(On the Hunt) Chapter 41

Pride: On the Hunt

Chapter 41

Honor

Whatever the reward structure of the arena, the Drules seemed to have one thing figured out: extra time for rest and recovery could do with including some time outside the cell. Skalor had told them he'd actually lobbied for extra time in the rec yard for them—a couple of the team had even managed surly mutters of gratitude. Even that had gotten them glared at by Jace, but it was kind of a halfhearted glare.

This gladiator deal was a lot of things, and just plain weird was near the top of the list.

It was a slightly brighter day out as they stepped into the prison yard, and those who hadn't come the last time looked around with particular interest. "Wow, this is… different."

"Bigger than I expected."

"Yeah, it's pretty cool." Daniel was looking around for another soccer-ish game to join, though he wasn't really sure he wanted to. His legs still ached from the last fight… he was so over running.

Their medic was giving him his best look of abject disdain. "Yeah, it's not bad for a prison yard."

Lance looked around more carefully, taking note of their fellow yard occupants. It mostly looked like gladiators, or at least there were groups clustered together, several with similarly torn and bloody clothing to their own. It also looked like some 'normal' slaves were out and about—or at least, the threadbare clothing and skittish nature of those wandering the yard's outskirts did not scream gladiator.

Looking around also, Keith took in the surroundings as quickly as he could. The people, the walls, the guard posts, the cracked portion of wall that Pidge had told them about after their last day out. He didn't see anything that looked immediately useful to their goals, and sighed. Morale and exercise was it, then. "So. We just wander?"

Flynn smirked. "What, you're not going to go all drill sergeant on us?"

"Do you want me to do that? I can."

"It might be an efficient use of—" Pidge was cut off by Hunk elbowing him, and glared but seemed to decide that wasn't a fight he wanted to get into.

Daniel felt safe enough with Hunk in between them to shoot the ninja a glare—and Flynn too while they were at it. "Why would you even give him those ideas?"

"Seriously." Lance shot the boss a wink and a salute. "No orders for push-ups, you got it, sir!" Keith rolled his eyes.

"I can't even do a push-up," Vince muttered, and immediately regretted it when it turned out people actually heard him.

Mostly Sven, who was pretty sure all of his physical checks drifted through his mind at once. "You can't?"

"Barely."

"How did you graduate?"

"I honestly am unsure, sir." Vince was unsure about a lot of things that had led to his ending up here. Push-ups had hardly even been on his radar.

Sven shrugged, accepting that, and Keith glanced over. "We'll have to work on that some more, Vince."

"Yay."

"Dude, I've seen your fucking fitness records." Jace cleared his throat and took on his stuffiest, most official tone. "Subject displays nontraditional form bordering on isometric exercise. Sufficient upper body strength is still demonstrated. Recommend waiving numerical requirement under Capacities Clause section 2.6." He dropped back into his normal voice and glowered a little. "Did you give up halfway through?"

"Probably? I prefer using my brain…" Vince paused, blinking. "Wait, you memorized it?"

"I memorize a lot of bullshit."

"Can you repeat it?" Cam asked, looking between them. "In… like… Common this time?"

Jace smirked. "It means sparky here gave up in the middle of the push-up and just sat there, which is actually harder than just doing the fucking push-up, so they figured it was good enough."

A lot of people stared at Vince, who shrugged. He'd blocked out as much physical training as he could from his memory—he'd just wanted to work with wires!—but it sounded like something he'd do.

"…Sounds about right." Pidge's words echoed his thoughts, and he found himself hoping that wouldn't happen again any time soon. It was weird.

Lance on the other hand looked mildly betrayed. "We could do that?" Daniel snorted.

"Don't worry, little dude. I could hardly do a push-up either." Hunk reached over and ruffled his hair; he stumbled. "Oops."

Sven chuckled, and Lance shook his head. "Yeah, big guy, don't knock him over!"

Wholly uninterested in any discussion of push-ups, Flynn had been keeping an eye on their surroundings. Standing here at the entrance talking about things they didn't even want to do didn't seem like the most productive use of their time. "Just wandering does seem to be legitimate." About half the gladiators and most of the non-combatant slaves seemed to be doing just that.

"Alright, let's wander." Keith nodded. "We can always work on form or technique in a little bit. For now just… relax a little." As if they could really relax here, but everyone understood what was being said.

"Yeah sure." Lance shook his head. "Like a day at the park, but no picnics or dogs chasing frisbees." He found himself walking next to Keith as the group split off, and decided that was fine. As long as the bossman didn't call him anything stupid, like a mentor, it would be fine.

"How are you doing, Lance?" Keith spoke quietly. He felt like he wasn't keeping a very good handle on his people during this ordeal… they were all in one cell, he could see everything that was going on, but one on one conversations just weren't much of a thing.

"Just peachy," the pilot muttered, then sighed and backed down from the snark. "Holding in there." He found himself glancing in Daniel's direction and mentally dared Keith to say anything about it.

He did, but nothing he had to get yelled at over. "How's he doing?"

"Not sure. Think he's doing a good job pretending to be alright. Unsure if that's a good thing, but then… so am I." Aren't we all, really?

"It probably isn't optimal," Keith admitted, nodding slowly. "But we can't really do anything except keep surviving to escape, and if that means we have to pretend to be okay… then that's what we'll do."

That was a remarkably depressing way to look at it, but there weren't a lot of not-depressing takes on their current predicament. "Yeah. And then we deal with it all, I guess…" That seemed like a recipe for a lot of messiness, actually. "How're you doing, boss?"

Biting his lip, Keith briefly entertained the thought of answering that honestly. Very briefly. The seconds of consideration would have been counted in fractions, and not large ones. But he did consider it. "My shoulder is better, still pretty sore."

"Good, good." Lance eyed his shoulder. "Also not what I meant."

Of course it wasn't. This time Keith did not consider the truth, per se. He cursed that he couldn't actually tell the truth, that he was terrified, that it felt like they were just barely clinging to the edge and racing something they couldn't see to avoid going over…

"…I'm alright. Just trying to keep us all alive and semi-sane."

Lance didn't buy that, and didn't even pretend to buy it. But he did understand it. We'll deal with it all once we're out of here. "Yeah. I think we're all doing that."

"I just wish this escape plan were going faster. We have to get out of here." That was hardly news either, but as he looked around the yard he felt his guts clenching with a little extra anxiety.

"We will." Lance was not here for this kind of pessimism. "I—We gotta fucking believe that."

"We have to."

"The plan is good." We've just gotta get there. "We're all with you on this, boss."

But what if… no, don't go there, Kogane. Keith shook his head and tried to chase the thoughts out. It wasn't supposed to be this way. "Yeah, it is good." He forced himself to move on. "You seemed to be doing alright in the last fight. Improving."

Oh, yes, talking specifically about the arena would definitely lessen his fears of what might happen in the arena. Great idea, Kogane. But he couldn't really take it back now.

