(From Ashes) Chapter 7

Pride: From Ashes

Chapter 7

Connections

Maybe a second attempt to unwind would go better than the first. This time, Allura decided to use a more… focusing method. Archery, or specifically, a meditative style of archery long practiced within the Crown Province. She'd set up outside in the castle's shadow.

Normally, the art of mysluka would be performed with a much larger bow, wearing a wardrobe stylized for the ritual. In this situation she was content with a normal bow and normal clothing. It didn't need the ceremonial trappings. It was focusing on her movements, her breathing, everything about the actions themselves that she felt would bring her mind back to her task. She needed this.

The meal had gone well, she thought. Most of those the Great Lions were calling had been there. One had not, but thankfully, Black informed her that Green had eyes on him… if only she'd been able to say so. But it pleased her greatly that the process was beginning.

Hope.

As she drew each arrow, she pictured things that distracted her in the arrow's place, ritually dismissing each distraction before letting each one go to the target. The quirks of the newcomers, strange by Arusian standards. The frustration of wanting to say things she knew she couldn't say, and the seething emotion that she couldn't yet do those things she most wanted to do. Each one became an arrow and flew to the target, ending buried with a resounding thunk in a propped-up pillow on an old chair. She even fired an arrow for how she felt Nanny would react if she saw the chair filling with arrows, despite the chair being on its last legs.

Her thoughts drifted from her distractions to her father. How would he react to the revelations she was having? The Great Lions were part of something still greater… it had a name, and that name was Voltron. There was a decision to hide this Voltron, and whether from time alone or other forces, things had been forgotten. So many things. Was this Voltron something terrible, something the lions were meant to seal away? Was she striving to awaken something more destructive than the Drules?

No… she couldn't fully engage with that possibility. The narrative of the Lions was a story of Grand Protectors. So, by that logic, this Voltron must be a Grand Protector as well. Perhaps even stronger, maybe frighteningly so. Perhaps that was why it had to be hidden? And what of the 'Galra' Romelle had spoken of. This great Voltron had to be hidden due to its power? It could be the reason the Lions needed to be so careful in their calling of these offworlders.

Yes… she must continue to hold her trust in Black. It was all coming together now, she couldn't start to doubt. As the last arrow flew, she let the doubt fly with it; what was left was resolve. Heading to the chair, she pulled the arrows out to start another round. Perhaps the newcomers were making progress even now?

She hoped so.

*****

Sleep wasn't coming easy. No surprise. For about the thousandth time since escaping Korrinoth, Hunk was wishing for a datapad. Any datapad. Just something he could load some heavy metal onto, and have something to keep his ears—and mind—occupied.

Silence sucked.

It was good, now, that he'd rock-paper-rocket-launchered himself into having his own room. Nobody else was in here to be bothered with his restlessness. Nobody disturbed by the fact that he was sitting on the floor with a pair of hangers from the closet, drumming out a Vampire Kryptonite bass line. He'd even briefly considered going back to the castle; they had been given rooms there, after all. But the beds in there didn't invite a whole lot of confidence, and he didn't really want to try navigating the place in the pitch darkness anyway.

Maybe if he was going to be awake, he should try to accomplish something… though the thought wasn't pleasant. He did not want to hear from the Lion of Earth, or whatever he was.

Then again, what choice did he have?

…Did any of them have a choice about any of this?

"Do you?"

"Oh, there you are," he scowled. "Just waitin' to say the most annoying thing at the most annoying time, yeah?"

It purred. Or at least he was pretty sure the sound that filled his mind, feeling like crunching stone, was a purr. "You seem annoyed very easily, where I am concerned."

He supposed that was true. Annoyance was not a thing he dealt with much; hell, even Jace hadn't managed it more than once or twice. This thing had beat him out in a matter of days. "Sure am! It's what we'd call a 'you' problem."

"Or perhaps it is because the fallen one accepted what you claimed yourself to be. And I do not."

Hunk's head snapped up, and he dropped the hangers. "You—" Anything he wanted to say just became incoherent sputtering. "Th—I don't even know where to—fuckin' fuzzmuffins, dude, don't talk to me!"

"You know that you hoped to hear my voice," the lion answered calmly. "Dude."

…Welp. "Yeah, sure." Not exactly how he'd have phrased it, but not altogether wrong. "I was hopin' you might show up with somethin' useful to say, for once? We gotta find you, yeah? This planet kinda needs you."

"I await your arrival. The Earth is patient."

"Dude, we don't have time for patience! You miss the evil alien invasion or somethin'?"

To his surprise, the voice answered with agitation. "You do not comprehend."

"You could just answer a question for once, maybe I'd get it then." He snorted. "Dunno if you've missed this, too, but I sure as hell ain't the brains of this operation."

Now its response was a low, harsh laugh. "And this is why the Earth must be patient. Still you hide."

…He was getting damn sick of that. "Ain't hidin' anything. We haven't met, maybe you don't know how bad I am at stealth."

"But I know you, cub. I see the mask you wear."

"Shut up about me," he snapped. "You're the one playin' games when people need you."

"What are you hiding?"

"Nothing! Don't you listen to—?!" he snarled, then cut himself off and shook his head. No, he was not going to get this pissed off at some… jerk-ass robot lion that talked in his brain. "You're not helpin' anything, you know that, right?"

The lion responded with what could only be described as a huff, then fell silent. Which… wasn't exactly what he'd been going for, either. Scowling, Hunk tossed the hangers back at the closet and left the room, heading for the ship's hatch.

There were two moons visible in the night sky, bright enough to drown out many of the nearby stars. Probably no annoying lion voices up there. He looked back at the ship. They could leave any time, in theory…

Of course they couldn't leave.

What choice do we have?

"What would you choose?"

He couldn't even bring himself to be mad at that question. "Hell if I know. Doesn't matter if the choice ain't there to begin with, yeah?"

What would he choose? Leaving Arus defenseless wasn't it, that was for sure. But he didn't want to be here, fighting with some cryptic voice in his mind. It wasn't the Drules he was afraid of…

What are you hiding?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing! But even if he were—if he wanted it found, he wouldn't have been hiding it, now would he? And if these lions did want to be found, why were they being so infuriating about… everything?

"If I gave you the answers so easily, what would you have?"

"Uh, the answers? That's kinda the point."

Again the lion roared, though not nearly as loud as the last time. "It is not so simple." He felt something like frustration filling its voice. "You will understand."

"…Will I?"

"Will you?"

Hunk glared at a nearby rock that probably hadn't done anything to deserve it. You will understand sounded an awful lot like certainty. "So, no choice, then."

"That is not what I said."

"Knock off the riddles! This is bad enough without you bein' all like—like that. If you can't give me a straight answer how 'bout at least a fuzzin' hint?"

No answer. Unless the headache he was getting counted as an answer… which he supposed it might, but it wasn't a very good answer.

Maybe I'm just too tired for this. Yeah, he'd go with that. It wasn't that the lion was crazy-cryptic or that what he was saying made no sense. Big Dumb Hunk just needed to sleep on it, and maybe he'd get some ideas. Right.

Returning to his room, he finally managed to pass out, with the faint rumble of distant stones echoing in the back of his mind.

*****

Pidge hadn't made it back to his feet. It was not a priority. The robot lion—because there was no damned point pretending he didn't know what this was—was staring at him; he could feel its gaze. Which was a terrifying thing, in itself. What the hell did it mean that he could feel a machine staring at him, passing judgment on him?

"Perhaps it means your assumptions are too harsh."

Oh hells no. "Stop that," he growled, knowing it was irrational but not particularly caring. "Stop talking inside my head. Get out of my head altogether."

There was silence for a moment. Then, "Yes. I see. I recognize your kind, tasakvar."

