x
As Color Fades Away
Chapter Fifteen
The bridge of the Castle of Lions was absolutely silent as the video feed went dark, the last glimpse of Lance showing him being dragged by his wrists across the ground while a parade of Galrans followed screaming and hollering.
What did one say to that?
They had watched the transmission in silence, broken only by short inhales and gasps.
None had looked away.
It was not that they hadn't wanted to.
But horror had kept them frozen and duty, guilt, even moreso.
"I need to sit," Allura's words cut through the quiet. She didn't so much as sit as she collapsed, dragging Shiro down with her by their still clasped hands. He took a hard knee next to her and made no move to get back up. Coran more gracefully crouched down, pressing one hand on Allura's shoulder and then placing one against Shiro's back.
Shiro leaned back into it, allowing it and Allura's still painful grip on his hand to ground him.
He felt like he was going to be sick.
He'd known the Galra were cruel. He knew they had a lust of bloodshed even amongst their own kind as he distantly recalled fighting a disgraced soldier in the arena.
He had still not expected that.
That level of violence against an unarmed, defenseless person...
Against Lance.
He tasted bile and swallowed thickly.
This wasn't about an escape attempt. This had been revenge, pure and simple, against Voltron, against what they stood for.
And the Galra had just tortured a child and enjoyed it.
And Lance...
Lance had been so brave. Shiro had felt such fierce pride when Lance had lifted his chin, refusing to be cowed by the cruelty and violence.
Shiro didn't know if he could have done that after such a time.
Lance was stronger than he had ever given him credit for. Allura had seemed to share the same idea as when Lance had smiled — bloody and defiant — she had inhaled sharply but it had not been of the previous horror of the torture.
She saw it too.
But that meant they both saw the moment where that determination had been erased in favor of pain and fear.
Lance had tried. He'd struggled to come back, but that one Galra who had shot him in the legs... Anger, dark and hot, filled Shiro. They hadn't been able to hear the audio on the dais, not over the screaming crowds the camera was angled behind, but that Galran had said something, done something, more than just a cruel taunt or taking the shot. Lance had recoiled from his attacks, had flinched and cried and screamed in a way Shiro had not thought was humanly possible.
After that Lance had been unable to pick up his head, to bite back his sobs.
And the Galrans had thrived on it. If their calls for blood and violence had been loud before they were deafening now. When Lance had been cut down they had practically pulsed with excitement, growing more and more as Lance was dragged to his knees and ordered to stand and had not been able to.
There was no way he could, Shiro had thought. Not when his feet had been sliced open. Not when he had gunshot wounds on not just his legs but all over his chest, his right arm, and then of course the state of his hands.
Shiro's stump where the prosthetic connected gave a twinge.
He tried to ignore it, ignore what it meant.
That would not be Lance's fate.
He would not let it be.
They were going to rescue him.
Shiro just hoped they weren't too late.
What they'd just witnessed... that level of brutality was something that could make grown men break.
Lance was a child in this war.
He had been a Garrison cadet, yes, but Garrison pilots rarely saw actual combat. They were used mostly for space exploration, as a worldwide peacekeeping force. And it would have been several years more before Lance was engaging in those sorts of topics as early years were more focused on piloting and communications.
The thought had crossed Shiro's mind when Allura had ended up captured, that maybe they should talk about what to do if captured. But he'd never acted on it, head aching at the repressed memories of his own capture, and he had always believed they would have each other's backs; in a worst case scenario they would have each other if caught.
He never imagined this.
And he had no idea if there was any preparing for this level of torture, not really.
But he should have addressed it. It could have helped.
Maybe.
He didn't know.
What he did know was that Lance should not be the one being hurt.
It should be him.
He was the Paladin of the Black Lion. He had been the one to escape and bring Voltron back to the fight.
Punish him.
And yet that wasn't the way things had happened.
And now Lance was paying the price.
There was nothing Shiro could do.
Well.
Actually, they had been promised to talk to Lance. And after what had just happened... Shiro was going to make the best of that minute.
He straightened. He had to pull himself together.
