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Hope: The Truest Treasure

Chapter Two

Lance's nearly empty bag of GAC was clinking sadly in his pocket as he strolled through the last aisle of the planet's marketplace, but his arms were weighed down with the many food purchases Coran and Hunk had requested he pick up. And since they had asked so nicely Lance hadn't minded being the errand boy.

He was the only one who really had time to do so anyhow. He wouldn't say the Paladins had lost in their last battle against Zarkon's forces, but… well, they certainly hadn't won. The castle hadn't even emerged unscathed and was the reason for the not-quite-but-sort-of-was emergency landing so Coran and Hunk could repair the rear shield that had been nearly completely destroyed even though Hunk should really be resting. He'd taken quite a hit in Yellow before they formed Voltron and had a bump the size of a kiwi (it had been a grapefruit) on the back of his head, but he'd insisted.

He was better off than Pidge and Keith in any case. Lance's stomach churned unpleasantly at the thought of them. Pidge was due to come out of the pod later that afternoon from her broken femur and Keith hopefully later that evening from a cracked skull and shattered arm. Lance really thought they needed to check the padding inside the helmets as clearly they were not very good at protecting their skulls, to which Coran had apologized near a thousand times over as apparently a human's bone density was not half as thick as an Altean.

Allura had been invited to meet with the Council that governed the city they had landed near and she had taken Shiro with her. That left Lance and he was of little help in the shield construction other than to hand off items and watching Pidge and Keith float in pods was more than a bit creepy, so when Coran had suggested he pick up some food items in the bustling market Lance had been more than eager for the distraction.

That was until he realized how much Hunk and Coran had compiled on the list – mostly food but a few other random odds and ends that Coran insisted were essential although why a sort of swirly straw was required Lance still had no idea – and he was near staggering now with his purchases that had taken him from one end of the market to the other.

But he was done. And he would admit it, he'd had fun. Other than the space mall this was the most modern shopping district they'd yet stopped at and while it wasn't quite Earth it had had buildings and stores to pop into and actual roads and some weird type of transport that looked like a go-kart but they were levitated on bubbles. Lance would have loved to ride one but the natives here were gigantic and there was no way he'd have been able to reach the pedals.

He was walking along the back edge of the marketplace, the buildings here more of warehouses and storage as the crowds had gotten to be a bit hard to navigate with all of his purchases, when he heard the scream.

Lance paused, cocking his head as it disappeared within the second. Had he misheard something? Maybe it was the sound of a really creepy bird? He didn't see anyone else really down here and – it sounded again before it cut off with a yelp and Lance's eyes narrowed. That wasn't an animal.

It sounded like someone was in trouble.

He set his packages down carefully in the mouth to one of the many back alleyways and crossed his fingers no one wandered by and stole them while he was gone. But he knew without a doubt that if someone did actually need help then some groceries were a small price to pay.

Lance wished he had his bayard. Hopefully his presence in whatever this was – a mugging, maybe? – would be enough to scare off the offender. He hoped so. Otherwise, his hand clenched into a fist at his side, it was off to a fistfight for him.

He winced. That would probably not end well. But he couldn't just leave, not when someone might need help. Even if he hadn't been a Paladin his mamá had always told him that it was his responsibility as a human being to help those in need when he was able to.

Deep breath. He could do this.

There had been no more screams but as he went down the length of the alley, deeper into the warehouse area that was beginning to darken with long shadows, he heard scuffling followed by a muffled thump.

He'd heard that enough in the last few months to know a body had just struck the ground. He prayed it was one that was still alive. Caution was his friend – he was not a reckless hothead like Keith, thank you – and despite the urgency he continued his slower, silent movement along the wall.

"Get her up," rumbled a low voice, disdain clear. "We're behind schedule."

A sound then of someone being dragged and a low moan. "Pl-please. Let me g-go."

And that was definitely the sound of someone in trouble. It also sounded like there were at least two offenders. Lance gulped. He really should run for help but whatever was happening was happening now and if he left then it would be too late.

He could do this. Lance took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, trying to project as much confidence as Shiro had.

Go time.

He pushed out from the lip of the alley, sharp eyes taking in the scene in an instant. Two aliens, one a native of the planet and the other sort of resembling a spider were there and the arachnid one had a limp female alien trussed up in several of its other limbs. She was neither of their species but had canine features and the fear in her eyes and tears matting her fur were clear. It was dragging her towards a transport ship that was resting in the open space behind the building.

He didn't see any weapons.

He could do this.

"Hey!" Lance shouted, relieved when it came out a bellow and not a squeak and all sets of eyes – and eww, spider alien had at least ten – were drawn to him. "Let her go."

