DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.
Warnings: lots of angst, slight cultural misunderstandings, language, a panic attack.
Enjoy!
His first impression is confirmed over and over during the first few weeks of his life as a haaq.
The Guardians are rash, loud, disorganized and undisciplined, they are often rude to each other and to other people, and their ship is filthy and messy, but they are not the honour-less barbarians that he had imagined them to be. Obviously it is not like being haaq to another Kree House would be, but it is not terrible as it could be.
Even though he is their property now, the Guardians treat him with respect, and try their hardest not to humiliate him further. They have never beaten him yet, not even once.
He is still sleeping in the holding cell, but that's because there is no room anywhere else on the ship, and they have not chained him ever since the ceremony.
The collar has stayed, but they never use it to restrain him, even if Nova Prime has given them the remote. He has not done anything worth restraining, yet, but still...
They hold absolute power over him, but exert the utmost moderation in using it. It is strange how they spontaneously act in accordance to Pama's teachings even if they don't know them.
They are nothing like the Xandarians. They are much better.
The most the Guardians have done, is giving him "ground rules" as if he was a young child in need of house-training.
They have given him clothes, normal ones, with long sleeves and a hood, to allow him to cover himself, and even shoes.
Some masters don't, fearing that their haaq would try to escape if they had the chance. The Guardians seem to trust him, instead. They even give him leave to perform some physical activity when they are planet-side, so that he can keep healthy and reasonably fit.
They confide in his honour, in spite of what he has done. He is immensely grateful for that.
Their life is semi-nomadic and simple. The Guardians don't need much in terms of service. He does what he can, he tries to make himself useful.
Most of his time, he spends scrubbing the ship clean. It is amazing how filthy they have let it become. It is nothing that soap and scourer cannot solve, though. It is a bit like when he was a cadet and he and his classmates took turns to scrub clean the classes and the halls of the Academy, only it is always his turn.
He tackles one room at a time, and scrubs it until it is so clean that the Guardians could use the metal fittings as mirrors and eat straight from the floor, then moves to the next the following day.
When they land somewhere, he scrubs the outside too, revealing the bright orange and blue paint hidden under layers of dirt.
When he is not scrubbing, he cooks, cleans the dishes, repairs odds and ends that have been left in disrepair or looks after the plant-child.
At first the Guardians tease him a bit about his cooking, which to begin with is limited to reheating canned food and other kinds of ready meals. He learns quickly, though, and even though he can't cook anything fancy, at least the food he prepares is edible, which is more than what can be said about the results of Rocket's cooking.
The Guardians seem satisfied by his service. He cannot help feeling proud of it. It is the only kind of pride he has left.
It is evident however, that the Guardians are not used to having servants, not just haaq, but any kind.
A good servant should be discreet, unobstrusive. When he finishes his chores, he tries to make himself scarce, retreating to the cell, but they do not allow him to do so. If he disappears, they come looking for him, they inquire if he is alright and order him back to the common spaces, as if he was a real member of the crew.
Likewise, they insist for him to take his meals with them, at the table, try to drag him into their conversations and even force him to pick the radio station sometimes.
It is altogether too much honour for the likes of him, but as much as he tries to dissuade them, his efforts are vain, and they keep treating him much better than he deserves, even if its inclusion in their lives is clearly putting a strain in their relationship.
There is tension in the air, and that easy camaraderie he has witnessed the night of his second capture is stifled by his presence.
Even though they trust him to uphold his pledge, he is not their friend, actually, they hardly know him. They don't know what to say to him, and though they try, the conversations seem always a bit contrived and fall to the wayside quite quickly, leaving them to deal with uncomfortable silences.
That is only a minor inconvenience, though. Overall, his new life is pleasant. Too pleasant even.
The Guardians take good care of him, and he recovers fully from all injuries. He has nothing to worry about apart from what to cook the following day, and nothing to demonstrate to anyone. He doesn't recall it ever happening since he was six.
In spite of himself, he feels safe and relaxed.
