Author's note: Thanks very much to Rocky Oberlin for hanging with me thus far, and for his insight into plot and character, and to kitten, who it's always nice to hear from, and to everyone else who's been along for the ride. Thanks to an anonymous reviewer for the useful comments about Lotor, as well. I should add a warning about an adult situation towards the end, but even so, I'd still rate this a PG or mild PG 13 chapter. Enjoy!

Playlist: Pavement, Slanted and Enchanted, and U2, The Joshua Tree

All standard disclaimers apply: I do not own Voltron, etc. etc.

Chapter Eleven:

A String of Days

The two Robeasts were an odd, but ingenious mix, this time, Keith thought grimly. It was as if Lotor knew exactly where the team's loyalties lay, and was determined to split those loyalties any way he could, whether by exploiting existing weaknesses, or through creating new ones. How did he know? Keith thought, exhausted and enraged as he watched as one of them, the one Voltron hadn't yet been able to directly engage, stomped around the castle grounds. It did not charge the castle itself, but contented itself with destroying everything around it, and, in its way, that was more damaging than direct hits to Castle Control. It was as if Lotor had sent these Robeasts to strike at their hearts, to destroy their morale. Allura's garden, damaged even more in the last attack, lay in total shambles now, along with the fountains, trees, and even the playground... How did he know where to hit us all where it hurts the most?

He forced his attention back to the problem at hand, searching for the calm center that let him coldly calculate the battle that lay in front of him. Voltron was almost dancing with the first Robeast, grappling with it as it slipped out of the robot's grasp, again and again, evading weapons that had always worked with a snake-like fluidity that had him grinding his teeth in frustration. It was the fastest Robeast they had ever encountered.

"I don't like how fast this thing is," Lance said, mirroring Keith's thoughts so closely that the commander was reminded, yet again, of the bond they shared. "In my experience, fast usually means smart," Lance added.

"It's like trying to hold flowing water, or something," Pidge observed.

"It feels that way," Allura agreed. "But I wish it were that simple. If it was made of water, I could deal with it pretty quickly." It was not an idle boast. Her powers had grown since returning from the Isle of Mist. They had been under almost constant attack of some kind or another since their return, and Nyle had said something about Allura's peculiar gift being like a muscle. The more she used it, the stronger it would get. "I never thought I'd wish for a magically enhanced Robeast," she muttered darkly.

"I worked really, really hard on that playground," Hunk said. They could all feel the rage and sadness that warred within the Yellow Lion pilot.

"We'll rebuild it, better than ever," Keith said as the Robeast grappled out of Voltron's grip yet again. "Dammit! I'm sick of dancing with this thing, we can't get a clear stroke with Blazing Sword, and that other one is too close to the castle. Let's see how it likes a bear hug. Try to pin it, stun it, finish it off..."

He rushed Voltron forward, throwing both robot arms around it. It seemed surprised by such a direct and graceless attack. Keith squeezed the thing as tightly as he could, the Blazing Sword clutched tightly in the robot's fist behind the creature's back. "Electroforce Cross!" he called out, and the Robeast shrieked as it was slammed directly in the chest with destructive energy.

The second Robeast left its position around the castle and launched itself straight at Voltron, landing on his back in a hold just like the one Voltron had on the first Robeast. It shrieked and wrapped its scaled arms around the giant robot and squeezed with incredible pressure.

"I don't think it likes what we're doing to its friend," Lance said. His teeth were clenched against the increasing pressure; as one of Voltron's arms and the Lion holding the Blazing Sword, he felt the pressure more intensely that the rest of the team. Being thrown around in the cockpit was painful as his burned body smacked against his safety harness, his seat, and control bar....

"They don't usually have friends," Pidge said, puzzled. "They don't usually work together. This is a first."

"How about we figure that out after we're done being a Robeast sandwich?" Lance yelled.

"It's squeezing us, but that means it's pinned its friend too," Keith said, a plan coming to him suddenly. "Ok, release Robeast number one on my mark...steady...Now! Blazing Sword!"