Lance just shrugged; he didn't want to talk about that very much either. "It's all adrenaline and the will to survive."

"Not exactly what I meant, but that's about normal." He actually managed a small grin as he clarified. "You going to take up swordfighting when we get out of this?"

"Fuck no! I never want to touch a sword again."

The look of disgust on Lance's face only made Keith's tentative smile widen. "Well, it's not for everyone, I suppose. But I'm sure if you wanted…"

The pilot just scoffed. "Guns are better. Less messy."

That seemed to leave out a few crucial details. "Depends which side of the gun you're on."

"…Point."

They moved on, debating the merits of their weapons of choice, and for a little while managing not to think too much about using them.

*****

Flynn was jogging along the outside wall, thankful to at least be able to stretch his legs a bit. The cell was not cramped, but there was still only so much ten people in one room could do to keep themselves loose. Shortly into the run he noticed Pidge shadowing him, and stopped; the ninja stopped also. Shaking his head, Flynn motioned him forward. "How's your back?"

"Fine." He sounded intensely annoyed to be reminded of the wound. As he indeed was; it hurt and cut down his range of motion a bit, and the fact that he'd allowed himself to be hit in the back was just embarrassing. "Worry about yourself."

Sigh. "Pidge, we're in a heavily guarded recreation yard. I know you don't think highly of my combat survival skills," okay so that's actually pretty well justified, "but I hope I don't have to worry about myself that much here."

"Sir, with all due respect, I'm thinking something very disrespectful right now."

Flynn snorted. Was that the most Pidge thing he'd ever heard Pidge say? Maybe not, but it was in the running. "I'll bet you are. Fine, I'll be careful not to trip over any rocks or anything."

He didn't see a single rock in this whole damn prison yard. Easy promise to keep, then.

They'd been jogging in silence for a few more minutes when Pidge spoke up again. "…Sir?"

"Yes?"

"You said I could talk to you about anything, kir sa tye?"

Stopping so abruptly he nearly did fall over—and wouldn't that have been fun—Flynn took a breath and recovered his composure before turning back to face him. He'd kind of figured the ninja had written that offer off. "Sure did."

"And what you meant was that I could talk to you about all the things you keep trying to ask me that I don't want to answer, but you didn't actually say that."

The hell? "I don't believe I specified?" Of course that was precisely what he'd been talking about—whatever personal hell this kid had going on that had made him like, well, like this. But it wasn't that he was uninterested or unwilling to talk about anything else. He'd just assumed… "I mean, I wasn't expecting you to engage in small talk but that's more of a you thing. What's on your mind?"

Pidge considered that for a moment then shook his head, already having second thoughts about this. He didn't need to waste Flynn's time with nonsense. And that's what this was, nonsense. A little gleam of idle curiosity with no bearing on their mission or their goals. "…It's nothing."

Oh for… Flynn crossed his arms and gave the ninja a look. Was he supposed to have said no? "It is certainly not that."

Sigh. Fine. "What's a frisbee?"

Flynn's arms dropped to his sides. What.

"Lance said something about dogs chasing them."

No. Really. What.

"I thought the human stereotype was that dogs chase cats? I took a lot of zoology electives, but I've never heard of any animal called a frisbee. Are they like other bees?"

Finally, Flynn found his voice. A small, mischievous grin crept over his lips. He should not answer this question like this, and yet… "Very unique wildlife," he said wisely. "They're extremely docile—you basically have to throw them to get them going, but once you do they can fly a good distance."

Frown. "That sounds… like an impractical evolutionary strategy."

"Probably. And then when they land, they'll just sit there and wait until you come get them…"

"But…" Pidge's expression of careful attention had become more and more suspicious as he went on. "…You're not taking this seriously, are you?"

Grin. "Pidge, you invoked 'talk to me about anything' with a great deal of gravity to ask me about presumably esoteric wildlife. I'm taking it seriously, I promise you, but faex you're adorable."

"Jalekya sa kye…"

"No doubt I deserve whatever you just called me." He put a hand on Pidge's shoulder and gave it a squeeze, still looking down at him with a faint grin. "I told the truth about the frisbees. Except they're usually plastic."

…Plastic. Of course they are.

Pidge elbowed him. Hard. "That does not qualify as wildlife, sir." But as he spun away and went back to jogging, Flynn caught something he'd hardly ever seen before.

The ninja, for the briefest of moments, had laughed.

*****

"Do you have everyone's medical files memorized?"

"Maybe."

"What am I allergic to?"

"Brunch. And spoons."

Sven and Jace had wandered their way to the sidelines of a game of… well, something. It looked vaguely like volleyball, except there was no actual net and occasionally someone would tackle an opponent before they could volley. It was interesting to watch—despite having no idea what was going on—and they weren't the only spectators who'd turned up, so it seemed okay.

Looking away from the game, Sven burst into snickers at Jace's response to his challenge; he wasn't allergic to anything, theoretically. Though he liked the sound of this. "I don't think that's in my file, though it explains why I'm always so miserable at them. I'm going to need you to write me a doctor's note when we get back."

Smirk. "I can do that. Matter of fact, I can add that to your records, and don't think I fucking won't."

Sven did not doubt that for a second, and he smiled. "Much appreciated."

"Feels like fucking forever ago that we were on that first run and they didn't even give me your medical records…" Jace sighed heavily. He hated this nostalgia shit. On the other hand, having something to be nostalgic about was a change of pace. "…Y'know, this sucks, but at least we're not in the fucking temple of murder again."

Was that their medic displaying optimism? His own unique brand of optimism, but optimism nonetheless. "You're right." This is much better than being electrocuted. At least nobody in the arena had set them on fire. "We bring up that temple far too often, you know. I've aged at least ten years since then."

"Yeah, you can tell you've aged, you grew a prison beard before we were even in prison." Jace sounded amused.

Sven pretended not to be amused, shooting him a glare. "My beard, when properly managed, makes me look distinguished."

It had nothing to do with intending to look distinguished, of course. He never had gotten around to picking up a razor.

"That's one of the most you things you've ever said, holy shit."

"…Thank you? Language, please. Vince has started cursing now." His glower became all the more disapproving. "Corrupting me is one thing, leave our youth alone."

Oh. They were going to do this? Of course they were going to do this, why the fuck not. Jace crossed his arms and matched the navigator's pious look with his most infuriating smirk. "The only youth around here who pays attention to me is Daniel, and he doesn't need corrupt—wait!" The smirk turned into a look of mild betrayal. "Vince cursed? I want details, Viking. All of them! And it better be real cursing, 'badass' doesn't count, that's not fucking cursing."

They were so doing this. "What are you talking about? Bad-you-know-what most certainly is cursing!"