Pidge froze. "What in the third hell did you just call me?!"

"I called you what you are, cub."

He just sat there, staring up at the lion, trying to comprehend. There was no comprehending. It made no sense. Tasakvar. It was the proper terminology for his condition—the lack of telepathy. The polite term, the medical term, the one that went unused in favor of…

"Varetya," he corrected quietly. "I'm varetya."

"Defective? No." A low growl accompanied the rebuke, echoing through the hollow. It could have been soothing, if he were in any mood to be soothed. "And you know this."

The damn lion was speaking Baltan to him—well, maybe—if he thought about it, he wasn't actually clear what language was being spoken. He felt the words as much as he heard them, as if their meaning were touching his mind directly. But those two words had been emphatically Baltan. "What the hells are you?"

"I am the Lion of Wind… or Green Lion, if you prefer. It is a pleasure to meet you, little one."

…The Lion of Wind. He hesitated a moment, then shook it off. No, it didn't mean anything. He wasn't going to let that through. "Nobody's ever pleased to meet me, I'm not pleased to meet you, and I don't want you inside my head, you intrusive bitch."

"Hmm." A soft growl filled the hollow as it—she?—considered that. "And that is why you were blocking out my calls? If there were another way I would take it, cub. But I wonder… do you reject all voices, or do you simply reject mine?"

The thought of getting up and leaving was very much on Pidge's mind. But the monster wolves would probably object. The team needed information. And something else was telling him to stay here, to hear her out…

"I'm going to tell you I don't like voices," he muttered irritably, "and then you're going to point out that I was okay with one, once, until—" no, he wasn't going there either, "so obviously that's not my real problem, kir sa tye?"

She laughed, a chiming growl that danced over the crevices of the hollow. It did not improve his mood. "I would not have, until you volunteered it. I cannot see everything within your mind, cub. Only that which is brought to the surface, like the leaves of a canopy stirred by the winds."

…Much as Pidge didn't want that to make him feel better, it did, and he cursed under his breath. "Fine. Whatever. Talk in my head. I don't care." He stood and crossed his arms, scowling up at her. Though the lion was motionless, again he could feel those faintly glowing eyes following him… "What do you want?"

"You came into my forest, fleeing your Pride. What do you want?"

Fleeing his… it took him a moment, and then he snorted. "If I had a Pride, I wouldn't need to be here." If I hadn't… he shook that off, trying to force it down before she could catch it.

Whether he succeeded, or she simply chose not to address it, he couldn't know. "No? And why do you need to be here? This forest cannot protect you. Your enemy and your pain both lie within. Turning inward to wallow in them cannot heal those wounds…"

His eyes narrowed. "It's always worked before."

"A strange assertion, when no healing has occurred."

…Pidge really, really didn't like where this conversation kept going. He didn't like having this conversation to begin with. It was just that much more infuriating that this damned telepathic robot lion kept on being right. And from the smug purr she gave, she knew it.

Of course there hadn't been healing. How could he heal when he kept…

"What are you afraid of?"

His expression darkened. "Don't you dare!" Then the fury in his eyes gave way to suspicion. "You can hear my thoughts, don't tell me you missed me screaming the answer to that at your entire forest, anyway."

"The question is not for my benefit. But perhaps you should return to your Pride, and consider it further."

It wasn't worth arguing the Pride thing again, he decided. Instead he cautiously stepped forward, looking at his distorted reflection in the lion's silvery claws. Consider it further? But he knew where that would get him, too. "Don't you get it?" he asked quietly. "Or are you too busy poking at my brain to bother to put all those canopy-thoughts or whatever they are together?"

"Tell me, then."

Why the hell would he tell her? She was a mythical lion robot and he was…

Varetya. Back to that. Because of course he was defective—and it had, as the Earthlings would say, fuck-all to do with whether he could speak to his own people telepathically or not. If he weren't defective, he should've figured out how to be like a human by now. To fit in. To—

"No."

He glared up at her. "No what?"

She didn't answer. What in all three hells? Now she shuts up? Glancing back at the mouth of the hollow, he saw the glinting eyes of the wolves and shook his head. Why the hells was he doing this? Why should he tolerate her playing at… whatever she was playing at?

Because you don't want to be like a human or anything else, you just want to be understood. And how many humans ever bothered to try that? So the giant cat robot who's reading your mind is what you've got.

One human kind of managed. He's dead.

Giant cat robot might be safer, in that case.

Pidge was certain the Lion of Wind laughed. And he was certain it should have annoyed him, but for some reason…

"Do you see it now? You don't believe yourself 'defective'. You bear that name like a badge of defiance. What is it you truly think yourself to be?"

…He very nearly snapped at her about those surface thoughts again, because he'd heard that logic before too. But he bit it back, because it wasn't exactly exotic reasoning. Or at least it couldn't be that exotic, since it wasn't wrong.

She kept doing that.

"What do you want from me?"

"You will know that in time, cub. But first you must decide what you want… and you cannot do that here." The light in her eyes flickered, dimming, and he saw the shimmering veil of her cloak beginning to reactivate. "We will speak again…"

Silence fell over the hollow. "Mijtairra sa kye," he muttered, staring at the emptiness in frustration. "That's how we're doing this?"

"Return to your Pride…"

…Oh. Or they were doing it that way. Wonderful.

*****

Larmina knew what she had to do, she was just trying to think of anything else she could do. Her poor grasp of Common was infuriating. She did not like the offworlders—well, she didn't trust them, anyway. She didn't know enough about them to really dislike them, and didn't care to.

Still, the fact that she could hardly speak their language was a problem. It was important to know what they were talking about if they turned up in the crypts again or something… and it was just so much easier to disdain the visitors when she didn't have to feel slightly dumb whenever they spoke.

That led to her problem.

Returning to the Seven Isles to get help from her own tutors was, of course, not an option… if they were even alive. And there was exactly one royal educator she knew of around here.

"Um, Lady Hys?"

The governess had been wrapping and organizing some newly-cured roli meat. "Ach, don't—" Whirling around and seeing who'd spoken, she startled again, then her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Lady Larmina." She bowed. "And with a proper form of address! Is there something you require of me?"

"Surely you don't think I'd use proper manners just to make nice to get something I want?"

"Oh, I certainly do."

"Well, you're not wrong." She shrugged. "I'm not happy about this either, but I need to learn better Common. It's for Arus."

To her surprise, Nanny's expression softened a little—or at least, the suspicion stopped being focused on her. "Ah, I see. You've met them too."

Huh. Nanny doesn't like them? That was either an argument in Nanny's favor, or one in favor of the offworlders. She couldn't decide which. It probably didn't matter… "Sure have!" she agreed cheerfully. "And it's my duty as a Daughter of Arus to know what in the five hells they're talking about if they're gonna be wandering the castle, right?"

Honored Mother grant me patience. "Yes, of course." It was a valid point, and even if it hadn't been, at no point had Nanny ever been formally relieved of her duties in educating this… hellion of a Lady. If Larmina actually wanted to learn something, for once, it really wasn't her place to refuse.

Perhaps association with those hooligans would finally make her see the importance of proper behavior.

"I must finish arranging our stocks," she said finally, indicating the roli meat. "Then I have some time free for instruction." So far as she was aware, none of the royal tutoring materials had been salvaged from the castle; a pity, but there had been priorities. Rumor in the shelters was that a small but significant portion of books from the village library had been recovered, though. "Go and check with Elder Moreas about any Common instructional texts we may have available, and await me in the Crown's chambers."

"On it." She feigned a curtsy; hard to do when she was wearing her customary hunting clothes, which certainly did not include a skirt. Smirking in response to the glare it earned her, she headed out into the main tunnels.

Having to spend extra time with Nanny! She really hated these offworlders.

