Author's Notes: Updates, what are those? I'm sorry, I can only say sorry. I won't go into detail but time is not my friend.
I'm sorry for all the jumping around in this chapter but it had to be done. Hopefully now we can get into the nitty-gritty of things.

The rules of Icy and I's challenge are as follows:

1. Story must revolve around Lance losing his ability to speak. The HOW is fair game.

2. Story must be between 20k to 100k words (a real test for Icy)

3. Story is a gen fic (I have nothing against klance but this fic will be pure bromance)

4. Story will be posted on Nov. 1 and finished by Jan. 31, 2018 (LOL THIS IS NOT HAPPENING NOT BY A LONG SHOT HELP ME)

5. The following lines must be used somewhere within the story:

Icy to heyheroics: "We're here to help you"

heyheroics to Icy: "Just let me do this"

A special thanks to Haleykim84 and Emerald_Ashes, who let me ramble and think out loud and ask a lot of annoying questions, and for helping me brainstorm and bringing this fic to life.

Also, a reminder to keep in mind that I am unable to commit to a proper posting schedule and will be updating this fic as I complete chapters. I'm going to get them out as soon as I can, guys. Thank you for your understanding on this!
In the meantime, do go visit IcyPanther and her fantastic work (her fic for this challenge is The Purity of Sin and you must go check it out!) and leave her a review to show her how much you appreciate all of her hard work! She is a fantastic person and a beautiful story-teller!

XXX

Lance does not know Draxis on a very personal level but for him to say the entire planet is doomed because of him seems dramatic.

He peels himself out of Hunk's lap, wobbling to his feet. He reaches out to grab the sleeve of Draxis' robe just as the translator turns to leave.

"Wait," Lance gasps. "What do you mean?"

Draxis faces him with a mix of emotion in his steely gray eyes. Lance has no problem placing the anger but there is something else that he cannot place, even as Draxis grabs his shoulder to pull him aside and speaks in a harsh whisper for only him to hear.

"Our people are only safe at the expense of our precious Plexia Crystals. You left me no choice but to negotiate with terrorists; it was the crystals or our lives. Now they are in the hands of evil and our planet is no longer able to safeguard nor relocate. We are, what I believe your species refers to as, a sitting bird."

The lump in his throat is almost too big to swallow. In one fell swoop he's managed to endanger an entire planet, get himself pummeled in front of an audience, shatter Unma's chances at making the change she wants to make with her people, and has put Allura's alliance at risk. Something heavy presses down on his chest as he replays it all in his head. Without those crystals, Decibon is just waiting to be taken advantage of. Because of him. He really is just a burden.

He clenches and unclenches his fists, finding his palms to be uncomfortably sweaty. His tongue squirms around in his mouth, desperate to say something to fix it or at least lessen the blow, but speaking is what got him into this mess and he swallows the urge. Instead he meets Draxis' stare with the most apologetic look he can muster because he's so sorry, like so, so sorry, and has never found himself in a situation where he cannot verbally express as much. Panic starts to rise, dangerous like the tides he grew up with. This could destroy everything. Every beating heart matters in Allura's coalition, just like every beating heart on Decibon deserves to be protected. But now the planet is vulnerable and angry, and Allura is being deprived of the support she so rightly deserve in this fight. He can't allow it. He won't.

Draxis takes an audible, slow inhale, his voice still at a whisper. "Our people have suffered enough since the arrival of Voltron. After the events of today, I trust that you will learn to keep your tongue in check."

Without a moment's hesitation Lance is nodding vigorously, triggering vertigo. Hunk appears next to him to keep him from toppling over, one hand against his back to balance him and the other against his injured head. Together they watch Draxis depart in a way that feels terribly, horribly final.

"Come on, buddy," Hunk says quietly as Lance slumps a little more heavily against him. "Let's get you cleaned up."