He nodded to himself. He could do this. He planted one foot down and pulled himself to standing, relieved when the shakiness that had plagued his legs had vanished. His hand was still connected to Allura's and he turned, offering her what smile he could muster, and she returned it, allowing him to pull her to her feet as well with a murmured thank you.
Coran was already standing, eyes fixed on the dark screen, a bar at the bottom showing it was still broadcasting, and lips a thin line under his moustache.
He looked ready.
Shiro had to be too.
Haggar no doubt wanted a reaction. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction. When she showed herself on the screen he was going to be ready for her. He wasn't going to let her words, her looks, affect him as he had.
He was the leader of Voltron, the Black Paladin, and it was time he started acting like it.
So when the screen flickered from nothingness to fill itself with Haggar's smirking countenance Shiro clenched his fists, opened his mouth, and prepared to tell her what a despicable person she was.
He never got the chance.
Coran beat him to it.
"You and the Galrans are a sick, vile depraved excuse for a sentient species," he spat, moustache quivering. "You... you prascia!"
Haggar laughed. "Tell me how you really feel, Altean. Go ahead, your words are sweet nectar to my ears."
A vein pulsed on the side of Coran's neck and he looked about ready to lob off into another set of Altean curses when Shiro cut in.
"Where's Lance?" His voice didn't waver in the slightest and he forced himself to meet that yellow gaze. "Let us talk to him. Now."
"Hmm. No."
"No?" Shiro repeated, voice low.
"No," Haggar smirked.
"We had a deal, witch," Allura seethed, narrowing her gaze.
"We did. Should you watch the Kri Za Kri in full and if the Blue Paladin remained conscious you would be able to speak to him. It seems you conveniently forgot the second part of our agreement."
"You will let us speak with the Blue Paladin now," Allura demanded.
"Such a thing is impossible, Princess. As you saw," Haggar inclined her head behind her where the barest glimpse of the dais could be seen, "he is no longer awake."
Allura bristled.
"However, on the topic of deals... there has been a change of plans."
"You cannot renegotiate an agreement without both parties," Allura snapped, drawing herself up to full height.
"As I recall your 'party' has not had any say-so in this trade from the beginning," Haggar sneered. "Forgetting again, Princess? We hold the cards and you have no choice but to respond if you wish to keep up the facade that you care for this Paladin's life."
Allura's eyes widened. "How dare you," she hissed. "How dare you insinuate–"
"Am I wrong?" Haggar interrupted. "If given the choice, Princess, if not for the urging of my Shiro, would we even be having this conversation?"
"Whatever you are imply-"
"Don't make me laugh, Princess. You are the same as every other Altean royal before you. Voltron is a weapon and its Paladins are mere pawns to be played. You have no personal attachment to them and would throw them away without a second glance if it didn't reveal to the rest of the universe how heartless your kind truly is."
"That is not true," Allura hissed, leaning forward on the console. "That has never been true. My father was a Paladin of Voltron, witch, and he put his life on the line the same as all before him. It is an honor to be chosen–"
"An honor or a death sentence?" Haggar cut in. "Tell me, Princess, do those chosen by the Lions of Voltron even have a say in the matter? We both know how rare a true connection must be, to find a quintessence that aligns just so. You honestly believe your ancestors would have let someone with such a match just walk away? No. They were chosen; call it fate, call it destiny, we both know what it truly is."
"You are wrong," Allura protested, but the fire was missing from her words, the barest of tremor to her hands.
"Am I?"
Allura took a deep breath and drew herself up to her full height, jewel eyes flashing. "Yes." Her voice was stronger now. "I cannot speak for my ancestors but the Lions would never have forced such a connection. Quintessence connections cannot be forced, the bond with a Paladin team cannot be forced. The Paladins of Voltron served with honor and I will not let you make a mockery of their sacrifices."
"Then I ask you, what is the Blue Paladin to you, Princess?"
"He is a friend," Allura said quietly. Or, well, she hoped him to be one. Haggar's words had indeed struck close; she had viewed the humans first and foremost as Paladins, as a way to help her take down the Galra Empire. But she had never, never, considered them as pawns. Had they wanted to leave, had they turned down their role, she... she would not have stopped them. She had been willing to let Pidge go, she understood the call of family.