Paradoxically, though, his nightmares become worse and worse with every passing night, as strong and detailed as they were when he was in his first years of Academy.
He no longer dreams only of the fire that took his family, but also of Drax's village, and of all the people that Thanos had ordered him to kill.
The subject does not matter though, he deals with them the same way he used to when he was a child. He tries to exhaust himself during the day and meditates before going to bed, trying to steer his dreams towards more pleasant paths.
Like then, these two methods help very little, and he has to gag himself with a piece of cloth every night, so that when the nightmares overcome him and he wakes up screaming, he won't shame himself by waking anyone else.
The padded walls and floor of the cell help, and no one seems to be the wiser.
He doesn't want his masters to know his weakness, he tries his hardest for them not to know.
Eventually, they end up knowing anyway, but, in hindsight, it is a good thing for everyone.
One of the strangest things about the Guardians, is the importance of music in their daily life. They listen to some kind of tune all the time on the ship, and Star-Lord even has a strange portable device that he uses to listen to his tunes when he is planet-side. It looks remarkably primitive, but the Terran is clearly attached to it.
Ronan soon learns that it was a parting gift from Star-Lord's deceased mother, and that he still listens to it in her honour. Honouring her is also the main the reason why he always seems to prefer listening to a limited set of tunes.
Terrans have very strange funerary customs, he decides, but, to be honest, even he remembers fondly his mother's favourite tune, the one she used to sing to him and Rory as a lullaby.
Star-Lord's tunes are the ones the Guardians listen to most frequently, as they seem to please everyone, but sometimes they get bored of them and turn on the radio.
It turns out that Star-Lord, Gamora and the sapling are all fond of lively, dancy tunes, while Drax likes complex orchestral compositions and chorals, and Rocket favours brash and angry songs with a hard, fast beat.
Much to his surprise, his own tastes oscillate between Drax's and Rocket's, depending on his mood. It doesn't take long for him to start having favourite bands and songs. He had never had the time for such frivolities before.
It turns out that the ship he has stolen on Xandar actually belongs to one of his new favourite bands, who have made a song about the event.
They haven't asked for their clothes back, so he has washed the blood off them and still wears them sometimes. The garish leggings apparently used to belong to their frontman, and are supposed to be "famously suggestive".
Ronan doesn't understand why, since apart from the colour they are not very different from the ones he used to wear under his armour. Maybe mainstream galactic culture frowns upon men who wear tight clothes, who knows?
The Guardians don't seem to mind him wearing them, though. Star-Lord and Gamora give him strange looks sometimes when he does, but they never openly comment on it or chide him, so he just lets go.
When all hell breaks loose, it is his turn to pick the radio.
They are flying not far from Kree space, and he does feel a bit homesick from time to time, so he asks his masters the authorization to look for Kree transmissions. The Guardians not only agree, but actively encourage him. They are curious about the music of his people.
Ronan can't help but be pleased about it and fiddles with the tuner, until he eventually finds the main Kree radio station.
They are broadcasting a polyphonic hymn to Pama, one of the most solemn and majestic ones. It is one of his favourite and a pleasant shiver runs through him.
Judging from the amazing acoustics, if he had to bet, he would say it had been recorded in the new Great Temple of Pama, on Hala.
He has never been in there since the accident, he can't bring himself to cross that threshold. The closest he has got are the gardens, but some of his colleagues had told him that it is even more beautiful that the one the Xandarians destroyed and that the concerts they sometimes hold in there are magnificent.
He closes his eyes and lets himself soak in the music. He has is happy to be able to share something so beautiful with his masters, and he feels proud that they are liking it, that maybe they are realizing that his people are good for something else apart from fighting and smiting people.
When the music stops, no one is in a hurry to change station. Ronan hopes that there will be at least another song, but his hopes are thwarted.
The anchor starts talking and it is a voice he knows.