Voltron released the Robeast underneath it, freeing up the robot's lion hands in time to stab the creature in the side. Voltron twisted the blade and slashed upward to maximize the damage, and the creature roared and thrashed as its insides came gushing out of the hole in its side. It didn't fade quietly, though. Keith clenched his teeth as the dying Robeast underneath them thrashed and hit at them, its blows growing gradually weaker. At the same time, they were still being shaken and squeezed by the second Robeast. It was still on them, still pinning them.

"Can't...strike it from here... not with the Sword..." Lance choked out. Keith could hear the pain in his friend's voice.

"Form Shining Axe!" he called out. It had worked once before, but that Robeast had been much stupider, much slower, nowhere near as strong...

As the first Robeast stopped thrashing completely, the massive Shining Axe struck at the second one across and over its shoulder, connecting with scaled flesh. The remaining Robeast screamed but held on fiercely. "Again!" Keith commanded, but the giant robot was already doing so, and as the second Robeast continued to squeeze him, Voltron swung the Axe again and again, hacking away at the thing with a graceless brutality Keith had never seen before.

The creature was finally damaged enough, after countless blows with the gore-covered axe, to let go, lumbering backwards with a bellow of rage. "Let's finish it," Keith said coldly, and Voltron was up and rushing at the creature so fast that it seemed truly surprised to find itself staring directly at the Axe. But the robot was ready, and brought the Axe straight down on the creature's head and through its body until it lay in a crumpled, bloody heap.

"That was brutal," Hunk said, breathing heavily. Even the robot defender seemed to be panting.

"Yeah, that got pretty ugly," Keith agreed, thinking of the gore they were all covered in. He was glad he wasn't on the maintenance crew today. "But it worked. Roll call, team."

"I'm good," Allura said, and Pidge and Hunk announced that everything was fine on their end.

"Lance?" Keith asked, worried. Usually his second-in-command was the first to report back, and usually with biting humor.

"Yeah," was all he said. His voice was flat and strained.

"Are you alright?" Allura asked, concerned.

Out loud, Lance said nothing. But in their minds, he all but shouted Hell no, I'm not alright! I'm hurting like hell, my sister's still in Lotor's clutches, Kiari's still gone and no one's heard from her, we just fought our third Robeast in two days, we can't get off this damn planet to rescue anybody because Lotor's set up a Robeast blockade, and nothing and nobody can get in or out, and we're almost out of coffee, and Lotor's holding McClain Corp. like a knife to the Alliance's throat, so no reinforcements... and that's just the immediate stuff. I could keep going, if you'd like.

Oh Lance, I'm so sorry, Allura thought back. Her voice in his mind was oddly soothing, like being bathed in cool water, and he felt better and realized he was being a jerk all at the same time.

"I'm alright," he lied out loud.

Keith, having heard the whole thing, had a bad feeling about his friend's grip on his sanity. "Let's separate out, and get back to the castle. With three attacks in two days, we have to stay on our toes. But I want us all to get as much rest as possible before the next storm breaks."

Lance bit back a sarcastic remark, but he was the first one to break formation and fly back to the castle.

Keith? Allura thought.

What is it?

I'm worried about him. When he spoke to us, when I spoke back, his mind felt...fiery, or something. It reminded me of when I was burning, before we found Nyle...

Keith gripped his control bar much tighter than was necessary as he prepared to land. That's not good, sweetheart. Not good at all... I'm afraid he's starting to crack with the pressure he's under. I'll talk to him.

We both will, she thought back as Blue Lion touched down.

VVVVV

"You're going to damage yourself beyond repair if you keep this up, Lance," Dr. Gorma said, shaking his head, knowing his words were falling on deaf ears.

"Tell it to Lotor. He's the one who keeps throwing Robeasts at us."

Dr. Gorma's smile was brief and bitter. "I don't think that would make him unhappy, Lance, so I'll keep it to myself." He looked over the datapad in his hands. "Do you know what third degree burns are? How damaging they are?" Lance said nothing. His jaw was tightly clenched, whether in pain, anger, or frustration, he couldn't tell. "You've never slowed down enough to really let yours heal properly. The consequences involve extensive scarring and loss of feeling in the skin. Additionally, you risk infection, especially in your case, because you seem to reopen your wounds as quickly as they close. Think about that. Think about losing sensation in your hand when you have to fire a blaster to protect one of your teammates."