It was possible he'd phrased it that way just to see if he could break the medic. It worked. Gloriously. "BAD YOU KNOW WHAT?!" Grabbing his shirt, Jace dragged him away from the game—a few of the others watching, already giving them a wide berth, were now also giving them weird looks. "And you didn't understand how Vince could get out of the Academy without push-ups?"

"Push-ups are mandatory, or at least I thought they were. Cursing is not. The only reason you'd need it, and I'd argue it's not truly a need, is to fit in with your peer group." He gave a challenging smirk of his own. "Which is idiotic, as you know."

They'd had this conversation before, or at least one very similar to it. More than once. Sven knew full well Jace didn't swear to fit in with a peer group—quite the opposite. Jace knew full well he wasn't actually going to drag any profanity out of the Viking. But why would it stop either of them?

"Wrong, caralho." He started pacing, shaking his head in grumbling indignation. "Profanity serves an important purpose, which is to let the world know how fucking pissed off you are, but! More to the point, badass is essential. There is no word that replaces badass. Hardcore doesn't work, because badass is a noun and hardcore is an adjective—don't give me that look, I actually paid attention to that grammatical shit when I learned English!—you don't call someone 'a hardcore'. They are not interchangeable!" He paused a moment. "Which is why it's not real cursing, profanity doesn't have the same effect if it's not fucking optional."

"I will give you that look because it does have replacements." Sven crossed his own arms. "You see, I paid attention to English as well, and it turns out that it has a lot of words to describe things. There are whole books of them! When saying the," he cleared his throat and looked Jace straight in the eye, "bad you know what word, you are essentially just calling a person, place, or thing amazing. And/or distinctly tough. There are plenty of ways to describe that, thus making it optional, and thus by your own definition it counts as real cursing."

They stared each other down for a few moments, waiting to see who would crack first. It was Jace, biting his lip to keep the laughter back, and finally shaking his head. "An example, Viking. Give me six letters that get the same point across. But to be honest I don't have anything to add to this that you haven't heard already… when this shit is over I'm gonna write a fucking manifesto."

"Please do. I'm sure it'd make an exciting read, and probably get you arrested."

Jace gave in and burst into laughter at that. Which Sven couldn't help but be amused by himself… because he'd been dead serious.

*****

Vince was wandering a little aimlessly, eyes darting nervously back and forth. The others had said the yard was 'safe', there was a code, and all that. And everything going on around him did seem to be pretty friendly. But there was knowing it and there was feeling it, and the last thing he felt here was safe.

It was hard to miss Hunk following him like a very large and cheerful guard dog, and after a minute he gave the other engineer a quizzical look. "Buddy system?"

"Yep!" Grin. "We can not do push-ups together."

Snort. "I didn't even remember that until Doc said it. I just spent all the physical conditioning sessions reminding myself I had to live through them to get back to the interesting stuff."

"Hey, that's fair. I spent 'em being tired." Hunk flexed an arm that was nearly as big around as Vince's waist, then shrugged. "I think the line in my file was 'build not optimized for endurance'? Or that was the kamikaze crush car I built. One of the two."

If there were indeed still things in the galaxy that could surprise Vince after all this, Hunk's Hunk-ness was not among them. "Yeah that sounds about right. I was always so thrilled to be done I forgot about how tired I was… until I sat down and couldn't get back up for an hour."

"Little dude, that is the most legit thing."

The big man's grin hadn't faded, and Vince found himself badly wanting his secret. He suspected it wasn't going to be something that exactly translated, but… "How are you doing it? You know…" He gestured widely. "Hanging."

Hunk stopped to consider that for a minute. "Thinkin' about the killer BBQ party we're gonna have when we get where we're goin', for one thing. Because we are so gonna have the biggest BBQ party ever." No, that definitely wasn't helpful, and he sobered a little as Vince's shoulders slumped. "…I dunno, little dude. We've been through a whole lot of crazy before, and we've always come out the other side. We're an Explorer Team for a reason, yeah?" He clapped him a bit more carefully on the back. "You too."

They kept clinging to that, and Vince kept not feeling very Explorer Team-y. But he was still here. And he'd done things on this mission he'd never dreamed he could do, even if most of them had terrified him… he found himself cracking a tentative smile. "Could we have cornbread at the barb… uh, the BBQ?"

"Heck yeah we can." The tentative smile became a bright grin, and he forged on ahead. "You and the Doc can make some risotto."

"Does that really go at BBQs?" He supposed it had to go somewhere, and if it wasn't cooking shows it might as well be a barbecue, but it still seemed a little off-brand for that sort of thing. "I mean, I did enjoy making it."

"Anything can go at a BBQ, little dude. Anyone who tells you there's rules at a BBQ is wrong." Pausing, he frowned and quickly amended that opinion. "…Okay, there's gotta be ribs. One rule."

Vince snorted, and it turned into a laugh. "And cornbread."

"And cornbread!"

It seemed crazy to be talking about cornbread and barbecues here. But Vince couldn't deny it made him feel better.

*****

"How's the leg?"

Daniel made a face. Couldn't fanboy see he was limping? …Was he limping? He wasn't actually sure if he was still limping. "It's alright. The stitches have stopped ripping open so I'm assuming that means it's getting better." That much was all true, at least… he supposed he ought to reciprocate the question. Though technically what he was about to ask had fuck-all to do with physical health. "You doin' okay?"

"Are you…" Cam had started to ask the same thing, then chuckled softly as Daniel beat him to it. "I guess so, I mean, considering. Dude, you're in my head."

"Yeah that's what I need, to be inside someone else's head. Mine's bad enough." All he'd really been referring to there was his proud status as a horrible little shit, but he winced as he thought about what else had been in his head lately and decided he regretted the joke.

"…Doing that good, huh?"

"Oh I'm fantastic. Practically shittin' rainbows."

Cam stopped and eyed him, leaning back against the wall they were following. "When did you become a unicorn?"

"I've always been a unicorn, how else to explain my sparkling personality?"

Snort. "At least you still have a sense of humor." Looking up and down the yard, he found his own thoughts trending darker again. He didn't want to doubt the team, and their commander least of all, but the situation did kind of suck.

"…You think this plan is actually gonna work?"

"It has to." That wasn't an answer. "It has to before one of us…"

"Dies? Yeah. Good news though, it probably won't be you." Daniel felt like he and Vince surely had the best odds of leaving the arena with the corpse-clearing teams next time. Maybe outside money on Keith and his hero complex.

Something about that—either his words or just his expression—sent a shiver of foreboding up Cam's spine. "I mean, just, I know we've pulled off some crazy miracles but I can't help worrying about it…"

Oh. He got it now. "I'm probably not the best person to talk to if you're wanting a pep talk. I may be shitting rainbows but I'm not exactly Mr. Sunshine."

Grinning, Cam smacked his arm gently. "Oh, my little angel isn't full of sunshine and rainbows?"