It is Derdriyu, one of the high priestesses of Pama. Like him, she is a survivor of the Great Temple, only the fire took her eyes as well as her family. She lost her sight, but she found her true vocation as a servant of Pama. Ever since the reconstruction of the Temple, she has rarely left it. Ronan has never understood how she can stay there, with the ghosts of the dead all around. He admires her, she is much stronger than he could ever be, and she has always been a guiding light for all the survivors of the Great Fires.
"With this song, we want to remember all our brothers and sisters who have lost their lives in the fire of the Great Temple twenty-five years ago" Derdriyu is saying.
Ronan feels disoriented. Is it already that day? He has lost track of time since Xandar. How could he forget the Day of Remembrance, though?
Guilt rises in his heart, erasing all the peaceful feelings the hymn had kindled in him.
"Even though the Council has forbidden public commemorations for fear of anti-Xandarian disorders, we have not forgotten you." the priestess continues.
Wait, what?! They have forbidden the commemorations?! What about the families of the dead?! What about the survivors?! They cannot cancel the memory of such a huge, public tragedy at a whim, to spare the sensibilities of the Xandarians!
Except that they can, and his deeds have given the Council the perfect excuse.
"They say it is all Number Nine's fault, and yes, it is, and yes, it is hard to forgive him now, seeing what has come out of his deeds, but brothers and sisters, he once was one of us." Derdriyu argues, her voice soft and nearly breaking. Ronan realizes that she is talking about him.
He is Number Nine, the ninth last survivor of the Great Temple.
"He suffered with us, he fought with us. He was our champion once. He wanted justice for us all. - she continues softly, but every word is like a knife stabbed through his heart - For all the wrong he has done, don't be rash in your judgement of him, not as the Council has been in striking him from the rolls."
"Oh, Pama..." Ronan thinks, and his heart freezes in dread. They have struck him from the rolls...
Did Fiyero come up with that on his own, or did the Xanxarians nudge him?
Either way, it is done. He no longer exists for the Kree government, he never has, and it is forbidden even to speak his name. Derdriyu is taking a risk in even alluding to him.
Even if he somehow manages to atone and survive, he will never be allowed to go home. Now truly he has nothing left.
"Pama teaches us forgiveness, and, while we cannot forgive him now, and maybe we won't be able to do so for a long time, he is still our brother. It would be unfair to deny it. - Derdriyu goes on with her sermon - Whatever demon grew in his soul, it could be growing in yours too. That is why we pray Pama to give us the strength to do true justice and act with mercy..." she explains. A prayer starts, but he hasn't any strength left to listen to it.
He knew it could come to that. He knows he deserves it, but the idea that the Council, that Nova Prime's man, has just formally erased him from existence, is too much for him to bear. They are making a bogeyman out of him, using what he has done to silence any remaining opposition to the treaty and to the influence of Xandar. He has sullied even the Remembrance of the Great Fires, something he has always held even more sacred than Pama itself.
He has thought that he could bear any punishment, but this... this is unbearable.
Suddenly, he cannot bear to stand there any longer. He cannot bear to know that his masters know.
Rocket, Drax and Gamora haven't reacted to the sermon, probably they don't know the Kree language, but Star-Lord is looking his way with worry etched on his face. His translator implants... probably they can only provide a basic rendering of the meaning, but it is enough.
"Hey, buddy! Are you alright? What was that about?" he asks, trying to grab his wrist.
Ronan jerks away. He doesn't want to be touched.
"I... I ask your leave to retire." he manages to spit out. His voice trembles pitifully.
Star-Lord hesitates, casts a glance to Gamora and then nods. He opens his mouth to say something else, but Ronan does not hear him, he is already stumbling away.
If they had been planet-side, he would have run until collapse, trying to somehow escape the truth. As it is, he can only make a few steps down the corridor to his cell and slam the door behind him to get away from it all.
He curls into a ball in one corner of the cell. He is trembling. His heart races in his chest, and his whole body is shaking. He can hardly breathe and he doesn't know why. He doesn't know what is happening to him, and it terrifies him. It is so bad that he thinks that he is going to die, like that, crying in a corner like a pathetic, frightened child, without honour, without meaning.