Lance wasn't quite sure what his declaration would result in. One of the aliens pulling out a hidden weapon perhaps, shouts of surprise, a cocky stare as yes, he was very aware he was outclassed at the moment in terms of size, or maybe even (if he was really, really, really lucky) shouts of alarm and they would flee and drop their victim.

What he did not expect was for them to grin and look as though Christmas had come early.

That… that was probably not good.

"How much do you think he will fetch?" hissed the spider and Lance's eyes widened, his determined step faltering.

What?

"The King put out a call for more able-bodies," said his companion, looking Lance up and down like he was a piece of meat. "He looks abled to me."

"I said," Lance repeated, clearing his throat and pushing past the rising unease, "let her go. Otherwise you will regret it." He shifted into a stance that he'd seen Keith and Shiro adopt before they sparred and hoped it looked at least somewhat threatening.

The aliens did not look intimidated. The female canine met Lance's gaze with a tremble to her muzzle and it was that look that made his blood freeze. She no longer looked just scared. She looked terrified.

For him.

"Run," she whispered.

But Lance could not do that. Even as every instinct screamed at him that this was so much more than a mugging and he was in danger he couldn't leave her. Not when she was just as scared as he was and she did not deserve whatever fate these two had planned for her.

"Get him," ordered the native and the captive was dropped without ceremony to the ground. She did not attempt to get up even though she was not bound. Lance had only a second to wonder why before the spider alien was closing the distance, large fangs glistening in the fading sunlight.

Ah. Venom. Paralysis, likely.

That would explain a lot.

He ducked beneath the spider's first set of arms and rammed his fist up against the alien's ugly chin, surprising himself with the contact as the head snapped backwards. Ha!

But even as the alien stumbled one of its many arms snagged on Lance's jacket and he yelped as the momentum dragged him along with the flailing. He saw the native alien, hulking form casting an even larger shadow, coming behind him and he threw himself to the side, hitting the ground hard to avoid the long limbed punch.

In one movement he was rolling back to his feet, shoulder aching from the impact, and pivoting to escape another long strike.

He pivoted right into the path of the spider.

Yelling, Lance threw his left hand forward to strike and the punch connected solidly with the alien's body.

But its fangs connected too with his forearm.

The effects were immediate and Lance could do nothing as his legs gave out beneath him as what felt like ice flooded his veins.

A meaty fist smashed into his head a tick later and he went down in a tangle of limbs, not even air left to scream as a vice seemed to be closing about his heart. The two aliens stood above him, looking down with matching smirks that even the darkening spot on the spider's chin could not dim.

The large alien raised a booted foot and Lance didn't even have a chance to say anything as it came down on his face and he knew no more.

xxx

Lance hated that he had been right. He'd been untethered from his pallet and re-chained to a group that was being sent to work at the actual mine today. His new ankle chain clinked on the ground as he and his group moved single-file down the tunnel, a slow shuffle of bodies who knew what back-breaking work awaited today.

He had not slept again after the nightmare and he could feel the effects of even the couple varga of missing sleep. His body felt sluggish as though he'd suffered a whipping even though he'd been keeping his head down the last couple weeks and his only fresh injuries were a few taser burns and an assortment of bruises from the guards, plus the small cuts and jammed fingers from the actual work.

"Move!" snarled one of the guards as Lance was apparently going too slow and the sharp crackle of the prod lit across his shoulder through the current tattered shirt as motivation.

He stumbled away from it, keeping his feet about him as if he went down he knew they'd just shock and beat him until he got up. His shoulder ached with a fierce fire and he bit his lip to keep the harsh breathless gasp inside. Too often the meager sounds of pain the slaves could make only spurred the guards further.

It was sad to say that walking to and from the work site was the best part of his day, minus dinner and finally sleep. So long as one kept up with the pace set – he forced his feet to go faster even though it felt like someone had tied boulders to them – the guards ignored them and he had a few more minutes of relative peace before the forced labor started.

Lance had at first tried in these few minutes, as all the slaves were herded along the same narrow, winding tunnels, to make eye contact with those alongside him, so close if he reached out he could touch them but such an action would result in retaliation from the guards and likely only scare the slave not expecting the touch. It was his one chance to find something in this hell to remind him that kindness, even if it was only a smile, existed.

But the eyes that looked back at him when the slaves did pick their heads up had been dead ones, ones that he recognized now in himself, and not a smile to be seen.

There was no point in it. He hadn't understood it then but he understood it now.

It had been a lesson he'd slowly grasped as time went on. Because while they were alive no one here lived. There was nothing to live for except that tenacity that all creatures seemed to possess to cling to life for no other reason but to exist.

For some that pull had not been so strong. Lance almost envied them. They had escaped from this place on their own terms – or, well, as much as one had here. Daffy – a black and white feathered alien – had blown himself up in one of the controlled blasts when they were carving out a new tunnel.

