okay i pumped this chapter out last night while i was still riding the emotion wave of s8 i probably won't be able to keep writing until midterms are over, which is next wednesday, but until then enjoy this trash

tw: noncon


"Coran, would you take the mortal to Blue's chambers?" Black said, a strained smile on his face at how Blue was glaring at Keith. If looks could kill, Keith would be dead. And he wasn't so sure if such a thing was impossible because he's dealing with not one, or two, but four gods now, and nothing is impossible when you have four gods together.

He was jerked away from his thoughts when Coran gave him a whistle, like a dog, and his hands were pulled forward by the wrists. Keith was right about those bracelets after all; they were shackles, magical shackles that are strong enough to physically overpower him and his signature stubbornness.

His feet struggled to keep up, so Coran gave him an apologetic smile and slowed down.

They walked side by side, a silence surrounding them. Keith kept catching the old man shooting him looks with meanings that he didn't understand, and it was starting to get on his nerves.

He stared straight back at the minor god the next time their eyes met, and the latter had the decency to look embarrassed.

Coran cleared his throat. "So, I feel obligated to give you a piece of advice." As Keith eyed him skeptically, he relaxed his posture a bit to show that there shouldn't be any real danger, but it probably would be an useful thing to remember. "Lord Blue is not very…himself, right now, so…" The man turned over and grabbed Keith's shoulders, something of a paternal protectiveness burning in his eyes. "Be careful, son. And don't hesitate to come to me or the other gods; Blue might be a god too but we all bow under the mighty Black Lion."

Keith stared at the minor god; it's been so long since he had someone looking out for him. And having an adult in his corner was…nice, the warmth spreading from his chest to his stomach and left him with a burning desire to embrace this old man, this immortal, who found it in himself to take care of someone like him, not only insignificant but now a slave.

So he did. Carefully, wary of stepping over some kind of invisible boundaries but filled with determination anyway, Keith wrapped Coran in his arms, and the latter let out a surprised laugh but only hesitated for a split second before hugging him back.

It's been so long, Keith thought, burying his face into the other's shoulder and allowing himself a moment of weakness. But they were still out in the open and his instincts screamed at him to not be vulnerable. So he let go.

Coran was looking at him with something unreadable on his face. He had half a mind to ask, but the minor god smiled. "You remind me of someone," he said, continue walking towards Blue's chambers, "Someone I haven't seen in a very, very long time."

Time? Does it even pass the same way for immortals? They had infinite time; like a desert in their hourglass, so why do they even bother?

He must have been scowling because Coran's face softened, and with a final pat at his back, ushered him into the room behind those terrifyingly blue doors.

The first thing he registered was the lights.

This guy somehow managed to have the ceiling made out of glass, like a skylight, but made it look like they were at the bottom of the ocean. Keith craned his neck as he watched the sparkling sapphire waves on top of him, swarming with schools of fish and waving underwater plants. In the middle of the room was a gigantic poster bed, something fitting for a god, with soft cerulean sheets, clean and pressed, and for some reason, a fur pelt draped over the end of the bed. The pillows looked like clouds and his back was aching, but he didn't dare just sit into the bed of the Blue Lion god. He told himself that it wasn't proper etiquette, that the Acolytes raised him better than this, and when that didn't work, he grumbled that Blue would probably teleport in and kill him as soon as his head hit those sheets.

Oh what the hell.

To give himself a bit of sweet, petty revenge, Keith slammed down onto the sea of cotton as hard as he could, bouncing and laughing breathlessly to himself. He knew that he was working up a sweat with his uncontrollable anxiety that he hates so much, so he decided to rub himself all over those pristine sheets. In his defense, Blue was being an asshole for no reason.

He looked overhead when the shadows came and caught the sight of a massive creature swimming in the vast ocean above him, eyes blinking to make sure it wasn't a hallucination. Usually he would freak out over such a thing, immediately going defensive, but there was something about this creature that struck him as gentle. Low rumbling sounds filled the room, the acoustic amplifying the sound and he could feel himself relaxing, sinking further into the bliss of a real bed after months at the battlefield.

He had barely had a moment to relax; King Alfor had told him of the oracle's demand as soon as he was rushed back from the front lines, where the war with the Galra raged. His heart tightened at the thought of his kingdom. Other people would probably feel hatred or resentment at such a fate, being sent of to what was certain death as a sacrifice for the gods, but not him. Keith knew how important this is for Altea, and how his people was starting to get restless and desperate, and if this was a chance for him to help, to repay the kindness the Acolytes have given him, then he'd gladly do it.

Keith has always been an honorable, victory or death kind of person. The Acolytes said that was not the way of the Alteans, and that despite that, he should never be ashamed of who he was, but he knew he was like this because of his lineage.

Again, not everyone would willingly take in a Galran orphan, especially in the heat of war. He had a lot of kindness to repay.

His train of thoughts was interrupted when a presence in the room made itself known with a low, almost growling sound. Despite the fact that it didn't seem threatening, Keith sprung off the bed with all the grace of a warrior, weaponless but hands up and ready to fight for his life. Something about this noise was different, though; a rumbling kind of presence like it was the room itself, or as if the sound was resonating with his mind.

The source slowly stepped out of the shadows, a blue paw, a muzzle, ears that were twitching at his direction. All of it was covered in a coat of fur, azure blue and pristine.

Keith felt his legs wobble, out of his control. The bracelets were glowing, now, and the lion's eyes glowed too, bright and golden and frightening. That unspoken command forced him to his knees again, and he gritted his teeth, truly scared for the first time in his life. He wasn't the kind of person who gets easily spooked, but this creature really tested that statement.