Daniel's head snapped up. "I am not your little angel." Oh fuck no. Not again. Never again. "You are never allowed to call me that again ever."

Eyebrows shooting up, Cam took a step back and wondered if he should start running the other direction. Why was he so good at accidentally pissing people off? "Okay. Sorry. Um, dare I ask?"

"I'd rather talk about my daddy issues." That may or may not have actually been true.

"You have daddy issues…?" Cam reached up and squeezed his forehead. Daniel didn't talk about his family, which seemed to support that, but… "I'm so confused."

You're so fucking blonde. By some miracle Daniel didn't say that; maybe he hadn't learned enough to stop having the thoughts, but he'd gathered enough tact to keep them to himself. At least sometimes. Score one for fanboy's unwitting crash course on patience. "What exactly are you wanting out of this conversation?" he asked instead, eyes narrowing.

Good question. "Guess I'm just… trying to distract myself, I don't know." He gave a long sigh, wishing Daniel hadn't brought up family at all. "If babushka knew where we were right now…"

…Well, fuck. Now I feel bad. Daniel shook his head in annoyance. He definitely should not feel bad about annoying his roommate—former roommate? Nah, think positive, they'd be stuck in a room again together soon, and they were technically all roommates now anyway—but he should probably feel bad about getting him all worried about what his granny would think of this mess. Stop being a dick.

"Okay fine. If it will make you feel better, I will give you a smidge of information on my… father issues."

…Would that make him feel better? "You don't have to. I barely even remember my parents—"

"—I don't remember my mom. She died when I was like, three—"

"—Dad vanished when I was like… five? Then Mom disappeared not long after I started school—"

"—and Professor Brennan was not fucking prepared to raise a kid by himself, let's put it that way."

"—and babushka never talked about them, she just sniffled and told me about more famous ancestors."

They stared at each other silently for a few moments, each trying to get a handle on what the other had just said. Then Daniel dug deep for what sympathy he could muster. "…That sucks, man." Oh yes. The compassion overfloweth. He was feeling creepy and uncomfortable himself; he didn't like sharing. Not even a smidge. But at least he knew where his parents were—both in bumfuck Utah, just one was six feet lower than the other.

"…Yeah." Cam was blushing. He wasn't sure why he'd spilled that. Nor why he'd felt it was so important to get it out now. What was the rush? "Um. Sorry, I…"

"What are you sorry for? You apologize too much. I never apologize."

Wasn't that the truth; it actually managed to coax a chuckle from him. "You did good yesterday. In the fight."

"Thanks. I ran. A lot. I didn't actually see you fight much, but I'm assuming you did good too, seeing as you're alive and pretty much uninjured." He snorted. "I was mostly just focused on not dying, Lance has made it very, very clear I'm not allowed to die. I'm pretty sure he tells me some form of 'no dying' at least once every day."

"He likes you."

"Yeah." But why does he like me? "I don't get it, majority of the time I'm just being a smartass at him." He's weird.

"Well, I can't speak for him, but…" Cam offered his fist. "I think you're alright."

That was actually one of the nicest things a roommate had ever said about him. Daniel gave his fist a bump. "You're alright too. Most of the time." Frown. "Alright, that's enough feeling sharing for the next ten years or so."

Ten years sounded completely reasonable. "Well, just survive." He bumped his shoulder, too, and winked. "Because I'm totally gonna owe you a swirly when we get out of this."

…Really? Daniel glared. "Do you go from a touchy feely weirdo to a high school bully with inadequacy issues with everyone, or is it just me?"

Shrug. "I'm just teasing you! And I can't help that I'm in touch with my feelings. Is there one you'd prefer?"

"Hmm." He weighed it on his hands. "Sappy stuff that makes me incredibly uncomfortable, high school bully. Sappy, bully. I'm gonna say… neither." Catching sight of Lance and Keith, he took off in that direction. Cam was always on his best behavior around Keith.

*****

The team was starting to fall back in together as the shadows in the rec yard lengthened. Cam and Daniel were the first to meet back up with Keith and Lance; Lance noticed Daniel was wearing his telltale 'fed up with Cam' face and hid a snicker.

"Cam. Daniel." Keith nodded a solemn welcome to them, as if they'd been gone for weeks rather than half an hour.

"Commander." Daniel looked at Lance. "Non-Commander."

Cam giggled, and Lance shook his head with a grin. "Smartass."

Studying Daniel for a minute, Keith turned to Lance and cracked the slightest of smirks. "I'm right, you know."

Glare. "Oh, shut up."

"You're only right like, three percent of the time." Daniel had only learned so much patience.

"There's times when it does feel that way…"

He filed that away for future use.

"Better ratio than intel," Flynn pointed out, walking up with a somewhat perturbed-looking Pidge in tow.

"That's true."

Sven and Jace were arriving too, and Sven looked almost as agitated as Pidge. "You alright, Sven?"

"So, what the fuck's the plan now?" Lance said at the same time, and found himself the immediate recipient of an icy Viking glare.

"Language."

Smirk. "English or French?"

"Politeness."

"No… don't know that one, sorry."

Walking up to the group beside Hunk, Vince's immediate thought was that maybe he ought to turn around.

Pidge had already turned, and become distracted by a commotion on one of the fields. A group of what looked to be gladiators, some kind of pale yellow-green humanoids, had cornered a small fuzzy slave of some sort and were barking at it in Drakure.

A couple of the others took note, following his gaze, and by the time over if the gladiators shoved the slave into the dirt they had the entire 686's attention.

"They asked for water two minutes ago," Cam translated, making a face. "…I don't know that word but I know it's not suitable for polite company."

Who are you calling polite company? Jace didn't voice the thought, only because he had more immediate concerns. "Didn't they tell us last time there's no fighting in the yard?"

"Yeah, they did." Lance's eyes narrowed as the slave tried to get up and was promptly shoved over again.

"Now they're just swearing at him."

Flynn's expression darkened as well. Actually they were all having that reaction. "Someone correct me if I'm wrong, but last I checked, the gladiators are just as much slaves as the… other slaves."

"Accurate, sir." Pidge had murder in his eyes—not unusual, exactly, but more so than his standard.

"They're sure not talking like they think so." Cam shook his head slightly. "Should we get involved?"

Jace snorted. "Well if we do, we're not the ones that started the fucking fight."

"They are," Keith agreed, stepping forward. "Leave him alone."

Lance and Daniel moved to help the slave up as Keith stepped between him and the gladiators, glaring. Hunk and Sven moved up to flank him, both with their scariest expressions; the rest of the team stood back just a step or two, but there was no question they were all wound tight enough to snap in an instant if forced.

"Gira'tash kla…" One of the gladiators—who'd been quietly standing by, though he hadn't laid a hand on the slave himself—looked at them nervously, and most of them understood what he'd said. Even those who didn't speak a single other word of Drakure usually picked up quickly enough that Gira'tash meant Earthling.