*****

Keith had ordered rest, but Lance barely slept a wink. He found himself outside the castle at dawn. His eyes lifted up to the sky—the brilliant golden sunrise giving way to deep Beau Terre blue—and he felt it again. That sense of home. Both a reminder and something else, something that lurked on the edges of his awareness.

As if on cue he felt the flame that licked at his mind, and wondered why he didn't find it an intrusion. Because it wasn't from him. It was the lion—the Lion of Flame, that was what the princess had called him.

Shaking his head, he walked further down the hall, trying to focus on the flame. But all the thoughts that had kept him awake started to spin again in his mind. He frowned, trying to push them away, but they weren't budging. It wasn't working anymore… he couldn't shove him away.

Flynn.

"He's always inside of you."

Lance shut his eyes, as if that could drown out the voice in his head. The visitor was somehow both comforting and unwelcome, at times. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to drown it out, but he was sure he didn't want to talk about it.

"Where are you?" he muttered.

"Near, but far."

That wasn't helpful at all. Shaking his head again, he walked up a stairway that he'd wandered near and in an attempt to not think about Flynn, he ended up thinking about Pidge. Which was thinking about Flynn. He sighed and hoped he could… make it up to the ninja somehow. Not that he knew how, none of them did, Flynn had been the only one of them to really… try, hadn't he? He was amazing like that…

"He sounds special."

You've no idea. Lance squeezed his eyes tight to try to stop the tears. He felt then coming; he couldn't let them. He might not stop. Pushing open a door, he blinked as he was greeted with brilliant sunlight. A wall was missing. And he was back to his own pain, the reminder of losing his home and how he felt for the Arusians.

Everywhere here looked, everything he thought, only seemed to lead back to his own losses. And he couldn't stop it.

Flynn would understand…

And then the tears blinded him. Gasping for air he found himself at the edge of the room, where the wall had been blasted out, staring at the view of a mountain in the distance. Wanting it, almost begging it, to distract him with its natural beauty.

"Grief can't be avoided forever, cub."

Lance jolted; the voice felt louder in his mind, closer, or maybe it was because he couldn't disagree. He sat down, feet over the ledge, and stared at the mountain through tear-blurred eyes. He shuddered and tried to wipe the tears back but he felt it. That hollowed-out hole in his heart, the one he'd never realized Flynn had filled up until…

"I loved him. I think, I was falling…" He couldn't finish the sentence.

"You've lost far too much, cub."

Lance stared out at the sky that reminded him of home: his parents, Charlotte, Drew. Now Flynn. All ripped away from him. And he hated it, and he didn't want to feel it, feel this…

Wiping hard at his eyes, he struggled to draw a few deep breaths. He wouldn't let it go unanswered. He couldn't. Not the Galra, not the Drules. It couldn't be forgiven, and that familiar anger started to rise up.

"Hmmm. You seek vengeance… or justice?" The voice felt deeper and louder again. Lance felt that curl of heat around him, the warmth that meant understanding and listening, but it was questioning him now too. Asking about this anger…

"They took them," he spat out, the best answer he could give. "They took them, they have to pay for it. They deserve what they get!"

"Vengeance or justice," the voice growled. "Which will it be, cub?"

Lance shook his head and wiped at his eyes again, hating that he felt like Flynn might ask him the question. Hating that the thought of him was right there now, on the surface and not going anywhere. Grief made his eyes sting again as the memories barged their way to the front of his mind. Those brilliant purple eyes, and his warm half-smirk of a smile, and how sometimes when he looked at him everything else just fell away…

Heat and flame curled around him, stronger than ever this time; it almost felt like his own body heat was rising. Lance wiped at his eyes yet again and tried to breathe, grateful the lion was silent for the moment. Maybe he understood? He sat for a long time, staring at the mountain and hoping for solace, until he realized he wasn't only feeling the curl of smoke. He was seeing it in the sky.

"…Is that a volcano," he muttered.

"It is quite hot," the voice growled with amusement.

For a single, merciful moment, the grief really did fade, fleeing before the stunned realization. A different memory. Bringing the Falcon down, seeing that patch of heat in the mountains…

Somewhere quite hot.

"Well fuck," he whispered, and the smoke danced through the blue sky.

*****

When Daniel woke up, Lance was nowhere to be found. Probably off chasing mysterious voices. Figured. He decided to head back to the castle and try his own fruitless search again—he was going to find a lizard, damn it! It was his own personal robot lion hunt at this point, since apparently he didn't get to hear any crazy voices in his head.

Maybe he was happy not to be hearing crazy voices in his head, but he also felt just a bit left out. And with Vince and Romelle and the ghosts, and the Arusians being… whatever the Arusians were… being the only sane person around here was feeling a lot like a burden.

Also a burden was his arm, which was hurting again. Glowy-eyed magic healing was a temporary measure, apparently. After half an hour or so of wandering the lower levels of the castle—being very sure to avoid anything crypt-like—it was hurting enough to need addressing. Badly.

Fortunately, he'd had the foresight to bring a roll of bandage-y stuff from the Falcon's medical supplies; the magic healing never had done anything about the swelling. Unfortunately, he had not had the same foresight about painkillers. Which was how he found himself sitting at the table where they'd had dinner, trying to wrap the injured arm, accomplishing nothing but failure and pain.

He smacked the table hard with his good hand as the bandage slid off, wrapped too loosely again. Part of him briefly considered looking for help—oh, hell no. He should be able to wrap a damned arm! The others had plenty to worry about already, anyway. They needed to find Voltron so they could get the hell out of here.

The noise as he smacked the table drew the attention of someone who did, indeed, have plenty to worry about already. But Captain Sarial had been keeping to a patrol schedule around the castle, mostly for her own benefit. When the Drules returned, she was certain they would know it without the need for foot patrols… but she'd been asked to remain close, since she could communicate with their guests, and having a routine was helpful.

The sharp crack from the auxiliary dining hall caught her attention, and she reflexively drew her bow as she looked around the corner. Though she really only expected to see an Earthling, and she wasn't wrong. He had a roll of something like medical tape, a badly swollen left arm, and a look of pure disgust on his face.

It didn't take much to assess the situation. "Do you need help?"

He snapped his head up. "Uh…" Looking between her and his very poorly wrapped arm, he tried to decide how to deal with this. Yes, he definitely needed help, but… "Who are you?" It came out much more confrontational than he'd intended.

Sarial was long past being bothered by confrontational. Or at least, it took more than three words of it. "My name is Sarial. Captain of the Dolce Vita militia. And you are?"

Relaxing a little when she didn't snap at him, he looked back at the table. "I'm Daniel. Gunner," damn but he wished he could say he was a pilot, "for the Earthling crew."

"Daniel?" She walked up to the table; the others had mentioned that name on the ship. "I've heard of you."

Well that was never a good thing. He gave a small laugh that wasn't exactly nervous, but wasn't exactly not. "Oh yeah?"

Nod. "I hear you claim some skill with explosives. I have some skill with medicine, can I help you with this?"

"Claim?!" he sputtered, eyes narrowing. Who exactly had been disparaging his skills to the Arusian militia lady, he would—wait, what had she just said? Following her gaze to the wraps, he gave a small grimace. He did need help. "Uh, I mean, sure."

She gave a small chuckle and took the bandages. "This will hurt a bit, but you know that, I'm sure." A couple of quick, probing touches told her that Earthling skeletal structure was similar enough to Arusian; whether the forearm bones had the same precise placement or function, she couldn't say, but there were two of them and they didn't seem to go off in any odd directions. That was all she really needed to know to begin wrapping the injury.

It sure as hell did hurt, and Daniel shifted uncomfortably, trying to mask how much he was wincing. "So, uh." What did he ask an Arusian he'd just met to keep his mind off the pain? "What's it like being a militia captain?"

