

"No. She's not out on a mission. She had been, when Ghaul came. She had been on, loyally defending her people. Then, her light just...faded." He put a hard emphasis on that word, edging it with rage. "Good Guardians died that day. Dutiful ones. Friends. You could've helped us…" His mouth edged into a cruel sneer as the door to his own room hissed open. "If you cared." Orron stalked inside. Ghost stayed for a minute, his tone flat.

"Dinner is usually served about seventeen hundred. You can go eat with the others."

Ana felt both angry and hurt. Her words came out sounding stretched. "What about Orron?"

"Oh, he usually goes to spar this time of night. He eats later." Ana nodded her thanks and entered Palla's room. It was empty, but clean. She hung her cloak on a hook, sat down on the bed of Orron's dead friend, and put her head in her hands.

Fighting was one of the few things Orron could do and have his mind completely cleared. No distractions, no complex objectives, just a weapon and a target. The sparring room was thus one of his favorite places to relax; sparring with other Guardians and the complex machines built to simulate the various allies of the Darkness Guardians might encounter; a giant mockup of a Legionary, programmed with the brute force and slow swings of the Cabal beasts; smaller, hunched machine whose rapid attacks accurately mimicked that of a Hive Thrall; and Orron's personal favorite, a four armed, agile and cloaked automaton that fought with all the cunning and grace of a Fallen Captain. Orron swirled his bo-staff, another favorite, as the Captain approached, matching Orron's circling posture. In its hands, two short wooden poles and two daggers, a crude imitation of the very real and very deadly electroblades carried by the real thing.

The Captain struck suddenly, lashing out with it's left-hand sword, and Orron parried it and the underhanded stab that followed from the lower-right arm's dagger easily, the butt of the staff knocking the small blade aside. He surged forward, pressing his advantage from the sloppy first attack, as the Captain reacted by dodging to the side. A quick swipe from his right sword, which Orron ducked under, bringing the bo-staff up to hit the Captain upside the head. It parried with similar ease and Orron moved back to avoid giving the Captain's short-ranged weapons too much of an advantage.

They circled for a time more, the Captain's mock eyes, really full of mechanical sensors that tracked his every movement and helped the AI inside make judgements, met Orron's own. It lashed out with a simultaneous slash and stab, propelling itself forward, and the Guardian danced to one side, avoiding the stab, and meeting the slash with the center of his own staff. They stood there for a moment, locked, and Orron could only imagine his opponent. Maybe a Captain not unlike this facsimile had killed Palla, he thought. And then-...

"Why don't you fight someone you really hate?"

Orron turned, waving the automaton off. Ana Bray stood there, wearing the same light, breathable training jumpsuit as he was. He stared at her.

"What do you say?" She flipped a staff into her hand from the wall rack, a shorter one to match her own height. "Come on, I know you want to hit me."

Again, he just stood there. She was right. He did want to hit her. He wanted to knock her upside the head, for being so inconsiderate, so selfish, so stupid. He squared himself as she stepped onto the sparring mat, her bare feet tracing a semicircle to mirror Orron's own stance. Where Orron stood, feet spread, bo-staff balanced in both his hands, Ana seemed to take a more graceful stance. Appropriate.

The first few moments of any spar were a battle of will more than anything else. This was even more intense. They locked eyes, and Ana could see the hot fury in Orron. Fury and...something else? Regret? Pain? Orron was not alone in that, and she let out a cry of rage as she flew at him, unexpected. The taller Titan parried deftly, his staff blocking the flurry of quick blows as she danced around him. He caught the end of her own bo after a sideswipe and turned it, leaving her exposed. He tried for a quick jab at her chest, but Ana was quicker, and she was already off again. She was fast, he respected that.

"You didn't think I could keep up with you? Huh? Big Titan that you are? With all your damned fame?" Ana breathily spat at him as she matched him, parry for parry, county for counter. Orron could feel the emotion behind her swings too. Good. "I thought you were different. I thought you wouldn't wallow in your own power. But you're just like the rest." She put spittle-flecked emphasis on "rest" as she suddenly swept low, and Orron felt the air go out of him. It...hurt. He'd almost never been hit in sparring practice, and he clenched his jaw with resolve as he counterattacked, using his superior height and weight to push Ana back.

She slid to the side, her bo rapping against his lower arm as his sloppy counter failed to connect. The stinging numbed his arm before the pain started. She was still talking. "You hate Rasputin and me because you fear us. You don't want to save humanity. You want to save yourself, and your Vanguard, because you're a fucking tool!" She was almost shouting now. She was losing her nerve. Orron willed his mind to calm, just for a minute, to cease the broiling emotion that was keeping him off balance and costing him the spar. He didn't like losing. He took a breath, as much a breath he could...

"Midshipman Valte! Midshipman Kelle! LET'S GO!" The sergeant's voice carried from the hangar entrance. Derrick's arm was looped around Orron, the larger man practically cradling the smaller as they hobbled forward. He was soaked with sweat; they both were. His breath was ragged now, but his goal was straight ahead, in plain sight. He drove himself forward, the sergeant's words repeating in his head…

There. She had hit him again, this time on his upper thigh. But it was the last time she would, he told himself. Her next blow came slower. She was tiring. She was still yelling, too. But Orron didn't hear her now. He parried it easily, knocking the staff to the side, and as the other end came up, he smacked it down with such force that he thought his would break. It didn't. She stumbled back, regained her footing, her mouth still snarling with vitriol, mockery, and insults. But Or andron couldn't hear her now. He moved forward, swinging his staff in a tight arc toward the side of her head. She raised her own to block, just as he had anticipated, and his own staff twisted in his hands as the end jabbed hard into her stomach.

He could see the breath leave her, the contortion of her face. Her hands slackened and Orron brought his bo back up, smacking the staff from her loosened grip. Flipping it again and sweeping out her legs. She fell back, stunned, but to her credit, she made an attempt to get up. Orron's staff at her chest stopped that quickly. He spoke, panting, with unrestrained emotion.

"Funny game you have there. You're a funny girl, do you know that? You make people doubt themselves, make them lose concentration. It's a nice trick. It can help you, it might even save you from time to time, but it won't work in the long run." The next few words, even through his ragged breathing, came out with such force that Ana braced herself for another blow. "Only TRAINING...and DISCIPLINE...can do that." Orron threw his staff down next to her.

"Find me tomorrow when you're ready to stand up for something more than yourself."

/Bit of a heavier chapter at the end there, but I wanted to introduce the antagonist and start the main plot up. These next few updates will come a bit quicker now that I have more of an outline for how the story will go. Don't worry, Rasputin will begin to play a larger part. I just wanted to establish Ana Bray and Orron's characterization more - I changed them a bit, because I want a flawed OC, not just your normal "stoic Titan."

Like I've said, this is my first fic and my first real venture into narrative writing, so please leave reviews, or PM me with suggestions and constructive criticism for character, dialogue, writing, plot, etc. Thanks for reading, as always! -tkentk