"Are you alright?" Lance asked the fuzzy thing as he and Daniel got it to its feet. It had sharp fangs and strong muscles—the sort of thing he'd have expected could stand up for itself. But based on how timidly it reacted to their help, he suspected it had been pretty thoroughly conditioned not to.

"Th… thank you," it stammered in squeaky Common. "Yes, I'm okay…"

"Good. Go on and get out of here."

As the slave fled, Lance turned to add his own glare to the staredown between gladiators.

"…What's your problem?" the apparent leader of the other group finally scoffed. "They're just slaves. It's their job to do as they're ordered, and they should be honored to serve us."

"We're all in a fucking prison yard, caralho," Jace snorted.

Keith nodded, fixing his gaze fully on the leader as the others bristled. "Last I checked, we're all slaves in here. You're no better than the one you were bullying. If you want water, get it yourself."

"Yeah," Daniel snorted. "We're just slaves used for entertainment instead of domestic work." He'd have preferred domestic work, really. Fetching water for assholes instead of facing death every couple days didn't sound so bad. "Slaves who fight instead of cleaning toilets, I'm totally feeling the honor."

Cam felt like he'd seen these aliens somewhere before, and it finally came to him—Chor Marens. They were no Drule vassal civilization. In fact, as of his last diplomacy class, they'd been in negotiations to join the Alliance. And yet here was this group acting like…

"We're gladiators!" The leader sounded almost betrayed. "We're rewarded for our battles—you know that! The legendary Earthlings, of all of us!"

"And the slaves are a great reward," one of the other Chor Marens chuckled nastily. "Get them to do all sorts of things."

"They should be honored to serve us. What else are they going to do with their miserable existences?"

"What part of 'prison yard' is not sinking in?" Flynn asked in a low hiss. By now even Vince was glaring like he was ready to throat punch one of these jackasses.

Lance moved up a little closer, and the Chor Marens across from him backed up slightly. "Now you're the ones asking to hit the floor."

The leader gulped. Hard. "You can't hurt us, there's a code. A gladiator code."

"Oh, now they have a code."

"I don't remember being advised of any code."

"Warrior codes are for warriors," Pidge said derisively. "Not cowards who beat up the helpless." Hunk gave his scariest grunt of agreement, and one of the opposing gladiators yelped.

Keith snorted, still holding his focus on their leader. "If you keep up what you were just doing, we're not going to care if there's a code or not."

If they'd had any further doubts about the reputation they'd apparently built up, the near panic of the other gladiators was all they needed to see. "The guards will—"

"—Come break it up like we're fucking slaves?" Jace suggested, and the Chor Marens immediately shut up.

Daniel snickered. "Ooooh."

"…You should really enjoy the perks while you can, freaks." The words could easily have been taken as a threat, but something in the leader's tone made it sound like something else. A warning? Just trying to screw with their heads? Probably that. Whatever it had been, he waved to his compatriots and turned away. "Come on, let's go find some damn water." The Chor Marens trooped off, looking surly and defeated, drawing a few curious looks from other clusters of slaves.

"…Earthlings," Pidge muttered under his breath, and glared as Flynn patted his shoulder.

Lance let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in a harsh sigh, then looked around at his team in sheer disbelief. "What the fuck was that?!"

"High school bullying, enslaved gladiator edition?" Daniel suggested; Cam made a face and shook his head.

"More like gulag hierarchy."

Jace was the one who pinned it down, though. What they'd just seen had pretty much confirmed what he'd been looking out for so sharply. "Welcome to Stockholm. Holy fuck."

"…That really happens?" Vince asked, and the medic nodded grimly.

"This arena bullshit is damn near designed for it. It's obviously working on some of them."

"Dude. That's, uh… that's a thing." Hunk frowned as the last traces of yellow-green in the distance. "I could totes be okay with it if they wanted to toss us into the arena with those dudes. Give 'em somethin' to fight that'll actually be able to fight back."

Suddenly Lance went pale. The words had triggered a memory—unwanted, unbidden, and very unpleasant. But he didn't feel like he could keep it to himself either… much more hesitantly than usual, he spoke again. "Or they might toss us in with helpless slaves… heard a rumor or two about that back in the Vanguard."

That got everyone's attention. "What now?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Huh?"

Cam felt another shiver run through him. "I've heard about… slave executions. Is that what you're referring to, Lance?"

"Yeah. Throw in some of the civilian slaves just to kill them for shits and giggles. I never put much stock in it, but uh, now we're in a fucking gladiator prison."

"Fucking what now." Jace was still trying to sort through it. "Like, the guards just go out and shoot someone? For fucking funsies?"

"No, Doctor. He means the gladiators are sent into battle against the non-fighting slaves. That's the rumor. They won't do it, though."

Now everyone turned to stare at Pidge. Vince shivered and found himself wishing for that coma dream yet again; Cam put a hand on his shoulder.

"…What makes you say that, Pidge?"

"Yeah, elaborate?"

"The Ninth Kingdom isn't like the Fourth," he explained, gesturing back after the long-gone Chor Marens. "The Fourth plays diplomat and then stabs you in the back. The Ninth Kingdom believes their own… delusions."

"Bullshit, Pidge," Flynn offered. "The phrase is 'believes their own bullshit'."

"Yes, that also." He shook his head. "Whatever it is they believe, it's bloodsport they want. Emphasis on sport. One-sided executions are not a fight."

"…That shouldn't make me feel better," Daniel grumbled into the sudden awkward silence.

"Oh, so there is an honor code," Lance snorted. "If you can call it that—"

"—Just because it doesn't make sense to you doesn't mean it isn't a code, sir."

The sudden venom in Pidge's tone made Flynn suspect it wasn't Drule codes he was talking about at this point; he grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back slightly. "Take it easy, Pidge." That intervention also served to keep Lance from snarling something back. Or maybe it was just the concerned look on Flynn's face.

Keith just stared at their systems analyst for a long moment, considering the original matter at hand. It rang true, with what they'd seen here. And Pidge had cause to know the Ninth Kingdom better than the rest of them—Balto was right on the Ninth's border, while Earth was literally the entire Interior Expanse away. "Pidge has a solid point. I don't think we need to worry about those rumors."

"That's the plan we're going with?" Jace muttered. "'They won't'? I fucking hope the ninjerk is right, then."

"Is there a plan that would actually do anything if they did?" Sven pointed out quietly; Pidge looked up at him.

"I believe the question is whether to comply or refuse, sir."

"Enough!" Keith frowned. "Dwelling on this does not help us. We should do something else."

The team looked around at each other uncomfortably, then Flynn gestured to a discarded ball laying not too far away. He was trying to think of something they could actually do with it without any other equipment, and his first thought came out before he could stop it. "Kickball?"

"…You wanna play kickball?" Lance echoed, and he shrugged.