"Before or after the alien invaders came to our village with infantry battalions and spacecraft?" she asked casually. It was a rather broad question.

He hadn't been asking it because he wanted a specific answer; he shrugged. "Both."

"A good deal of uneventful training, and trying to convince people to string their bows correctly, beforehand." She shrugged too; she had no particular interest in discussing the attack itself. It had gone precisely how one might expect it to have gone, which was to say, they'd mostly been helping civilians run away. "My soldiers have little trouble with that anymore, I confess."

"That sounds eventful."

Eventful, yes. "I don't have much in the way of war stories for you, I'm afraid. The knights and the castle guards were meant to fight off real threats—we've mostly been tasked with hunting and reconnaissance since the village fell." She finished with the wrapping, and gave the bandages a small nudge to test their sturdiness. "Better?"

"Yeah, thanks." He flexed his arm a little. It still hurt, but the wrap was definitely secure. Then he made a face. "And don't worry, I've got enough war stories of my own. Don't need any more." He'd tried to say it cheerfully; it hadn't come out that way.

Sarial nodded slowly, eyes on his arm. How does a spacecraft gunner come by an injury like that? She knew the signs of 'not going to get an answer' when she saw them, and didn't ask, for the moment. "I'm certain."

That didn't sound nearly as patronizing as it could've; in fact it didn't sound patronizing at all. Daniel hesitated a moment. What the hell, you tried asking the princess, why not the militia lady? If anyone around here ought to know… "Hey about the arm, it's, uh… been swelling a lot more since we got here. You happen to know a med—" No, not a medic. He respected one medic. "—a doctor who could check it out? It hasn't exactly gotten the best medical care."

Aha. "We do have a few doctors left, yes. They're in the shelters." She had been planning to visit soon, in fact—not the doctors themselves, but one of their patients. "I can't imagine any objections to taking you down there." She'd already led the other two Earthlings through the tunnels, after all… and that with the Princess' express permission.

"That'd be… nice." Seeing a doctor, in itself, would not be nice. But his arm hurting less would be nice. And there was a good chance Lance would be proud of him for asking for help, and having Lance proud of him would really make him feel better, and feeling better sounded awesome.

"Follow me, then." She gave him a quick second look before starting for the tunnels. He looked young—she'd judge him to be somewhere around Hanso and Allendar, or perhaps between them and Larmina. And those three had 'enough' war stories for their age, no doubt. There was more to the Earthlings… "That is quite an injury, and I'm certain it isn't from explosives."

Oh. Well. That was a question. Daniel sighed; no point hiding it, the doctor would probably ask anyway. "I haven't actually handled any explosives since joining this mis—" NOPE. "—this crew. I shoot things and do less piloting than I'd like to." He was feeling more bitter about that, and he couldn't quite say why. Maybe it was because someone should obviously be flying them out of here before the Drules showed up… "I got hurt fighting a robeast in the Drule gladiatorial arena."

Not a lot could surprise Sarial these days; that did. "Fighting a what?" she asked as they reached the trapdoor. "Where?!" A row-beast was something she genuinely couldn't quite parse, but she'd heard the where just fine.

"A robeast, it's…" Oh yeah, he was gonna be able to explain that. "I don't really know what it is, to be honest. Some kind of Drule monster that's part robot. They're very large and very destructive and they kill things." Things. Yeah. Calling them 'things' makes you feel better, right?

Ah. Robotic monsters? She snorted in disgust. "That does sound like something the sinycka would do."

Despite not knowing what 'sinycka' meant, Daniel decided he liked it. It sounded nice and harsh and angry. "Me and the others were captured by the Ninth Kingdom and turned into gladiator slaves, it was great."

…That also sounded like something the sinycka would do, and Sarial shuddered. Just slightly. "Many of our people have been taken as well," she said quietly. Are they using our people as gladiators? Disgusting, and somehow both better and worse than they'd feared. "I am sorry." She led him down a quieter tunnel. The medical chambers could be accessed through the shelter proper, but it seemed safe to assume neither of them wanted to deal with the inevitable questions right now.

Daniel didn't want to deal with pity, either. "It's fine. We escaped." Not all of us… "And I'm not going back." He would die first, and they'd all promised no dying, damn it.

Seething in his bitterness, he failed to really look at where they were going—not that there was much to see, the tunnels were just dark and tunnel-y. But suddenly the Captain had stopped at a slightly different-colored slab of rock, and she knocked on it with a distinctive pattern. The rock slid open to reveal a large chamber with a lot of curtains and partitions, and an aide who Sarial had a quick conversation with in Arusian.

He got a weird look from the aide, but apparently Sarial dealt with it, because after a minute they were led to one of the partitioned 'rooms'. There were two beds; one was empty. A shirtless Arusian in a lot of bandages was lying in the other, looking surly as a doctor checked him over.

Daniel couldn't blame him.

"…should be back on your feet in a couple of weeks," the doctor was saying as they entered. Sarial recognized him as the most senior physician the shelter had left; excellent. "Until then, stay in bed."

"I've been in bed forever, Doc," Hanso protested, looking up as the curtains parted.

"I assure you it has not been forever, but if you're too active it may well be forever."

Snort. Looking to Sarial for help, he grumbled, "Hey, Captain, tell him I'm fine and—" He paused as his eyes fell on her odd-looking companion. "What's that?"

Sarial gave an affectionately exasperated sigh; Daniel didn't have to understand what was being said to understand that. "You aren't fine, Hanso, you lost a quarter of your lung's outer wall. This is an Earthling, he's a guest of the Princess, and he has a name; it's Daniel." She switched to Common. "Daniel, this is Hanso—one of my militia soldiers—and Doctor Gorma of the Falastol Royal Hospital."

A royal hospital? That sounded promising—between the village and the very medieval castle, he'd kind of wondered about the tech level here. He nodded, then remembered that politeness was a thing and waved with his good arm. "Nice to meet you guys."

Hanso waved back, not understanding the words but getting the gist. "Nice to meet you, Daniel Earthling."

…Did he just call me Daniel Earthling? Daniel glanced at Sarial, who was far too experienced to actually facepalm at that… but the thought was on her mind.

That track was cut off by Gorma clearing his throat slightly, giving the Captain an expectant look. The wrapped arm was obvious, but also already dealt with; he awaited her explanation for why she'd brought another person here to rile up his patient.

Being able to convey all of that with a single tired look was one of Gorma's particular skills, and Sarial nodded. "Can you look at Daniel's arm, Doctor? I've wrapped it, but he says he's been having trouble with swelling."

"Of course." He motioned for Daniel to sit on the empty bed; he'd need more information than just excessive swelling.

A surge of completely irrational defensiveness shot through Daniel, and he pulled his arm closer. "Are you sure this guy knows what he's doing?" Royal hospital or not, he was still not Jace.

Sarial just gave a small, wry smile, and lifted her bow. "I wouldn't let him near Hanso if he didn't." Gorma looked between them and raised an eyebrow—he didn't speak Common either, and for all he knew she was threatening the Earthling for his own good.

Well, whatever was necessary.

"…Fine." Walking over to the bed, Daniel sat and held out his arm. You asked for this. Literally.

Shaking his head, Gorma began unwrapping the bandages. "You never seem to bring me easy patients, Captain. Do you know the nature of his injury?"

"Only that he acquired it from a robotic beast while enslaved by the Drules…" That got another raised eyebrow and a sympathetic hmph from the doctor, and she switched to Common again. "What exactly happened to the arm, were you diagnosed?"

"Not really. It got, uh… broken. When it—ow!" He flinched as the doctor felt around the arm. "It hit me, the bone practically snapped in half and was sticking out of my skin. It was gross. The arena was awful." Dead body on top of you was way worse. Fortunately he didn't need to tell them about that.