Lance hissed. He was on his back in Med Center, enduring another round of Derma Gen patches and topical omnibiotics and analgesics. He didn't have the luxury of caring about the scarring; he knew he could eventually try reconstructive surgeries when and if they became necessary. But the thought of being unable to protect someone who was depending on him, someone he cared about, hit home. "I'm familiar with being unable to protect the ones I love, and having them suffer for it," he said darkly, his thoughts swirling with grief and acute pain. "But I have to keep trying."

Dr. Gorma made a few notes on the datapad. "I know you are in a great deal of pain, and that can't be helping your mental state. But you haven't taken anything for pain since you strolled out of here at knife-point."

"I'm sorry about that, I've said so a thousand times. I didn't know he was going to do it," Lance almost yelled. "And I can't take anything for pain. Nothing that might make my head fuzzy. Not while I might have to fly Red Lion at any second. Too risky. And at least I'm here. I trot up here just like you tell me to, when you tell me to."

Dr. Gorma had to admit he was right. Lance was being uncharacteristically cooperative. He had seen him several times over the last few days, and with each visit, his mood seemed to darken. It was to the point that he was more worried about Lance's mental state than he was about his burns.

After a long silence of watching the Red Lion pilot grit his teeth and struggle not to cry out as nurses hovered over him, Dr. Gorma pulled up a chair. He had to at least try to get through to him.

"You're under a lot of pressure, you know. How have you been sleeping?"

Lance stared at him, incredulous. "You mean between the Robeast attacks and the transmissions from Doom and trying to figure out how to get my sister and my... my girlfriend...back while trying to wrestle back control of McClain Corp. from Lotor, you want to know how I'm sleeping? I'm not, Dr. Gorma. I'm not sleeping. Sometimes I collapse, but that's about it."

Dr. Gorma nodded and made a few notes. "And exactly what gave you the idea to stop that Robeast the way you did? With a... what did you call it? A 'suicidal death dive?' Wasn't that right after you were told your sister had been taken?"

Lance closed his eyes against the bright lights of Med Center. Damn lights, he thought. They're making my eyes water. "It just seemed like the thing to do," he said flatly. "My life wasn't nearly as important as stopping that Robeast. It's a choice I make, we all make, every single day we fly, doctor."

"I see." Dr. Gorma rose to leave. "Lance, I want you to consider the stress you're under, and how that may be affecting your performance. I want you to take it easy, to rest, and to try to stop blaming yourself. I'll be honest with you. I'm worried about your mental state. You're unstable, and that can affect your performance in the air as surely as a third degree burn." He paused a moment to let his words sink in. "I want you to find someone to talk to about...things, if you can."

Lance stared at the doctor in shock. "You want me to see a therapist," he said. He remembered saying that very thing to Charlotte. It was almost the last thing he'd said to her. No wonder she got so pissed, he thought, and he found himself laughing. "A therapist," he said, and laughed even harder. He tried to stop himself, aware that he wasn't helping his case by laughing hysterically in front of Dr. Gorma, but it was hard.

"That would be ideal, yes, but I harbor no illusions that you would ever do such a thing. I really just meant someone to talk to, Lance. You know, friends. I hear that's what they're for. But what do I know?" And Dr. Gorma walked out the door.

Lance watched him go before stumbling back to his own quarters. His eyes were still watery, from the bright lights of Med Center, and he pulled the hood of his ever-present sweat suit down further to hide his burned face and shaved hair and wet eyes. He wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball on his bed in the dark and try not to think of what might be happening to Charlotte right now, or Kiari, at least until the alarms went off again and he had to go cut off some monster's head and hurt himself again and have to go back to Med Center and hear the same lecture over and over again....

Allura was waiting for him in his quarters. She had bathed and changed, and she smelled like lilies. Fresh from the bath, her wet hair clung to her shoulders and back, dampening the fabric of her white dressing gown. She sat on the very edge of his bed, as if uncertain of her place here, in his quarters. She was alone.