"Dude." Hunk grinned. "I rule at kickball. Wonder what would happen if I boot one over the walls?"

Looking up at the towering walls, then back down at their bomb tech, Jace slowly raised an eyebrow. "We wouldn't have a ball anymore."

"…Huh. Yeah, there's that."

"So, teams?" Lance looked around. "Me, the kid, Flynn, Pidge, and Hunk?"

"Oh sure, that's a fair fight."

"Why does everybody else get called by their names and I get 'kid'?" Daniel complained; Pidge gave him a confused look.

"Everybody else gets called by their names?"

"…I have never been informed of any name except 'ninja' to call you, so yeah."

Vince snorted. "Do I have to play? I can keep score."

"No, you have to work out, Mr. Can't-Do-A-Push-Up." Jace glared at him until he acquiesced.

"We might actually get to play this game at some point," Cam murmured to Sven as the group bickered; the navigator just chuckled.

"We may just."

*****

Most of the team had worn themselves out pretty sufficiently with kickball, and sleep came surprisingly quickly. Most. Not all. Keith was up and pacing in the dark cell, trying not to let his thoughts run too free. Formless fear was eating at him.

Something else was eating at him too—the distinct sense that he was being watched. Finally he turned to see Flynn also standing, leaning back in a corner, eyeing him in a way he didn't particularly care for.

"Kleid?"

The engineer's voice was soft but forceful. "Don't think I didn't notice you dodging that question earlier."

Oh. He shook his head, not wanting to think about that any more than necessary. "That wasn't a dodge. I believe Pidge… it just doesn't sound like something they'd actually do."

"Maybe not." Frown. "But they weren't supposed to give us trouble passing through Calidar, either. That didn't work out overly well."

Keith sighed. He supposed that was a fair point. "We don't have to play along with their game." Why not? We have been so far. But he let the words spill out because this was too much, a line they just couldn't cross. Maybe he was trying to convince himself. "If they pit us against people who aren't warriors, surely we can convince them not to fight? We're not their enemies. We could—"

"—All get shot by the thousand Drule soldiers in the stands?" Flynn snapped, uncharacteristically harshly. "Don't, Kogane. Don't give me that bullshit. Don't pretend we're going to idealize our way out of this." He gestured to the bloodied gashes in his jacket. "We're fucking beyond ideals here."

The hostility startled Keith, and drew his temper out in return. "Well since clearly you already know the right answer, why are you asking me?"

"I'm doing my job." Flynn's violet eyes narrowed. "You are our commander. Are we completing this mission at any cost? Or are we not? I don't have an answer. It's your decision. But those are the options."

…There has to be another way.

What if there isn't? He's right. You have to have an answer… just in case.

He didn't have one. From a coldly logical standpoint, the answer seemed obvious. It wasn't likely any of the other prisoners had escape plans in their final phases, let alone missions to retrieve a superweapon that might change the whole balance of power. But if they had to slaughter innocent people to get there…

"You're my second," he said quietly. "What are your thoughts?"

Now Flynn was quiet for a moment. "…I think we have to face reality." Keith expected to hear the same logic he'd just been going over in his head. But he didn't. "It's not as if they're going to set the winners free. If they put slaves up against us and we don't kill them, the next gladiators will. The blood isn't on our hands."

Well that… was certainly a way of looking at it. "You don't really believe it's that simple."

"No." Flynn lowered his eyes. "But I might be able to sleep at night."

Maybe. Maybe not. But Keith couldn't find a way to argue that point either. All the logic pointed one way… the most basic tenets of humanity pointed another.

"…This isn't how it's supposed to be," he said finally, very softly. Nobody else could be allowed to hear him voice such uncertainty. "We're soldiers. We're supposed to serve the Alliance and fight for the freedom of the galaxy. Not… not this. What the hell have we been thrown into here? This isn't what we were trained for."

His second's eyes narrowed slightly. "We do what we have to do, Kogane."

"And what's that?"

A pause. Then Flynn smiled weakly, crossing the cell and tapping his shoulder in an attempt at reassurance. "I'm not sure. But who better than us to figure it out?"

*****

There was something oddly comforting about a gaive'llar slicing through the air. Romelle had noticed that—it was a dangerous weapon, carved from a fang to be a harbinger of death, yet it whistled like soft birdsong as she slashed and blocked. Yet another dichotomy of this world and its culture.

It was the only comfort in the room, considering why the gaive'llar was dancing. The blade skipped off another and she stepped back, falling into a defensive stance, tense and sore with exertion and frustration. Her gaze sharpened, waiting for a counterstrike.

Her opponent chuckled. "Again. You were so close that time."

Lotor always smiled when she came close, and his compliments felt so condescending. She didn't drop her guard. "What did I do wrong this time?" Perhaps that had been ill-advised, but she was getting discouraged. No, she'd been discouraged for awhile now.

Of course he didn't pick that up. "Truthfully? Nothing. I've been trained for years by the finest warriors in all the Ninth Kingdom, and I'm stronger and faster than you. Your technique is becoming admirable, to hold your own so soon. Come, try it again."

So calm, so matter-of-fact. So encouraging. So patronizing.

Gods beyond and demons beneath, but she hated him sometimes.

Perhaps her frustration was evident in her next lunge. Perhaps it was just Lotor's own words that made him recognize the problem. This sparring was such a doomed endeavor for his a'kuri in the end. She wasn't a match for him—not physically, not in training or experience. Perhaps… no, he couldn't just let her win, it would dishonor them both. But as he blocked and countered her strikes, he smiled at her quick recoveries. And he made a decision…

Ducking beneath a sweep from his blade, Romelle feinted one way, snapping her weapon at the last second and coming around at his other side. It had been a beautiful, flawless technique, and he still could have reacted fast enough to block it.

Instead, he let it go, and her blade scratched down his forearm.

For a moment they just froze, staring at each other, and then Romelle stepped back in shock. "That… that worked?"

"Quite the ploy." Lotor smiled more broadly, baring his fangs. "I don't believe I taught you that technique."

"No, you didn't." She'd been watching the arena carefully, studying the warriors for more than mere judgment. She'd learned a few things. But this particular move… "It was something I once saw my brother do."

Lotor brightened at the mention of Avok, as he always did. "Excellent!" There was strength in the Polluxian blood. He examined the scratch on his arm; it wasn't bleeding, but it was long and pale and prominent against the blue of his skin, and he had quite possibly never been more proud of his a'kuri before… "Shall we continue?"

Romelle wasn't sure she wanted to continue. Maybe quitting while she was ahead would be better. But then, maybe she should try to expand on this first success while she had it. "I need some water first," she finally hedged. She was thirsty, either way.

"Ah, of course. Kalindra!"

The handmaiden had been waiting in a small slaves' station off the royal gym, ready to provide first aid or any other required assistance. At his yell she appeared with goblets of water, and Romelle managed a smile. "Thank you, Kalindra." She sipped the water slowly; she'd learned her lesson about drinking too fast during a workout.