Sarial winced in sympathy, but kept it to herself; he hadn't seemed too appreciative of sympathy the last time. "Severe compound fracture," she relayed to Gorma.

Hanso winced too. "That sucks."

That made sense, Gorma decided as he studied the arm. He could see the healed wound where the bone had pierced the skin. "How long ago was the injury?" It shouldn't be nearly so swollen, if it had been long enough for the skin to heal; he stood and went to retrieve a small scanning device.

As she relayed the question, Sarial added, "and Hanso extends his deepest sympathies."

Daniel snorted and put his hand over his heart. "I'm touched," he declared, dripping sarcasm. "And uh, it's been… a month and a half, ish?" Time since the robeast had blurred, a lot, but it sounded about right.

"It's been roughly six weeks, Doctor." Sarial watched as Gorma ran the scanner over the arm; he looked progressively more displeased as he studied the results. "Hanso, Daniel is truly grateful for your sympathy."

As if Hanso hadn't seen the Earthling's gesture—or more to the point, as if Hanso didn't know his commander. "Captain, I don't need a quarter of my lung wall to know when you're making fun of me."

Sarial smirked.

"Six weeks," Gorma echoed, frowning at the bone scan. "Compound fractures take a long time to heal to begin with, and from this…" He looked at Daniel. "You've been using it, haven't you?"

Once again, it didn't take any understanding of Arusian for Daniel to get the gist of that. Sarial confirmed it; she didn't see any reason to even bother with the yes or no question. "How much have you been using it?"

Daniel blushed. Why the hell was he blushing? "Well I mean, escaping arena-slavery," you're a horrible person, bringing that up, you know damn well it only got worse when you got here and stopped being careful with it, "didn't leave much room for babying it?" He was so glad Lance wasn't here to call him on his bullshit. Though really, the rest of the crew was getting decent at calling him on his bullshit… which was annoying and oddly comforting at the same time.

What he didn't know was exactly how many injured teenagers Sarial had dealt with, before and after the Drules had attacked. She wasn't buying his bullshit either. "Of course he has been, he thought it was getting better."

The doctor shook his head and sighed. "The good news is, whoever set it originally did a good job, and his obvious overuse has only aggravated the fracture rather than knocking it out of place. Obviously these wraps are not enough; it should have been in a proper cast. I should have the materials to make one, but," he looked directly at Daniel again, "it will all be for nothing if he keeps overusing it."

…And once again, the point got across just fine, Arusian or not. Daniel looked at Sarial for the translation, just to be sure.

Noting his resigned expression, she met it with a light tone. "So, do you enjoy pain?"

Oh boy. "Not particularly."

"Excellent. Then if the doctor uses some of our limited medical resources to make you a proper cast, you'll let the arm heal correctly this time?"

He winced. "Yeah… I guess not screwing it up any more than it already is would be a good thing."

"I find 'not screwing things up' to be the best course, as a rule," she agreed, motioning for Gorma to go ahead and start work on the cast. Hanso snickered; even in another language, he recognized the Captain's 'I'm not lecturing you, I'm just giving you better ideas' tone just fine.

Gathering up the bandages, a roll of moldable tykat fiber, and some adhesive, Gorma started work on the cast. He was curious as to why this was an authorized use of their materials, but the shelter's military forces enjoyed broad deference, for obvious reasons. If Captain Sarial said the alien stranger needed a cast, then the alien stranger was important enough to need a cast. It was more than fine with him. Needless suffering due to lack of resources was something he'd seen far too much already. He re-wrapped the arm as gently as he could, ignoring the winces. Daniel shouldn't have been using it—but it should've been in a cast to begin with, too.

As he completed his work and gave the fiber shell a tap to test its strength, he nodded in satisfaction. "He needs to rest that arm for several more weeks. Six or seven would be ideal, the fracture is still in a fragile state."

"Another six or seven weeks of taking it easy on the arm," Sarial relayed, and tilted her head as she studied him. "I think you can handle that, personally."

Daniel had been a bit distracted thinking about how screwing things up was a specialty of his; now he looked up at her with wide eyes. "Wait, what? Oh God, what?" It wasn't the timeframe he was objecting to. "How do you already have expectations of me?" It was impossible, it was ridiculous. "This is all Lance's fault," he muttered under his breath. "Him and his high expectations of my behavior have somehow spread to other planets. It's a pandemic. It's a plague."

The Captain smiled sweetly. "How could I not have faith in someone with skill in something as dangerous and precise as explosives?"

What?! Oh, that just wasn't fair! He narrowed his eyes, then it changed to a smirk. "You got me there," he admitted. "I am highly skilled."

This conversation did not seem to involve Gorma anymore. "If that's all, I have other patients to attend to." He stood when Sarial didn't object, then paused at the curtain and cast a stern look over his shoulder. "Both of you boys, rest."

"Sure sure," Hanso grumbled as the doctor departed. "For the Earthling it's 'don't use that arm, you're free to go,' but for me it's 'stay in bed, you lost a chunk of a critical organ'…"

Looking from his sulk to Daniel's smirk, Sarial could only shake her head. Golden Gods help us if they come to speak the same language.

*****

Sven had started to head towards the castle, but it hadn't lasted long. Soon he was just wandering—he wasn't sure where he was going, but he needed a moment alone to think. Though with a magic robot lion running around in his brain, he wasn't sure if he'd ever have an actual moment alone again. Ironically the lion was silent for once, but she was all Sven could think about. He needed to find her. And not just because that was the mission…

Every fiber of his being was telling him to find her. He just wished he had more to go on than "we are where we are felt." What was he supposed to do with that? Wander around just touching everything? That seemed unwise. Would it be more of an emotional sense than a physical one? Should he expect to start bawling his eyes out or something when he was near the lion? Was it like some magical version of 'hot and cold'?

The navigator pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. There were too many unknowns, too many what-ifs. He needed more information. Actually, he needed to stop thinking about it entirely. Moments alone were supposed to be peaceful, not plagued with frustration and questions. Taking a deep breath, Sven looked out and tried to focus on his current view.

It seemed he'd wandered to the lake outside the castle. It was beautiful; he couldn't look away. The water was practically crystal clear. The sounds of surrounding wildlife were bouncing off the water, creating a tranquil ambiance. If he were looking for peace, this would be the place to get it. Wouldn't it?

Sven narrowed his eyes; he wasn't feeling peace. He was feeling… anxiety? No. He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling, except that it was an urgent need to do… something. It was if the feeling were—

The feeling.

He would have rolled his eyes, but that would mean looking away from the lake, which felt wrong. It felt wrong!

No, that can't be it…

Suddenly there was a soft chuckling echoing in his mind, and he became certain that that was, in fact, it. He shook his head and started walking towards the water. "This is ridiculous." There was no way he was going to be able to swim to a giant robotic lion. That didn't even make sense. If she were easy to get to, she would have already been found!

But somehow, for some ridiculous reason, he was still taking off his shirt.

Leaving it and his shoes on the beach, Sven dove into the water.

*****

Sleep hadn't been much of a thing for Vince either, and he had to do something. So he found himself slowly making his way down the stone corridor of the guest wing. He nervously wrung his hands, desperately trying to remember which room Romelle had been given. She had grudgingly accompanied the others when they'd all left the Falcon earlier, but he doubted she was just wandering… he needed to talk to her. She'd been so calm with the ghosts, if anyone could help…

Pausing outside the door of the room that he thought was hers, he glanced back down the hall and considered giving up on this entirely. I really shouldn't bother her… no, I need to do this. If I'm gonna keep seeing ghosts—and he saw no reason he wouldn't keep seeing ghosts, at this stage—I need to be prepared.

Sighing, he knocked before his courage completely fled.