And although it had taken losing one of the Paladins, of having him ripped out from under her nose and subjected to tortures she would not have previously wished upon anyone (Haggar now the exception), she was well aware now that these humans had never been just pilots to her. And once Lance returned... she was going to make certain that he knew how much she had come to appreciate him. Not for what he brought to the team as the Blue Paladin, but what he brought as Lance. With his bright smiles and joy and light and the constant reminder that out there was still good and innocence in this dark universe.
"Oh dear," Haggar let out a low laugh. "I seem to have miscalculated. And here I thought you would be delighted."
"What do you want?" Shiro cut in. He'd had enough of listening to Haggar spew her poison.
"I want the Blue Paladin."
Anything Shiro was planning to fire back with died in his throat as her words registered and Allura and Coran seemed to be in similar states of disbelief.
What?
What?
"I have become rather attached to him, you see," Haggar smiled. "I simply cannot bear to give him up. He is to be my Blue Paladin now. My... Lance," she sounded out the word, smile growing.
Shiro felt his stomach bottom out.
My Lance.
My Shiro.
"Your words are treason to your emperor, witch," Coran snarled, more articulate than Shiro felt capable of right now.
"In a matter of perspective," Haggar shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "My lord wishes to possess the Black Lion and he shall indeed get it... just at a later time. Perhaps the Blue Paladin shall even assist me in doing so."
"No," Allura bit out, tossing her head. "That is not our deal and you shall not change it. We are trading the Black Lion for the Blue Paladin and that is final."
"Oh, Princess," Haggar shook her head. "How naive you are. You truly think we believe you would so willingly hand over the Black Lion for a mere human boy? Do not be foolish. His value is nothing compared to the great beast. No, if you were to come you would be seeking to take him by force and use the trade as a front to get close. We both knew there was never going to be a trade to begin with."
"So then why make the offer at all?" Coran asked, frowning, not denying Haggar's suspicions. As they had assumed, the Galra knew the Paladins would not so easily comply with the terms.
Haggar smirked. "It is entertaining, is it not? I must admit, I had not been expecting such cooperation from the princess. He does indeed mean more to you than you wish, doesn't he, Princess?"
"You are wrong to judge value based on what someone can offer," Allura said quietly. "And you have misjudged here. We are coming, witch, and we will take back our Paladin."
"Is that a threat?"
"Is it?" Allura parroted Haggar's way of asking back at her.
"You think you can get through the Empire's forces unscathed without the use of Voltron?" Haggar asked in return. "You think you stand a chance against our might? You would risk the universe for one human?"
"Yes," Allura said simply.
Shiro felt something warm bloom in his chest against the ice Haggar's words had been creating.
Hope.
Admiration.
Love.
Allura too was much more than she had first seemed.
It seemed her response had unsettled Haggar a bit as well as the amusement was fading from her face.
"Very well," Haggar said. "The deal as was offered stands. The Black Lion for the Blue Paladin. However... you have twenty varga in which to arrive at the coordinates. A dobash more and the deal is off and all Galran ships will open fire on your craft."
Twenty varga.
They still had twenty-four to go and that was already with the enhancements. For all Haggar knew they were still thirty-six hours minimum out.
"That is impossible," Allura growled, coming to the same conclusion.
"It is the new offer, Princess. Take it or leave it."
"We'll be there," Shiro growled.
"Delightful."
"I'm only going to say this once," Shiro continued, fixing Haggar with the darkest glare he could muster, "If you do not hold up this trade you will not live long enough to regret it."
"That is rather dark for you," Haggar remarked. "Spoken like a true champion though, hmm?"
Shiro did not let himself react to the moniker.
"Very well. In twenty varga we shall be reunited once more, my Shiro," Haggar smiled. Shiro gripped the console and scowled at her.
Haggar turned her gaze then to Allura. "We shall see then, Princess, if you speak the truth. How much do you truly value this boy over the fate of the universe?" She chuckled. "I shall send trade instructions along shortly. We," she laughed again, amusement dancing in her eyes once more, "look forward to your arrival."
The screen went dark before anyone could respond.
Silence reigned as all three occupants on the bridge looked to one another.
Fear, desperation and confusion looked back at them all.