Where's Keith? he wanted to ask. Why are you here? In your dressing gown? Smelling like lilies? He thought these things but didn't ask them. Maybe she could hear him, maybe not. He didn't know or care. He just knew his eyes wouldn't stop watering, no matter how many times he blinked or how far he hid under his sweat suit hood. She looked up at him and held out her arms, tears in her own eyes, and he closed the distance between them with short, jerky movements, hardly able to see, before he collapsed beside her on his bed, sobbing against her as she held him gently, mindful of his burns, but firm in her hold on him as she rocked him.

Ssshh, Lance, ssshh, it's alright, let it out, as best you can...I can feel your heart, it's burning you...we love you, I love you, we're here for you...

Her voice in his mind was like cool water, her arms a sanctuary, and he let himself be held while he tried to let it out, crying, in her arms, and it was a long time before he could form any words. But when he could, he did, and she sat back and listened while he talked, because she was his friend, and that was what friends did. He talked until his throat was raw, and he cried some more, and she brought him a warm washcloth for his face, and teased him and tried to make him laugh. It worked, at least a little, and then Keith was there with honey rolls from Nyle, telling him that he'd hoarded all the coffee he could find so they wouldn't run out for a long time, and Lance laughed, and had to talk some more with wet eyes, and Keith listened with his dark, serious eyes, because he was his best friend and brother. Lance finally fell asleep, exhausted, right there in Allura's lap, and she looked at Keith, who shrugged and tried to curl up in Lance's tiny chair. When morning came the three of them were fast asleep, Allura tangled up around Lance in his bed while Keith lay half in the chair and half across Lance's legs, the three of them looking like a pack of puppies exhausted after a hard day of chasing their tails, and it was the best sleep any of them had gotten in days and days.

VVVVV

Princess Romelle of Pollux was not startled when the door to her cell opened with no notice whatsoever. She had gradually gotten used to the lack of privacy here just as she had gotten used to having no purpose but to serve his wishes. She tried not to think about it, and usually, she managed. But she knew some part of her did care, cared very much, and that she was stuffing that part of herself down deep, and that one day, if she was ever to be whole or healthy again, that part of her was going to have to come out. If he did not kill her first.

He was not always violent with her. Sometimes he was indifferent, sometimes he was distracted, and sometimes he seemed almost wistful, looking at her as if he was wishing for something very hard. But sometimes he was violent. Quite violent. And she never knew which aspect of him was going to come through her door, just as she never knew when he was coming. Sometimes he would go days and days without coming, and those times were the hardest, in their way. She would start to relax, to think it might be over, to dare to begin to hope, and yet he always appeared, eventually, and her hopes crashed again. She had no way to mark the days but by the meals she was served and by the coming and going of a single servant who cleaned and supplied an endless variety of new dresses.

He liked to see her in frilly pink dresses, and would order her single slave to dress her hair so that it fell in long ringlets down her back and shoulders, and was gathered back with a plain golden circlet. At such times he was the most unpredictable, swinging from one extreme to the other. He was either excessively tender or extremely violent. Sometimes he called her by another name, and would shake her, and demand to know why she couldn't be this other woman... Romelle hoped this woman, whoever she was, never fell into his clutches.

Today was such a day. Her single slave had dressed her in pink and curled her hair at breakfast. Although he did not always come on the days he dressed her in pink, he usually did, and as he strode into her cell, smelling of leather and striding arrogantly, she did not sense violence in him. Rather, he eyed her impatiently, as if he wanted to be someplace else entirely, and she was some task he had to finish before he could do whatever it was he really wanted to do.

She stood and backed nervously against the wall. Her ability to not think about things vanished when confronted with him directly. At such times, she wanted to cry and scream or run, but she didn't. She knew it would only mean a beating.

"What do you want?" she whispered, her head turned away from him, to the same spot on the floor where she always looked when he came.

"What do you think I want?" he asked as he took her by the shoulders.

She nodded, not able to hold back the single tear that escaped.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, Romelle. I'm not here to hurt you. Believe me, I'd rather be someplace else, with someone else entirely, so lucky for you, I don't believe I'll stay long today."

"Why aren't you, then?" she managed to whisper.