The door opened swiftly, and he caught a glimpse of an angry expression on the runaway princess' face. It quickly vanished as she realized it wasn't an Arusian coming to bother her. In fact, she took a step back, staring at him in shock with her face flushed before finding her voice. She actually shook her head as if she was trying to remember her Common. "Um, hello, Vince."

Vince felt his own cheeks heat up; he looked at her awkwardly. "Uh, hi. I'm not bothering you, am I?"

"No. No, of… of course not." She felt a little guilty now. "Um. Please, come in."

As she moved aside, he stepped in and looked around. Her room wasn't much different than the one he'd been given, though at one time, it might have been a little nicer. But, Drules. No, no sense getting off on that tangent. He was here for a reason.

"So, um, I was hoping you might be able to… well…" He sighed. Spit it out, Vince. "I need to know everything you can tell me about ghosts. Please?"

Oh! Romelle stared at him for a few awkward moments. Of all things, she hadn't expected that… but why shouldn't she have? "Well, not everyone can see them," she finally offered, sheepishly.

"I so miss being in that category."

Giggling softly, she moved to her bed and sat down. "I can understand that."

Vince followed and felt awkward as ever, just standing over her, but there wasn't really anywhere else to sit. "I never saw them on Earth. Course, on Earth they're usually vengeful and try to kill you." He scratched the back of his head. "At least in movies. That isn't real, is it?" Please say it's not real. The ones in the village hadn't seemed hostile.

"Most ghosts aren't dangerous." Romelle now had questions about Earthling ghost movies. "Most of the time, they're just wanting someone to talk to."

I can understand that. "Huh. So, they're lonely?"

Nod. "That, or sometimes they're trapped and can't move on. Or they have a message."

"See, that's in horror movies, too." He frowned. "I really wish I didn't have… whatever these stupid powers are. The sparks were enough."

"Sparks?" As she asked it, an image came back to her. Blinding white light surging into the robeast. "Oh. Do you mean that thing you did in the…"

He flinched. She didn't have to say it, but his brain did it for him. …the arena. That one brief and violent second it had made sense, and then was gone. Still was gone. "Yeah, it's not usually so—big."

She nodded. "You have a gift, Vince."

A gift? Snort. Hope someone kept the receipts. "Doesn't feel like one. And things keep escalating in ways I don't like." He sighed. "Seeing ghosts doesn't bother you?"

"Not really, no. My mother—she saw them often. I kind of grew up with it."

"Really? Is it hereditary?"

Shrug. "Sometimes." She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. Asking about the precise mechanics of seeing ghosts had never been a priority; it was simply a thing that happened.

"Does it help you not miss her?" Oh, great. Get her homesick, too, Vince. You don't even know a thing about her mom.

"In a way." Romelle hesitated. "My mother, she… she had a bad experience when my younger brother was born. They both almost died."

Wait, what? Vince's eyes widened. "Oh… no. That's awful."

She looked up at him with a sad smile. "It is. My father had her locked away after that. She… she thought that all of us, her children, were dead. That we were ghosts."

Somehow, Vince was certain his eyes had gone still wider. "I'm sorry, that sounds horrible."

Romelle bowed her head slightly. "Thank you."

Back on topic, back on topic… "So that's not usually how it happens?"

"No, not usually. The first time can be frightening—you've seen they look a bit eerie. It takes time to get used to them, is all."

"Definitely frightening," he agreed, a little shudder running down his spine. I hope I'll get used to it, if it's gonna keep happening.

She watched him for a moment. It seemed like a good time to change her subject. And the way he'd asked that question earlier… "Do you miss your mother?"

Oh. Crap. "Yeah, I miss them both."

"Both?"

"I have two moms. And just, I miss them, and my grandmoms, a lot."

"Oh!" She nodded her understanding. "Do you want to talk about them? I'd be happy to listen." He really looked like he needed to talk, and she was curious what a normal family was like. A family that didn't have a planet to rule, didn't have a traumatized queen hidden away behind a tapestry, didn't send its children as offerings to conquering alien empires…

He smiled. "Both my moms are no-nonsense really, not at all like anyone on the team. Kind of miss it. My Grans are a bit nuttier, though—" He froze, blushing, unsure why he'd babbled all that out to her. She'd offered and he'd just jumped, apparently.

But she didn't seem to mind, watching him curiously. "Nuttier? Like the food?" That couldn't be, it made no sense.

Vince snorted. "It's slang, um… think Hunk but less. Actually, think all of them but less. Though, Hunk would love my Gran Diva. She's the reigning BBQ Queen in the state of Kansas." He blinked and added hurriedly, "That's, um, not like a royal queen or anything."

"A queen of Kansas." Romelle had no idea what a Kansas was, or a bee-bee-queue, though she'd heard Hunk mention the latter. Several times. "She must be formidable."

That's an understatement. "Yeah, pretty much. Do you know what a motorcycle is?"

"Not exactly." It wasn't a word she'd heard before, but she could parse it. "Some sort of vehicle?"

"Yeah. It's got two wheels and is fast and super loud. She causes a ruckus every time she visits. Sometimes Granny Bea—that's her mom—comes with her on the back of it, in her flashy high heels. It's kind of hilarious."

Romelle stared at him, horrified. She was no engineer, but couldn't envision any way a two-wheeled vehicle might be stable. And these were his grandmothers? "A loud, fast, vehicle? With her mother?"

"Yeah."

"How—how old are they? Isn't that dangerous?"

To her surprise, Vince just chuckled. "Don't let them hear that question. Though my Ma definitely wishes they'd both settle down a bit. She's more cautious, actually gets along better with Mom's mom, my Granny Mel. She bakes the best cookies… I've been craving them."

"Those are flat sweets, right?" Food names weren't the easiest part of Common.

Nod. "Yeah, they're great. Really great." He sighed. Why in the world had he blurted so much out like this? But he really was missing them, and finally letting it out did help. At least a little. "Anyway, that's… if you can believe it, the sane part of my life."

Romelle slowly started to giggle, then cut it off with a horrified look. "Apologies. I shouldn't laugh about your family."

"No, it's all right. I've learned we all have quirks. I thought my Gran Diva and Granny Bea took the cake on it—you know, until I got put on an Explorer Team." He hesitated. "None of them are like me. Like this. They always thought the sparking thing was just a quirk that happened, not actually from me. They still don't know that. I might never tell them." Or get the chance to… "I hope I can see them all again."

"I'm sure you will, Vince." She looked out the window, frowning. I hope everyone is all right at home.

Vince quietly watched her looking outside. "You'll see your family again, too, Romelle."

She looked back at him, a wistful smile on her face. "With me having come with you, I'm… not so sure, Vince."

Frown. They still didn't really know how Romelle had come to be with them, in need of escape. What exactly did it mean that she'd fallen out of favor? What did it mean for her family and her planet? "We wouldn't have made it without you, so, I'm pretty sure we'll help you however you need."

"Thank you, Vince. I appreciate that," she answered with a soft smile. She hoped he was right… about everything.

"Well, thanks for a bit more, uh… ghostly insight."

"You're welcome. If you have other questions, I'll do my best to answer them for you."

"I'm hoping not to really have to know too much about them, really, but thank you." He smiled faintly in return. "If anything else comes up, I'm sure you'll hear me screaming."

She giggled again. That was probably true.

*****

Keith had wandered around outside of the castle, finally making his way to the northern side. There he could see the mountains shrouded in dark and ominous clouds. He sat down on a clear patch of grass and sighed.

We are where we are felt.

Not exactly the most helpful statement. A clue of some sort, yes. Helpful, not by a long shot. "Lion of Storms," he muttered softly, watching lightning flicker in the clouds. "Yet I feel drawn towards those mountains. Or is it the storms above?"

"It is my nature."