It would have been better for him to burn in the Temple with his family, at least he would be with them in the underworld, but now they have erased him, and he has lost them a second time. He has no one now...
And as if called by the memories of his loved ones, the fire visits him once more, and unlike a dream from which he can wake, he cannot escape this time. It seems so real... Maybe it is real, maybe he is dead and this is hell, and his punishment is to be forever trapped in that moment, when he burns, and falls, and loses everything he has ever loved...
Something hits him in the face. Hard.
Ronan opens his eyes and takes a deep, gasping breath, reaching out for whatever has hit him.
He is sitting against the wall of his cell, tightly wedged in a corner. He has vague memories of how he got there. His left cheek stings from the force of the slap Star-Lord has given him.
He blinks. What is Star-Lord doing there? Why is he so worried, he asks himself.
His thoughts are sluggish and he feels cold... terribly cold, like he can't get warm anymore.
"Stay with me, buddy. - Star-Lord orders - Stay with us, alright?" he adds.
Ronan nods weakly, teeth chattering.
"Jeez, bluebell! - the Terran exclaims with evident relief - You were so far gone that I thought we had lost you..." he adds.
Ronan manages to move enough to turn his head and see that Gamora, Drax and Rocket are hovering near the door. They also look worried.
The sapling is there too. He is pulling himself out of his vase by force, and as soon as his roots touch the ground, he rushes towards him and Star-Lord, and, without hesitation, wraps himself around Ronan's shoulders, as if trying to keep him warm.
The sapling mutters a continuous, low stream of "I am Groot". Ronan doesn't need to understand his language to know that he means to comfort him. Somehow, some of the cold fades away.
"Seriously, bluebell! What the hell happened in there?! - Star-Lord asks - What was that woman saying? What is the Great Fire?" he continues frantically. So many questions, so much worry...
Why they all worry so much about him?
"I am Groot..." the sapling says, nuzzling against his face.
"You're right, little one... - Ronan thinks - It's because they care." He doesn't understand why they care, or how he has finally understood what the plant child is saying, but when Star-Lord says "Please, tell us what the hell is going on! We need to know it, otherwise we can't help you!", he does tell them.
He tells them about the "surgical strike" of the Great Temple, about his family, about the pain and the anguish and the loss, about being forbidden to speak about it, and then about his quest for justice, for closure, and finally about his failure.
He tells them everything, even things he has never told anyone else. It is as if once opened, the floodgates of confession cannot be closed until everything has flowed out of him.
Halfway through his sobbing ramblings, Gamora steps in and comes to sit at his side, an arm wrapped around his shoulders in an awkward one-armed hug.
Star-Lord does the same soon after, sitting on the other side of him, then Rocket sits in Gamora's lap. Drax is the last to move and sits at Gamora's other side.
By the time he has finished talking, Ronan doesn't feel cold any longer. Their presence and support have warmed him like nothing else could.
The silence after his confession lasts only a few moments, before Gamora starts talking in turn. She speaks of the parents she barely remembers, of wanting to be a dancer, and of how Thanos had beaten and tortured that desire out of her. She speaks of killing, of being unable to feel anything at all, until she met the Guardians. She speaks of her guilt and her shame at the things Thanos has made her do.
She cries, and Ronan finds himself returning the awkward hug. He has never paused to think about her and Nebula's life, when they were living together in the Dark Aster. To him they were just two more competent officers, and most likely spying on him for Thanos. He has never imagined what a horror their life must have been, and yet it is her who says she is sorry. It is her who apologizes for letting him do the things he has done, for not stopping him.
Little Groot flows from her shoulders to her lap and hugs her and Rocket, while the Raccoon lists an impressive series of physically impossible things he will do to Thanos once they get the drop on him.
The little furry loudmouth is trembling in rage and starts to cry too.
He speaks of how he has come to be, as a test subject of a group of scientists trying to build a perfect, inconspicuous, infiltration agent. He speaks of the pain of his making, of the horror, of the loneliness of being one of a kind, despised and belittled by all.
