12/31/17: Completely overhauled to expand on Shiro and Mustang's conversation. I wanted to have Mustang give Shiro a more thorough lecture on why he should stop beating himself up over what the Galra did to him and what he's doing to save lives.

Chapter 15: Trust:

Pax Mess Hall

En Route to Mars

December 18th, 2840

As the fleet of House Augustus and its allies burned hard for Mars, Shiro sat alone in the mess hall of the dreadnought, which Darrow had renamed the Pax. While the rest of the household celebrated their victory and continued survival, the Black Paladin went off by himself to think. The events of the last twelve hours were finally starting to catch up with him. While he knew that Galra perished when he piloted the Black Lion against Zarkon's ships, he hadn't killed anyone face to face outside the gladiator arena before tonight. And while most of it was in self-defense or to protect his friend, the fact that he was willing to kill his opponents so easily troubled the young man.

What am I becoming? He thought to himself as he stared at the plate of food on his table. It was one thing when I was a prisoner of the Galra. I was in a situation where I had to do whatever it took to stay alive. But even if I was just defending myself at the gala, I still killed people tonight. Fellow human beings. The Bellona may have been conspiring to assassinate the ArchGovernor, but that doesn't mean they have to die for it. Nor does it give me the right to kill anyone who gets in our way. But what really bothered Shiro was that if he was willing to kill after only two months, how much more ruthless and bloodthirsty could he become the longer he was here?

When he'd acted violent and bloodthirsty to convince the Galra to put him in the ring instead of Matt, it had only been an act. Now, he was afraid that the next time he behaved like that it wouldn't be an act. That when he finally made it back home, he wouldn't be able to be a part of Voltron. That the Black Lion would see him as just another Zarkon. He was snapped out of his internal self-deprecation when he heard the doors hiss open. He looked up from the table to find Mustang walking into the room. He let out a sigh as she approached his table, slipping his hand into his pocket and activating a jamField so they could converse in private. I guess this is as good a time as ever to tell her the full story of how I ended up here, he thought to himself as she took a seat across from him.

"You already know about the mission to Kerberos," he began sadly, a melancholic tone in his voice. He didn't need to bother explaining the details of the expedition to her. Even if he hadn't told her everything about his life pre-Galra, she had reviewed all the old documents and videos about the launch on her own time anyway. "I had a background in astrophysics, but I was mainly the ship's pilot while Sam and Matt Holt did most of the research. On our first day collecting ice samples, we were abducted by an alien race called the Galra." Mustang nodded. He knew she had inferred something along those lines from his reticence to talk about what had happened to him.

"You were prisoners," she summarized. Shiro looked ill for a moment as he recalled the trauma he endured in captivity. There were still large chunks missing from his memory of that year, but what he did remember was nightmarish and brutal. He took a deep breath to steady himself before continuing.

"To the Galra," he explained. "Except for strategic value and skills, there was no difference between a prisoner and a slave. Commander Holt was sent to a work camp with the physically weaker captives. But since Matt and I were young and physically fit, we were sent to the gladiator arena. And in the Galra Empire, you either win, or you die." Mustang's face remained passive. Shiro knew that she could figure out all the things he left unsaid. She had been trained to mask her emotions, but he knew her well enough to recognize that she was horrified by what she was hearing.

"I had always hoped that humanity's first contact with an alien civilization would be a peaceful one," she said sadly. "But it seems I was disappointed in that regard. I understand this is a sensitive subject but judging by the armor I found you in I know there's more to the story I need to hear. So, did Matt perish in the arena?" He shook his head, and grabbed the cup of tea he'd ordered to fortify himself before he answered her question.

"No," he replied. "The two of us and the other prisoners captured from different planets at the same time as us were being sent in as cannon fodder for the arena's reigning champion, some brute named Myzax. We were going to be slaughtered for the entertainment of Emperor Zarkon. Matt was supposed to go first, but he was panicking. He wasn't in any condition mentally to fight, so I attacked him. I played the part of a bloodthirsty berserker and deliberately injured his leg so that they'd send me instead, and he'd be ruled unfit for the arena and sent off to the work camps with his father." Even though he'd done it to save Matt's life, Shiro still blamed himself for being forced to hurt his friend.

Mustang placed a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. Now she knows why I hate the Obsidian gladiator games so much, other than the obvious fact of slaves fighting for the entertainment of their masters, he thought to himself as he took another calming sip of tea.

"About a year into my captivity, I was given over to the Druids, the empire's research division."

"And they took your arm," Mustang put the pieces together. Shiro nodded, swallowing the intangible lump in his throat before he could panic as he remembered going under the knife. Mustang got up from her seat and moved to sit next to him, giving him a hug as she sat down.

"Yeah," he finally admitted, twisting his arm so that he wouldn't hurt her when he turned on the energy weapon in his right hand. "They did. They were going to do more, but Ulaz, one of the doctors operating on me that day, turned out to be part of a resistance group called the Blade of Marmora, made up of Galra opposed to Zarkon's rule. He freed me, and set off a bomb to cover my escape." He didn't need to elaborate on why Ulaz had rescued him. All I have to do is give it a few seconds and let her brilliant mind work it out, he thought to himself as he imagined the metaphorical lightbulb going off over her head at the exact moment he knew she'd deduced Ulaz's motive.

"There was something on Earth that Zarkon wanted," she said.

