Author's Note: This is just a little something to flesh out things mentioned in my other story, Double Helix. There are no serious spoilers for that though this will go into more detail about the happenings on Ambrosia II pre-arrival of Zeta and 'Loram (i.e. none of those characters in this story) and can be considered a spolier in some regards. This is just for the fun of it and will probably not enjoy frequent updates...but, then again who knows? As the summary suggests, it will likely be sappy and feelingsy though I will try to keep it within canon (as much as this type of thing can be).

A special thanks to KATT9033 for the continued interest.

I will warn of lemons (none in this chapter).

This story will contain male Sangheili/female human relationships. If that grosses you out or hurts your pure, strict, canon loving mind don't read it...it is rated M for a reason. Also, this is intentionally being written as a romance, though as before there will be some rough descriptions of a war-type nature.

Notice: I do not own Halo, this is just me writing again in its universe.

Prolog

Projected Slipstream Space/ Flagship Vengeant Shepherd

Torsch 'Koridee stood in the middle of the wide hall looking at a closed door. The surface was burnished purple, almost black with an intricate design spanning the polished exterior. His eyes wandered the pattern, dallying as he tried to collect together what was in his mind to say. The words tread dangerously close to blasphemy. However, it was not the immediate hearer he feared, but those who may have been listening of which he was unaware. The Prophets had their ways of learning of mutterings and, with one even now on the bridge of the ship, the Stealth Major felt wise in keeping his concerns close.

As he lifted his foot and shifted to wager a step to call attention to his presence the casing lighted in a mute shade and hummed a soft melody, the door rolling effortlessly away. The Legion Master's slave froze mid-gate, his bruised and damaged face registering fear before he scurried back. As Torsch strolled forward the slave hid round the frame just inside the room.

Sad, pitiful creature.

Only the highest ranking Sangheili of the Covenant military were allowed to have slaves of their own kind accompany them and Legion Master 'Berovai made it a point to exercise this privilege. The boy was probably the same age as Torsch's youngest son, though the slave was no longer altogether male.

Emasculated in his youth, the boy stood at the height less than that of an adult female and never developed a sturdy frame or filled out in bulk. Though he was likely well into his third decade, he would forever be just a boy. Small, he was scarred with hashed lines from his manacled wrists to his elbows with the Mark of Disobedience and was always about with his face turned to the floor. He was docile and frightened; with good reason. Though no one else on the ship would be fool enough to touch him, slaves were frequently mistreated and Torsch knew 'Berovai to beat his chattel senseless. They were the lowest of social castes in Sangheili society. Nameless, clanless property regarded as void of personhood. Their blood was often spilled freely for they had no honor to lose. A child of the House of Berov, the Legion Master's slave was a constant reminder of what the man was truly capable of.

As Torsch stepped clear of the threshold the boy curled around to dash down the hall, the door winking before sealing itself back in place. Legion Master Sicera 'Berovai stood in his office and personal quarters just beyond his desk; his back turned on the room, gazing out the great window at the pitch of slipstream. From his broad shoulders spilled the emerald fur of a Legion Master's cloak, adding to his already imposing size. Had the Prophet not insisted on making the journey with them, Sicera would have been the highest authority in the legion, as was his place. Comprised of three hundred ships of varying size, the Legion of Recompense was the largest Special Operations force in the Covenant Army. Roughly five hundred thousand Spec Ops Sangheili and their various counterparts and subordinate species made the legion their home. Self-sustaining, the legion could operate without having to return to High Charity or the homeworld and had done so for five years. But, that was before Thel 'Vadamee lost the Holy Ring and the legion had been recalled.

Casting aside the unpleasant thought of the former Naval Supreme Commander's recent sentencing, the Stealth Major walked the length of the room without fear and stood at his lord's side. The men looked out upon the gently rippling darkness of the rift in silence.

