"This is a bad idea."
"Shh," Lance hissed through his teeth, "Keep it down. Do you want to wake the whole castle?"
"I don't know, would that put a stop to your idiotic plan?" Hunk grumbled from behind.
Lance pouted into the darkness, creeping as best he could down the unlit corridor. They were in the guest wing, meaning that the place should be deserted. Still, you couldn't be too careful.
"You didn't have to come," Lance pointed out to the other boy, keeping his voice low.
"Your father hired me as the voice of reason, since you were clearly born without the little voice in your head telling you that this is a bad idea!"
"My father hired you," Lance contradicted, "to spend time with me and keep me out of his way."
Hunk grumbled more, muttering under his breath. Lance thought he heard something about deserving a raise, and smiled impishly.
"You would be bored without me."
"I would be safe and in bed without you."
"Exactly, and where's the fun in that?"
Hunk sighed, a sound Lance was well accustomed to after years of secret plans and adventures in the dark. "Just five minutes?"
"I promise: out and in. Just a peek, then back to bed."
"And no climbing out where we could fall and die? A peek from the window?"
"You have my word."
"Your word means nothing. Remember when you gave me your word that you wouldn't approach that Klan-mural and her cub? Remember? Remember what happened?"
Lance waved at him absentmindedly over his shoulder.
"Remember Lance? Remember that?"
"Hunk-"
"Remember!"
"Okay okay," Lance turned towards his friend, waving his hands in a bid to calm him. "I remember, I remember!"
"We almost died!"
"I know-"
"She chased us-"
"I said I-"
"For miles-"
"Hunk keep your voice down-"
"We had to climb a tree to escape-"
"Hunk!"
"Which was a terrible idea too!" Hunk's pitch was steadily rising as he was caught in the memory of running for his life.
"Hu-"
"Klan-murals can climb, Lance!"
"Well I know that now-"
"If your sister hadn't come along-"
"Hunk calm down!" Lance stepped forwards and put hands on his friend's shoulders, trying to look into his eyes in the midnight gloom. "This isn't like those other ideas," He grinned confidently. "This is going to be unbelievable."
"You're unbelievable," Hunk muttered.
"Hunk Garret, you have the word of a prince: this is a good idea and you will not regret it."
Lance could practically hear the other boy roll his eyes. "Just play the prince card, why don't you."
Lance shrugged, still grinning. "If you're holding a trump card, why not use it? Come on, it'll be starting soon."
They resumed their sneaking, careful making their way around corners in case they ran into any sentries. If they were caught out of bed so late, unescorted and lacking permission, Lance would be in for quite the conversation with his mother tomorrow.
Not to mention having to bear the weight of Allura's disapproving gaze.
The guest wing had lain empty and neglected for years – that was the main reason Lance managed to convince Hunk to come this far. It was unlikely they would run into anyone: they should be able to reach their destination in peace. Lance continued on on tiptoe, taking long strides to limit the amount of noise he was making.
"What are you doing?" Hunk asked him.
"What?" Lance glanced back, perplexed. He looked down at himself, crouched low to the ground as he peered around a corner, remaining on his tiptoes even while stationary.
"You look ridiculous."
"I'm trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible. A tactic you should consider."
"You look like a wannabee ninja."
Lance's teeth gnashed together. "Do you want to get caught?"
"I almost want other people to be able to see you and your duck walk."
"Hey! It is not-!"
"Would you two shut up?" A voice rang out in the relative silence. The door beside them swung open and green light spilled into the hallway. The two boys jumped back, shrieking, Lance instantly ducking to hide behind Hunk. A short figure emerged from the room, hand on their hips and lips upturned in a smirk. "Some of us are trying to get work done."
A shock of short white hair, glowing green marks below similar green eyes, the creepy light catching in a flash in her glasses. His little sister glared up at him.
"P-Pidge?" Lance exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"
She cocked an eyebrow, "I could ask you two the same thing."
"C-can't we be out for a midnight stroll?" Lance stammered, holding his hands up in surrender to the small, intimidating form.
"No, you can't," She smirked. "You two are up to something – I would recognise Lance's 'ninja walk' anywhere," She said, using air quotes to disparage Lance's stealth ability.
"Hey-"
"And what are you doing," Hunk said, crossing his arms and raising a brow, "Little princess?"
Her smirk instantly soured into a scowl. "What's it to you?"
"These rooms are reserved for guests, Princess Katherine. Why, if I informed Coran of an insolent royal camping out in one of his pristine suites, I bet his moustache would just bristle." Hunk grinned, voice heavy with the threat.
Pidge seemed taken aback at the mention of Coran. Lance shivered slightly, remembering the look on the head of staff's face when he had been a tad too vicarious and Allura had somehow managed to push him through three banisters on the spiral staircase in the main hallway. He still remembered the feel of the ornately carved wood of the pillars splintering beneath his back. He still remembered Coran's face turning almost as red as his hair, moustache blending with the puce of his cheeks.
He and Allura had hid outside in the gardens that day, camped out beneath a bush in an attempt to escape his wrath.
"You wouldn't." She said, narrowing her eyes.
"Maybe you didn't see us," Hunk said, "And we didn't see you?"
She eyed them suspiciously through the thick lenses of her glasses. "What are you two up to?"
"Want to come and see?" Lance stuck his head out from behind Hunk, ensnaring his younger sister in his gaze. He knew the powers his charm held, he knew how just the right look could convince someone to do anything he desired. It's how he always managed to convince Hunk to make mistakes with him, despite the boy's better judgement.
She glanced back over her shoulder, calculating as she took in whatever was in the room. She shrugged, stepping forward and closing the door. "I've got time."
Lance shook his head, chuckling softly. "So mysterious."
"So where are we going?" Pidge pressed, falling in step as the trio started off down the hallway.
"You'll see when we get there."
"It's a bad idea," Hunk informed her.
"Hey! I thought we had moved past this negative mindset Hunk!"
"I made no such promises."
They were almost there anyway: Lance was almost jumping with excitement. He always missed it, always. It doesn't do for royals to be up half the night, his mother warned. Think of the bags under your eyes! Besides, its really not that interesting.
Lance pressed below his eyes gently, checking for the tell-tale bags hanging from his lower lids. He would wear a cold compress when he made it back to bed, that would fix it. Skincare was important, but somethings are worth the risk of losing out on beauty sleep. And Lance had waited far too long for this opportunity.
The hallway came to an abrupt end and Hunk and Pidge came to a standstill, puzzled.
"Where's the window?" Hunk asked.
"Window?" Pidge echoed, confusion weighting down her voice.