"I don't understand," Shiro finally said. "Why? Why would she do that? Why does she..." he trailed off, swallowing. "Why does she want Lance?"
His mind could go nowhere but his memories now and his head ached from it. Did Haggar want Lance to use as another experiment for her weapons? As as source of information?
As... as something else?
My Shiro. My Lance.
He shuddered.
"She said it herself," Coran said quietly, one hand pressed against his chest "although not in so many words."
"Information?" Allura asked, arms wrapped about herself and voice small.
"In part, I believe so," Coran answered. "And that is likely the reason she will supply to Zarkon if he discovers her dealings. For while Lance," his voice gave the barest waver on his name, "does not know much of Voltron he does know much of its Paladins and such information I am certain would be very valuable to the Empire."
"But?" Shiro prompted even though he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
His head pulsed.
"But the main reason I fear is something potentially more devastating," Coran continued. "I believe she is after his quintessence."
"Quintessence?" Shiro repeated the word as Allura let out a small, soft cry. He had heard it a number of times now, knew it was an energy of sort that the Druids had a hand in, but otherwise he had no idea of its importance. But both Haggar and Allura had mentioned it just now in terms of a connection.
"Quintssence is life force," Coran explained. "All of us carry it within but certain individuals are blessed with color infused quintessences and even rarer still are those who are colored quintessences." He met Shiro's eyes. "All Paladins of Voltron share one common trait: they must posses a full colored quintessence that is compatible with their chosen Lion. It is why when a Lion picks a Paladin it is not a mere random selection; it is the extreme matching of like spirits and why Paladins so very often reflect the qualities of their Lions. The level of connection varies, of course, even amongst such a group, but they are strong, Shiro. Very strong."
"Lance possesses blue quintessence," Allura murmured. "As we discussed previously, it is a connection that is buoyed by loyalty and compassion and the desire to protect others. It is the least offensive of the colored quintessences, but even so, water is a deadly element in the right circumstances. And... Oh... Oh Alaraaan..."
"By nature of blue quintessence it will grow stronger when being used in the protection of others over itself," Coran said. "And the connection Lance has with the Blue Lion? I have seen nothing like it, ever, in all my years and all of the Blue Paladins. His compassion, his ability to love, his empathy, it is strong. Very strong. And it will likely only continue to grow under Haggar's hands if he feels that we are being threatened."
Which they all knew was the case.
"What does this all mean?" Shiro asked. "For Lance? What can Haggar do with it?"
"Druids thrive on the quintessence of others," Coran said softly. "And if Haggar is willing to go against Zarkon's wishes to obtain it then Lance's quintessence must be strong indeed. If she were able to harness it for her own she would be able to power her own attacks, her weapons, to a formidable degree. That," Coran's voice lowered, "due to the fact it is quintessence linked to a Paladin of Voltron and thereby a Lion... I fear she may be able to dismantle Voltron in some way."
"What?" Allura gasped. "Dismantle Voltron?"
Coran inclined his head. "I fear so."
"Why has this never been done before then?" Shiro asked hesitantly. "Why did Haggar not... when I...?"
"You were not yet bonded with the Black Lion," Coran said gently, placing a hand on Shiro's shoulder. "You would have possessed black quintessence still, but a human body does not conduct quintessence like many other species and Haggar would not have ever thought to look under the circumstances. You were lucky, lad. That is unfortunately what it boils down to."
"If she had," Shiro pressed, "how would she have... have gotten it?" Because Coran had called it life force and if it was such then... then he would have had to die?
Coran sighed. "There are two ways of obtaining quintessence. The most common one is through the physical body and will ultimately result in death." Shiro shivered. "You may recall seeing dead planets in our travels, yes? Those were no doubt victims of the Druids. In Lance's case though I do believe Haggar would seek to keep him alive, so as to continue to draw quintessence. It replenishes itself naturally, you see, in living hosts. That way would be through the mind, breaking in through mental walls and protections. It is beyond difficult but for a Druid of Haggar's power... not impossible. And while Lance has shown his inner strength to be beyond what I think most of us expected... all things will break, eventually, and under a barrage like Lance is suffering... I fear it may be sooner than later."
