Hi all! Guest, 4nn4, if you're out there, this is the story about Lloyd you requested! Sorry it took so long; once I figured out how to make it work, it suddenly took root and bloomed until it became a two-shot. Hope it doesn't disappoint! I wanted to focus a little more on the before and after of Lloyd's capture, since we know how the actual scene goes in Episode 30. ^_^''
Oh, and I seriously hope I'm spelling the birds' names right. What in the world are they? Rafters? Raptures? Raftures? I went with Raftures, but let me know if that's wrong. The birds just begged to be mentioned, though. I mean, why was the Rafture father guarding the nest? In almost all bird species, either both parents or only the mother take care of the young. So then I said, "Aha! Metaphor!"
And then this happened.
Disclaimer: I don't own Ninjago!
Hiroshi's Labyrinth was not a fun place. Not by any possible interpretation of the word. There were masses of ferns on the ground, but that was the least of it. In terms of safety, you would be much better served to look out for the matted tangles of long, slimy vines covered with thorns, or the random marshy bits that sucked at your feet and sent you sprawling if you weren't careful, or the half-foot mosquitos. No joke; Garmadon had snatched a buzzing insect from midair, very ceremoniously pulled out a pocket ruler, and measured a seven-inch wingspan.
Besides the ground hazards, the air was thick, hot, and humid, reluctant even to seep into your lungs. Moisture dripped from the trees overhead, catching you between the shoulderblades or in the eye when you least expected it—like a more diffuse version of Chinese water torture. The conditions were enough to make anyone a little grumpy.
Lloyd, disentangling his foot from a vine that seemed bent on live prey, found himself biting back an annoyed sigh.
"How anyone got through this jungle is beyond me."
"Hiroshi's Labyrinth," said Garmadon reflectively (and somewhat redundantly). "Legend has it no one has escaped its deadly maze, except for Hiroshi himself. But the maze is no match for your powers—this is the perfect place to hide from the Overlord's clutches."
"Hide," grumbled Lloyd, punching aside a fern branch. "That's all I ever seem to do!"
Garmadon gave him a warning look.
"Your golden power only strengthens his cause. We must not lose sight—"
"But I miss my friends. What good is being all-powerful if I can't have any fun?" protested Lloyd, realizing subconsciously that he sounded pretty whiny, but too fed up to care.
Now it was Garmadon's turn to sigh wearily. He could've sworn they'd had this talk before . . .
"Lloyd, the golden power needs to be protected, honored. Evil forces will seek it, try to take it for their own. It seduces! Even your friends may one day covet it."
"My friends would never hurt me," retorted Lloyd, miffed. He trusted his fellow-ninjas with his life, he was not about to mistrust them with his abilities.
"He who holds the power has a tremendous obligation," replied Garmadon sternly. "You must be prepared to handle this journey alone." His tone softened. "Even without me, one day."
"Yeah," said Lloyd, looking away to hide his falling face. "I know."
"Keep your chin up, son," said Garmadon more gently, putting a hand on Lloyd's shoulder. "Legend also states, there is a jewel inside the maze—the most beautiful oasis that no one has ever seen before. Perhaps we will be the first."
Lloyd shook his head disbelievingly as his father turned and continued onwards.
"And that's supposed to be compensation? I don't like this trade."
Garmadon chuckled drily and kept going. Lloyd followed after him, forcing a pained smile. Truth be told, it was hard to imagine—being all alone again someday. Somehow he had the feeling it would be even worse than his time alone as a little kid—now he'd tasted what it was like to have friends and a family, and losing that again would hurt even more.
"How do I know I'll be ready?" he asked suddenly. Garmadon raised an eyebrow.
"When I'm alone, I mean," clarified Lloyd, twiddling a fern frond awkwardly. "What if I can't do it?"
Garmadon was silent for a moment, pushing ahead through the thick ground cover. Lloyd was starting to think he wasn't going to answer, but eventually he spoke.
"You remember that Rafture youngling?"
Lloyd chuckled sheepishly. How could he not? He'd nearly gotten them both killed trying to save the young bird from falling out of its cliffside nest, and in the end it turned out it could fly just fine. Little feathery troll.
"That little bird didn't seem like he could fly, did he?" continued Garmadon. Lloyd shook his head.
"Nah, I thought for sure he'd never be able to stay up."
"But then he fell, and it turned out he really could fly after all. That's how it often is, growing up—one day you just get tossed out into the void, and you suddenly find you can fly better than you ever imagined."
"You think?" said Lloyd, venturing a smile.
"I can't guarantee it, son. But I think you'll do fine—and it is a long way into the future, you know. Focus on today." He smirked slightly. "But do try to grow up with a better temper than that Rafture father."