Lance grinned. "This is the good bit."
Hunk stepped back, hands up. "I don't trust that look on your face."
"Give me a boost," Lance ordered, waving his friend back towards him.
"What?"
"Up on your shoulders. Come on, we're going to miss it!"
Hunk shuffled forward unhappily, bending to allow Lance to clamber on.
"Ow!" He gasped as Lance tugged on his hair to avoid falling to the floor, pushing to stand straight.
"Sorry," Lance apologised, his head swinging up close to the ceiling.
"Can I run you into a chandelier?" Hunk inquired.
Lance decided to ignore that comment, reaching up to paw at the ceiling, his fingers searching for what he had seen in the daylight. He stretched his fingertips as far as they would go, searching for the ridge. "A little to the left, big guy?"
Hunk grunted and did as he was asked.
"What are you looking for?" Pidge was growing impatient below them. "You guys better not be wasting my time."
"You're sixteen, it's not like you've got that much going on," Lance chuckled.
Hunk was drifting slowing below him, allowing Lance the chance to scan a wider area with his fingers. Where was it?
"You don't know that," Pidge huffed.
"Do tell," Lance prodded, trying to get her to open up about her eerie, glowing, secret room.
"Well-" Pidge began, her voice pre-emptively adopting a patronising tone. "There's-"
Lance's fingers caught on a ridge, and he positively squealed in excitement, abruptly cutting Pidge off. Hunk stumbled briefly as he attempted to keep Lance from losing his balance and toppling to the floor. "This is it, this is it!"
"This is what?" Hunk said, exasperation starting to seep through his controlled tone.
Lance didn't answer. He reached past the ridge to the smooth panel, painted the same as the rest of the ceiling. It was lucky he had spotted it, the light catching on the ridge drawing Lance's eye. He had dreamed about this panel for weeks, waiting for the next solar storm to hit, trying his best to be patient. Once Hunk was settled below him, Lance carefully placed his hands and pushed. The panel lifted into the space above the ceiling easily enough, the movement causing a cascade of dust to rain down on the three of them. Pidge promptly began sneezing, grumbling about allergies.
Lance slid the panel to the side, revealing the hole in the ceiling. He pawed around above him in the dark, feeling for the ladder he had been told about when he had inquired about the hole to one of the groundsmen. More dust and fluff and god knows what else tumbled to the ground, and Pidge swore at him.
"You're getting it in my hair," Hunk complained.
"Almost…there…" Lance said, mostly to himself. He strained, stretching further forwards until…there! He grabbed at the object, dragging it towards him with a loud, scrapping sound.
"Be more conspicuous," Pidge said sarcastically, "I dare you."
Lance grunted, heaving one last time before the thing came clattering through the hole all of a sudden, falling to the ground in an almighty racket. It was a miracle none of them were hit by the ladder with a death wish.
The following moments were deafeningly silent, all three of them holding their breaths, praying no one had heard them.
"Nice going," Pidge said snidely.
"You're not helping," Lance hissed, sliding off of Hunk's shoulders and down to the ground. He grabbed at the ladders, extending them back up to the ceiling. The hole where the panel had been was dauntingly black, devoid of any light. Almost a solid wall of blackness, and Lance felt a lump build in his throat staring up at it.
"Anyone bring a light?" He asked hopefully.
"I thought this was your brilliant plan?" Pidge said.
"Shut it, Pidge."
She laughed quietly behind him. "Ladies first," She offered, gesturing towards the steps.
Lance was still staring into the blackness hovering above him, feeling it bore down on him. This was his plan, his idea. He had to go up there; he had to set an example.
He took a deep breath. This was going to be worth it. He just had to remember that.
He forced himself to place a foot on the bottom rung. The dark had always made him uneasy. He wouldn't necessarily say he was scared of the dark…mainly because that would be a ridiculous thing for an eighteen year old prince of a millennia old kingdom to say.
"We can still go back to bed," Hunk offered hopefully.
Lance shook his head, starting up the steps with more vigour. "No way. We've come this far, I'm not turning back now."
The moment Lance's head breached the darkness he lost his breath for a moment: it was suffocating. He felt his eyes go wide, trying to catch any semblance of light from anywhere in the attic. But all his eyes latched on to was the pale blue tinting the edge of his vision from his cheekbones.
"Can you see anything?" Hunk called up to him.
"What do you think?"
He took a deep breath: this was ridiculous. He was wasting time, and he would be damned if he missed the storm. He forced himself to climb further into the attic, enveloping his body in that darkness until he stepped from the ladder to the ground. He felt blindly around, looking for the hatch that the next step of his plan counted on.
"What are you doing?"
"Are you guys coming up or what?" He called over his shoulder.
"Why do you go along with all this?" Lance heard Pidge ask from below.
"Honestly?" Hunk said. "I have absolutely no idea."
Lance smirked: Hunk could complain all he wanted, but Lance knew for a fact the big guy enjoyed their adventures together. At least, he enjoyed reminiscing after the danger Lance inevitably dropped them in was long gone.
He heard footsteps on the ladder, ascending with more courage than he had. Hunk's voice was close this time, clearly sharing the attic space with him now.
"Wow, this is great. Okay, are we done?"
"Hunk, get your butt out of my face!" Pidge complained from further down the ladder, "I can't see anything."
"Erm, you're not really missing out on much."
As soon as Hunk said that unfaithful phrase, Lance's fingers brushed what he had been searching for. He turned the latch his hand locked around, and pushed with all his might. The hatch was stiff, rusted from disuse, the hinges squealing as Lance forced them forwards.
Hunk and Pidge remained quiet as they pulled themselves the rest of the way into the attic, happy to watch Lance wrestle with the hatch by himself. He was breathing hard, his arms straining to open it wide enough for all of them. Light was beginning to stream in: the moon was close to being full, and it was a clear night. Lucky: they should get an uninterrupted view.
He eventually gave up, convincing himself that the space was wide enough for them. He turned back to his best friend and his little sister, grinning like a mad man.
"Shall we?"
"Wait-" Hunk began, seeing the glint in Lance's eyes.
Lance turned and slipped his shoes off, jutting a bare foot out the window and down onto the slate of the roof tiles, searching for purchase.
"You said we were just going to peek out the window for a few minutes!" Hunk gasped, shocked at being lied to despite having experienced this exact plot twist numerous times in their past adventures.
Lance shrugged. "You said it yourself, my word means nothing." With that Lance hooked his other foot out of the window and pulled himself out into the open air of the night.