"Bingo," he continued. "You see, Zarkon had been conquering the known universe for the last ten thousand years. We still haven't figured out how he's managed to stay alive for so long. But before the empire began its campaign of conquest, there was a legendary superweapon that was the only credible threat to his rule. Voltron, a group of five flying mechanical lions that combine into a sixty-meter-tall robot warrior." Mustang's eyes widened, both in awe at the scale of Voltron, which was as tall as the average hangar on an Aureate warship, and in disgust at how Zarkon had kept himself alive for over ten millenia. While her father didn't use any such treatments himself, many older Golds continually used cellular rejuvenation therapy to extend their lives for up to a century and a half. Like many things in the world she knew, the very idea disgusted Mustang.

"I got a concussion during the chaos of my escape," Shiro went on. "So, I don't really remember much of my time as a prisoner of the Empire. Even now, most of it is still a dark haze in my mind. I only recall bits and pieces. Sweat streamed down his face, and the humming of the ship's engines around him sounded louder in his ears. Mustang gave him another hug, both to show her sympathy and to help him stay calm.

"When I landed back on Earth," he said once he'd paused for a moment to breath. "The Galaxy Garrison was all over my escape pod, especially since I'd landed on the outskirts of the school's property. But they wouldn't listen to me. Admittedly, their concerns about alien pathogens and unfamiliar technology were valid things to be worried about, they just completely ignored my panic and went straight for the anesthesia. I tried to warn them of an imminent invasion and they acted like I wasn't even there. Thankfully, Keith, Katie, and two other Garrison students spotted my crash and rescued me."

"And from there you found the Voltron lion, and it brought you to a safe location from which you could gather the others and learn to pilot them," she extrapolated. "Correct?"

"Yeah," Shiro responded, letting out a relieved sigh. Talking about his experience with someone who knew nothing about it helped keep him calm in the midst of the brewing storm. "That's pretty much the gist of it." He stifled a yawn as a cook came up and asked if they were hungry, offering to prepare them a feast fit for kings. The Ash Lord must eat a lot if his cooks automatically assume everyone wants a feast, he thought to himself, shuddering at the reminder that this ship used to belong to the man who destroyed Rhea.

"No thank you," Mustang told the Brown. "I just want some bacon and eggs." But as the cook walked back to the kitchen, the two heard him babbling something about pheasant. They both chuckled, but as the laughter died down, the mood darkened once more as Shiro started to think about how his experiences, both here and in the arena, had changed him.

"I never wanted to be a soldier growing up," he admitted glumly. "Fighting and killing and dying on a battlefield never appealed to me as a career. But it seems like the universe has forced me into the role of a killer anyway." Mustang put a hand on his shoulder. "First with the Galra, then Voltron, and now this. Even if I do make it back to my own time, there's no way I'd ever be able to pilot the Black Lion again. Not after everything I've done." Before he could say anything else, a wave of pain shot down his left arm and he cried out in pain as Mustang slapped him in the shoulder.

"That hurt," he complained.

"Good," Mustang retorted. "It was supposed to. Stop brooding about all the blood on your hands, Shirogane. You're better than that. Don't let the things you do when you have no other options define you. You never had a choice to take live. Everything you did then was in the name of survival. Every life taken as a Paladin of Voltron was to save lives. The Galra killed in battle with Voltron chose to oppress the innocent. And the Golds you've killed tonight came at you with the intent to kill. Do you regret staying alive in the arena?"

"No," he admitted.

"Do you regret saving lives as a Paladin?" she asked.

"Never," he snapped.

"Do you regret staying alive now?" she demanded.

"No," he answered firmly.

"Then, to borrow some slang from your time, stop bitching about how you're unworthy of being a Paladin and own that shit. You're not the only one with blood on their hands. I killed people tonight as well. As did Darrow, and Kavax, and Daxo. I'm sitting here lecturing you tonight because I killed someone in the Passage with my bare hands. Yes, it's fucking unfair that the universe has forced us into positions where killing is as natural as the changing of the seasons. But what matters is why you kill, and what you do when you're not killing. You are a gorydamn hero, and if the Black Lion can't see that, then they're the one who's unworthy of having you as a pilot." Tears welled up in Shiro's eyes at how much faith Mustang had in him. He'd heard similar arguments from Keith, but there'd always been that nagging voice at the back of his mind saying that Keith and the others were biased. Mustang was far enough removed from the war against Zarkon that her lecture managed to pierce the veil of guilt and self-doubt that had been building up since his first day in the arena.

"I get it," he replied, his voice cracking a little as he used his napkin to dry his eyes. "Thanks. I needed that."

"You're gorydamn welcome," Mustang said dramatically, laughing warmly as she gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Now, you need to get some sleep. It's been a long day for all of us and there will likely be several more ahead."

"What about you?" he asked curiously.

"I can't sleep," she answered, tapping the side of her head as she moved across to her original seat. "I've got too much rolling around up here."

"Alright then," Shiro replied. "Enjoy whatever it is the cooks ends up serving you." They both chuckled at his exaggerated formality as he left the room.

"We can continue our discussion tomorrow," she called back as he reached the door. As Shiro walked through the doors out of the mess hall, he passed Darrow. He turned around and caught sight of the Reaper of Mars approaching Mustang's table just as the doors hissed closed. Good, the Black Paladin thought to himself. Maybe those two can finally work things out. And with that thought, he headed through the corridors in search of his designated quarters.

The size of Voltron comes from the official twitter. The individual lions are about 25 meters tall on average while standing.