"Why aren't I what?" he growled, and she shrank against the wall even more.

"With someone else? You always do what you want, don't you?" She closed her eyes, expecting a blow, but none came. Instead, his hold on her relaxed a little.

"I don't know," he said softly, and Princess Romelle of Pollux opened her eyes to an amazing sight. For the first time since she had known him, Lotor looked lost, and utterly confused. "I don't know," he repeated, as if amazed. Then he turned his attention back to her, and she sorted through her memories to find one to lose herself in. Today, she was back on Pollux, hunting the bright burrow birds of the Emerald Forest, and her little brother was with her. It was the day he killed his first wild boar...

VVVVV

In the end, she saw the wisdom of his plan. He would show her the secret route into Castle Doom. She would use it to work her way towards Lotor's quarters, scouting for Charlotte. Once she had the girl back, she would use the maintenance ducts to get her out.

"This plan of yours. I do not understand. Why must you scout Lotor's quarters?" He stood in the shadows cast by the fire, his arms crossed, leaning against the wall of the small cave he had claimed as his own. The fire, rather than reflect off his wild eyes, seemed to pool itself there, and to Kiari, sitting cross-legged, her fingers resting lightly near her dagger, he looked mad and dangerous. She did not fear him, though. Mad and dangerous was the sanest, most sensible way to be in a place like this. It had probably ensured his survival, and, after the help he had given her earlier, very likely her own as well.

She had said many prayers of thanks since first meeting him. He had fed her and shown her a place to bathe, a cavern not far from where she sat that housed a shallow pool. When she returned from washing the mud from her hair, he showed her a small pile of clothing, and she sorted through it, piecing together a makeshift wardrobe of dark, tightly fitting pants and a similarly dark tunic. She did not ask where he had gotten them. She knew she was wearing the clothes of the dead.

She forced herself to answer his question. Again. "Because I do not yet know exactly where my kinswoman has been taken," she explained patiently. She had already explained herself. Twice. He forgot things easily. "Lotor almost assuredly has her, but I remain uncertain as to where, exactly. I know from others that he has more than one complex here. Therefore, I must, as you say, scout the possibilities."

He shook his head, incredulous. "You sneak into the slave pits of Doom, and into the castle itself, to find someone and you don't even know where she is. And I doubt my own sanity... At least let me go with you. In case you encounter trouble."

She had already turned down his offers to go with her. "No, Dark. I must move quickly, and I am used to working alone, like you. And I am more than capable of dealing with trouble on my own." She smiled teasingly. "I am not quite as delicate as I seem, you know."

"But Castle Doom... Lotor himself..." he mused. He was becoming agitated. She had to spend the night here, and she wanted to calm his fears that she could protect herself. Perhaps it would settle his agitation...

She closed her eyes, concentrating, and swept her hand through the fire. He cried out as she thrust her arm directly into the burning flames, and then again as she pulled her hand out, unburned. She held a handful of the flames cupped in her palm. "You see, Dark?" The flames in her palm grew into a column of fire. "You need not worry. If I cannot get back my kinswoman, if I encounter serious trouble, I can always burn Castle Doom down to the ground. Perhaps I will do it anyway."

She had meant it jokingly, a teasing way to display the power that was second nature to her and would protect her, and Charlotte too, if it came to that. But the effect on him was electric. He backed away from her, into one of the darkest recesses of the cave. "I remember being on fire, once," he said, and his voice was tortured. Inwardly, she cursed herself as the fire in her hand went out. Burning was one of the few things he remembered from his former life. She had forgotten.

"It's alright, Dark," she tried to reassure him, but he avoided her for the rest of the evening, muttering to himself in a strange language. Her heart hurt for him, this mad man who had doomed himself to a life here. When morning came, true to his word, he crawled with her through the dark twists and turns of the Pit of Skulls. She fell more than once in the blackness of the tunnels as they traveled. He had not stumbled at all. She dared not produce a flame, however. She did not want to upset him again. They came to a large cavern that opened to the sky, and she understood the name of the place, then. They skirted the huge pile of skeletons and rotting corpses. Neither of them spoke. Kiari knew she would carry the sight and smell of the place within her until the day she died. And yet he lived here...