Below the hatch was a shallow ledge, extending along the outer wall of the building and leading to a rusted, metal ladder implanted into the wall. From there, they could climb up to the gently sloping roof, and have the best view in all of Arus. Lance finally swallowed the lump in his throat: he was much more comfortable clinging to the edge of a building in the pale moonlight than stuck in the stuffy, dark room. He breathed a little easier as the night air whipped round him and tried to pull him from the ledge. Back to the wall, he started edging along, using his bare toes to test each step before placing his full weight down.
Hunk's head appeared out of the hatch. "Get back here!" He hissed. "Someone's going to see you!"
"No they won't."
"If they don't, I will have lost faith in your Father's ability to hire a decent security team."
"Come on Hunk, it's not that bad!" Lance pleaded, trying his best to convince while systematically attempting to not fall to his death. The wall of the castle scrapped at his back as he slid himself along. He could almost reach the ladder now. Excitement curled in his stomach.
"Trust me," Lance willed, smiling encouragingly at Hunk. The other boy wasn't paying attention however, instead now grappling with Pidge as she tried to follow Lance out of the window.
He reached the ladder, quickly spinning himself and settling his feet on the rungs. "I'll see you two up there. That is, if you're not too scared." He winked at them, clambering up, up, upwards before Hunk could try and discourage him. Lance knew nothing could stop him now: after coming so far, and waiting for so long. He was used to being told no, being denied what he truly wanted, having no control over his life. But not this time.
The ascent was short, Lance quickly coming to the layers of slate adorning the castle roof. The slant was gentle, and he was able to easily clamber up towards the roof's tip. He got as high as he could go before setting himself down, long legs stretched out before him, the wind tickling between his toes. The swirling air danced around his still form, ruffling his loose shirt and pulling at his pale white hair, desperately seeking movement in the still night. He reached a hand up to smooth it as best he could, but the hair was quickly tussled again.
The castle lay before him, extending out into the darkness of the gardens. Regal and stoic, the pillared walls looked as though they were embellished with gold, towers reaching high into the sky before ending in golden turrets, the gleaning metal reaching up into the sky before abruptly ending in dark slate. It almost looked…gaudy. Lance had never seen his home from this high up, craning his neck to see his room on the far side of the castle. There was the fountain of a cherub that had been broken all summer, and there was the rose bush outside his window, so-
There was his room. A dark pane of glass. Nothing interesting to look at.
In the centre of the courtyard, great and daunting, stood a marble statue. The figure was as tall as the palace roof where Lance sat: if the marble were to move, to turn its head, he would be trapped in its piercing line of sight. Instead, the statue stands impassive and glares out across the city: deep grooves set in the cheekbones, clearly seen even in the gloomy light of the moon as they were dark with shadows on the pale stone. The Altean king looks down on his people beyond the gates, stern and eternally unimpressed. Lance shifted: his view from the side makes him almost as uncomfortable as when he stands at the statue's base and physically feels the stone glare settling on him.
His gaze drifted away, following the paths cutting through the grass surrounding the castle, the paved stones lined with flowers that would be bright red and yellow in the sunlight. They were Leo flowers, the petals arranged so they looked like the mane of a lion. They were everywhere, crowding every pathway and entrance, their sickly sweet scent inescapable as it stuck to your clothes and in your hair, bobbing gently in the late night breeze. They were the reason people referred to his home as the Castle of Lions. He had been told you could even smell their cloying perfume from beyond the palace gates.
This was what his eyes fell on next: the tall iron gates entrapping the whole regal scene, making sure to sharply isolate the castle from the city beyond. Lance had caught people before gazing through the gaps in the wrought iron before a sentry came along and shooed them away. They would gaze at the shining walls with wonder, with envy, mouths hanging open at the show of extravagance. Lance almost wanted to see the rest of the city, to understand why the palace brought such amazement to the faces of the Altean people, braving the harsh words and glares of the sentries just for a peek.
He sat there for a moment, trying to imagine the world beyond, the pale blue glow of lights dotting through the streets as far as Lance's eyes could see. Not a soul could be seen – he doubted the guards would allow anyone wandering close to the palace at this time of night. There were lives out there that he had never heard of, never even considered. He sighed, wondering briefly who he could be if he wasn't a prince.
"It's freezing!" Pidge's voice called up, almost sprinting onto the roof to be rid of the cold metal of the ladder.
"We should have brought jackets," Hunk said sensibly, transferring himself to the slate with a little more care than Pidge had. His hands rubbed at his shoulders, trying to bring warmth into them.
Lance shrugged: he liked the cool night air. The castle was always so stuffy, no matter how many windows you opened. It was as though the air within the walls had been shut away for years, trapped and sealed, growing heavy as time passed. You could fill your lungs as far as they could go, and still be unable to catch your breath.
He patted the slate next to him, beckoning them to his side. Hunk made sure to place Pidge between the two of them, clearly concerned for the younger Altean princess' safety. Lance could almost imagine the look on Allura's face if they let Pidge go rolling off the castle roof. He shuddered: even the mere memory of her blue eyes blazing in fury was enough to send a shiver down his spine.
Hunk eyed him smugly. "Jackets," Was all he said.
Lance turned to bite a retort back at him, but his voice stuttered in his throat. He thought he saw…out the corner of his eye…was it?
Pidge gasped next to him, gazing skyward with a slack jaw. He turned to follow her gaze and yes, yes, there it was! Finally!
"Woah," Hunk said quietly, almost to himself.
The dark sky, peppered with starlight, was dancing. Ribbons of light – blue, green, yellow, red – weaved around one another, bouncing on the wind and whipping up in soaring arcs. They crept across the sky like snakes on the ground, like fish wiggling through serene waters, reclaiming the darkness as their own. The blue Altean crystals across the city winked out of existence, the energy of the solar storm above meddling with them, as though refusing to let anything outshine them. The city was always well warned of an impending solar storm, of the hours of darkness that would follow.
But Lance didn't understand why people hated the storms so much. He didn't understand, with it before him, how they were afraid of the looming dark when there was so much light here. The heavens were alive and moving, hosting a show of their own design. Dancing through space, their fiery tendrils reaching for the planet, as though to cup it in their hands. And the meeting of Earth and space resulted in an explosion of light unlike anything Lance had ever seen. People were locked in their houses, his family were tucked away in blacked out rooms, doing their best to avoid this spectacle.
He didn't understand. How had he been missing out on this for eighteen years?
The three of them sat in complete silence. Lance had no idea how long had passed – minutes, hours? He didn't care. He was transfixed, hypnotised. It made him feel so small, so meaningless. Pressure ebbed away beneath the celestial power: he was nothing, a speck to the heavens. The need to be perfect, to please, to walk the tightrope and never slip, never stumble, never fall.
