Spoils of War Chapter 13, a guardians of the galaxy fanfic

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: some angst, some wrangling of cultural practices.

Enjoy!

They arrive on Knowhere the following day. Star-Lord is already much restored, but all of them agree on not letting him out of bed until the doctor checks on him, much to his disappointment.
Rocket's friend is a rather shady character with awful bedside manner, but the raccoon trusts him and that suffices. He runs some tests and scans on Star-Lord and finally proclaims him out of the woods, albeit in need of bed rest for a few days for a complete recovery. Apparently there was no lasting damage, but the vulnerability of the implants still needs to be addressed. Rocket launches himself on the task with great enthusiasm.

Star-Lord, Drax and Gamora, instead, closet themselves in Star-Lord's room for a while, then Drax goes downtown without saying a word to anyone, and a few hours later Gamora joins him.
No one talks to him in the meantime, so Ronan dedicates himself to his chores. The nagging feeling that he might have done something wrong and deserving a punishment doesn't leave him though, and when Star-Lord calls him to his room after Drax's return, he is fully expecting a dressing-down.

Star-Lord is sitting cross-legged on the bed, looking worn but reasonably healthy. Gamora is sitting next to him. Both are smiling and this reassures him.
He still gives a quick glance to Drax, who is standing near the door, smiling too. The angrier he is, the greyer his skin becomes, but now he is almost fully green. The Destroyer couldn't dissimulate even if he wanted to. The coast is clear, he doesn't need to worry.

Star-Lord beckons him closer to the bed, then asks him to sit down on it.
Ronan is getting confused, but complies. He doesn't quite understand what is going on.
"Easy, bluebell... - Star-Lord says, catching on his unease - There is nothing for you to worry about. We just... It just occurred to me that I have never properly thanked you for saving me from those mercs." he explains.
"You don't have to thank me, I was just doing my duty as your haaq." Ronan replies once more.
"I don't have to, but I will anyway." Star-Lord declares. He nods towards Drax, who steps aside and reveals a long, strangely shaped parcel, bundled with cloth, which is propped against the counter. The Destroyer shifts his gaze over to Star-Lord, who in turn beckons towards Ronan.
"This is for you. - he says, pointing at the parcel - Open it."
Ronan gives him a quick glance for confirmation, and when the Terran nods, he unties the cloth from around the content with hands that tremble slightly with emotion.

Within the cloth lies a long-hafted, double-bladed axe. The metal of the blade is burnished black-blue like blood and strange reddish glyphs curl on the flat on both sides. Even if it is clearly an antique, the edge is keen, patterned in waves.
It is beautiful.

Ronan looks at his masters with awe, unable to speak a word.
Star-Lord seems to find it cute.
"We know you like your weapons with some impact, but no one here knows about maces and we didn't want to get you something shitty that would break at the first blow." the Terran is saying with a warm smile.
"That axe seemed very appropriate to you. I hope you like it." Drax chimes in, going a bit brown. He must have chosen it personally.
"It is a labyrs. These things used to be the weapons of the champions of my people. - Gamora reveals, and judging from their expressions Star-Lord and Drax didn't know about that either - The writings say 'My name is Keenblade. My edge will never dull as long as I am used in justice.'" she adds with a sad smile, giving the axe a fond look.
"I have no idea of how it got there, but it was collecting dust on the shelf of a pawn shop, when Drax found it. - she continues - It seemed fitting that you should have it." she concludes, shifting her gaze towards the Kree. An unshed tear shines in her eyes.
It must have been her father's, Ronan thinks, and though he cannot possibly be worthy of wielding such a weapon, he is uplifted by the idea that she should consider bestowing a heirloom of her family to him. It means much to him.