"So we rescue him," Shiro bit out. "Now."
"Haggar was wise to our rescue plans," Allura frowned. "This timeframe... it does not bode well. And given what you have said Coran," she glanced up to her advisor, "it is imperative we rescue Lance before Haggar finds a way into his mind. Before," she bowed her head, "before they can hurt him any more. Logic would dictate we wait until they are not expecting us, but I fear... I fear we would then be too late."
"I fear the same," Coran murmured. "We must utilize the cease-fire window the Galrans have opened for us and rescue Lance in that space."
"We have to reach them first though," Allura pointed out. "And given the new deadline... I do not believe we are capable of doing so. Not even the Red Lion can move at that speed let alone the Black Lion."
"So we go faster," Shiro said grimly, prosthetic creaking. He turned to exit the bridge, feeling the Alteans exchange glances behind him.
It was time to consult their engineer and tech experts and find a way.
He would accept nothing else.
xxx
Lance was back in his mindscape.
Unlike last time though...
He was in pain. Gut-wrenching, blinding pain.
He whimpered, curling up tight on the beach, sand prickling uncomfortably against bare skin and raw flesh. He could feel it growing damp around him, not with the tide but with something warmer, stickier.
Blood.
He cast glazed eyes towards the ocean, more violent than his previous trip, the waves breaking the surf with a crash that swallowed up his harsh gasps.
Still, it called to him. It promised safety.
Somehow, Lance knew, if he could make it into the water everything would be okay.
He just had to get up.
Uncurling his limbs hurt, each press of mangled flesh against coarse sand a new kind of agony. Lance forced himself somehow into sitting, hunching forward and panting from even that.
He tasted blood.
And it was everywhere. He could see it leaking out from beneath his swim trunks, dripping down his legs. The shorts themselves were peppered with what he had thought were small red flowers but were actually just more droplets as the trickled down his chest, off his arms, and sank into the waistband.
He risk a glance at his hands, sitting on either side of him palm down, and hurriedly averted his eyes. He still caught a flash of white bone admist the gore. The fact he knew it had to look worse from the front did nothing to comfort him.
Water, a voice seemed to whisper. Get to the water.
He couldn't, Lance argued back. He couldn't. The choppy waves that brushed the sand seemed to be miles away instead of just a couple feet.
He wanted it all to stop.
He wanted to go home.
"Mamá," he whispered, the word doing nothing to alleviate his wounds, but rather bringing hot tears to his eyes.
He could picture her in that moment, hands covered in flour and favorite hibiscus covered apron stained with tomatoes, laughing and smiling as she rolled dough out for cookies.
He wondered when the last time he'd spoken to her was. Maybe a day or two before he ended up in space? She'd called to say she was up to baking that weekend and wanted to know what kind of cookies he and Hunk would like and she'd send them by with his sister Rosie.
Shortbread, he'd told her. Dipped in chocolate. And maybe some peanut butter ones too because he knew Pidge like them if the way he – she – squirreled them away when the cafeteria put out their faux version of one was any indication and he wanted to surprise him – her – because their smallest team member had seemed sad lately and his mamá's cookies could only be rivaled by Hunk's.
He wondered what Rosie had thought when she'd arrived and been told that he was missing. Did they think he was dead? Did they hold a funeral for him? It'd been months now, after all. How long would they have searched? Were they still looking?
Did they even know? Had the Garrison covered up his disappearance the same why he knew now Shiro's had been called pilot error? What story had they spun? Had his family believed it? Did they think he was still out there, somewhere, just trying to get home?
He hoped not.
Because if it had been an uncertainty before, it was a fact now: he was never going home.
He choked on a sob, hunching further over, and felt blood spill down his back.
The ocean continued to beat relentlessly against the sand and he felt the pull to go to it. But he couldn't. He couldn't move anymore. His feet were in tatters, his legs burst with pain as he tried to shift, and his hands... Dios, his hands.
He just couldn't summon up the energy to move.
But…
He had summoned things in this mindscape before. His bayard. And then he'd healed his wrist after it had broken again.
If... if he concentrated hard enough could he heal his injuries? Well, here, at least. In the mindscape. He had no doubt when he woke from this it would be into the mangled body the Kri Za Kri had left him in.
