Disclaimers: I don't own Voltron. If I did, there'd be an awesome movie with something people tend to forget in movie adaptations of anime: a plot.

I very carefully head back into this fandom after discovering an absolute crime: this couple gets no love. I can see the movement in the K/A area (heck, I'm a K/A shipper, too) but noticed that very little fic is written about Sven and Romelle, despite the fact that their relationship is one of the most tragic and triumphant in the fandom. That said, I'm giving myself the mission to tell their story. And I don't intend for it to be pretty. I'm repeating what I said in the synopsis: the rating might go up in the future to be safe, but it will feature emotional trauma, rape, angst, and lots and lots of gritty chapters. We all know that a happy ending came, but it was getting there that was tough. People that go through what Romelle did take a long time to recover. I hope to interpret that well, yet with respect for those who have had the same (or similar) situation befall them.

Dedication: To those who have been in Romelle's shoes. There is never any shame in getting help. There is always a hero and inspiration to others on the other side.

When I woke up, I clearly remember hoping two things: one, that my body was numb enough that I would never feel pain ever again. I'd suffered enough pain in the last several months.

Two, that I would die soon since I obviously wasn't dead already. However, the more I realized I could pick up things – skittering of rats across the bones surrounding me, distant footfalls from the cliffs above, and the headache beginning to throb in my mind – the more I realized I was going to be okay. I don't think I've ever been more disappointed in my life.

What was left of it, anyway. As far as I was concerned, I was perfectly content to lie there until I was dead. In the condition Lotor left me in, it couldn't be much longer. I became morbidly curious to see what condition I was in physically, so I gently moved my limbs and fingers. I could feel smooth bone and rock, along with several other things I didn't want to identify. I slowly balled my hand into a fist and realized I couldn't do it a split second before white-hot pain shot into my arm. A soft groan pushed its way past my lips.

Something was broken or sprained. Either Lotor did it before he threw me into the Pit of Skulls, or it happened during the fall. Neither was beyond reason. I half-expected him to laugh triumphantly at the defeat of the Polluxian Empire, but I heard no such thing. He and his escort must have made their way back to Castle Doom once they left me here. Damaged goods, he had said. The last potential leader for Pollux and its defense against Doom. Bandor was left completely at Lotor's mercy, and I was helpless to do anything about it.

I felt a deep sigh leave me as more bones pressed uncomfortably into my back. Hope was the weakest thing I had anymore. Months of living in Lotor's harem and being subjected to his abuse had taken the toll he wished for. I hated myself for it. Damaged goods, indeed. No wonder I wanted to die.

Faint footfalls echoed off the steep walls of the Pit. I could tell they weren't from above, but I wondered who would still survive in a place such as this. With the amount of slaves in Zarkon's service, there was probably someone sent to make sure those that were thrown in the Pit were dead. A faint light shone beyond my closed eyes. I waited for the quiet clock of a laser, but heard nothing other than the steps coming closer. Perhaps they preferred execution style?

The footsteps came closer and closer, eventually crushing bone and shifting rock beneath it. I waited for some kind of indication that I was going to be killed when I realized that there was no way the light could come from a Doom soldier. It wasn't nearly bright enough, and I could tell they had stopped beside me. Perhaps they really were further up the walls than I thought? But that didn't explain the sounds coming from my side…

Fingers brushed the hair away from my neck and felt my pulse. I knew for sure this couldn't be a Doom soldier; having been dragged from room to room by them numerous times, I knew their hands were cold, clammy and rough with intent. The hand resting on my shoulder was gentle and warm, yet unfamiliar. I decided to be bold and slowly opened my eyes.

The headache I felt earlier suddenly throbbed painfully in my head. The light was fire, and the person beside me most certainly wasn't a Doom soldier. I had already clenched my eyes shut, but from what little I saw, the person was very much a man with a very thick beard.

Perhaps my fate was worse than death. Was this man someone who got the leftovers from Lotor's harem?

"You're badly hurt," he suddenly said. His accent was thick, and something I certainly had never heard before. He paused; it sounded like he shifted, and suddenly the light was gone.

"I must get you out of here, but I'm afraid I must set your arm." He muttered something in a different language – his own tongue, I assume – and I felt his hands gently take hold of my arm. It hurt already. I slightly groaned. I've had enough with pain. I just hoped that whatever he did was going to be quick.

"Take a deep breath," he whispered. I must have, because suddenly he gripped my arm tightly.

I can't remember if I tried to scream. It seemed like lightening shot up my arm, and I was unconscious before I knew anything else.

When I regained consciousness, I thought it strange that I was still alive. I didn't feel rested at all, and the throbbing in my head was the first thing that woke me up. For one thing, I knew I wasn't still in the Pit – I was laying flat on my back, not twisted like I was before, and I felt as though I had been taken care of. There was no sound echoing off the walls; the man that had found me earlier must have brought me to another place. Bracing myself for the unexpected, I slowly opened my eyes.

The dull grey of rock was the first thing I saw. Light was faint to my left. It hurt to move my head too much, but I could see a torch wedged between stones, the heat from the flame warming my face. That was enough for now; I tightly shut my eyes and moved my head forward, intent on falling back asleep in hopes that I would fade.

Although, my wounds didn't feel nearly as bad as they did before. Slowly and gently, I lifted the arm that had been grasped by the man… and realized it was resting on my abdomen, set in a sling. It still hurt, but it wasn't anything nearly as bad as it was before. Had he drugged me?