He drifted away to nothing beneath the power of the cosmos.
And felt relieved.
His back had gone stiff. He hated to admit it, but the cold had made its way into his bones, and he sighed as he finally dragged his eyes from the sky to see the dim glow of the dawn resting on the horizon. The coming of the light of day broke the spell, and the three of them could speak again.
"That," Pidge croaked, her throat dry after having her jaw hang open half the night, "Was the coolest thing I have ever seen."
Hunk nodded, tears in the corners of his eyes. He reached a hand to brush them away as they fell to his cheeks. "That- that was-"
"Yep," Lance nodded in dumfounded agreement.
"I…I mean, who knew the sky…"
"Yep."
"Like that, that was…"
"Oh yeah."
The dancing lights above them were fading in the dawn, relinquishing their hold on the sky and returning to the heavens.
Lance would never be able to look at the sky the same way again.
"I think we need to go back inside," He said, words heavy with regret. He wanted to stay here, to wait day and night until the lights came back. But some part deep inside of him knew that sneaking out all night with his younger sibling and a 'servant' would have its consequences, and he didn't want to face whatever those would be.
He stood, muscles screaming in discontent as he attempted to stretch the stiffness from them. He set about cracking each of his vertebrae, to Hunk's disgust, and trying to return feeling to his butt which had numbed against the cold slate.
They all crept down the slates, taking care not to slip. Lance knew he had to see those lights again: he refused to fall off a roof and have their secret lookout taken from them just as they had found it. They hurried as best they could along the ledge, all three of them wrestling to close the hatch after they climbed back into the castle, Hunk lifting Lance so he could return the panel to its rightful place in the ceiling. They crept as fast as they dared through the hallways of the guest wing, conscious of the sun steadily rising, growing strong enough to creep through the windows and light their way.
Pidge suddenly veered off to the side with a quick wave, clearly returning to the room she had secretly claimed for who knew what purpose. Lance made a mental note to remember and ask her what she was doing in there as Hunk and he carried on, the two splitting from each other a few minutes later as Hunk returned to the servant quarters and Lance made a beeline for the blacked out room he was supposed to hide away in during the dangerous solar storms.
All of the blacked out rooms were in the same corridor, doors stretching away ahead of him, behind which he knew his various family members were sleeping soundly. Here he took extra care, knowing of Allura's bat like hearing. Shaking under the stress, eyeing the other doors in case they were to suddenly swing open and reveal an angry Altean princess, he reached out for the golden doorknob. This would be the worst part.
He took a deep breath, and slowly – so slowly- he turned his hand, slowly scrapping the latch back into the door and pressing on the wood to enter the room.
His breath burst out of his chest in relief, just as the hinges squealed like an alarm and his brain went into overdrive. He panicked, flinging himself into the room. Rushing to close the door behind him – those damned hinges screaming – and the latch sliding shut with a loud click. He leant his back against the wood of the door, heart beat thundering in his ears, chest rising and falling quickly.
He heard a door in the hallway open tentatively, and the panic engulfed him again. He sprang towards his bed, stumbling in the pitch black room. He ran into the bed post, stubbing a toe and predicting the appearance of a dark bruise on his thigh later, before finally managing to make it below the covers. He arranged himself quickly: lying back, eyes shut, mouth slack, deep calm breaths that would catch on something in his throat so he made a noise that sounded like the beginning of a snore, but was too dainty to develop any further.
He'd had plenty of opportunities to work on faking being asleep over the years.
He had just managed to force his whole body to relax below the covers before he heard his door creak open. Funny, the hinges didn't squeal now.
A slit of light washed over him, and he fought as best he could to keep his face neutral and not react. The light remained for a moment, before he heard a quiet sigh and the door was shut, soft footsteps padding down the hall and returning to their room.
He let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding, rubbing at his eyes, feeling for the bags his mother had warned him about. He had no idea if he had gotten away with his late night escapades, but at the moment he was simply too exhausted to care.
The collar was tight. It cut into his neck, dug into his windpipe if he allowed his head to tilt forwards. Maybe that was the point: this choking contraption designed to ensure perfect posture. He kept his head held high, but he knew in a few short hours the muscles at the back of his head would be screaming at him for relief he wouldn't be able to grant them.
Not if he didn't want to get an earful from his mother.
The five siblings sat in a stoic line, staring on from the hall's side-lines, trying their best not to look bored out of their skulls. They were dressed in the same uncomfortable fashion as Lance, all trying not to shift and fidget against the hard backed chairs they were seated in. On his left was Pidge, face set into a scowl, someone having forced her into a dress and managed to get a comb through the mop of white hair atop her head. Veronica fell next in the line, cheek markings burning a cheerful yellow as her eyes flitted to their mother regularly, searching for approval in her posture, how she managed to keep her fidgeting to a minimum. Only 12 years old, but she clearly took after Allura and their mother: regal, poised, face set into a pretty mask that could hide a storm. A purebred politician in the making.
Then there was Alexei.
Lance was furiously proud of the ten year old.
Everyone's dismay, the young prince clearly modelled himself after his only brother. Just like Lance had been at that age, the boy loved to play tricks, both on the royal family and the unfortunate servants that just wanted to get on with their work in peace. He swapped out sugar for salt when no one was looking, delighted in sticking random objects to the back of their mother's long skirts, leaving her to traipse around foreign company for hours, dragging her hoard of trinkets after her. A few weeks ago, he had snuck a cow into the castle and let the thing go loose, chasing after it as it crashed down the halls, the young boy screaming, "The world shall fall before the might of Kalternecker!" and waving his arms erratically above his head.
Lance had no idea where he even got a cow from.
Mischief was set deep into his eyes, his cheek markings burning a furious blue several shades darker than Lance's own. He served as a warning of what Lance would have been like without Allura to reign him in. Lance sighed at the loss of the chaos he could have wrought, had he not been kept beneath his twin's disapproving gaze.
She sat to Lance's right, the crown princess of Altea keeping her chin high and her eyes attentive. She paid attention to each word uttered, studied each exchange between her father and the Alteans that came to beg favours from the palace. She memorised each word from their father's mouth, nodding with satisfaction if she came to the same course of action as their father, scowling if their opinions differed. Lance didn't know if she scowled because she was disappointed that she hadn't gotten the same answer, or if she didn't agree with their father's decision.