Lotor nodded his appreciation to her as well, then an idea struck and he smiled. "Kalindra, why don't you go and attend to some other duties? Let my a'kuri and I have some time alone."

…That was not what Romelle had wanted to hear, and she gave him a look of nervous suspicion as he raised his water goblet in salute. Odd, but she returned the toast, hoping this was just going to be something small and innocent.

Of course it wasn't.

"It's exhilarating to face a worthy opponent," he mused as he sipped his own water. True, he'd consciously prevented himself from overpowering her—but that had been in recognition of her genuine tactical victory. "I'm very proud, a'kuri. We should celebrate."

"I'm not certain I'm really that worthy an opponent for you, sincline," she demurred. "But what did you have in mind?"

By way of response, he indicated the scratch, then leaned over and kissed her with a great deal of enthusiasm. Which she hadn't expected or wanted, but acquiesced to—what choice did she have?

That remained her mindset for only another minute or so. Then Lotor drew back just a little, grinning brightly. "Perhaps this is an omen? We could conceive a warrior child here, in honor of your victory."

…Was he saying what she thought he was saying? She looked at him, the eagerness in his eyes, and shivered slightly. Yes, he was definitely saying what she thought he was saying. And as she looked from his eyes to the scratch he was apparently so proud of, she felt something crystallizing inside of her.

"…No, Lotor." She pushed him back an inch or two. "Not here."

He blinked, backing off and looking at her uncomprehendingly, then concern stole over his face. "Have you been injured this session?"

She should've said yes. She would, not too much later, look back at it and curse herself… why hadn't she just said yes? But her cheeks flushed, and her new spark of confidence burned, and she shook her head. "No, I just… I don't want to do that where anyone can just walk in…"

"Ah." He chuckled; she was cute when she got like this. "Nobody's going to walk in on the Crown Prince and his a'kuri. Not even Kalindra can unlock the door while my personal code has it closed."

"I said no! It's not appropriate."

"A'kuri…"

Romelle looked back at him, eyes flashing. Stand up for yourself. If you are worthy as he says… "I refuse to be dishonored in such a way!"

…Suddenly she was a lot less cute. "What."

And just like that his warmth was gone, and she usually might have recoiled. But not today. Today it only redoubled her determination to finally speak, to use this strength she supposedly had, to finally try to retake some fragment of control of her life. "I've sacrificed so much already. All of it for my duty to my planet, this duty my father forced me into. And I've found so many admirable things about you and your people, but… this! Everything!" She gestured expansively, fury in her eyes. "I've been neglected, patronized, dishonored—stripped of any choice about my own future—this whole time, and I'm tired of it!"

Silence fell over the gym. Romelle was panting, hardly believing she'd finally let it out, that she'd actually said all of that to his face at last. Lotor couldn't believe it either, but in the end he'd heard only one thing.

"…A'kuri, I have never dishonored you."

"No?" She was in too deep now. "That dress you 'gifted' me to wear before my family at the welcoming feast? Your actions that my brother had to save me from?"

"A test," he answered stiffly. "A necessary test of your strength and that of your people. This was explained—"

"—And the wedding negotiations that I had no say in?"

He looked genuinely offended now. "I apologized for that!"

That was finally enough to break through Romelle's rant—if only a little. It didn't actually improve things; her tone became calmer, but just as bitter. "You did not. You said it wouldn't happen again, you never said you were sorry. Do you really think that can stop something like that from weighing on my mind?" He was just staring, dumbfounded, and she circled back to where this had begun. "I don't want to have sex." There was a new edge in her voice. "Not here. Not now." Not ever, if I could get away with it. "And I should have that right whether I have a reason or not, but if you must know, even you being 'gentler' lately hurts. And I'm tired of that too. I'm tired of having my injuries written off as helping me gain strength. I've been strong, stronger than any of you have bothered to recognize. And I've had enough."

Lotor was feeling something he'd very rarely felt in his life: overwhelmed. He wasn't sure what to make of this rant his a'kuri had gone on. She'd been holding grudges, holding secrets, and—what did she think he was supposed to do about any of this? It wasn't like he'd asked her to come here. Perhaps that was the thought that made him retreat to her last point first, snarling something he'd been told more than a few times himself. "Do you fear pain from the most sacred of your duties to the kingdom, a'kuri? You dishonor yourself."

She'd blushed at the first part; there second brought the edge back. "I do no such thing!"

"You dishonor yourself!" he repeated, drawing himself to his full height as his own temper flared. "Many of us did not ask for our duties. But you—but we have it nonetheless. And after all I've given you in the name of my damnable, unwanted duty, you're going to dare refuse me?"

"Yes!" Romelle tensed. "I've done more than I ever thought possible for this duty. I drew this one line! I've accepted and accepted and accepted, and now you want to be so… unbecoming as to do this in the gym? Because I scratched you? I am a princess, and you're treating me like a plaything. Not standing up to it would be the greater dishonor!"

She was still challenging him. She was still defying him. Lotor was flailing, this was not what this was meant to be. "You are not a plaything, a'kuri. You have been privileged above any other. Most princesses could only dream of the status you've been given." He gestured widely around the gym. "I was trying to honor your victory, to reward you for…" Something else was falling into place. Her protests… those trances she fell into during sex… and suddenly he went cold, feeling a very personal insult sink in. "…You have been lying to me, haven't you."

"Now you're calling me a liar?" she snapped. Setting aside that he wasn't actually wrong… she was seeing now just where the truth got her. All her lies had been in service to her duty, and she wasn't going to accept any scorn for it. "You're dishonoring me again."

"You've appreciated nothing!"

"I've appreciated everything." Everything but the mistreatment you and my father have heaped on me.

"You aren't acting like it." He gave her a look of more than a little betrayal. How could she do this after he'd been so proud of her, after he'd allowed her a victory? "Fine. Let's go back to your quarters, then. We still have a child we are duty-bound to conceive, and I no longer wish to proceed with this play-fighting."

They were well past let's go back to your quarters as a solution to this problem. Did he really think just leaving the gym was good enough now? Had he not listened to her at all, or had he just not comprehended? It didn't matter. Romelle's mind raced through everything she'd learned, of the Drules, of Lotor, of honor. And she hissed the next words with a confidence she'd never expected to feel.

"A duel. Now."

He stepped back as though she'd slapped him. "…What?"

"A duel," she repeated, flipping out the blade of her gaive'llar. This wasn't exactly how she'd planned to try to follow up on her small victory, but she had been improving. And now she had something to truly fight for… and she saw no other way forward.

"What…" His indignation seemed to have evaporated all at once, replaced by dumbfounded stammering. "What do you think that's meant to accomplish?"