Sicera's pale yellow eyes were mirrored in the window's surface and shifted to look upon Torsch's reflection. The stillness of unspoken but mutual understanding played in the long moment of quiet. Finally, 'Berovai turned and took the few steps to his chair while Torsch remained and watched him from the window.

"I like it no more than you, old friend," the Legion Master rumbled, turning and shifting so that he might catch his companion's reaction.

'Koridee grunted, folding his arms in a comfortable gesture of insolence before turning to face his superior. The men were the same age, though situated very differently in civilian and military life. Torsch was a capable soldier; enough to get him into Special Operations. He was vicious and ruthless; so much so he had been sent to the Legion of Recompense and led a file of his own Stealth Sangheili. But, without his service to the Covenant, 'Koridee was little if anything. Not completely unattractive, he was short though broad, and was well aware the distinction of his military service was the only thing which would bring females to pay him a second glance.

Sicera, on the other hand, was the type statues would have been carved to commemorate. Even without his civilian standing he would not have wanted for mates. 'Berovai was tall and dark and had the same absolute hatred for females as most of his kindred. They were useful tools not to be considered for purposes other than his pleasure and breeding.

Sicera had been confirmed Kaidon at the age of forty and proven himself worthy time and again for well over thirty years since. He ruled his house in a manner no less strict than he commanded his legion; demanding the same level of obedience and order from civilians as he did his warriors. He was cold and merciless; nothing if not adherent to the letter of law; known to kill and maim his own if they should disappoint in the slightest. The fame of the legion existed because of him, because of the absolute pitiless disregard for all but authority he instilled in those under his command. He had risen through the ranks quickly and stood to be the army's next Imperial General when need arose.

Torsch was one of the few who knew him as more than a heartless monstrosity, though…there was little more to Sicera than that.

The men had known each other since their youth; trained in a communal setting by the old Uncles of Berov. Their friendship was one born of time and war. Torsch could say whatever he wished to his commanding officer in private without concern for rank and status. Sicera was hard, but he was not completely unreasonable.

"I believe," 'Koridee said, pausing to draw a measured breath, "it is for more than is claimed."

One side of Sicera's mouth lifted in a tiny smile, "Careful," he admonished with good nature.

Torsch snorted, "That they would insist those foul smelling beasts be part of this legion it is…" he stopped short of calling it and the other man chuckled mirthfully.

"We bide this for a time," he said with a graceful, dismissive wave of his hand, "in a few days 'Vadamee will be stripped of his name and executed and the Prophets will tire of their spectacle: they will tire of the Jiralhanae," he nodded his head thoughtfully to one side, "For now they will be placed at the head of the file," he leered, polished white fangs catching the light, "Let those mammals die first so as few of them return as possible."

Torsh's eyes widened, 'at the head of the file', he gritted his teeth at the idea of Sangheili following those incompetent brutes into battle. But, Sicera made a fine point, which only added to Koridee's ire, "And what of this mission?" he gestured to the window, "When the remainder of the Holy Rings are in jeopardy and the Parasite threatens escape, they send us to a human inhabited planet instead of where we rightfully belong?"

It was 'Berovai's turn to fold his arms as his brow ridges lowered and the set of his face took a deadly expression, "What you suggest is very close toheresy," he hissed, his tone warning his friend just how close he was coming to insubordinate ramblings.

"What I suggest is the truth," Torsch spat, "That the most ardent legion is sent away it is," he clenched his mandibles, "it is all wrong, Sicera."

The Legion Master held his glare for a few moments then his face fell and he sighed, turning in his chair to his desk. Though the thoughts were dangerous to speak, the Stealth Major was voicing nothing which had not already played over in the other's mind. There had been no indication the planet to which the higher Prophets were sending them held a thing more than a collection of pitiful humans. The scourge needed to be wiped out, but that was not a matter for a Special Operations Legion. Yet again, the Prophets seemed so sure and the idea of humans keeping relics carefully concealed was abhorrent.

"Still," 'Berovai whispered, giving his friend a pointed look, "we have our instructions. Make the most of them, Stealth Major."