He shuddered. Haggar had said the mind escaped here when the body was failing.
Had... had he almost died again?
He glanced at the sand, turning a dark russet around him.
He had lost a lot of blood, he supposed.
He needed to fix his feet first, he decided. If he could do that then he could stand and then go to the ocean. Everything would be all right then.
"Come on," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut tight and imagining his feet whole once more. "Venga, venga. Por favor sana. Por favor."
There was a tingling then; somewhat painful but the good kind that signified healing. And when it stopped he found that the muted agony that had been pulsing from his foot had vanished. He very tentatively shifted his left one in the sand.
It was healed.
It had worked.
"Gracias," he murmured, throat choked with relief. "Gracias a Dios."
Water, his mind echoed again. Go to the ocean.
Lance intended to.
It took more than one try, his hands unable to help lift him and trying to use his core muscles to pop up had him crying and hunching back over as wounds gushed out new streams of crimson. He ended up painfully on his knees and then carefully standing, the world spinning once he was upright.
He staggered over to the ocean, feet splashing into the surf and had collapsed with a splash as the sand sank beneath unsteady feet. The water was colder than last time, but he was grateful for it as it washed over his legs and stomach, numbing the worst of the hurts, and he plunged his hands into it too.
He channeled the thoughts of healing once more, picturing flesh unblemished and blood lost to the waves.
A few minutes later the pain had vanished.
He raised a hand up to his face, not even a mark to be seen now.
He'd done it.
Lance let out a soft, relieved sigh and sank back onto his hands, letting the surf continue to splash against his chest and brush against his chin. It felt warmer now, a little calmer.
He closed his eyes, bathing in the soft starlight from above.
It was so peaceful.
He knew it wouldn't last.
He was going to have to go back.
Back to...
To that.
He drew his knees up, feeling a shiver down his spine.
He didn't know if he could make it.
He felt...
He felt...
Weak.
The word seemed to reverberate and he winced, pressing his face against his upturned knees. He had tried so hard to remain strong, to show them that he was not scared, he was not terrified and he would not break.
But at the end...
He just couldn't do it anymore.
Theodek had called him pathetic.
He... he was right.
The waves picked up again.
He'd closed his eyes, trying to hide away from what was happening. Like some child. As though that would ever work.
All of the Galra Empire had seen.
They'd seen him fall, they'd seen him unable to get back up.
And the thought of going back, of having to suffer through it all again, for ever and ever until maybe, eventually, they killed him by mistake.
His chest ached and he could feel Theodek's claws digging a circle around his heart.
The wind let out a mournful wail and Lance jerked to sitting, eyes wide.
There was something else there. He could feel it.
He felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle and he very, very slowly turned his head around, half-expecting to see Haggar standing right behind him. But only the darkening beach stretched out and he exhaled softly.
That exhale turned into a choked gasp as he turned back to the ocean and came face to face with the witch in question, his entire body locking into place once more with her magic.
"There there," she crooned, reaching forward from her crouch and placing a hand against his cheek, caressing it. "No need to be scared."
Lance futilely tried to shake his head, to push her unwelcome hand away, but he remained stuck fast.
A wave battered at his side and he frantically tried to redirect it just like last time, to unlock himself from Haggar's spell.
The water swirled harmlessly about them both.
What?
Haggar let out a low chuckle, bringing her hand up to card back his wet bangs. "Oh, precious boy," she murmured. "Can you not see that you are losing control of your own mind?"
What?
What was she talking about?
She gestured with her other hand at the choppy ocean that was becoming even more erratic and now accompanied with the distant flashes of lighting in the growing storm clouds.. "You are breaking, Paladin," she said. Her smile grew. "Just as I knew you would. All weak things do."
No.
No, he wasn't weak.
Her words still sent a physical stab through him, an icy cold that burned.
"You tried very hard," she comforted, stroking his hair now and Lance inwardly shuddered, unable to break away.
The ocean continued to uselessly swirl around them.
Why wouldn't it work? Why couldn't he make it move again?
"But you are no match for me. It is all right though," her hand smoothed back his hair and came back to rest on his cheek. "I will take care of you. My..." she smiled, "Lance."