Jasmine – named for her triangle shaped golden ears – had slit her throat with one of the rough cut gems and bled all over the pile she had been sorting. Lance had been one of the slaves tasked with washing her purple blood off the gems and he hated himself for the brief joy he'd felt as he'd dipped his hands in actual water to wash it away.

Most though couldn't do it. Lance knew he couldn't. As miserable, as horrible, as life was here he could not bring himself to take a permanent out. Something stopped him, some bubble of hope that maybe, just maybe, this would be the day of a rescue. He'd stopped hoping to escape. Not anymore. His back and chest ached in memory of the failed attempts.

So he and the others trudged on. They suffered and some eventually found escape not by their own hand but by a Toad blaster or work accident. Lance had still not gotten the image of Pineapple – with their tufted green and yellow spiked comb – flattened beneath one of the mine carts. They'd been forced to scrape his body off the ground with shovels.

Lance had memorized the faces of every single alien that came into the mines. There were only twelve left of the near fifty that had been there with him since the beginning. Barney had been number thirteen.

His stomach clenched at the thought of the older alien. It's not like the two had really ever communicated beyond the small smiles but those had meant the world to Lance when no one else (except Amber, but she just glared) would ever even meet his eyes. He dearly hoped Barney had found peace out there.

So he kept his head down now, shuffling along with the rest of the group and more than aware of the blasters and prods always aimed at them. He honestly didn't think the Toads had any actual measure of aim – they were fat and lazy and only ever used them to shoot a slave point blank in the head – but that was almost scarier in a way. Assuming they didn't kill him with an errant shot and merely downed him, he'd be alive for them to punish, and, well…

He hugged his arms about himself and they pressed against the marks carved into his torso. He couldn't go through that again. He had survived only through sheer stubbornness last time, but now…

Now he was not so certain he'd be able to convince himself it was worth it to do so. And he hated that those thoughts were even there, but he couldn't help it. It wasn't the same as the self-doubt that reared its head every now and then when he saw just how amazing others were and found himself wanting, but it was the same cold and sick twisted feeling, except this one was worse.

He had tried to find small pockets of positives where he could. Barney's smiles. The beauty of the gems. The sensation of getting to curl up under one of the rare blankets. The times he dreamed and they were of his family and friends.

But the dreams were gone. Barney was gone. The gems only represented pain and hurt and despair. The blanket was no substitute for a proper hug.

He hurt. All the time. His soul ached for comforts it could not have, his body cried out from the wounds and the toil and the stress placed upon it.

There was no hope here.

And yet he still stumbled on.

All too soon Lance found his walk coming to an end as his group was halted at one of the walls. They were ordered to turn and face it while standing on the narrow black bar that was bolted into the ground with hands on their heads.

Lance had found there was no use in resisting. Not anymore. He remained silent and still as the guards moved down the line, clipping the chains from the bar to their permanent ankle cuffs. Only once they were secure, a few feet of chain giving them movement to shift and better strike the wall, were they ordered to then turn around and given their supplies for the day.

The water cup was the one he was grateful for. It was about the size of a coffee mug and made of hard clay, which when he'd first arrived had made him gag at the earthy taste of the water inside. Now he didn't even blink at it. Everything here tasted of nothing now. It was all they were given for the day and Lance had gotten decent at pacing himself in drinking it. That he set down on the floor against the wall to the right of where he would be working.

The other item was a short pickaxe. When he'd first arrived he'd thought they were absolute idiots for arming the slaves like that. However, as his first escape attempt had shown, the guards had really nothing to worry about. Maybe if the slave was like, the size of a bulldozer with super thick skin, they'd have something to fear but they never brought anyone like that in here.

No, the makeup of the aliens ranged in sizes but most were at least about Lance's height although often bulkier. Everyone slimmed down though under these conditions even as they gained muscles, corded things, from all of the labor. Lance couldn't quite count his ribs – the food, as awful as it was, did have a lot of protein or something to it and sustained them decently even if his stomach never felt full – but he could definitely feel them more pronounced.

Ages were hard to tell across aliens. Lance had stopped trying to wonder if there were any children here – the thought even now making him feel sick – because he couldn't even fathom such a thought. It struck him that he was honestly probably one of the youngest ones here; both in terms of actual years and of his species make, not that anyone knew. They didn't know anything about him.

He'd gone from being essentially kidnapped in the marketplace to waking up on an operating table. There had been no time, no coherency as he laid there, drugged, to tell them what he was, or even who. He wondered if he'd been able to tell them he was a Paladin of Voltron if it would have made a difference. Would he have been just another slave then? Or would they have let him go as the universe needed Voltron?