Torsch dropped his arms to his sides and in an expression of deference dipped his face to the floor. He accepted the veiled order to kill the unwelcome additions and knew when he had tested his lord's patience enough.

Chapter One

Beta Centauri System, Ambrosia II/ New Saint Etienne Reservoir

It was supposedly 2100 hours, give or take a few hours, and the day had gone to hell on a sled from the start. Sergeant First Class Amy Starr stood just at the edge of the city on the junction bridge that decorated the mouth of the primary reservoir. Cutting the River Alsace well short of the basin which would dump it into the ocean, the dam site held back some three trillion gallons of fresh water. Known as Lake Bordereaux, the spectacle stretched before her and was set ablaze by the light of the setting suns. Amy folded her arms across the top of the rock railing that lined the old bridge which crossed from New Sainte Entinne to North Entinne. She leaned out to look down at the cause of all her recent frustrations. The gentle arcs of tunnels which led to the principle subduction juncture for the capital city, surrounding townships, the Colonial Authority, and Army installation were barely visible above the waterline several hundred feet below. These channels webbed beneath the jurisdiction to purification plants, hydroelectric grids, and were split off in a maze of aqueducts that supplied fresh water and routed waste water to and from collection points all over the immediate area.

Ambrosia II had been terraformed in 2320 and first colonized by farmers. Most of them had been French speaking vineyard keepers wishing to take advantage of the planets rich soil and year round temperate climate. It was during early construction that the Alsace Dam and the greater aqueduct system were first constructed. For over two hundred years it had been sufficient. Fast-forward and the increased social growth owed to a booming trade economy in goods famed throughout the galactic colonies, and the system was antiquated at best and unable to adequately sustain needs at worst. That equated to a whole lot of engineer-talk adding up to a desperate need to update and expand the entire system. No small feat in its own right, but one confounded by local farmers who were raising a significant stink about how disruption would affect their yield and harm their bottom line. Not to mention open theories about the UNSC using the renovation to expand the UEG colonial AI's ability to eavesdrop and spy.

It had all turned into a political nightmare. The UEG and the colony were bickering over the details, each grasping at proverbial straws and calling in favors in order to force the hands of the other. Plop one Sergeant First Class into the fray and call her a liaison; tack on six months of negotiations to reach a timeline suitable for all; throw in three contract agencies who won bids for some three-thousand civilian contractors; and throw it against the wall and say fuck it.

That was how Amy felt, just fuck it.

With a project start date pushed forward and details somehow leaked to the public, the news report which had been broadcast that morning almost caused a full scale riot. Intel indicated there were three insurgent factions working together, stirring discontent, and it seemed like the whole civilian populous was threatening action to halt progress. Even though everyone doubted rebel claims of numbers, with the colonists increasingly acting and speaking against the Colonial Authority there wasn't a UNSC member one who went anywhere, on post or off, in uniform or not, who did so unarmed. Thankfully, overt violence had been avoided that morning. Civilians had been placated with the promise of an earnest negotiation; and an 'unofficial spokesman for the united rebel groups', whatever the hell that meant, had encouraged calm from the people and genuine transparency from the governing body. Those manipulative, conspiracy theorist, whack-a-doodles had to be up to something.

Amy was a technical engineer for shit's sake, not a damn public relations expert. She just wanted to do her job. Supposedly, most of her field training went flying out the window because chain of command learned she could string an intelligent sentence together; though she was certain there was more to it than that. Either way, it turned out hostilities were not quelled because there was a pretty blonde at the table. Amy had been pulled from the field and stuck in the middle and found herself the go-between for civilian and Corps of Engineers specialists, command, and a colony full of pissed off people taking cues from loud-mouthed agitators.

It gave her a headache.