My Lance.
Oh no.
He was not hers.
The force of the thought finally finally unlocked both frozen limbs and the might of the ocean and a wave slammed into the barely there space between the two of them. Lance scrambled backwards, stumbling to his feet and chest heaving.
He twitched his hand at his side, imagining his bayard back in hand.
It did not come.
He stared at his trembling hand, trying to will it into existence.
Nothing.
"You do not understand why it does not come," Haggar called out, remaining in the ocean but the waves at her ankles and not posing any threat. "I shall tell you. It is because you are no longer strong enough to summon it."
Lance growled even as he shook. "I'm not weak."
"Did I say that? No," Haggar chuckled. "But clearly it is a word on your mind, my Lance."
"Don't call me that."
"But that is the truth. Your mind sees it as well. Look around, tell me you do not see the ruin of your own mind beginning."
Lance swallowed thickly as another peal of lightning split the sky and thunder was quick to rumble. These were no comforting rainstorms though, no light show to enjoy or thunder to shriek childishly at and cuddle under blankets knowing it couldn't actually hurt.
Another clap separated the sky and Lance hated how he startled at it.
Haggar chuckled. "You are losing your will, my Lance. You are breaking. And thus... you are now mine."
"I'm–"
"Mine," she repeated.
The word hurt.
He felt it, a stabbing pain above his heart and with it came a surge of cruel laughter and even crueler hands.
No.
No.
He couldn't let it.
This was his mind. She had no power here. He'd proven it once and he would show her again.
He would keep showing her until he drew his last breath.
"I'm not," he all but snarled. "I'm not yours. I'm not weak. And I will protect my friends."
The ocean swirled.
"You will try," Haggar told him, "but you will fail. It is your nature after all."
Darkness swirled at her words, memories pushed in once more, full of screams and cries and pathetic and clanking chains and–
No.
No more.
"I won't," Lance retorted. "I won't fail them. I will protect them."
And with each word he spoke he could feel a warmth building in him, a light. The memories of before were replaced with smiles and laughter and light and the landscape about him grew brighter, he stars peeking out from behind cloud cover and the lightning vanishing.
But even better, his bayard was back in his hand and he could feel the pull of the ocean in his mind and he lifted a wave, sending it pummeling against Haggar's lower half in warning.
But she did not seem scared at all by the display.
Instead...
She smiled.
"Oh, my Lance," she murmured. "I look very much forward to it."
He blinked.
That... that was not what he'd expected.
He readied his bayard and she chuckled, holding up her hands placatingly.
"Now, now, no need for violence. I shall let you have this victory."
She disappeared from sight...
...and reappeared right next to him, one hand forcing the muzzle of his bayard down and the other reaching out to brush his cheek. "It shall be your last."
And with a crackle of black lightning, so hot, so close, her fingertips searing against his cheek, she vanished.
The beach was silent.
Lance discovered his legs no longer wished to hold him up and he followed them to the ground, landing with a muffled thump on the sand, bayard fading out.
What was that?
What had just happened?
He brought a shaking hand to his cheek, wincing as he felt the light burn she had left behind.
What did she want with him?
This... this was no longer about just information. She hadn't asked him once about them, hadn't tried to press in on his thoughts, which even now he kept locked tightly behind the mental tidal wave.
Instead she had... had what? Threatened him? He wasn't even sure if that was accurate.
She had... wanted him.
He shuddered.
Why?
Why was she so interested in him? He was nothing special. He thought he'd shown that already. All he really had going for him was the ability to fire a gun and she couldn't possibly find that all that intriguing.
So why?
Was this all just some roundabout way to get the information? Something he wasn't seeing? He may have sharp eyes but he knew he didn't see everything. Far, far from it.
What did she want from him?
He wrapped his arms about his knees and pressed his cheek against them, trying to draw comfort from his own touch.
It didn't help.
What he'd give for one of Hunk's hugs right now. To be wrapped up and just ensconced in all that warmth and safety that never failed to make him feel better.
He missed Hunk.
He missed all of them. Even Keith.
He missed them so much it hurt. His hands went to his chest as though to hold his heart in, feeling it beating and pulsing.
