Chapter 8:

Darmok

"This is the lay of Romelle Amue," one of the elders calls out. She is blind and stooped, her white hair hanging in long braids that are threaded with stone and metal beads and her skin an almost translucent lavender. In her hands, she holds a long strand of carved beads and runs her thumb over them.

She almost resembles a Druid, but her shift is tattered and torn, the grey of someone who has suffered imprisonment at the hands of the Galra Empire, and there is nothing of that terrible presence that accompanied them. Instead, there is something else, a kind of odd gravity that surrounds her and draws everyone's attention.

"Long may Amue walk, her back unbroken."

It seems like it comes from everywhere at once, from everyone, spilling forth from almost every prisoner's lips in a single chorus that fills the central chamber of the station, rising level after level.

The old woman speaks again, beads clicking in her fingers, as she recounts events that transpired ten thousand years ago and, like clockwork, comes the chorus, repeating that phrase.

It's the height of surreal, Keith thinks to himself. Here they are, the Galran Empire's Most Wanted, and they're sitting here, smack in the middle of a Galran political prison-slash-labor camp, shaking hands and making nice with what would be, in other circumstances, the opposition.

Except, these people had the misfortune of either being born not Galran enough for the Empire or being brave enough to not turn a blind eye to an atrocity brewing in their own backyard. And some of them didn't even have that much – they'd been born to this place, prisoners for crimes they'd never committed or, worse, simply for their ancestors even having existed at all.

It's sad, that's what it is, he decides, and it only gets sadder the more he listens.

Allura, on the other hand, wants to do nothing else but listen, it seems.

"The princess Romelle was her cousin," Coran explains to them. "She was one of the rulers of Pollux. They were quite close once."

Lance scrunches up his face in thought, watching Allura. "I think the translator's bugging out. What does that thing they keep saying mean?"

"Amue? It's an expression," Coran pauses. His mustache twitches. "You're not Altean, so it may not exactly be translatable."

"Great. Another Darmok," Hunk sighs under his breath. Then, he pipes up: "Hey Coran, could you try, please? You know, for science."

He taps his com link meaningfully.

Idioms, as they've come to realize, really aren't all that translatable, which is both a blessing and a curse (or, as Pidge dubbed it to Hunk's utter glee, the Darmok Effect – whatever that means). On the plus side, the Galrans can't figure out what they're talking about in combat, even when they do manage to pick up their chatter or pin them down. Down side is, neither can anyone, really, including Allura and Coran. Oh, they've made some progress, but it's a bit hit or miss, hence why the need for Science, which was just a fancy way of saying that Pidge and Hunk were trying to build a better translator (something a bit less Google Translate Space Edition and more Universal Translator, as Pidge had put it).

They still haven't quite figured out how the one they've got works in the first place.

Coran's mustache twitches again as he regards them and then he closes his eyes, turning away. "It's to do with an old legend, one from hundreds of thousands of years ago, about the sacred tree of the Mother of Lions."

Hunk and Lance exchange a glance, mouthing "mother of lions" in curiosity and Keith feels like something cold just slipped down his spine: he's heard that before, he's sure of it.

Could it have been in the Castle? He remembers trying to look up some things in the computer when they'd first arrived, but then things had gone sideways so quickly and, well, the point was a bit moot now, considering they still had no idea how much data they'd lost with Alfor's AI.

A lot seems to be the general consensus.

He taps his leg, cocking his head to the side as he chases the dim sense of familiarity, and gets nowhere closer than he was a moment before.

"Thiamue was the name of the tree," Coran continues. He laces his fingers together, palms facing up, and bends his thumbs. The result is vaguely branchlike. "To our people, it was profoundly sacred. It represents an unwavering strength in the face of incredible adversity – the ability to weather any storm, no matter how great."

At that, Coran's expression goes distant. "Romelle and Allura were near to the same age when the war began. After the Invasion of Pollux colony, we'd lost all contact with her and her brothers. The King feared the worst – we all did. It was no secret what was going on."

Again, Coran pauses. "I'm glad to learn that she survived. Truly, she is due this honor."

"Title?" Keith murmurs in bewilderment, more to himself. He taps the side of his helmet a few times, earning a look from Hunk and Lance. He rolls his eyes and mouths, "Translator."

Lance snorts, unsurprised.

Hunk shrugs, as if to say "it's a work in progress."

Keith catches movement behind them out of the corner of his eye. He raises his head rapidly and stops, letting out a soft huh as he sees several children scoot back behind the crates.

Lance, who had frozen mid turn, immediately relaxes, and Hunk does the same.

These children are very young and of noticeably mixed descent. Two have the darker Altean skin with purple hair and large ears. One's ears resemble those of a long-haired cat and the other's have far more in common with Sendak in terms of general structure. The rest have ears that resemble Altean ears. A few have lizard-like purple scales on their skin, creating an overall mottled effect, but most have tufts of fur. The majority of them have the yellow, gleaming eyes, but their pupils are larger and one or two have the fair sclera and defined Altean iris, though in a very striking yellow color. They wear carved beads, threaded into their hair or tied with knots to their clothes.

"Hey!" Lance says brightly.

Coran's mustache twitches, concealing most of his smile. He leans down, patting Keith on the shoulder. "A word of advice, boys – don't show your teeth when you smile. It's considered rude in Galran society."

Keith's got a hunch that that's not quite accurate. But it's too late to ask: Coran's already excused himself to go and join Allura and Lance is introducing himself to the gathering children as the coolest Paladin ever.

"Well, the Blue Lion does have power over ice," Keith quips, unable to resist, and Hunk completely cracks up.