Amy looked up and let her gaze lead her around. Resting her back against the stone wall she could just see the glint of stars emerging in the growing darkness as the suns sank lower on the opposite horizon. Some days it was hard to remember there was a war going on out there. A greater war. The UNSC was fighting a battle on two fronts while still attempting to maintain livable colonial societies. With all of the death and destruction and the ever present concern over being found so far into the outer colonized region, it was difficult to accept her place was effectively to be middleman in a squabble over updating plumbing.

UNSCA Fort Champlain

Checking her watch for the hundredth time, Lucinda Deléon made her way along the parameter fence. She was making good time. It was just after one in the morning and the moons provided decent lighting for her path. Branches smacked at her and thorned vines tugged at her clothing, a few catching bare skin as she ran as fast as she could. The fifteen year-old picked her way along in the shadows. Every step was one more away from set charges and one closer to the designated rally point for her group. She skittered across a wide dirt trail and hopped into a ditch, checking her watch again. Lucinda had done her part, just like hundreds of others going about their orders to help bring the UEG's control on the planet to an end, to cripple the UNSC Army unit stationed there by application of force.

Though she didn't understand much of the finer points of what was going on, she knew when the charges went off she had better be at the rally point to take up a gun and ready to kill any and everything in uniform that came her way. Some of the adults had referred to this as their 'Great Stand', the stand the rebels and sympathetic citizens of Ambrosia II took to make their voices heard. The Caddo Rebel Fighters, to which Lucinda belonged by way of her family's allegiance, were fewest in number and had been sent deepest into the installation to set snares and draw the enemy out. The UNSC was spread thin, and scraping for able bodies had left them in the open. Dissenters within their own ranks had equipped those who would breach Fort Champlain to avoid detection by the Colonial AI and given up sensitive locations open to attack.

Members of the Outer Insurgent Movement were poised somewhere in the night ready to stand with the people of Caddo while the men and women of Ashmund's Freedom Front were most armed and stood to take the city proper. Azrael Ashmund had long acquired resources, numbers, and wealth before seeking the solitude of the small outer colonial planet to spring his coup. He brought the existing, remnant factions together and all Lucinda knew was that the cause grew strong under his leadership. For once the insurgents had a real chance; and that chance was now.

Dressed in layers of rags and filthy by design, Lucinda crawled through brush and under a length of perimeter fence which wound around the military complex. She had just risen to her feet on the opposite side and made to check her watch again when a bright rip of light captured her gaze. It was like a bolt of lightning which never touched the ground, suspended in air and remaining instead of flashing away. The spectacle drew her to a stop. Craning her neck, the girl blinked as the tear drew into an elliptical corona flagged with ripples across the sky overhead. The air around her buzzed and she felt the soft electric tug as the tiny hairs on her arms stood on end. Hundreds more sizzling blue ruptures began slicing through the night. A deafening boom cracked the stillness and the ground shook, throwing her from her feet. The earth continued to tremble beneath her in an irregular rhythm which shook her to the core as sounds like deafening thunder clapped in nauseating succession. Lucinda clamped her hands over hear ringing ears and hunkered against the fence looking up to see the smooth shape of Covenant ships winking into the sky as their widening ruptures lit the surface as bright as day.

Gasping for breath, Lucinda struggled to her feet, using the chain link to pull herself up as white hot energy signatures collected along the bottom and sides of some of the crafts and bluish streaks of plasma began raining toward the surface. As she stood frozen in horror and disbelief, the bottoms of larger ships began opening up and smaller vessels poured out like a plague. It was unlike anything she had ever envisioned. There were older people in the faction who claimed to have survived evacuation in the wake of Covenant attacks. Their stories had become lynchpins to the narrative of the groups operating on her home planet. The UNSC's inability, or unwillingness, to protect its own had been a catalyst for continued rebel uprisings in the outer colonies despite a supposed war for the survival of the species raging all around.

Lines of explosives began detonating from well inside the military instillation. Screams began pealing through the night. The raid sirens sparked to life only to die suddenly. The planet winked into an eerie darkness broken only by the ghostly purple of Covenant ships and fires which licked up at the sky in the distance all around.

Lucinda found her legs and ran.