"I... It is magnificent. - Ronan manages to say, holding back what threaten to be tears of joy - But I cannot possibly..."
"Don't even try. - Gamora interrupts him - We know for certain that you can. We did our research about haaq this time." she announces.
Ronan feels a shiver of dread, or maybe of anticipation, course through him at those words. Do they know everything about haaq now?
"It is not just because of that... - he manages to protest - This... this is too much for me."
"Nonsense. - Drax cut his protestations short - We destroyed your ancestral weapon, it seems right that we should provide you with a weapon befitting your battle prowess." he adds

"So far we have been treating you as our housekeeper, but you are a warrior... - Star-Lord chimes in - And it doesn't seem fair to... to prevent you from being what you are."
"What Peter is trying to say is that we would like you to serve us in a more offensive capacity. - Gamora interjects - Unless now you object to violence..." she adds, giving him a significant look.
Ronan nearly laughs at her statement. He objects to wanton destruction and slaughtering innocents, but he likes a fight just fine.

"Are you asking me to serve as your retainer?" he asks, subconsciously tracing the glyphs on the blade.
It positively thrums under his fingers, a bit like the Universal Weapon used to do. At first it feels inquisitive, like the labyrs is assessing him, then it settles into a low, satisfied purr of acceptance. Like the Guardians, the weapon is convinced of the match.

Giving a weapon, especially one so clearly powerful, to one's haaq is the ultimate sign of trust from a haaq-master. It means that they are sure of their loyalty and consider them almost a full member of the household. It is a great honour, and he is not sure he has done much to deserve it.
"Yes, we are." Gamora confirms.
"And what about the Nova? They won't like this." he still objects because it is the right thing to do even if he wants to be their retainer, he wants it with all of himself.
"The Nova can stuff their displeasure where the sun doesn't shine." Peter replies assuredly.
"Will you fight for us, Ronan of House Danu? Will you stand at our side in the battlefield?" Gamora asks and, Pama have mercy, she even knows the traditional words...

Ronan slides to his knees to the side of the bed , holding the axe flat on his hands, extended in front of him.
"I will. - he replies decisively - I will defend you and your household with my own life. I will never forsake you. This I pledge on my honour and my hope for an afterlife." he declares solemnly.
Star-Lord pushes the axe back towards him, and they both bow. The Guardians actually did their research in detail and seem to know exactly what they are doing. It is nice and strange to think that they have gone such great lengths for him.
"Then rise, Ronan of the Guardians, and take your place among us." Star-Lord declares, and damn, his heart aches with joy at his words, and his vision is blurry with tears as he rises to his feet.

Gamora rises too and hugs him close, then Drax joins in, nearly squeezing the breath out of them both.
He doesn't know why and he feels like an idiot about it, but their touch is enough to shatter his control and make him start to cry.

As if on cue, Rocket and Groot come through the door.
"What? - Rocket exclaims - Is he having one of those again?!"
Ronan wants to point out that he only had "one of those" once, but realises that there is no need.
"You can't do this, buddy! - the raccoon continues - I can't see my friends cry without crying too. And that makes me miserable!" he adds, starting to sniffle.
Drax picks him up by the scruff of his neck and draws him into the collective hug. Groot launches himself at them and extends his branches, trying to hug them all at once.

They end up in a puppy pile on Star-Lord's bed, crying and laughing and teasing each other for it.
Ronan realises that if someone told him that he could have his old life back in exchange for this one, he would say no.
What are authority and prestige worth if you are alone?
What's power for, when no one that cares about you, but only about your role? No amount of money or status can help if you have to suppress your feelings so hard that you are left empty.

The Guardians are so broke sometimes, that they have to ration the toilet paper, they get insulted by every thug in the Galaxy, and sometimes get thrown out of bars for past misdemeanors, but they have each other.
They cry together and laugh together, and sometimes get angry at each other, and start throwing insults and plates at each other, but no one is made to feel ashamed for breaking down, because they all do, sometime or other, and they know that, when it happens, the others will help them piece themselves back together.
They are amazing, and now they have officially accepted him as one of their own.

When he learned that he could never go back to the Empire, he was devastated by the news, but now he is happy about it.
He wouldn't want to go back to that life.
He doesn't want to leave the Guardians.
He wants to stay like this forever.

A.N.
A labrys is a double-edged axe.
It was a divine symbol in Minoan Crete, and it was the symbol of the Storm-God Tarhun/Teshub, protector of the creation and vanquisher of monsters, in Hatti and most of the Middle East during the bronze age.
Coincidentally, it is also the divine attribute of the law-giving Orisha Xango, who is also a Storm-God.