Lance gives them both a withering look and then dramatically turns up his nose. He does an about face and marches straight into the midst of the children. "I'm just going to go and talk to my new best friends alone. They appreciate me. Isn't that right?"

The children clearly have no idea what he's talking about, but he's a Paladin of Voltron and they're absolutely enthralled with the prospect of being able to get so close, considering Voltron and the Paladins were pretty much considered a myth until recently. One of them tugs on his arm, demanding to hear about his adventures, and that's all it takes for Lance's attention to be completely diverted with an epic (and pretty blatantly embellished) retelling of the liberation of Balmera.

It doesn't really take that long for Hunk to join in – mostly to stop Lance from taking all the credit – and then they're both making fake laser noises and miming battles to the delight of the children (and more than a few adults).

Keith is trying desperately not to laugh.

Hadn't he said something about coming from a large family? Keith thinks he can see it, now. For the first time in months, Lance seems utterly at ease.

And then it hits him like a punch to the gut: these kids must remind Lance of his family.

Lance misses his family.

His stomach churns, and, abruptly, Keith gets to his feet.

Both Hunk and Lance shoot him questioning looks.

"EGS?" Hunk asks.

Keith shakes his head in the negative, waving it off as nothing.

Hunk nods, while Lance looks hesitant. Then Lance turns away as if nothing happened and begins to launch into another story.

Keith moves a little further off to the side and sits, pulling out his knife. Its presence is a steady, familiar weight in his hand. Tapping it against one palm, he rolls it back and forth a little and tries to once again calm down.

"Is that your knife?" someone – a girl, maybe – asks.

Keith looks up abruptly and sees one of the prisoners standing nearby.

She isn't much older than he is, not really, and she'd almost look human, if it weren't for her long ears and the purple spots on her skin. Her hair is cut terribly short, a sloppy cut that speaks of convenience rather than choice, and she wears the same undersuit and tunic as the rest of them, though she has a strand of carved stone beads around her neck.

"Yeah," he answers, after a moment.

She sits down next to him and he realizes that the purple spots form a specific pattern down the sides of her neck and arms. "I'm Fala of the Pelex Birin clan."

"I'm Keith Kogane," he tells her.

She gives him an odd amused look, as if there's something funny about his name.

Aliens are weird, he decides.

"It's a very nice knife," she tells him, at last.

"It belonged to my parents," Keith replies.

"Oh," the girl, Fala, says. She pauses, hesitating a moment. "On Galra, it's tradition to give children a line knife when they come of age to acknowledge their place as a member of their clan. It is meant to connect us to our history as a people."

Keith looks down at his knife, at the familiar planes of metal, and idly traces his fingers over the wrappings on the hilt. "Do you have one, then?"

"We weren't allowed to keep them when we were brought here," Fala states solemnly. She stares straight ahead, gaze hollow. "They tried to take our history from us and erase our people."

The translator hiccups again and people becomes clan-family-kin.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Keith says, honestly. "No one deserves this."

Fala nods. One of her fingers winds around the beads.

It suddenly gets very quiet.

"So, what are the beads for?" he asks, trying to break the awkward silence.

Fala takes off the strand. She holds it up, pinching one of the stone beads between her fingers. "Look closely. What do you see?"

"It's got carvings on it," Keith answers. He narrows his eyes. "Galran? No… that's Altean?"

"It is both," Fala laughs a little, smiling in a weird way that shows no teeth. "The droids are programmed to search for weapons, but a trinket such as this? They do not question. What is a bead or a child's teething ring to a droid? It is nothing."

She pauses. "To us, it is everything - all the people that have fallen because of the Oath Broken, the trail of blood across the stars. It is a record, the proof the Oathbreaker cannot erase."

Then, she deliberately places the strand in his free hand.

Keith raises his head, staring at her with wide eyes.

"Take it, Paladin of Voltron," Fala says.

He opens his mouth, floundering awkwardly. "I can't take this… this is..."

"Proof of an Oath Broken," Fala insists, closing his hand over the strand. "What remains to be found is only the Proof of the Oath."

"What?" Keith manages. "I don't understand."

It's too late: Fala is quicker than he is and by the time he gets to his feet, he's already completely lost track of her in the crowd. He cranes his neck, peering at face after face, but she's long gone.

All of a sudden, the hair on the back of his neck prickles and a sense that he's being watched floods over him.

Keith turns, knife drawn, eyes scanning the crowd and stops. There, in the back: the Galran prisoner with the long white hair and purple skin! He's staring right at him!

"Keith, what's wrong?" Allura asks.

Keith nearly jumps, startled by her sudden question. When he looks back, the figure is gone.

"Keith?" she repeats, now deeply concerned.

"It's nothing," he says, drawing back. "I just thought… I must be imagining things."

Allura puts a comforting hand on his arm and smiles a little. "It's all right. Why don't you come and sit with us a while, hm?"

"Okay," Keith replies. In his other hand, the beads click together. "Hey, Allura, what does proof of the Oath mean?"

Allura stares at him, eyes wide. "Where did you hear that?"

"One of the prisoners told me, why?" he responds, raising an eyebrow.

"It's…" Allura pauses. "The Proof of the Oath is a person."

Notes:

The Alteans once traversed the roots of Thiamue from one end of the world to another, when the great darkness fell. It held them, never once breaking, as they walked to safety.

Pidge u nerd.

I think about translation software in scifi a lot and then I just... Babelfish all I'm gonna say man.

Also: Fala was the original name of Allura in Golion. This Fala, however, obviously is a bit different.