The blue lion—no, Keith realized, startled, the Blue Lion, regarded him with a cautious expression, and how animals could even wear such complex emotions was beyond him. But here he was, facing a beast of incomprehensible power, a literal legend, and it seemed nothing but…intrigued, with him.

Oh gods. What if this was the real sacrifice? He was gonna get eaten by a mythical animal. Okay.

Keith reminded himself that this was going to be worth it, for his kingdom, closed his eyes, and braced himself as the lion came closer and closer to his face, until he could feel its breath fanning on his face.

It smelled of salt, like the ocean, and unlike other beasts that he had faced off before, its breath was cool, something that reminded him of a gentle breeze on a summer night, lying down on wet grass with no care because he was too occupied with how beautiful the stars above him were.

Altea. Altea and the scent of his favorite juniberry field, the same one the Acolytes had behind the temple, the one that he used to sneak out to at nights when he couldn't sleep, and would rather watch the night sky as it twinkled eternally with what he thought must be diamonds or tears of lost children like him.

After Altea found him, he wasn't lost anymore. He knew who he was, what he was there to do, and he never had a doubt. Whoever his mother was, he knew two things about her. One, she was a Galra, and two.

She abandoned him.

A worried nudge in the back of his mind pulled him out of the spiral it was heading down, and he shook himself awake. There was something akin to concern etched in the hard to decipher features of the lion, but it nuzzled against him and for a second Keith tensed, before giving in and awkwardly hugged the creature back, finally aware of the tears that fell down his face.

He already missed his home.


The Lion was surprisingly tame, almost catlike in its quest for affection. It came up close to him and dropped into his lap in all of its furry glory, three hundred pounds of pure muscle and fluffiness. He sagged a little under the weight, but the Lion's fur was making it so comfortable to be around. Keith couldn't help himself and threaded his fingers into its coat, which earned him a pleased hum. He laughed; this legendary creature is just a big, powerful, deadly housecat, and he was starting to feel like staying here maybe isn't that bad after all. He got Coran and a giant lion.

The doors slid open and came a grumble from an annoyed god.

He spoke too soon.

The Blue Lion gracefully slid off his lap to greet its master, and Keith felt anger starting to bubble at the pit of his stomach at the sight of the blue god.

"Lord Blue," he acknowledged cautiously, suddenly mindful of the fact that now he was alone in a room with the god who liked him the least.

Blue looked him over with an icy stare, eyes narrowed and one brow raised. Keith could feel the effect of that glare slithering down his spine like a bucket of cold water, drowning out the flickering flames of anger in his guts. He sputtered as the god moved closer and closer, and the Lion seemed to have sensed something that his mortal brain haven't, and rose to defend him, but moved aside reluctantly when Blue shot it another look, slinking back into the shadows in defeat.

He was backing Keith into a corner and Keith hated how those eyes petrified him. Was this an effect that the element give the god? All he could tell was that Blue didn't like him, he was getting awfully close and the faint stench of alcohol was in his breath.

Alcohol? Oh fuck.

Keith knew all about alcohol. It's what makes wise leaders lunge at each other in a drunken brawl, what makes the men on the streets corner young women, what makes the Acolytes made him swear to never drink himself to oblivion.

In hindsight, he probably should've known that alcohol was a bad omen.

But the god's eyes softened all of a sudden, the expression on his face something close to disbelief. Tidal waves of emotions washed over the both of them, Keith's confused and anxious and something else he couldn't name, while Blue's eyes were nothing but warmth and an overwhelming relief, joy and a tiny, almost intangible utterance of…

"…Red?"

They stood together in that stifling silence before Keith couldn't handle it anymore. He risked trying to wake the god from his trance, a soft, "Lord Blue?"

And just like that, the moment was broken.

Blue's eyes froze over as realization crashed in, and he closed them. Keith swallowed nervously, the smell of alcohol still making his head ring.

But Blue's moment of sobriety didn't last long.

Keith felt arms, strong arms, lifted him without any struggles and gasped. He fought back, trying to break free of the hold, trying to yell when it didn't work, but the god gritted out a shut up and all of a sudden his tongue felt too heavy to speak, his throat wouldn't make a sound and for the first time since the temple of the Acolytes burned to the ground, Keith felt horror thumped in his heart. His veins rushed blood to his body, desperately trying to struggle, to fight, to do anything, but the bracelets glowed once more and he was frozen in place, eyes wide with terror.

"Your eyes," the god got close enough to hiss those words in his ears, "How did you get her eyes?"

Her? What—Red's eyes?

He couldn't speak, and panic set his entire body on fire as he felt hands snaking on his back, up and down, and Keith felt like he was going to throw up and oh gods no not this he would rather bleed out on the altar

The Lion gave a push of determination and rage in his mind and suddenly he could control his own body again.

Keith did the first thing he could think of. He backhanded the immortal god, snatched the opportunity of escape like a man about to die, and ran as far away from that room as possible.

Fear paralyzed his body but he forced his legs to run, to carry him somewhere safe, and as his eyes caught a familiar figure strolling down the hallway, he stumbled and grabbed onto the minor god like a lifeline.

"K—Keith?" Coran stuttered as he caught the mortal in his arms. Alarm settled in his voice when he felt the latter shaking in the embrace, arms coming up to protect his head. "Youngling, are you alright?"

But Keith said nothing. He didn't even register anything until Coran wrapped him up in a tight hug, silently lending him much needed strength, and for the first time in three years, he allowed himself to cry.

He sobbed into the old man's arms that night, wishing that he had never gone up to this cursed mountain.