Lloyd laughed in spite of himself.
It had all happened so—so—fast. No warning. No head start. No "ready or not, here we come." One minute Garmadon and Lloyd had just stepped into the legendary oasis of Hiroshi's Labyrinth—ten minutes later, Lloyd was bound tightly on the back of the Mech Dragon, his powers disabled, and his father was—
No. Nonono, don't go there. Don't think that. He couldn't afford to let his captors see any weakness. Bad enough that he had almost cried once, when he saw his father fall from the Mech Dragon and hit the water; he couldn't let them think he was so easy to break. It had happened too suddenly, it had caught him in the gut before he could brace for it, ripped away all his defenses. But he had to be strong now, had to swallow until the tightness in his throat and the stinging in his eyes melted away.
Best to keep busy. Best to plan how to get out of this mess.
He wiggled against his bonds briefly, but soon gave up. Whatever this little robotic serpent was, its hold was irreversibly tight. Even when he attempted to relax his body and slip out of its coils the way the other ninja had taught him, it did no good—the robot's long segmented body merely tightened to keep his arms firmly pinned to his sides. Where did Pythor get this kind of technology?
Pythor. Lloyd cast him a despising look. He could not believe that he had once called this monster of a snake his friend. It didn't even last a full two days, true, but he had still in his childish stupidity mistaken the Anacondrai for someone he could trust. Now here was the scourge of Ninjago, about to bring down raging doom in the form of the Overlord, and Lloyd could thank himself for releasing that snake in the first place. Friends? No.
So then, where to get allies . . . Lloyd ran through the list chronologically. Sensei Wu? Nope. He was standing right behind Lloyd now, half-man half-metal, surveying the ocean below with a cold, blank eye. His brain had been completely taken over by the Overlord's tech—it was him who had pushed Garmadon down to his—
Nonono. Change the subject. But no, Sensei Wu was no longer an ally . . .
The other ninja, and Nya? His only source of communication with them was the falcon, and the falcon was perched on Pythor's shoulder right now. Lloyd eyed it, feeling slightly sick; he couldn't believe Zane's faithful avian companion had been corrupted too, so easily. Ten to one the falcon had played some role in giving away Lloyd's location to the enemy.
So, no way to contact his friends. Misako? Back at the monastery . . . no way to contact her either. And his dad? Dead.
Oh, so now he'd gotten around to that thought. He gulped and pushed it away hastily, trying to treat it as just another fact of the matter, scrabbling for anyone else he could reach. There was nobody. Everyone he knew was either out of contact range or now an enemy. So that meant . . . Lloyd's mouth went dry. He was entirely on his own now.
For a second he almost panicked. Then he realized there was absolutely no space for panicking in this kind of situation, and drew in his breath slowly. Steady, steady. So the time had come a little early—he was out in the void already, and he would have to fly on his own now. That or die, and leave Ninjago to its doom. Not an option.
Pythor's thoughts seemed to be following a similar course.
"You're very quiet," he remarked hoarsely, with a twistedly pleasant smile. "Something the matter, old chum?"
Lloyd merely glanced at him dismissively, acting as if he had better things on his mind.
"Oh, come now. No need to be so cold," rasped Pythor, and gave a hacking chuckle. "Don't tell me you've forgotten the good old days? After all, you are among friends now."
Lloyd bit his tongue. He would not give this psychopath the satisfaction of an answer.
"Oh, but of course, I forgot," continued Pythor, stroking the falcon's head off-handedly. "I suppose you must still be in shock after the . . . tragic loss of your father. My deepest condolences. Unfortunately—wisely, but unfortunately—the Overlord has a policy of no collaterals left alive. You never know when they'll circle back to bite you."
Lloyd continued to stare firmly at the setting sun, feeling the glaring red semicircle burning into the backs of his eyes, leaving a glowing green afterimage every time he blinked.
"Chin up, friend," Pythor rasped, shrugging. "You can comfort yourself with the knowledge it was not your fault, at least."
Lloyd bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood; it was all he could do not to lash out. He knew what Pythor was implying. It was his fault. His fault, for not listening. His fault, for hesitating one time too many. His fault, for still depending too much on his father's guidance, letting him be used as a pawn to control him.
But there was nothing he could do about that now. All he could do was try to make up for it. Now was the time to be an adult, not the bratty little kid you could bait into losing his temper.
Pythor surveyed the youngster's proud, emotionless expression for a moment.
"You have grown even more than I expected," he remarked, raising an eyebrow. "I do hope that very admirable maturity remains in place once we begin the draining procedure. It suits you."