XXX

The cyropod spits him out less than a varga later and before he can shake off the residual frost, Coran is stuffing him back into formal attire. Lance misses the outfit from before, but if memory serves right, its been shredded and bloodied. He'll have to make that up to Coran later.

Coran, with a tender smile and without a hint of discontent about his spoiled garments, squeezes Lance into a lovely blue blazer with two flowing tails. Nestled comfortably underneath, a soft white collared shirt hugs his throat while golden buttons line the ensemble's front; even the neatly pressed pants have hints of gold shimmering along the seams. He gets the chance to admire himself in the mirror again and sees how tired he is. Being quiet all the time is exhausting.

Coran comes up behind him in the reflection to reach for his hair, brushing back some of his short locks and placing a small, blue pin just above his left ear. It reminds him of the jewelry his sister would often wear. Flashy but subtle, just like her. His expression twists in confusion, but Coran smiles. "Allura insists," he explains. "It's for protection. And luck!"

Lance smirks at himself, warmed at the gesture as he brushes the tiny trinket with his fingers. Allura really is the most amazing person.

He won't let her down.

A few dobashes later he is guided back to the cave burrows, back into the planet's gut to where the Plexia Crystals once resided. The rest of the team is there, as well as Draxis and Unma, hovering around a hunched over Pidge as she tacks away at her laptop.

"Lance," Allura's voice is relieved as she places a hand over her chest. "How are you feeling?"

Lance debates telling her that mentally he feels a wreck. Emotionally he feels distraught. But physically, thanks to the cyro-pod, other than the faint tingling of a headache, "Good." Then, to deflect the attention that has suddenly found itself on him, he adds, "What are we doing?"

Pidge never tears her eyes away from her screen, but she does tilt her head slightly in Lance's direction. "Hunk and I are trying to devise a way to transfer the Green Lion's cloaking ability to Decibon's internal system to allow the planet to conceal itself temporarily while we try to find a more long-term solution, you know, in case we can't successfully retrieve the crystals ourselves." A short scoff. "Not that we won't be able to. But in the meantime until we come up with a solid plan, I'm having a hard time finding how the Plexia Crystals actually communicated with the planet's core. It's not like there is any technical wiring to work with."

"We're trying to work off the trace aura left behind by the crystals, but…" Hunk adds in but trails off, side-glancing Pidge as if afraid to offend her, as the girl's shoulders noticeably tense. "…no luck yet."

Lance nods, squatting next to Pidge to stare at her work only to find that what is on the screen is beyond his comprehension. Regardless he tries to summon a plan to make things right again. Even if he can't grasp the numbers and equations on her computer, he can still try to come up with something helpful.

"Turns out the crystals don't just give the planet the ability to move around and hide," Hunk relays, placing a hand on Lance's shoulder to give a comforting squeeze. Coming out of the pods leaves a person feeling tired and groggy. They've all been in and out enough times to know the feeling and Lance appreciates the knowing comfort. "It also provided actual power to the city. About three-quarters of their power grid is down. The rest is back-up generators fueled by plants. Those crystals were so embedded into the planet's core that it affected foliage, making them a minimal source of power; it's kind of cool, really."

Hunk's vaguely concealed excitement over the technology forces a tiny smirk to Lance's lips, but the guilt still triumphs. Instead of being fascinated by strange alien advances, he finds himself playing and replaying how many mistakes he's made in the past day or so, which, admittedly, does nothing to help the situation. No help. Just like always.

Across the platform, Keith keeps his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Closed off. Not happy with this, the way things happened, the fact that they did happen, that the alliance is compromised. That Lance got hurt. Granted, he and the others managed to arrive in time to prevent anything more from happening but ultimately a member of his team had been injured. And Keith is not finished fuming over it.

While Pidge and Hunk work, and while Lance hovers in an attempt to help, he gets lost in his head of all the things he could have done differently. Getting there sooner would have been ideal, to prevent anyone from getting hurt, or the princess from having to speak out or Draxis from having to negotiate the very crystals that they are currently trying to replicate. At the same time, Lance's intervention had provided a long enough diversion for them to get there before any lives were lost.