"But now I am not alone any longer. - he says - You are my fucking family and I will fucking destroy whoever harms you! D'you hear me? Anyone! No matter what!" he shouts between sobs, gripping Gamora's top in a death grip and burying his face against her middle.
"I hear you, Rocket Raccoon. - Drax says, sniffling - And I likewise vow to do so. You are the only thing that has kept me from losing myself to the Dark Side after the death of my family." he declares.
The Destroyer speaks about his pain and the emptiness that had taken over him once they were gone, and Ronan understands it all too well, because Drax's suffering mirrors his own perfectly.
How could have he inflicted that pain on someone else so wantonly? And only to preserve his honour as a warrior?
How could have he thought it was a fair exchange? How could have he thought it would be acceptable because they were just non-Kree savages?
They were people, flesh and blood, like him, just with different colours and customs.
He had had everything wrong on that subject. His whole people has it wrong! He wishes he could go back and tell them. He wishes he could somehow fix this.
Star-Lord shifts around, forcing the entire group to rotate slightly, so that he can hug Drax too, like Gamora is doing. Rocket and Groot are trapped in the middle of them, but they don't seem to mind, upon the contrary, the raccoon is finally relaxing into Gamora's hold.
"I know how you guys feel... - Star-Lord whispers, stroking Drax's tattooed back as the Destroyer sobs - When my mum died, I felt the same." he reveals.
Taken by the confession-fever as well, Star-Lord tells them about his life in a small, narrow-minded town on Terra, about all the scorn his mother had to suffer for having a child out of wedlock, about her illness, about seeing her fade away day by day without being able to do anything to help, about being so scared and in denial about her death to be unable to take her hand as she passed... and then of how the Ravagers had taken him, of how terrified he was at first and of how they have become his new, crazy, marauding family.
He tells them that he has always thought that they had kidnapped him for a lark, because they were close to Terra and fancied a mascot, but now Nova Prime has told him that his father is an alien, and Yondu has told him that it was his arsehole of a father who commissioned his kidnapping. He could have collected him and his mother at any time, he could have spared them years of humiliation, he could have saved her, and yet he didn't care enough to do so...
"If we meet him, I'm so breaking his face..." Rocket declares sleepily, nuzzling against Ronan's side and curling up in the space between him and Gamora.
"Thanks buddy..." Star-Lord says, ruffling the fur on his head. He starts chuckling low, almost under his breath.
"We are so messed up, we should all go to a therapist, maybe we'd get a group discount..." he comments.
"What is therapy?" Drax asks quietly.
Star-Lord shrugs. "It's when you talk to someone about your problems, and they help you feel better." he replies.
"Then this is therapy already. - Drax declares - I feel a lot better thanks to you." he adds.
Ronan cannot help but second the motion. He feels relaxed and calm, almost lighter inside. At his side, Rocket and Groot have already surrendered to sleep, hugging each other tightly, and Gamora is nearly there.
"Next time, bluebell, talk to us before you lose it that way, will you?" Star-Lord asks him.
Ronan nods, feeling that his eyes are closing on their own. It is likely that there will be a next time, but somehow the perspective doesn't daunt him as much as it should. The Guardians have his back, he is safer than he ever was.
This is why he doesn't resist when sleep claims him, why for once no dreams torment him.
They wake up in a heap a few hours later, sore and stiff from the awkward position, but restored.
They disentangle with a bit of embarrassment, but no one seems upset. Ronan has never thought that he would need any sort of reassurance and comfort, that he was stronger than that, but actually he does and maybe he has always needed it. The Guardians will share it with him, he has no doubt. They need it too, they need each other to be sane and happy.
He he might have lost everything else, but he has them, and, by everything that is sacred, he will do anything in his power to keep them. He won't let them come to any harm.
And that is when he realizes that he has already succumbed to the bane of most haaq, and earlier than most. He knows that he is starting to care about his captors as if they were his own flesh and blood, but for once he doesn't want to fight against that feeling. It is a good feeling, and he likes it.