Lloyd gave a cross between a snort and a sigh. Sometimes having clamps for hands had its limitations.
Contrary to popular belief, Garmadon was not dead. That said, though, his "alive" could definitely use some work. The adrenaline that had brought him to the ocean's surface and numbed his sense of pain was starting to subside, his entire right side was beginning to cry out with every move he made, and he was still nowhere near any cliff low enough for him to pull himself out of the water. He wasn't sure how much farther he could swim.
Eventually he came across a section of cliff that, while still quite high, had convenient ledges and boulders forming an extremely rough ladder to the top. He would have to gamble on this one. Swimming over, he grabbed the lowest rock and attempted to pull himself up out of the water.
It hurt. He may not be fully dead, but one does not simply fall fifty feet, hit the water sideways, and walk off unscathed. He had definitely splintered a few ribs back there, and if none of his internal organs were rearranged it was a sheer miracle. Something seemed to be wrong with his right wrist, too. Still, still—not bad, after a fall that had been intended to kill him.
Gritting his teeth, Garmadon continued to haul himself up slowly, calculating each move before making it. At last, with one final grip and lift, he hoisted himself over the top of the cliff and collapsed on level ground, fireworks sparking across his vision. Safe; he'd made it.
After a while he rolled over and sat up ever so gingerly, taking count of his ribs. He was in no condition to walk just now, let alone travel extensively, but he would have to heal quickly if he was going to find Lloyd. Grabbing a nearby stick, he ripped a strip of fabric from his jacket and began to bind his damaged wrist. Lloyd would make it—he had faith in his son—but he still had to find him as soon as possible. He smiled bitterly; while he was at it, he had a couple of things to tell that Overlord as well. "Over the side!" was his line, thank you very much.
Suddenly a hoarse squawking sound from behind him caught his attention. Carefully he turned around and squinted through the gathering twilight. Spotting the source of the noise, he groaned under his breath—of all the creatures to meet at random out here! Angry Bird Senior and Flappy Bird Junior.
But indeed, it was the Rafture youngling and its father—most noticeably its father. The massive bird was lying with its wings spread wide on the ground, screeching feebly at its offspring. The youngling itself was nudging and pecking persistently at its father's side, chirping plaintively. Something was wrong.
Garmadon squinted harder, taking in the angle of the larger bird's wings. The left one was lying limp, quivering slightly; Garmadon's stomach tightened when he suddenly saw the arrowhead sticking up from the feathers right by the body.
So, that was what had happened. What with the Ninjago-wide power outage, some bored idiots must have decided it would be cool to do some old-fashioned bow-and-arrow hunting. Having no experience, they probably shot the bird in the wing instead of the heart, allowing it to flop painfully through the air for a while longer instead of plummeting immediately. Then they had apparently lacked the brains and/or consciences to follow the bird till it fell and put it out of its misery. Morons. Garmadon bore little to no affection for the Rafture father—it had almost killed him, after all—but leaving it to a slow, agonizing death by starvation was still cruel.
He turned away, his jaw set. It was sad, but it was the harsh reality of the world. With an arrow stuck through the base of its wing, that bird would never be able to fly again. Luckily the little one already knew how to fly; it would do fine on its own.
The insistent peeping came again, and despite his efforts not to look Garmadon still saw little Flappy Bird, still tugging at his father's neck feathers, flailing his wings determinedly as he strained to lift its father up. Ludicrous; the father bird must have been at least twenty times his size, and he wasn't going to get up any time soon. The older bird's head was now resting listlessly on the ground, eyes glazed with resignation, occasionally roving upwards to glance wearily at his panicking son. The little one didn't understand. He didn't understand why his father wouldn't get up.
He'll be fine, Garmadon told himself sternly. He'll give up and move on eventually, and he'll be fine on his own. He knows how to fly.
But he knew he was deluding himself. The youngster might have been able to fly on his own all right . . . but nobody had yet taught him how to hunt. Kind of . . . kind of like Lloyd wasn't quite ready to . . .
He snuck another glance over. Little Flappy Bird had given up by now, and was gazing at his father silently. His disproportionate beak hung open slightly, and his tiny ugly face wore an almost human expression, lost and pleading, wishing this nightmare would go away and his father would just be all right.
Garmadon groaned. He'd seen that face before . . .
But then, what to do? Approaching a full-grown Rafture with young was pure madness. Approaching an injured one in pain bordered on lunacy. Approaching a full-grown, injured Rafture, in pain, with young, to do an even more painful procedure on it, when you yourself could barely move, and when the bird no doubt remembered you as an earlier threat . . . you'd better get yourself committed.
Garmadon shut his eyes and sighed, making up his mind. Well, better hand in his sanity card.