Alfor could be harsh. A starving farmer could stumble in, having travelled for days, seeking aid from the capital to feed his family like he had fed the palace for many years. And Alfor would raise an unimpressed eyebrow, belittling the man for his lack of forward planning. The king would scoff, and wave him out of the room without uttering another word.
The king did not believe in charity.
People would come begging with screaming infants in their arms, the dead of winter bringing disease and weakness on its chilling winds. "They can't breathe," The parents would implore. "They won't stop shivering." "They won't eat." "They won't sleep." "Please." "Please."
"Please!"
"Do something." "Anything." "We humbly ask…" "We request…" "We beg…"
Lance would often zone out for hours on end when he was forced to attend the meetings with the people: the decisions were up to his father, and one day that responsibility would pass to Allura. When that day came, Lance would still be sitting here, looking on with a blank gaze and attempting to look as though he were interested: forced to attend, but not allowed to express an opinion. On normal days, he could listen to one or two Alteans plead their case, but by now he had heard all the sob stories. Of the hunger, the thirst, the cold and the snow, the searing heat, the beasts that stalked in the dead of night, the robbers with their knives, the fathers who left their family for a better life, the mothers who abandoned infants on doorsteps and fled into the darkness, cries echoing after them, begging them to come back.
He had heard it all, and eventually he stopped trying to care. It was too much.
He knew, his father had warned them, that many of these people seeking aid were liars. Filthy liars coming begging to the royals because it's easier than doing the work they're supposed to. Leaching from the people who already did so much to protect them. There was always an abundance of food on the table in front of Lance, the wood straining under platters of roasted meats and steaming vegetables. The royals were a reflection of the people: the royals weren't hungry, so how could the people be?
Lance learned to filter it out: he didn't know how Alfor sifted through the liars and those in genuine need of help, and he didn't care. It didn't matter if he knew they were lying: their words tugged at his chest, ripping empathy from him whether he wished to give it or not. He couldn't take it, their manipulating words in his rib cage slashing and slashing at his insides. It was easier not to listen, not to engage. They couldn't hurt him with their lies that way. It was his only defence against their pitiful words.
Allura would try and discuss decisions she didn't agree with or understand, and Alfor's face would grow red at his decision being drawn into question. "How will you ever be a queen," he would ask with a scalding tone, "if you cannot see the deceit before you? You can't trust these people, Allura. Altea prospers because of us, and yet they fall before us and beg for more, always more. Their greed threatens to consume our country: we have to protect them from themselves." Allura's eyes would flicker to the ground at that, mouth pressed in a firm line. Lance would try to reason with her later, try and make her feel better. "If we spend all our time helping those who don't need it, the people who truly do will be left without. We have to be frugal, to make sure we can help those who deserve it."
She would scowl at him, losing her royal composure in his presence. "They can't all be liars."
"And they can't all be trusted."
But when the time came, Lance knew he would leave Allura to her decisions when dealing with the people. He had no business in dealing with them, and that was how he liked it.
He couldn't thank God enough for Allura having been born an hour before him. They would joke about how she must have bullied and muscled him out of the way to be born the eldest of the two, and how he was relieved to finally be on his own, taking his sweet time before emerging to grace the world with his presence several hours later. Sometimes, he wondered if Allura couldn't wait to become a princess and rushed ahead, or if he had simply shrunk back and let her go, too scared to make the first move. Or, with the task of crown prince looming before him, if he pushed Allura forwards as a shield from the responsibility.
Whatever: either way, it was a blessing Allura was born first. He would have been a terrible crown prince, and an even worse King.
A sharp elbow dug into his ribs and his eyes snapped open with the shock of pain, his back snapping to attention. He hadn't even noticed his eyes closing, but his head was swimming with exhaustion, the memory of his late night escapades coming back to him in a flash that tried to convince him to regret his choices.
He cast Allura a side eye, his sister having already regained composure after viciously attacking her brother. He hmphed quietly, trying to draw her attention to shoot her a guilt-inducing glare. She pointedly ignored him, seemingly enthralled in the 'blind' street urchin before their father begging for mercy after being caught pickpocketing nobles in the square. Alfor looked less than impressed in the dirt encrusted creature pleading on their knees in front of him.
Lance cleared his throat quietly, fishing for an apology. His side was aching: she could have cracked a rib! Or at least, bruised the soft skin there. God, she could have killed him!
She was infuriating! Not one muscle on her face twitched in response. He was growing irritated: she knew how much he detested being ignored! He cast a quick glance to his parents, but his mother was busy whispering into Alfor's ear, the two enraptured in the plea for mercy before them. Now was his chance.
He struck with the speed and accuracy of a viper, elbow flying towards its intended target, Allura's ribs relaxed in the face of their unwitting destruction. His elbow sliced through the space between them, a deadly weapon, seeking revenge for the unfair treatment of its master. He would show her, teach her of his wrath, how dare she-
Mere centimetres from his target, she retaliated. Her hand blurred through the air, clamping around his elbow like the jaws of a mongoose around the viper's throat. Her fingers dug in, and she twisted. Lance writhed in his chair, letting out an unsanctioned yelp that he couldn't control, almost toppling off of his seat.
The entire court turned to stare at him. Of course, Allura had already righted herself and looked the picture of innocence as she stared at him with eyes filled with fake concern. He, on the other hand, was balancing precariously on the edge of his chair, arms thrown out in a bid to keep seated, and could feel Pidge's hand on his back as she had tried to keep him from falling on top of her. His face instantly grew hot and red and he quickly returned to his seat, eyes cast to the ground, refusing to meet anyone's eyes as he willed the plush carpet below him to wrap its fibres around his legs and pull him down and away from the suffocating atmosphere of the court.
Alfor cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention back to him. Lance didn't see the look of distain his father cast him, or the brief flash of guilt that passed over Allura's features. His whole body locked up, chest constricting in the fear of breathing too loudly. His head buzzed, and it took a long time for the pounding heartbeat in his ears to calm down.
When would this end?
Lance knew the day would soon come to a close, but the knowledge didn't calm his aching back, nor keep his eyelids from trying to flutter closed. He fought as best he could, not wanting to give Allura another opportunity for a sneak attack. But the events of last night had truly caught up to him, the cost of watching the sky dance evident in the fatigue that had spent the day creeping through his body and trying to shut him down, one muscle at a time.
He stifled a yawn beneath a fake cough, trying not to draw attention to how quickly he could feel himself fading.
"Idiot," he heard muttered with exasperation to his side.
His eyes narrowed at Allura: she could have been a statue, not a hair out of place, skirts cast gracefully about her form, hands folded on her lap. He thought for a moment he had imagined the comment, exhaustion playing games with him. That is, until her eyes briefly flickered to him before returning quickly to the court.