"I will be forever in your debt, Dark," she whispered. Cool, stale air blew her red hair all around her as she stood, finally, under a shiny metal grate, large enough for one person to climb up into.

"I will watch for you, Kiari of the Red Dawn. I hope you find your kinswoman." His eyes were black and deep as he hung back in the near total darkness.

She pulled herself up and into the vast metal ductwork that traveled throughout Castle Doom. She crawled in the blackness until she was well away from him, following his directions that would lead her to the section of the castle that housed the royal family. She did not think she would see him again, as she did not intend to get Charlotte out through the Pit of Skulls. She waited, out of courtesy to him, until she was well away before producing a tiny flame to see by.

VVVVV

Lotor, Crown Prince of Doom, found himself laying in the dark, in his bedroom, alone, thinking of a particular door that he had been unable or unwilling, he wasn't sure which, to go through tonight. And so, he lay alone in his great bed. He never slept alone.

He had paid a visit to his current favorite slave girl, he had avoided drinking too much wine, and he had put off dealing with unpleasant business until after breakfast in the morning. In other words, he had gone out of his way to make sure he wouldn't be drunk, angry, or overcome with desire. He did all of this because he did not want to lose control of himself when he went to her. She was sheltered. She was young. She'd had bad experiences already in her short life, and he did not want to be another one of them. But she was his, now, and he had been patient long enough. It was time. He would be patient still, and gentle, but it was time. Past time.

So why didn't I? he wondered, frustrated. Romelle's words echoed back at him. You always do what you want...

Perhaps he simply didn't want her. Perhaps he'd been fooling himself. Now that he had her corporation, what need of her did he really have? He could send her away somewhere, and the controlling share of McClain Corp. would still be his. Perhaps then he could stop feeling so frustrated and confused. Yes, that's it, he told himself. I'll send her away. Someplace distant, but safe, someplace suitably luxurious...

He punched his pillows. He had meant what he told the Red Lion pilot. He really did enjoy her company. It had not been an idle boast. And she was still so young, and she had signed his contract. She was his. His. There would be time. There would be plenty of time to dine with her, to dress her, to see which colors made her glow, to hear more of her life, which had been so frighteningly like his own. Time enough...

He closed his eyes in the darkness, hoping sleep would come, when he heard the door open quietly. He smiled when he saw her, standing barefoot in the doorway, looking as confused as he felt. He almost laughed. Thinking of her youth and of how sheltered she was, the nightgowns he had sent her were quite modest, by Doom standards. But apparently, she still found them too revealing, for she stood there, her straight shiny hair slightly tangled, in a nightdress and two robes, her arms crossed protectively over her breasts. He could just barely make out the outlines of her body and the glow of her pale human skin, and yet, he felt a wave of desire and possessiveness overcome him at once. Perhaps I should have visited two slave girls...

"I was wondering if you were coming," she said. She was frowning at him slightly. "No one would tell me anything. I hate not knowing what to expect." He thought she looked adorable in her bare feet and ridiculous nightclothes. She made no move towards him, and he stayed frozen where he was.

"So you came here? To me? Because you hate not knowing things?" he teased.

"No," she said, and shivered violently. "I mean, yes, I do hate not knowing things. But that's not why I came." She shivered again, and he noticed she was shaking.

"Are you cold?" he asked, sitting up very slowly, so as not to startle her. Humans were more sensitive to temperature than Drule, and he liked his chambers cool. Even shirtless, it seemed temperate to him. "Are you ill?" he asked anxiously.

"No!" she said, just as anxiously. "I mean, yes, I'm cold. It's freezing in here. But I'm not ill. I don't feel sick." She shivered again, hugging herself. "And would you please stop asking me two questions at the same time? It's making it even harder to talk to you."

"As you wish," he said. He was sitting up against his pillows now, moving as slowly and carefully as if she was a wild bird he didn't want to scare away. He reached for his own plush robe that was draped across a far pillow and held it out to her. "Would you please put this on, my lady? I don't want you to be cold. Or ill."