Keith jumped, hearing the low, rumbling voice in his head. It sounded stronger, clearer, and he swore it gave a purring chuckle at having startled him. "This speaking in my head thing is really weird, you know that?"

"You will adapt. You have borne witness to stranger things."

Well, that was true. He sighed, closing his eyes and bowing his head, trying to clear his mind of thoughts. It had been some time since he last tried to meditate… there hadn't been a whole lot of opportunity.

"There are things to do. Why do you rest?"

Keith frowned. "I'm not resting. It's called meditation. A way to calm and focus."

"An interesting practice."

"It would work better if I could have some quiet."

The voice—the lion—chuckled and quieted, but its words still echoed in his thoughts. And damned if they would let him find his calm. Finally he sighed, got up and looked around for a stick or something he could use to do some katas. When all else failed, working out would help. Though the meadow was not exactly full of suitable candidates, he finally scrounged something from what might once have been a castle garden and began to stretch.

Meanwhile, Coran had finally found a good quality sword—with a sheath! The sword was one of the few left in their stores; the sheath was the very last. If the offworlder really was as good as Coran believed him to be, he would appreciate having it. Smiling in satisfaction, he left the shelter's makeshift armory, followed by Miralna.

"So, let me ensure I understand this correctly. A ship full of alien strangers, mostly Earthlings, arrived a couple of days ago."

Coran nodded as they headed back into the castle. "Correct."

"The Princess believes they are important."

"Also correct."

"So, you're bringing one of them one of the best swords in our remaining stores, and our last sheath."

Coran chuckled. "No, I'm doing that because I like him."

She nodded; it wasn't her place to question his judgment. "And then you'd like me to have a ceremonial duel with him to ensure he's worthy."

"Yes. My instincts may say he can be trusted with it… however, basing actions solely on feelings is foolish." Arus' safety needed more than just his instincts.

Miralna thought about that for a moment and shrugged. "It's fair."

Pausing in the main hall, Coran considered the flaw in this plan. Where might the soldier be at a time like this? But if the Great Lions had something to do with them… he turned towards the doors and headed outside, moving in the direction of the mountains. With a grin, he saw at least this instinct had been correct; Keith was outside, seeming to be doing some form of exercise. With… a stick? Coran sighed as Miralna raised a questioning eyebrow. Offworlders.

They watched him a few moments longer, noting he seemed extremely focused on his odd training. "Ahem."

Keith froze, turning his head towards the unexpected voice. "Oh. Um." He cleared his throat and lowered his impromptu weapon. "I was just, uh, practicing."

Nodding, Coran decided not to ask any further. There were other matters to attend to; he held out the sheathed sword. "We were able to procure you a sword."

Really? He was kind of stunned the older gentleman had actually seen fit to do so, especially so quickly. Accepting it gratefully, he let himself smile. "Thank you, Coran."

"You're welcome." He watched Keith unsheathe the sword and whistle softly, giving him a few moments to appreciate the weapon before speaking again. "And this is Miralna, one of our remaining Golden Knights." Switching over to Arusian, he looked at Miralna. "Miralna, this is Keith."

Miralna inclined her head to the Earthling. "Anenyo."

He nodded. "Pleasure to meet you, Miralna."

"Miralna isn't just here to see off the sword, of course. As you can imagine, we are low on weapons." He leaned on his cane. "We would like to assure ourselves that you know what you are doing with one of the few quality swords we have left."

Oh. That did make sense. Keith looked between Coran and the lady beside him; she did appear to have some military bearing. "Is she any good?"

"She is. Are you opposed to a friendly duel?"

"No, a friendly duel is fine."

"Excellent." He turned to Miralna to relay the acceptance.

She nodded and drew her personal blade from its sheath at her hip; of course she hadn't brought the sacred sword. It wasn't meant for playful sparring. She saluted Keith with her blade, receiving a salute in return. Coran stepped back, watching intently, curious as to how it would play out.

Miralna wasn't about to make the first move. Drawing her blade back she held it parallel to the ground, a common Arusian defensive stance. Keith dropped into one of his own usual stances, the sword pointed slightly up and diagonally across.

Still Miralna waited; this was going to be interesting. She hadn't fought anyone but other knights in such formal circumstances. She found his grip curious, but could see its efficiency… he knew what he was doing.

It was clear the knight was going to wait him out, so Keith tapped his sword against hers and darted back. Miralna stepped back as well, her eyes narrowing. He grinned. The sword was good, really good. He darted in again, looking to see just how good she really was.

She deflected his strike and caught his blade on her hilt, twisting to get an opening and slashing at him; her strike just barely missed as he jumped back out of range. Narrowing her eyes she took one more step back, studying, watching him. Defense was the cornerstone of offense, or so the Golden Knights were taught.

Keith darted in again, picking his targets carefully, feinting high and trying to cut under her guard. A tactic she'd seen before. She deflected it easily as he practically danced back from her, then took a couple of steps towards him. As she slashed out at him he blocked and danced away from her again. He's quick. Miralna wasn't slow, herself, but she was used to fighting in armor—wearing heavy steel plating tended to cut down on one's mobility, so the knights weren't trained to focus on it. This Earthling was very different.

Keith finished his spin, facing her again. He'd noticed her stable stance; she was fighting like she was used to sticking to defense. Advantage? Disadvantage? He wasn't sure. He did know that she was experienced, he could tell by the way she'd easily deflected his testing strikes. He darted towards her, swinging low towards her legs and up.

Miralna blocked it and smirked. Now it was on.

The two traded blows for awhile, along with some Japanese and Arusian curses—the latter making Coran quite happy that the young offworlder couldn't understand. He'd not have expected one of the Knights of Light to know language like that, though he supposed after the last few months she couldn't be blamed for it. Swearing aside, he watched not just the flow of the battle but every technical point—the leverage on the swords, the speed and believability of the feints. Everything.

The Earthling really was good. But so was his opponent.

Lunging again, Keith spun away and then shifted towards her, his sword up. Miralna stepped forward as he did, sidestepping and thrusting her own blade forward. But this was a duel, not a battle to the death; they both pulled their blows at the last moment

Keith froze, panting, the blade of his sword pressed lightly across her neck. Miralna glared back as she, too, froze, the tip of her own blade just touching his stomach. Both of their expressions softened slowly as the adrenaline started to fade; it was clear enough what was happening.

"Well, seems… we're at a draw, ma'am."

"Agreed," she answered once Coran translated, slowly drawing her sword back. Keith lowered his own sword, but lifted it in another salute before sheathing it.

Coran looked between them as they drew back, and Keith turned to him. "So, does that pass your test?"

Though Miralna didn't understand the question, she picked up on the inquisitive tone. And she did know what the goal of this had been. "Very few of the Knights of Light could defeat me in a duel, Lord Coran. If that has any bearing."

"It does. Thank you," Coran said with a nod to her. Switching to Common, he smiled at Keith. "Yes, I should say you've passed."

Keith nodded, and a laughing purr echoed through his mind. Fighting down the frown, he sheathed the sword and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Then he moved to Miralna, holding his hand out. "Thank you for the exercise."

Coran translated for her—he was going to be able to add interpreter to his long and varied resume here soon—as she shook Keith's hand. "We'll have to do that again sometime," she commented with a smile; he couldn't help a small smile of his own as he relayed it. It seemed like a good sign.

Keith grinned too, and nodded. "Any time." They turned to walk back into the castle, and he watched for a few moments before his eyes turned back to the mountains.

"Well done, cub."

Cub? He wasn't sure how he felt about—wait. Had the lion seen that, somehow? Shaking his head, he saw another crackle of lightning. Are you—are you up there?

"I am where I am. You will find me in time."

These people need you. Being cryptic isn't helpful!