Still, the failure frustrates him.

At his side, Draxis seems to be fuming as well but for entirely different reasons. Their eyes just so happen to lock at random and Keith holds it awkwardly.

"We'll get them back," Keith says quietly, so as not to disturb the others from their research. Allura and Coran have migrated over as well to ask questions and partake in the brainstorming, while Shiro pokes around the area in search of anything potentially useful. Someone had to physically be here to take the crystals, after all.

Draxis looks unconvinced and not at all amused. "Your friend caused a great deal of strife for our people."

"We already apologized," Keith said, trying hard to keep his voice as non-aggressive as possible. It's difficult when Draxis is stirring up more than a few negative emotions. "You know, one of ours suffered too. Lance put himself in danger to protect your people."

"And forced our princess to speak out, to the enemy no less. This is a massive breech to a custom that has been abided by our people for generations."

Arms still crossed, Keith can feel himself digging short nails into his biceps in an attempt to keep calm. Lance is flashy and loud, but his morals and sense of right and wrong are too dominant to compromise a mission. Even Keith knows that.

The translator continues. "In the past, your friend would have been severely punished for his misdoings by having his tongue cut out. The Old Law requires that one who sins with speech will be stripped of their ability to do so ever again. Only translators have—"

"Draxis." Keith just barely manages to avoid hissing, the image of Lance bleeding profusely from his normally chatty mouth flashing across his mind briefly. He manages to banish the thought but not before it successfully disturbs him. Keith doesn't know much about the Old Law Draxis is talking about and he doesn't know how things have changed between then and now, but if he's honest, he doesn't care. What he cares about is here and now, and no amount of ancient rules can cancel out Lance's good intentions. There are a lot of things Keith wants to say in that moment, but he keeps his response as clipped and summarized as he possibly can. "We're here to help you."

To which Draxis never replies and Keith feels grateful for it.

XXX

Little headway is made, and plans for finding a way to cloak the planet and replicate the Plexia Crystals are put on the back burner. Even after everything, Unma insists that the celebration still takes place. At least, this is what Draxis relays for her since she seems to have fallen back into silence. It puts a crack in Lance's heart to know that his blunder has somehow driven her back into muteness, because he failed to do the one thing that was asked of him. So when the celebration continues as planned, it is with a not so subtle sprinkle of awkward tension and uncertainty.

But Lance refuses to show his distress. Voltron is strong and good. Even in the face of doubt, he knows they can prove as much; they just need a window of opportunity to do so.

So here he sits, eyes cast down to his lap as food is served across the tables of everyone gathered. It's the most awkward and quiet celebration he's ever been to and he can't even cut the tension with a joke.

Unma sits at the head of the table and every once in a while he tries to catch her eyes to convey a million things with just a glance (and oh, he has endless questions he wants to ask, tons of reassurances he want to give to her), except he lacks whatever skillful connection that the Decibonians seem to have with their translators. But he receives the ghost of a smile from her, and from that alone Lance is almost inclined to believe there is still hope.

The smell of unidentifiable food wafts under his nose and Lance brings his attention to the strange concoctions that he assumes is his meal. It certainly isn't anything near Hunk's level of presentation (Hunk can make food look like it's been pulled right off the page of a gourmet magazine—he even makes food goo look good). This stuff looks nothing like that but then again, maybe he's been spoiled.

Down the table, as everyone continues in grim silence, Unma nudges Draxis' arm, prompting him to stand. He then proceeds to tap an elegant piece of silverware against an equally elegant goblet, turning heads.

"Honored guests, please accept this official welcome to our humble planet. It would appear that your arrival here with us has been… timely." The uneasy shifts of bodies is hard to miss. "It would seem wise to consent to this alliance seeing as there is a very real threat to our civilization's well-being."