She took it from him with shaking hands, uncrossing her arms to do so, and he had one brief, glorious glimpse of her unshielded chest as she slipped into it. And then she looked more ridiculous than ever, his robe engulfing her like a huge blanket. It seemed to make her a little more comfortable, though, and he fought back a laugh as she thanked him. She stared at him as he sat, shirtless and motionless, in the middle of his bed. "Would you like to sit?" he asked, indicating the edge of his bed. There was no other furniture in the room. As she hesitated, he added, "I won't touch you, if you'd prefer. And then you can tell me why you've come."

She looked miserable and confused as she perched on the edge of his bed. She was still staring at him, and Lotor began to wonder if she'd ever seen a man without his shirt on before.

"I had a nightmare," she said, after a very long silence filled with stares.

"A bad dream?" he asked, and she nodded almost violently. "What about?" He began to wonder if he was dreaming. He was Lotor, the scourge of the Denubian Galaxy, and this fragile creature was telling him about a nightmare. Even more amazing, he was listening to her.

"It doesn't matter." Her words became a torrent, suddenly, and he had to listen closely to catch everything. "The thing is, I had a nightmare, which I often do, since before I even came here, since I was a very small child. I think I was born having nightmares, actually. So that part's not your fault. But you see, I fell asleep. I fell asleep because I was waiting for you to come to me. I expected it, after I signed those papers. You were very clear about what that meant. And then you dressed me like you did, and showed me to my brother, who looks horrible, by the way, and you were very clear then, too." She sounded angry. "So I've been waiting, since then, all alone, might I add, because there is no one here to talk to but you. And after I had this nightmare, I was all alone, waiting and terrified, because you have a horrible reputation as to what you do to women. And you never came. So I came here instead. Not because I want you to come to me, necessarily, but because I need to know. So I can stop having nightmares." He blinked in surprise. She sounded angry, rather than afraid. Alone with him. In his bedroom. Amazing.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I didn't quite follow you. What is it you want to know?"

She actually punched his bed in frustration. "I have a name, and it is Charlotte. Please use it. And what I want to know is, why haven't you come to me? And will you, and when? And will it be...I mean, are you really as terrible as people say?"

It was probably his turn to laugh at her, but he didn't. "That's more than one question, my lady."

Her blue eyes were huge in the darkness. "Charlotte. My name is Charlotte. It was really hard to come here, you know," she said, and he nodded, acknowledging the truth of it.

"It was brave," he said. "I do have a horrible reputation. Especially when it comes to women. Much of it deserved."

She gulped. "So, why haven't you? Come to me?"

"I don't know," he almost whispered.

"Will you come?"

"Yes," he admitted softly.

"Then when?" she all but wailed.

"I don't know. I don't know why I haven't, yet. And believe me, Charlotte, it's not because I don't want to."

They looked at each other, deadlocked in their misery. He watched her as she gave his robe back, her pale human flesh luminous in the darkness. Definitely should have visited two slave girls...what in the seven hells is wrong with me? Am I going to let her just walk out of here?

No, he realized. Not this time.

"I think I've been waiting for you to come to me," he said, moving towards her slowly.

She gulped, but did not move away. "Perhaps that's best," she whispered. "Get it over with. Since it's going to happen anyway. And there's nothing I can do about it. Then I can stop being afraid."

"Perhaps," he agreed, closing the distance between them. He caught her up in his broad arms, and realized just how small, how fragile she was. How badly she was shaking. How afraid she was of this one thing.

Yes, you did have the wrong person killed, she had told him, that first night she came to Castle Doom, laid out underneath him, covered with deep scratches and marks.

He sighed. She was crying. He pulled her up so that her head was resting under his, and they lay together under the heavy red coverlet. "But perhaps you just need someone to chase the nightmares away." He crossed his arms behind his head. "See? I won't touch you unless you want me to. I don't want you to be afraid of me." He frowned into the darkness, realizing, to his surprise, that it was true. "We'll do something fun tomorrow, I promise. I didn't realize how alone you've been. I'm sorry." He frowned again, but that, also, was true, and he was not used to being sorry. "Goodnight, Charlotte." He lay perfectly still until she cried herself out and fell asleep on his chest.