The lion growled. "We know. Yet you must prove yourselves. It cannot be avoided."

Keith sighed, shaking his head. "So not helpful." Annoyed, he turned to head back to the castle himself. At least now he had a sword.

*****

Sven burst up out of the water to take a breath. Nothing, absolutely nothing. The lake was deeper than it seemed; he had done some free diving back in Norway, he knew what he was about with this. But by the time he could even get a decent look at the bottom of the lake, he was having to swim back up for air.

The lake was also huge.

This is ridiculous.

There was no way for him to search this whole lake thoroughly without equipment, but he couldn't seem to convince himself to stop. The feeling of urgency had not gone away when he'd entered the water—it had only gotten stronger. He could feel her. She was right here! Just nowhere he could see. He had to find her, his current method just wasn't cutting it.

His navigator brain probably could have thought of some better methods, if he were thinking more clearly. But clarity was reserved for the glittering lake right now. He was only getting more and more desperate.

Once again, he dove as deep as he dared and began searching for anything helpful. We are where we are felt. His earlier comparison to the game of 'hot and cold' flashed into his mind again. Would the feeling of urgency get more intense, the closer he got? He wanted to scream—no, that would be very unwise underwater. But there was no way for him to confirm that. It wasn't as if he had someone to ask—

Sven froze and rolled his eyes, then started back for the surface. He did have someone to ask. Whether or not she'd be cooperative was the real question. The last few days had taught him that she tended to be frustratingly vague and slightly argumentative… he heard an irritated huff in the back of his mind, and knew she was paying attention.

Is there any chance you would be willing to help me find you?

"You must do this on your own."

Sven had never wanted to strangle a mystical being in his mind before, but that was rapidly becoming a constant state. How am I supposed to do this on my own when I have no idea how this works?! Mind-screaming was apparently something he could do now.

The lion was silent for a long moment before responding. "Follow your feelings."

Sven was about to mind-yell again, because how the hell was that helpful, but he stopped instead. Did that mean he was right? The sense of urgency would get stronger the closer he got? He wanted to ask, but knew she wouldn't give him anything else. His only option was to swim around and find out through trial and error. Well, fine.

Surfacing and taking a few deep breaths, he turned and dove back down in the opposite direction. He hadn't been feeling anything different, the way he had been swimming so far. Not that it was changing in his new chosen direction either. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe follow your feelings was just a different way of saying the same thing they'd been saying all along.

He was about to give up and just deal with the illogical and ridiculous feeling of desperation, somehow, when he finally saw it. A shadow on the lake floor. Summoning his last reserves of effort, and oxygen, he swam ahead to try to see it better.

A huge, dark trench split the bottom of the lake. He couldn't make out how deep it went, or much of anything within it; there were hints of waving lake plants obscuring the edges. But it didn't matter. She was there. He knew it. He wasn't quite sure how he knew, but he knew. Now he just had to figure out how he was going to get there…

…Great.

*****

Returning to his Pride, it turned out, involved pain. By the time Pidge made it out of the forest, the sun was pouring down—had he actually been out there all night? Maybe he shouldn't be surprised. And not only was the sun bright, it was at his back, exactly where he needed it not to be.

He was in a very foul mood by the time he returned to the Falcon. Finding Hunk there, sitting on the boarding ramp, did not improve that one bit.

Not that he remained sitting; as soon as he caught sight of the approaching ninja he jumped up, eyes wide. "Pidge! Where've you been?!"

Hell of a question, that. "Exploring." He didn't care to admit much beyond that, and it wasn't entirely a lie. Ducking beneath the Xaela's undercarriage and sighing in relief at the shade, he did his best to not tell the big goofball to fuck off. The last thing he wanted was to talk to anyone right now, and yet…

Return to your Pride…

"Exploring?" Hunk repeated, staring at him. "Dude, we've been worried."

"Sure you have, idiot." No, that was not the correct answer; he made a face as soon as he snapped it, and heard a soft growl of reproach. "I mean, komora… did I miss anything?"

"We had dinner with the princess?" That sounded like a no. "She uh, told us about five mythical lions that used to chillax near the castle but now they're all asleep." Oh. That sounded like a yes.

"Is one of them green?" he asked as casually as he could. "Related to wind? Lives in the forest?" Feeling her purr in his mind, he added through gritted teeth, "Completely insufferable?"

"Now that seems a bit harsh, cub."

Wait, you're here too?! Maybe I wasn't harsh enough.

The growl was amused. "I'm wounded."

Hunk was staring at him as though the world suddenly made sense… which it certainly didn't, though this brought it the slightest bit closer. "Uhh, ninja. Have you been talkin' to a mysterious voice in your head that you haven't told us about?"

"Not," that I've been willing to admit to myself, "until a few hours ago."

Holy fuzzmuffins. All Hunk could do was stare. Of course it was Pidge. How the hell was it Pidge? He shook his head to try to stop it from spinning, and settled on the only thing he felt sure about. "You've gotta tell Keith!"

That was probably true. "Is he on the ship?"

"Uh, don't think so." Hunk frowned. "Last I saw 'im he was headin' for the castle. Most of the others went over early, mighta scattered since…" He grimaced. "I, uh, am kinda avoidin' rocks right now. And the castle, y'know…"

"…Is a lot of rocks," Pidge agreed. "It's okay, I'll find him." He stepped out of the shade and turned toward the castle. Then he hesitated a moment—sun on his shoulderblade and all—looking back at the big engineer and feeling a wave of guilt run through him. "…Sorry I called you an idiot. You're obviously not."

An unimaginably irritating goofball? Yes. But an idiot wouldn't have gotten them here on engines none of them understood—and an idiot probably wouldn't have called him out quite so quickly about the lion.

Besides… why not try being nice to him, for once. See where it gets you. He felt the lion's purr again at the thought, and considered suggesting where she could shove it. But that, too, would not qualify as manners.

Watching Pidge go, Hunk blinked in confusion. Wait, huh? What the hell was that? He obviously wasn't an idiot, when did that happen? Of course Big Dumb Hunk was an idiot! It didn't bother him, it was the point of this whole…

This whole…

"This whole what?" the Lion of Earth asked smugly.

"…Absolutely nothin'," he retorted, but he knew he'd lost that round. Hell. It felt almost like the logical track for all of this to take. First the team had a traumatic experience, then he had to take over the engine bay, now he was being mistaken for a responsible adult. But he was supposed to get over it, not have some mythical robot nail him to the wall about it.

Hell no. He didn't want this.

Hunk frowned, looking in the direction of the forest. Even from here he could just vaguely see the trees swaying… in the wind. The Lion of Wind lived there…

We are where we are felt.

He hesitated. The Lion of Earth felt like rocks. Like earth. Made sense. Turning to face the distant mountains, he focused and quietly shook his head. No, he didn't feel like mountains, exactly. Mountains were as much sky as ground, in a way. Weren't they?

The Earth… was patient, or so he'd heard. That didn't help him. Or does it. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember everything, feel everything. The growl, like rolling gravel or shattering stone. Something deep and ancient.

For some reason, his mind drifted back to home. He let it, and heard the growl as he followed his thoughts. The summer trips up to Cannon Beach, the feel of the sand crunching and shifting beneath his feet as he ran for the waves. The sound of it. Like gravel in a way, but…

Sand…

…Hadn't there been a desert?

Eyes narrowed, he looked to what he was pretty sure was the southeast. There was emptiness on the horizon, and pale, distant hills. Dunes. That's it. He knew the desert was there. He could feel it.

We are where we are felt.

"Fine," he whispered. "You wanna keep talkin'? Let's talk face to face."

The voice in his mind didn't answer that. Whatever. He was going to find it. They'd have this damn talk on his terms, for once.

Where are you hiding?

Taking a deep breath, he started forward.