"I'm tired of not being taken seriously," she answered simply, and for the first time a note of that exhaustion slipped into her own voice. "If this is the only way to convince you I am deserving of respect…"

A harsh laugh escaped him. "Princess Romelle, I take you quite seriously. Were it up to me, I would have gladly sent you back home the moment you arrived—I'd send you back this very moment, if it meant I could have this courtship nonsense removed from my shoulders. But that choice was never mine! And yet I'd come to care for you, to respect you and your strength. And I promise you, my a'kuri…" He motioned to the scratch on his arm. "This is the best you've done to me in all our sparring, and that was with me allowing it. If you want to be taken more seriously, this is not the way."

The warning didn't exactly fall on deaf ears. Romelle was just well beyond caring. Even if she couldn't lay a blade on him again, at least she'd finally stood up for herself, and it wasn't as though not fighting had spared her injury or pain. "Prince Lotor, from the moment I arrived, I have bowed and scraped and done everything I can do to learn about your people and your culture. And yet you've repeatedly swept me aside, ignored my concerns, and treated me as some pet you're training rather than an equal. You haven't respected me. You still don't. You probably never will." He wasn't doing much to prove himself capable of learning to respect her, at least. "I never wanted to be here—my father had sworn to never force a marriage on his children, and yet, here I am. If you could send me home I'd gladly go. But since this is what we need to deal with…" She gripped her gaive'llar, looked at the sigil carved into it, then raised her head to look him in the eye. "In Kistrial's name, this duel must happen."

Lotor froze. Dead silence fell over the gym; thick, smothering, dreadful silence. The look in his eyes was something she'd never seen before. There was scorn there, and annoyance, and betrayal… but there was a note of something that may almost have been panic, as well.

"…Romelle." She could hear him struggling to keep his voice even. "I beg of you. You don't know what you're doing. What you're invoking. We can forego tonight, fine. Just take back all this… overwrought nonsense, and leave Kistrial's name off your lips."

Overwrought nonsense? She felt just a glimmer of tears trying to well in her eyes. If he hadn't said that, if he hadn't told her to take it all back, she might almost have believed she'd gotten through to him… "I can't. I'm sorry." Maybe she really was sorry. "But my feelings are not nonsense… and I can't withdraw what I've said."

Lotor stared at her for what felt like an eternity, but finally he snapped his own gaive'llar open. "In Kistrial's name." His voice was cold. "To the blood."

"To the blood," she agreed, and lunged.

He fended her off easily, noting the desperation in her strikes, his thoughts still churning. What had he done wrong? Why didn't she understand the honor she'd been given? Why was she insisting on this over some… vague notions of alien propriety?

His father was going to kill him.

No risk of Romelle killing him, anyway. He kept blocking her strikes, making no moves of his own, just waiting for her to understand that she was outmatched. She could still take this back, she could still see sense. Yet it seemed like her attacks were becoming more frenzied, not less. One slash came surprisingly close—no threat, of course, but close. And then she tried the same move she'd used to scratch him before.

This time he didn't let it by.

Snapping his gaive'llar into hers, he sent her blade sailing halfway across the room. Her grip never had been quite right. Before she could even try to lunge after it he seized her shoulder and stabbed deep into her arm. Nowhere that would cause lasting damage—enough to draw plenty of blood, to end this duel with no doubts.

To remind her of her place.

Shoving her to the floor, he stood over her, watching as she clutched her arm and panted from the pain. She was aware of him, but wasn't looking at him—couldn't bring herself to look at him. Tears were trying to spring forward again; she fought them back with all her strength. What had she been thinking? How deep he'd cut her was flooding her with a wave of shock and panic. No, he hadn't learned anything from that display…

What had she done?

"Your honor is forfeit," he declared coldly, watching her trembling on the floor. "But your duty remains. We will go and have that cut tended to." Leaning over, he picked her up easily and threw her over his shoulder; she cried out and tried to wriggle out of his grip, but it was like she'd been caught in a vise. "And then, we yet have the task of a child before us… and it will be done, whether either of us likes it or not."

As he hauled her from the room, her eyes fell on her fallen weapon, the sigil hidden by the gym's harsh lights.

I only wanted to stop being dishonored…

Was this what the Drules truly believed honor to be? She couldn't believe it—didn't want to believe it. She had come to appreciate so much of their culture, just not their prince. And despite herself, despite it all, she found a silent plea running through her mind.

Kistrial protect me…

For an instant, before turning the corner and losing sight of it, she saw the blade shimmer in the light.

*****

Their time was limited.

Either the invaders had not found the entrances to the catacombs, or even the Drules had enough decency not to desecrate the dead. Coran didn't know which it was and frankly didn't care. It was enough that they found the ancient crypts undisturbed as they brought the bodies in. They couldn't just leave Prince Tanner and King Alfor in the shelter tunnels; it was the duty of the Arusians to ensure their royalty was properly interred. Once that was done, it was in the hands of the Golden Ones.

The Silent Exile certainly wouldn't think highly of the sinycka putting their filthy claws on that which had been given over to the gods.

Not that they're going to have the chance. Sealing off the catacombs better was part of their contingency plan. The ancestors would be protected, whether the living could save themselves or not.

Allura hadn't come to the entombment. She'd already laid her father and brother to rest once, after all. It was too much, and there were too many other things to focus on. Nanny had tutted about it—it wasn't proper for the princess to be absent for such a thing!—but Coran had backed her. Which was a refreshing change, as often as he'd found himself on the losing end of the princess' stubbornness…

Larmina hadn't come either, and that was no great surprise. Though she bore royal blood, she'd not known either of them well, and wasn't exactly vested with the authority and majesty of the Crown. Coran himself hadn't spent much time with the girl, but she seemed preoccupied with her own tasks. In times like this everyone simply had to do what they could.

It left him to oversee the process… he sighed, closing his eyes as the High Priest spoke the ancient rituals, letting the words wash over him without really hearing. Alfor himself wouldn't have cared about all this ceremony. Not when the planet was still in grave danger, hanging by such a tenuous thread. But then, weren't these things as much for the living as for the dead? He glanced over the volunteers who'd carried the bodies, the elders who had made the pilgrimage to the crypts along with them. He could sense a bit of new calm among them.

That was enough. The Drules may have taken the High King's life, but they wouldn't take his and the prince's afterlives.

"…And may the Golden Blades of the Radiant Warrior strike down those responsible, and condemn them unto the eager grasp of the Exile. Diya poratn!"

That wasn't part of the normal rituals. Coran arched an eyebrow at the high priest, but he couldn't argue with the sentiment. And he echoed it with the others.

"Diya poratn!" For the Crown.

For Arus.

As the rest of the burial party began to leave the tomb, Coran stepped up to it. Just for a moment. Brushing his hand over the cold stone, he felt a sense of new calm himself… as if, in the midst of all this uncertainty, they'd at least won one victory. The old tasks and rituals were all victories, now.

"Rest well, old friend."