"Excuse me?" Lance hissed, copying her stoic form and whispering through tense lips. They had practised this way of secret conversations their whole lives: if you kept your voice low enough, and body still enough, Alfor couldn't tell the difference from across the court. The trick was not to get drawn into any baiting and end up having an outburst. A problem Lance encountered regularly.
"If father sees you yawning like that, he'll be furious."
Lance decided to say nothing to that: it wasn't like she had provided information he didn't already know.
"What were you doing last night?" She asked, as though her curiosity had finally gotten the better of her.
"What do people do, in the dead of night I wonder?"
"Certainly not go wandering around the castle."
"Certainly not." His cheek twitched in frustration.
"So what were you doing?"
Lance could tell Pidge was listening into their conversation, her form having frozen up at the topic. There had been plenty of instances growing up where she had thrown Lance to the wolves to protect herself. But Lance knew the chance to see those lights again was at stake: there was no way he could let Allura get any information out of him if he wanted to venture out to the roof again.
"Enjoying my stay in my blacked out room. How did you sleep?" He asked innocently.
"Great," She muttered. "Until I heard someone failing to sneak back into their room early this morning."
"How strange."
"Indeed."
"Maybe they had to get up to use the bathroom?"
"Sounds possible, especially when all our rooms are equipped with personal en suites."
"Or wanted a midnight snack? That's not a crime."
"I suppose you're right. Strange though, how something so innocent would warrant someone to pretend they were sleeping when their dear, sweet sister came to check on them."
The hair at Lance's neck prickled: he should have known better than to hope and have her fooled. The two had shared a room for the better part of their lives, Lance's distrust of the dark making it difficult to separate the pair. Allura knew better than anyone when Lance was truly asleep: she had had enough practise at telling the two apart.
His sister was like a dog with a bone: her interest was piqued, she wasn't going to stop until he gave her an answer.
So he would give her what she wanted: not the truth, but something she was used to hearing from him.
"There was a party."
She rolled her eyes, stifling a sigh. "I should have known."
Lance felt his mouth smirk at how easily she believed him: Allura may be smarter than him, but her major downfall was how she underestimated him. She couldn't consider he was lying because this was a story she had pried out of him countless times, why should this time around be any different?
"Where?"
"As if I would tell you."
"Who?"
"Does it matter?"
The pair sat in silence for a minute, and Lance thought their conversation was over. He longed for the days where he and Allura could just be friends. They had always been there for one another, until they started having responsibility piled on them. Lance had shied away from it as best he could, rejecting his unwanted role as prince. He sat silently at political meetings, mouth firmly kept shut. At palace balls he kept as far from dignified company as he could, choosing instead to indulge in his taste for wine and flirt with whatever pretty thing caught his eye. The Altean prince's silver tongue was famous, and girls and boys alike would keep him in their line of sight as he would make his way through the crowd, searching for a glint of mischief amongst the horde that merely wanted to spend time with him so they could tell their friends about it.
Allura, on the other hand, was a natural.
As the title of crown princess went to her head, the distance between the twins grew. They got separate rooms, ended up at opposite end of the hall during balls - Lance would be sent to Shiro to train in defence and weaponry as was befitting of a young man, and Allura would spend hours upon hours in the library, devouring every page of writing she could get her hands on. The captain of the guard did not deal with Lance lightly, training him alongside his soldier and guards, expecting no less from the Prince of Altea. People would come to view his progress, whispering mockingly behind hands as he was continuously cast into the mud by those better equipped than him, further spreading the rumours of the useless Altean prince, hoping for peace to continue lest they had to consider sending him to fail them in battle. He would wish for the freedom to spend his time alone like Allura did, but he wasn't trusted to be left to his own devices.
They quickly became different people, with very different priorities. Allura was a princess, first and foremost. While Lance just wanted to be his own person, and refused to abandon everything about himself that didn't fit into the mould of a prince.
He missed his sister. Missed when she could be convinced to cause mischief with him. Missed when she didn't watch over him like a second mother, scolding him for his misgivings.
Allura's response came quick and quiet, and Lance almost missed it in the silence that had developed between the pair. "I miss you." It was said tentatively, the sweet sentiment unexpected, yet playing so close to Lance's own thoughts that it unnerved him how well she could read him.
"It has been a while," He said carefully, wondering what caused her to drop her princess façade with him so suddenly.
When did he start treating her with such suspicion? He had no idea when he had started to keep her at arm's length, treating one another like strangers.
"My room, tonight?"
He snorted quietly, "Are you going to berate me some more for my un-princely manner?"
He didn't miss the flash of hurt that twisted her features before she could catch it. Guilt twisted in his gut "Actually, I was thinking chocolate. And face masks."
Damn.
Damn.
She knew she had him. She knew how to work her way to his core and manipulate him into doing whatever she wanted, knew exactly how to exploit his weakness.
If he was ever in need of a decent face mask, today was the day. He had missed his routine last night, too distracted by the night's plans. Not to mention those bags that he swore he could feel swelling beneath his eyes. If he didn't do something soon, he feared his delicate skin would start breaking out.
Allura had turned her back on her cleansing gifts long ago: she had a recipe for every skin ailment, had been there through every awkward stage of Lance's early teenage years where his skin was at war with him. It had been so long since they had spent an evening of pampering together. She knew he couldn't say no.
So he didn't.
"Don't forget the cucumber," He warned, and she smiled.
The pair returned to silence, and Lance had to admit he was looking forward to spending time with his sister.
Alfor dismissed the blubbering Altean before him with an exasperated wave. Lance had missed the outcome of their visit, but it didn't look like it had gone well. "I grow weary," Alfor announced to no one in particular, yet the whole room snapped to attention at the sound of his voice. "That will be all for today." Across the room, chairs scrapped the floors as the court simultaneously stood. Lance pushed to stand in a fluid motion, his stiff back cracking as he did so. He made a mental note that when Allura was queen, he would convince her to start including tea breaks into the day's proceedings.
He stood impatiently: no one could leave until the king and queen had made their exit, and Alfor was taking his sweet time. Lance's muscles screamed at him for a good stretch, and still he had to deny them.
When he got back to his room, he would call for a bath. Yes, that should wake him up, and hopefully get his body back in working order. He would exfoliate and make sure his skin was ready for whatever Allura would cook up for them. He could almost feel the warm water against his body, his skin itching to submerge itself and stay hidden beneath the surface until he felt more like himself.