He had a dark feeling it was the former. This "King" he'd been sold to had no love of life. He was obviously wealthy, evidenced by the sheer number of slaves he could go through and the precious gems they mined for him, and the rich were the ones who could afford to escape a war. Honestly, Lance wouldn't have been surprised if he worked with the Galra. Only someone evil like that could destroy so many lives like he did and not care.

"Begin," ordered the guard and Lance dutifully hefted the axe into his hands, shoulders already aching.

He swung it forward, the familiar clang of metal on stone reverberating in the air and all around him sounds of work began.

Lance's section for the day was yielding nothing of interest. Just more rock chips that fluttered down as he made a small dent before working in a circular pattern to widen it. It's not like it mattered whether his section ended up yielding any stones or the golden colored ore line that always excited the guards. There was no reward for any such find.

But as much as he had come to hate the gems, Lance could not deny there was something satisfying about finding one buried in the wall and the excavating it whole. It was a hollow satisfaction but it was one nonetheless and he needed little moments like that.

He'd been going at it for about three varga, timed based on the two sips of water he'd allowed himself, when he heard the sounds of a scuffle. He'd all but learned to tune them out at this point as there was nothing he could do about it and when the guards were aware they had an audience it invited them to be even crueler. Normally it was time to rest for a moment other than the miniscule breaks for water, which is what Lance decided to do.

Still, he turned his head slightly to see where the commotion was to best keep an eye on the guard even as he leaned his pickaxe blade into the wall and tried to relax his aching shoulders in the brief respite.

The commotion was from the front part of the tunnel and he could make out two guards tugging viciously on a length of chain. A new prisoner. He hung his head. He remembered what that was like. He wished he could offer words of comfort but he literally couldn't and even then they would likely fall on deaf ears. No one here wanted sympathy; it meant absolutely nothing.

The guards fully rounded the bend and the new slave was pulled stumbling behind.

Lance nearly lost his grip on the axe handle, stomach twisting and ocean eyes widening as he saw the newest member.

A Balmeran.

A Balmeran child.

It was fruitless to pretend otherwise. Thanks to their visit on Shay's planet he knew what a Balmeran looked like and their approximate ages. And this alien, a little girl, looked nearly identical to the children he had joined in a game of rock skipping with.

She looked terrified, yellow eyes taking up her face and tears dripping from them. He could see the long puckered scar – nearly identical to everyone else's – on her neck and based on the choked sounding gurgles coming from her she was both in pain and not yet understanding the loss of her voice.

The Toads were talking excitedly amongst themselves, clearly pleased with this newest addition. Lance vainly hoped they would not hurt her. Not because she was a child; no, he knew they lacked that sense of humanity, but because a Balmeran in a mine would be invaluable and her small body would not function long if they abused her as they did the rest.

Lance couldn't even pretend not to stare, jerking around from his section of wall and trying to catch the little girl's eye as though it would actually do anything. She didn't see him, her head down now as the guards dragged her past and towards a further section at the end of the row to chain her down with instructions on what she was to do. He could see her arms shaking even from here as the manacles on her hands were released and an axe was thrust into them.

She glanced over her shoulder, confusion and pain and why just stretched across her face, and she was rewarded with a sharp slap of the end of the prod. She let out a strangled gasp even though, fortunately, there had been no shock to it, and turned to the wall.

A tick later her axe was striking the stone.

The guards had finally noticed Lance's inactivity and he received a zap to his back for his staring with orders to get back to work.

He barely even noticed.

His stomach was swimming and his mind was racing even as he turned back to his section. There was a strange feeling rising up in him. Something he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

Determination.

He had thought that spark had been extinguished following his last failed escape attempt, worn down from the constant never-ending pain. He had stopped caring about himself. But her…

That little girl…

Dark eyes narrowed at the wall and he struck it with more force than was needed, rock chips scattering.

He was going to save her.

Or he was going to die trying.

xxx

Author's Notes:

I'm pretty excited as I had not one guess that "hope" would come in the form of a little girl. I wonder what on Earth Lance will be "naming" her... xD Quite a few questions answered this chapter as to how Lance got there and the likely reason the team never found him: no trail to follow. Of course Lance would get caught trying to save someone else. Precious boy. Now he's off to hopefully save not only himself but the little Balmeran and maybe even the other slaves too. Let's light a fire, huh?

**Since this has popped up in a couple of comments now, the little girl is *not* from Shay's Balmera. Coran noted in that episode there were a number of Balmera in the universe and she is from one of those. That's good though, because otherwise Shay's planet likely would have been enslaved (again xD) and that'd be very bad.

Thank you so much to those who left comments last chapter. They mean a lot to me! If you enjoyed this chapter please do leave one below. I'd love to hear if you had a favorite part, line, overall impression, thoughts for the future, etc. Thank you very much!