There is a noticeable pause and Lance finds himself holding his breath. He is startled when a platter suddenly appears next to him. Similar platters hover next to the other members of the team as well, all adorned with crystal glasses filled with a brilliant, luminescent purple liquid. A translator sitting across from Shiro taps the rim of the glass and says to him, "Careful, friends. It stains easily."

Overhearing the exchange relaxes Lance slightly. There are still friendlies among them, thank goodness.

Shiro nods his thanks, looking equally pleased at the pleasant exchange. Lance wonders what Shiro thinks about all of this and wants desperately to ask. Instead he dips his pinky finger into the drink experimentally, pulling it out to find it has indeed been tainted purple. He quickly wipes it off on his pants when he hears Draxis clear his throat.

"On our planet, Kradrah is a beverage offered as an apology. Please…" he pauses and only continues after the expectant nod from Unma. "Accept this token of our sincerest apologies. Let us bury today's grievances and start anew. Now is a time of celebration as we welcome the Paladins of Voltron and their promise," he trails off again. Settles his eyes on Lance. "…to protect us."

Draxis lifts his own glass to the sky, filled with the same purple liquid as the rest of them. His friends lift theirs as well and even Unma has her own raised high.

"To comradery."

Countless glasses clink together and then Draxis and Unma take a sip. Everyone else follows their lead.

One chair over, Hunk is letting the drink sit in his mouth to appreciate the taste, a habit he's done since back when they were kids. Hunk's mother was a wonderful cook and instilled an appreciation for good tasting things in him at a young age. There's a lot more to Hunk than a good palette, of course; he's a strong engineer, a deep thinker, a problem solver and one of the most comfortable shoulders Lance has had the pleasure of crying on. Best in the world. The universe. Pidge, another seat over, is twisting her expression into disgust as she clearly seems to dislike the taste, grimacing with a flash of plum-stained teeth. Curious, Lance takes his first sip and can taste what seems like the faintest hint of alcohol, or whatever similar thing passes for alcohol on this planet, and for as rebellious and daring as the Green Paladin can be, Lance doesn't see her as the type to indulge in drinking. Not like him at a young age, when his brother and sister allowed him a few sips here and there of their own secret stash.

It reminds him of sweet wine, which leads him to believe that Keith has a bit of a sweet tooth, because the Red Paladin has practically drained his entire glass already. No tact at all. Not like Shiro, Allura and Coran, who take their time and pace themselves the way respectful diplomats should.

Lance observes his glass, turning it in his hand, admiring the magnificent color. He drinks again, noticing vacantly that his pinky is still stained purple. His gaze shifts over to Unma, who is smiling at him again, genuine and merciful. She has forgiven him before there was ever anything to forgive.

"If I may…" Allura stands tentatively, but with that familiar grace that Lance admires. She is given the go-ahead from a kind wave of the hand from Unma. "I just want to express our deepest gratitude. For everything. Your kindness and patience has been overwhelming and we have no intention of letting you down." Allura does wonderful keeping the waver out of her voice, and stopping herself from adding on the word 'again.' "We will not rest until we show you the true good that Voltron can accomplish when backed with the power of trust and fellowship."

Her vow seems to go over well. Lance only hopes that it's enough to hold the planet of Decibon over until they can prove it.

After the feast is over, the civilians mingle (or at least, as close to mingling as they can for people who do not speak), and Lance finds it hard to blend into the nearby wall. He certainly tries, but against the stark white paint, he feels as though he stands out even more. He innocently watches Unma throughout the night, waiting for his chance to catch her and apologize, but even vargas later he finds himself still leaning against the wall having accomplished nothing. Even when the 'festivities' die down to just a simmer, something keeps him there. Even as the crowd and Unma herself seems to vanish for the night, Lance continues to nest there.

"Get some good rest, Lance," Shiro's voice comes softly from behind, a comforting hand patting him on his back. "Tomorrow we can try and make amends and figure out how to help these people."