He was lost to the world, so transfixed by the bath steaming in his mind's eye that he didn't notice the scuffle at the door, or the sound of bodies being thrown back against a wall. He didn't notice the cloaked figure enter the room to a chorus of gasps from the crowd, nobles hastily stepping out of the way as they approached, their face hidden from view beneath a large hood, pale white hair hanging long and straggly, swaying with their gait. He didn't even notice how Alfor's face changed from anger to fear, and back again, as though at a loss of which emotion to feel. He stood frozen in front of his throne, simply staring as the person stepped closer and closer.
The figure loudly stamped their foot on the floor, and Lance's attention was caught just as every Balmeran crystal in the room exploded in a shower of deadly shards. The descending blackness was instant, not even leaving a trace of the comforting blue glow in its wake. There were screams, sounds of panic, as nobles tried to run, flee to the edges of the room, trying to avoid the fragments raining down from what was once the chandelier.
Lance hissed as he felt crystal cut at his cheek. He blindly reached out for his siblings, for anyone, drawing them close in an attempt to protect them. Pidge and Veronica huddled into his chest, clinging to his shirt. The room was in darkness, in chaos as the volume of the crowd grew in their panic. Lance heard his voice join theirs, calling for Allura, for Alexei. The shower of glass had calmed, crystal tinkling and crunching beneath panicked feet.
"Alexei!" Lance called, feeling hysteria claw in his chest. There was nothing but darkness, wrapping tight around him and trying to pull him from his senses. "Alexei!" He shouted again, hearing his voice quiver despite himself. "Allura!"
A hand pressed to his back, firmly gripping his shirt. "I'm here. I'm okay," Allura's voice came from his side.
Three out of four. Where had the youngest royal gone? Lance felt frozen for a second, unsure of how to start looking for his brother in the blinding, constricting dark.
He bit into his lip, feeling blood beginning to run from the cut on his cheek. "Stay with Pidge and Veronica," He told Allura, passing the two younger sisters in her direction. He felt her hands flutter against his arm, blindly reaching to keep him from leaving.
"But-"
"Stay here!" He ordered with authority he didn't know he possessed. He stumbled forwards, feeling his way forward, desperately whispering his brother's name. The darkness clawed at his throat: they were trapped in the hall with someone who was at best psychotic and at worst homicidal, and he couldn't see a fucking thing, couldn't hear anything over the shouts of panic, and his little brother had disappeared directly into the chaos.
The tightness was returning to his chest, his ears buzzing loudly. He couldn't think, he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe-
From the centre of the room a flickering purple light was beginning to glow, so softly at first that Lance thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. The pulsing light grew, strong enough to light the hand that clasped it, the hooked fingers and clawed nails of the hooded figure. The crystal, small enough to be held in a mere palm, glowed with enough force to rival that of the chandelier. The single crystal illuminated half of the hall in its pulsing purple light, the colour causing a lump to form in Lance's throat. The colour made him uneasy: it was almost as suffocating as the darkness had been. The light struck fear into him, and unconsciously halted his progress of searching for Alexei.
He could see his father again, shielding his mother with his body. Alfor's features had settled on anger, and his gaze bore through the daunting figure before him.
"Who are you?" The king's commanding voice rang out, seemingly unafraid of the hooded stranger.
A hollow cackle rang out from beneath the hood, the voice hoarse and cracking. "My dear king, do you not recognise me?"
The voice was oddly familiar to Lance, and he finally paid his full attention to the cloaked figure. Using her free hand, she pulled at the hood, the cloth coming away and falling back around her shoulders. Lance swallowed uneasily.
She was Altean.
But, she was not.
Alfor's eyes narrowed, and he sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. "Haggar," He said with distain.
Recognition struck Lance, remembering a night from years before filled with the sound of swords clashing and the cold curl of dread in his stomach.
The king's old confidante had changed in the last few years.
Her once brown hair had gone a stark white, parodying that of the royal family's. It hung around her face and shoulders limply, looking as though it belonged to a corpse. It was hard to tell in the coloured light, but Lance could swear there was something wrong with her skin. It looked…purple. He blinked furiously, trying to tell in the difficult lighting.
Her eyes glowed the cautious yellow of a warning. Her pupils, her irises, were non-existent, glaring up at Alfor through their glowing haze. The pulsing light caught on the sharp edges of her face, accenting the shadows and ridges of her weathered features. There were black shapes below her eyes, akin to the glowing marks reserved for those of royal blood. But from what Lance remembered, the woman was of common blood. Her cheeks had been unadorned like the rest of the nation.
Something dark was running down her cheek. Lance squinted, unsure what he was seeing. It looked like…
Like…
Like blood.
It struck Lance that these new marks were manmade. They had been carved into the skin, forced to embellish what was never meant to be, tracks of red blood running from them like tears. The blood hung from her jaw for a second, before the drops fell and fell to the ground like rain. Lance's skin crawled at the self-mutilation, the air of madness that surrounded the woman.
The woman had once been Alfor's right hand, lending him aid in anything he required. The family had trusted her whole heartedly: she was always the first to be presented with problems that needed to be solved. They trusted her opinion wholeheartedly.
They shouldn't have.
Haggar was power mad, and hungry. And that made her dangerous.
She wanted the power of the royals, wanted to hold Altea in the palm of her hand. She was a fraud, whispering lies into Alfor's ears, trying to turn him against those he trusted most. She fed lies of Lance's mother's infidelity, roping Shiro into the scenario. How the king's closest nobles were planning his downfall. How his children planned to poison him to take the throne out from under him.
She fed him these lies and filled his mind with dark magic, her unholy powers ensnaring the king's senses and forcing him to see her truth. One night, Alfor had called his family to the hall, let them be thrown to the ground before his throne. Alexei was only five years old, crying in Allura's arms as she held him close. Lance remembered the feel of the cold marble floor beneath his hands, unable to focus on anything other than Alfor, standing above the five of them, wielding his sword and weighing them up in his eyes as though they were ants that required crushing beneath his boot.
They heard Haggar's whispers wrapping around them, how the children were traitors. That he should kill them before they could do the same to him. Lance remembered a weak whimper escaping his lips. He remembered the way his stomach seemed to fall from his body as he was zeroed in Alfor's merciless gaze, and the sword was pointed towards him.
He froze. He had no idea what to do - had never been in a fight in his life. And here was his trusted father, trained in the arts of war, levelling a sword at his chest. And the poor boy simply shook with fear, unable to move from the floor.
He had Shiro to thank for saving his life that day.