The wind picked up around him again and a rumble of thunder sounded on the horizon.
Lance whimpered and ducked his head against his knees.
Haggar had called the changes in his mindscape the beginnings of ruin, of him losing his will.
Was she right?
He had a sick feeling she was.
He'd failed in his escape attempt and he knew without a doubt there would not be another one. He had already known there would be no trade; his life was insignificant compared to the Black Lion and what she represented to the universe. There would be no rescue.
He was going to die here.
His hope was going to die too.
It already was.
When was the last time he'd smiled?
The question came to him and with it a sense of loss that ached in his chest.
When was the last time he'd smiled?
It had been here, in the mindscape. When he'd been swimming in the ocean.
Before...
Before he'd been dragged under bloody waves.
Lance shuddered at the reminder of that pain.
He... he should smile again. Laugh. That was who he was, right? He would feel better.
He twitched his lips up into a smile and then a grin. It felt fake. A mask. He let it fall, stomach churning.
He tried to think of a happy memory; something to make him laugh. But the normal repertoire: flying with Blue, beating the Gladiator with his team, playing with his siblings, teasing his friends about anything and everything, only brought tears to his eyes.
Because those would forever only be memories.
They couldn't happen again because he was going to die here.
He would never see them again.
The only hope he had now...
Was that his death would be quick. And soon. Before he could hurt them, hurt the universe, any more than he already had.
There was no real hope here, not anymore.
He knew how this was going to end.
He cast his eyes to the sky, but the stars were gone behind thick clouds. He shivered as a sharp breeze blew off the ocean and squeezed his arms tighter about himself in his self-made hug.
It didn't help.
The wind howled and the ocean roared.
He tried desperately to think of something, anything, to lift his spirits, to turn his mindscape back into calm waves and a peaceful beach.
He didn't want this.
But every memory only brought a sense of loss.
Another sob.
More pain.
Blood began to trickle from his hands.
Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed overhead.
And Lance cried. Tears ran down his cheeks in a never ending flow, dripping silently to the sand to mingle with the growing pool of blood that even the ocean could never wash away.
He sobbed even though he knew he shouldn't.
He was breaking.
This was what Haggar wanted. He had to stop.
But he couldn't.
He tried.
He failed. Just like Haggar said he would.
He always failed.
His shoulders shook harder now. Blood poured more freely as wounds began to pepper across his body.
The sky opened up above with a clap of thunder, torrents of cold rain pelting the beach.
Lance turned his face up into the storm, the droplets blurring his vision through the tears. He tried one last time to muster up a smile. It was rain. He loved the rain.
Nothing.
He turned his head down and buried it against upturned knees so he didn't have to face the pathetic, weak failure he had become.
And both the boy and the sky cried.
Author's Notes:
Happy Tuesday y'all! Isn't this just the thing to brighten up your day? -nervous laughter- I do hope you enjoyed it though! We've got a bit of analysis (thank you, Coran!) and more of Haggar being deliciously creepy and our blue boy who just wants to go home.
Special thanks to the lovely reviewers for taking a tick to leave a comment. I really appreciate it! Kudos to: wingedflower, WhiteWolf100101, JinsTales, Guest, Jenny, LishaChan, Alexa, sally3015, Utilitarian, Guest, deaththecripple, DoctorMerlinReid, Jadegem02, Arrowcomix, SupernaturalAndMore, Lasagna, cookiebook322, purplehood, McCorkren, toomanyFandoms18, NamiNamiHello, Guest, ukara, Swirly Rainbow, PaintedWings45, SonoSvegliato, StrawberryFever3, Bryler, Blakeyfur, Guest, BlueManiac359, Samansa-chan147, and unicornpie.
The goal is to hopefully see y'all on Friday, but I will admit that almost all of Thursday is being taken up by a Sox game and Friday I'm getting all of my hair lobbed off (from a girl who has never had shorter than shoulder-length to pixie cut it's going to be a wee bit different!) so assuming I do manage for Friday it would likely be later in the day than my typical update time. Remember it's both based on my timeline and the response to the chapter, so send encouragement! :D
As always, please do drop a comment below. Thanks everyone!