Helping people sounds great, but rest sounds even better. Lance can practically feel the bags hanging under his eyes; he rubs at them, nodding faintly. "Yeah…"

Still he stands there, frozen by something unnamed, even after Shiro and the others retreat to the lovely sleeping quarters provided to them. It's dark on Decibon now that it is void of most of it's power, making the natural stars shine brighter than ever. He tries to take comfort in their presence, yet almost wishes he could slink underground and sit in the faint glow of their magnificent artificial star map. That would be trespassing though, and besides, it requires two people to get past the main door anyway.

Just as he is about to head towards his own sleeping arrangements, something soft wraps around his wrist.

Lance is startled, his throat drying up instantly. Having the entire party to prepare what to say, he finds he still isn't ready. "Un-Unma… I… I'm sorry. What happened before is... it's all my—"

"Shh," the princess hushes him kindly, like a mother would a frightened child. For the briefest of ticks, Lance misses his Mama, before he is distracted by the fact that Unma is speaking to him. Whispering to him. Again. "Do not apologize."

The warm blush on his face is replaced with a tinge of sadness. "This… That wasn't the way things were supposed to happen. You weren't ready to… because of me, you—"

"Because of you, no true harm fell unto me or my people," she insists, reaching out to lift Lance's chin when his head goes crestfallen. "I am not here to reprimand you, but to thank you for your bravery. In time, everyone, even Draxis, will understand." Her smile is soft and knowing and everything he needs in that moment. "Difficult times are inevitable, my friend. But I trust we will overcome. Voltron will see to it."

"I don't…" he tries, then releases a breath. No wonder men risk everything to save princesses. "We will. Thank you, Unma."

Her voice dips to a lower register, eyes darting around before befalling on Lance again. Still not ready to be heard by anyone else. Getting to witness this side of the princess makes Lance feel special, and that is a massive understatement.

"Now, please get proper rest. Tomorrow is a new day."

Lance finds himself nodding stupidly, drunk on her empathy and admiring the genuine companionship he has built with this creature in such a short time. She leans towards him and Lance instinctively opens his arms to accept her in an embrace, only to freeze up completely when she instead lands a chaste kiss to his cheek.

If that isn't a good note to end the day on, Lance doesn't know what is. He and his burning face retreat into his room and sink into the bed, where he lies on his back and stares at the dotted texture of the ceiling, wishing they were stars.

Vargas pass and Lance never finds himself falling into the restful sleep that Unma wished for him. His mind filters through princes and princesses, of translators and the people they speak for, of purple stains and awkward dinners, of Galra invasions and doomed planets. He comes up with a bunch of epic scenarios of what he missed while he was knocked out, of what Draxis could have possibly said to send the Galra on their way and what was to keep them from coming back. He thinks about how they're going to earn the forgiveness from Unma's people the way Unma herself has already done, or how they're going to go about retrieving the beloved crystals that are the linchpin of the entire planet. He wonders how much longer it will take Pidge to inevitably come up with a brilliant plan.

Distractions are not kind to Lance, and yet he doesn't know how to avoid them.

In fact he is so lost in thought, he nearly misses the soft knock at his quarters.

He half expects it to be Allura, sneaking off to his room to have a long hard discussion in private about all the things he's done wrong on this trip so far, what he should avoid doing next time and ultimately why she feels Lance isn't ready for diplomacy roles just yet. This, technically, isn't likely, he knows, but the irrational fear still lingers there. A more likely option is Unma once more, a presence he will certainly welcome, to offer him more words of kindness and optimism. Lance thinks that the princess of Decibon enjoys using her voice, and in turn Lance enjoys being the one she trusts to use it with.

He pushes the thoughts aside and is understandably startled when he pulls open the door and reveals someone else entirely.

"…Draxis?"

He is there in the same robes he was wearing at the party, looking as though he has had no intentions of even trying to sleep. He's holding a simple, silver tray, round and elegant. Balanced on top of it are two crystal glasses with more of that purple liquid from before. Kudos or something like that, it was called. Lance stares at the drinks for a full five ticks, then at Draxis. Softly, he breathes, "I don't understand."