The disgraced captain of the guard had somehow escaped the castle prison, convinced that Haggar was at the root of all this trouble. He burst into the room, running at Alfor before the king could raise his sword at Lance. The sound of metal clashing rang out and Lance fell backwards as Shiro pushed him out of the way to strike at the king. Shiro was a mere foot soldier back then, a nameless face amongst the palace guard, but his skills rivalled those of the king.
Alfor easily defended, moving on instinct, eyes wide with madness. The witch stood on the fringes of the fight, her whispers growing louder and louder with each strike Shiro made. Lance could see his father weakening against the younger man, the constant whispering confusing him. They could see the fog lift briefly from his eyes as he stumbled backwards, staring at his sword as though it had a mind of its own. Shiro continued relentlessly, not giving Alfor a second to recover.
The witch was hissing now, backing away from the two men. She was losing her grip on the king, the situation slipping away between her clenched fingers. Shiro lunged and managed to trip Alfor, the king falling onto his back and having his sword kicked away from his outstretched hand.
Lance would never forget what happened next.
As he lay on the ground, frozen in fear, unable to think or breath, he watched as Allura set Alexei down and stood, facing the witch. He watched, horrified, as Allura ran at the witch and tackled her to the ground, trying her best to subdue her.
He lay on the ground, trembling, and watched as his sister managed to beat the witch back. He heard how the witch yelled as her grasp on the king finally broke, the addition of the thirteen year old girl too much of a distraction. Allura screamed as she swiped at the woman's face, and Lance watched as Alfor came back to himself, blinking slowly as if trying to shake off the grip of a bad dream. Shiro helped him stand, and from there the two descended on the witch, Alfor dragging Allura back behind him.
In the face of drawn swords and murderous looks, the witch laughed. Alfor swung the final blow, but before his sword could descend Haggar's body was suddenly surrounded by a whirlwind of air, pulling at her long dark hair, her flowing dress. She continued to cackle as the force pushed Alfor and Shiro back, cackled as the wind seemed to rip her apart. She began to disappear before their very eyes, the echo of her laugh the only sign that she had ever been in the hall at all.
"How dare you return to the palace!" Alfor's furious voice brought Lance back to the present.
"But sire, I am but your loyal confidante." Her voice rasped painfully on each word, as though she wasn't used to speaking.
"You are a traitor," Alfor spat. His hand went to the sword at his waist that he mainly kept for ceremony. "Get out!"
"Psst, Lance!" A voice hissed behind him.
Lance spun round fast enough to make his head spin, and spied Alexei hiding beneath a table, using the table cloth to shield himself. Lance sighed shakily: the kid clearly had a more level head for dealing with dangerous situations than Lance did. He crawled down beside him, trying to keep Alexei behind him.
"You dare attempt to banish me?" Haggar hissed. "You, this kingdom, is nothing without me."
The purple crystal's light began to grow, turning too bright to look at directly. Lance shielded Alexei's eyes, trying to keep the witch in his line of sight. The hall began to rumble around them, glasses on the tables shuddering and clattering to the ground. Lance and Alexei shrank back, avoiding the onslaught of falling glassware.
"And I will return you to nothing."
The rumbling intensified, and Haggar raised her voice to shout. "I promise that within the next seven days, King Alfor and his family will die.
"I will wipe their poisonous line from existence like the scourge that they are! None shall be left standing, and Altea will finally be free!" By the end of the speech, Haggar was screaming, the room starting to fall apart from the violent shaking. She tightened her grasp on the purple crystal, shattering it in her hand.
The room filled with a blinding purple light as the architecture reached its limit. Lance dragged Alexei further beneath the table, sheltering him with his body as it sounded like the hall was coming down on top of them. Pieces of the ceiling rained down with a thunderous sound, and Lance prayed the table was strong enough to fend off their attack. He prayed that Allura and Pidge and Veronica were okay. And he prayed that the world would right itself again soon.
"Are we going to die?" Alexei whispered in his arms, barely audible over the sound of the world falling apart beyond the table.
Lance didn't know if the boy meant right this very moment, or from the witch's threat. Either way he didn't feel like answering, and instead held Alexei fiercely to his chest as though his arms could keep the world away.
In the coming weeks, he would learn that there was nothing he could do to help his family. Their world was going to end, whether he liked it or not.
When the dust had settled, the witch was gone. Nobles stumbled around fallen debris, shaking with panic, at a loss over what they were supposed to do. Guards rushed in and froze, taking in the scene before them. They too looked lost, unsure of how to find order amidst the chaos before them.
Lance and Alexei stayed beneath the table until Alfor was heard, barking orders, demanding search parties to hunt the witch down and the need to train more guards, boost their forces. The royal family could not be made an example of this way!
"Come on, kiddo," Lance said encouragingly, leading them both out from their hiding place. Alexei clung fiercely to his hand, afraid to lose his grip. Lance's fingers curled just as tightly, scared to lose sight of the ten year old again. His brother had tears in his eyes, but he sniffed defiantly as they emerged, refusing to cry amongst such esteemed company.
Lance couldn't blame him: he too felt shaken to his core, shocked at the turn of events that had occurred on what had started as such a normal day. Thoughts of sitting helpless before his father's drawn sword played unwanted in his mind: she had tried to kill them once, and was gearing up for another go at it. It was mere chance that Shiro had escaped and saved him last time: Lance worried he wouldn't be so lucky again.
Alfor cast him a disapproving look as he emerged with Alexei. As though Lance should have been the one to take charge. He was the eldest brother: he wasn't next in line for the throne. He was expendable, replaceable, and he should have done something.
One look sent Lance's mind down this path of doubt. He had hidden beneath a table, for Christ's sake, while his entire family was threatened. Alfor's look quickly flickered away to more important matters, and shame burned deep within Lance.
Allura was fine: his sisters had been lucky, somehow avoiding being hit by falling debris as they had cowered together. Their faces were coated with powder from the crumbling walls, their hair plastered with the stuff and making their silver colour grey and lifeless. Tears had cut through the dust on Veronica's cheeks, and Pidge's face was set in a hard mask of fear. Lance pulled them to him quickly, thankful that they were okay. He peered at Allura over their heads, and waved her over to join them. Alexei clung to his legs, and the five siblings embraced, glad to be with one another. Their family, their lives, had been threatened, and that fear was sitting atop them all with an iron weight, pressing its anxiety down their throats and into their chests.
"We better still be on for face masks," Lance muttered in Allura's ear, and she surprised him by managing a terse chuckle.
"You bet," She said, struggling to control the wobble in her voice. "All this stress is going to make me break out."
Lance had never loved her more. He felt his arms tighten around his family, and stayed that way for as long as he could.