Footsteps echoed down the walls again, and fear suddenly wrapped me in its claws. I was completely at the mercy of whoever was soon to find me. I couldn't help the memories that flashed through my mind: an elaborate bedroom, larger than any one would find on Pollux… the horrible harem clothing I was forced to wear that covered so little and was so sheer it left little to the imagination… the feral amber eyes… the fanged smile with such sinister intent… the rough, clawed hands, brutal strength, and tongue… the name of another louder in my ears than the screams from my throat… the whispered words that held so much truth…

You're mine…

I clenched my eyes shut, willing the tears not to fall and my body to stop shaking. It couldn't be him; Lotor wouldn't go deep into the Pit to see if one was dead.

… would he?

I forced back a whimper. The footsteps were close now, and if I couldn't calm down soon, there'd be no way to hide that I was awake. I tried to take deep breaths, but the memories were still too fresh, the situation too similar… I would try and stare as defiantly as I could at this person once he found me alive. If he planned to take me, at least I had teeth to fight back with.

I opened my eyes once again and found the corridor in front of me was lit with another torch. The light barely made the person visible, but I closed my mouth and stared anyway. The tears finally fell from my eyes, but I keep them rooted to the light once that was all I could see.

For a moment he stopped. Then he started moving toward me a little quicker than before. I couldn't help it – the exhale also released a whimper. I blinked the tears away and tried to compose myself, but the realization that this wasn't Lotor was such a relief despite the fact that this man could be much, much worse…

"It's alright," came that accent. Suddenly the bearded man was in front of me, setting his torch near the one that warmed me. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

It will hurt every time. I promise you that.

My conviction of defiance melted away at the memory. I could feel every muscle quivering under the man's intense stare. I tried to back away, but it hurt so much to move. I finally managed to turn my head away from him, but the attempt was so pathetic it caused more tears to pour from my eyes.

"You have nothing to fear from me." His voice was calm, soothing, like one who spoke to a child. "I want to help you. The wounds you've suffered from the fall are bad. May I look at them?"

I had to swallow several times to get my voice. It was a miracle I could speak, but the frightened tone wasn't going to get me anywhere. "Please…" It came out on a squeak, unrecognizable to me. "Stay away from me."

There was a brief pause. I expected him to get angry, but when I tried to look at him defiantly again, he was still in the same squatted position he was before, though his eyes looked slightly… sad. Sympathetic.

I didn't want sympathy. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to die.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he whispered, which made understanding him a little harder. "I need to check on the wounds that were bleeding. Infection travels very easily around here."

"Then leave me to its mercy."

I expected him to be puzzled. If he wasn't going to hurt me, and seemed genuine in his sympathy, the most logical thought for hearing a death wish was to wonder why one wanted to die.

That's when I realized that he probably knew. And there had been nothing stopping him from hurting me already. The continued sadness in his gaze proved my suspicions wrong but I couldn't help but wonder…

"Stay away from me, you bastard." They were words that I had always wanted to say to Lotor. Now that I was no longer faced with the crown prince, I felt I was close enough to death that I could finally say what I desired for so long. If he did plan on killing me, I would at least say the words I'd always wanted to.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, shifting to his knees. "I will not allow you to die here. Not when I can help you."

I was torn between relief at his kindness and anger. How dare he think he can help me? "If you want to do that," I said bitterly. "You can kill Lotor."

For the first time, genuine hatred filled his eyes. I was momentarily startled, but it dissolved just as quickly. "Believe me," he said evenly. "If I could, he would be dead already."

And if Lotor were dead, this wouldn't have happened to me. This man was not a hero.

An understanding seemed to briefly pass between us. Our duel hatred for Lotor was common ground, but not enough for me to completely trust him. He turned to his side and lifted a small bowl, setting it between his knees. He slowly set his hands inside then lifted a white rag, sopping with water. "You need something to drink. This would be easier with a cup, but it's harder to take two things from the kitchens than it is one."

I looked greedily at the water freely flowing between his fingers and back into the bowl. As much as I wanted to believe him, I had seen drugged water one too many times to be fooled so easily. I looked back at him, but kept my mouth shut.

He seemed to understand. Taking the rag, he lifted it above his head and twisted it over his mouth. He was able to get a good mouthful, and his beard was dripping when he looked back at me. "I'll let you drink, then use the rest for cleaning your wounds." He set the rag back into the bowl and let it soak for a moment.

I hated to admit it, but I became so tired and realized how thirsty I was at the exact moment. If he were going to kill me, he was going to die, anyway. When he lifted the rag over my mouth, the cool water was unlike any refreshment I'd had in so long. I became slightly impatient; my first chance of pure water in months was an amazing feeling. Why hadn't he lifted the bowl and let me drink?

"You had quite a fall," he said suddenly, pointing absently to my neck. "You have bruises everywhere. I didn't want to take you from the Pit in case your neck was broken, but I guess that was not the case."

You will not run from me again. And if I must make you unable to run, I will.

He was grasping my neck when he said that. It had only been hours before I had been thrown into the Pit, but I guess the marks were showing already. From the look on the bearded man's face, they were probably in the shape of Lotor's hand.

Watching my face carefully, he lifted the rag from the bowl, wrung out the remaining water, and wrapped it around his hand. He moved his hand to hover just above the skin of my arm, and looked at my face. "You have wounds that need to be cleaned."

Despite his generosity, I felt anger welling in me again. He might have his suspicions of what happened to me, but that didn't give him a right to try and help me. "I want to die," I said, and the lack of hesitation in my voice was clear though I shook with a fresh set of tears.

The bearded man stared at me. "I know," he whispered. He let his hand rest over my arm and very gently started to clean a cut.

I turned away from him, too angry and tired to resist his stubbornness. "What's your name?"

He took a moment to answer, but his hand was still moving over my arm. "My name is Sven."

Sven. I had never heard the name before, but it was strangely satisfying to know it belonged to him. I closed my eyes and let the tears flow. I had nothing to lose anymore. "I hate you, Sven." I whispered quietly.

He never stopped cleaning my arm. "I know."