"May I enter," Draxis says more than asks, offering the slightest of bows.

"I… of course," Lance obliges, stepping aside. Draxis brushes past him and only turns to face him once the door audibly shuts.

"I come to ask a favor of you," Draxis voices quietly, lifting the tray with the two drinks. Draxis' company so soon after Unma's drives Lance to believe that she has something to do with Draxis' change of heart, and he finds himself staring into Draxis' eyes for any kind of revelation. "But first, I owe you a more... personal apology. Paladin Lance, I have been unfair to you; please accept my sincerest apologies, to a more intimate degree. I hope you can understand that my actions stem from a good place. A place that cares deeply for the best interests of the princess."

Lance inhales slowly, holds it, exhales loudly and understands. He himself will do anything for his own princess. Allura is someone he will sacrifice his dying breath for – they all are – even if it means being harsh to someone else. Even if that someone else means well. What kind of hypocritical monster would he be to punish Draxis for being the same way he is with his own?

He feels his heart open as Draxis extends the tray to him. He smiles as he takes one of the glasses because maybe an alliance isn't such a far off idea after all. "There's nothing to forgive."

At this, Draxis seems to brighten. He sets the tray down and grasps the stem of the remaining glass. "To the future," he toasts, tapping the rims together.

Lance has yet to peel his eyes away from Draxis' face, searching. Growing up, Lance had been taught to believe that there is good in everyone and that anyone is capable of change. He embraces that ideology even in the midst of a space war, and moments like this reassure him that he isn't following a lost concept. Good people are not yet extinct.

"To the future," Lance echoes, tilting the glass to his lips and taking in two solid gulps. He feels it travel down his throat, tingly and lingering. It is as sweet and light as it was before but with a hint of saltiness, and a strange mineral-like texture that noticeably warms his belly. It's nice.

"I am most relieved to put our grievances behind us. Thank you for accepting my peace offering. However there is still the matter at hand."

Lance feels his throat tighten and Draxis carefully watches him as he sets the drink down. If he can make amends with Draxis now... "Listen… About what happened with the Galra…"

Draxis raises a hand, signaling for Lance to stop. He does.

"What's done is done. I am not here to punish you for your actions. Actions I now understand were not of rebellion, but of loyalty, which is something I understand deeply. But I'm afraid our precious Plexia Crystals were still taken from us, a repercussion that could have been avoided and needs to be rectified."

Lance feels himself start to fidget. He isn't new to vaguely concealed blame. In the Garrison, Iverson introduced him to it on a daily basis. Still, he can't feel angry with Draxis for bringing it up. Intentions aside, he is to blame for the loss of those crystals.

"Do not belittle yourself, paladin. All is not yet lost. You," Draxis declares, setting strong hands atop of Lance's shoulders. "You have an opportunity to redeem yourself. A chance to right wrongs. To prove once and for all the worth of the promise made by you and your fellow paladins, and cement the union between Voltron and Decibon once and for all." The hands on his shoulders give a light squeeze, suddenly filling Lance with a sense of duty.

A few ticks of silence pass. Draxis breaks the stillness by taking Lance's previously discarded glass, still half full, and handing it to him. With slightly shaking hands, Lance accepts it. It'd be rude not to finish it, so he drains it completely. Every last purple drop of Draxis' apology.

"It can be done," the translator emphasizes. "But only if you wish it."

Yes, yes, more than anything yes, Lance wants to seal the deal for Allura's alliance. He wants to make her proud and prove his worth as the Blue Paladin. He wants to show Unma that there is a future worth looking forward to. Prove Voltron's worth as a means of protection, a true defender of the universe.

It's possible. Holy cheese, it's all so very real and very possible.

He can fix it.

Lance sets down the glass, wets his suddenly dry, stained lips and leans forward. His whisper is so hoarse it hurts his throat. "How?"