#garrison modicum

[alishaaxo]

ok there’s a lot of talk on the androw farman and rhaena targaryen situation and i wanna give some of my opinions on it all:

- rhaena did have a horribly traumatic life which makes it understandable why she was so detached to her children and husband. but this doesn’t justify how badly androw was treated.

- androw was disrespected so much that even servants didn’t obey his orders as their superior, nobles would insult him and children even bullied him.

- rhaena had survived a horrible marriage and many atrocities in her lifetime. marrying a second-son of a minor lord could grant her peace to find rest in her life which she never had during the war, along with favouring the house that had granted her and her daughter’s protection.

- androw was 17 while rhaena was 26 when they married. they first met when he was 11 and she around 19-20 i believe. i personally don’t think this means much because this isn’t a grooming situation like some may think but rather a marriage of convenience that everyone likely was aware of.

- it is strange that elissa farman would kind of selfishly allow this wedding to occur when it would only favour herself, her house and rhaena, yet make her little brother never be able to find true love. it wouldn’t favour her brother in a personal level. perhaps it makes sense because elissa may believe her brother would be taken care of as dragonstone’s new lord and favoured in that sense then, but it was the opposite case in reality where he was treated as scum even by peasants.

- the issue with their marriage is not that rhaena didn’t have androw treated like her superior as it was expected for a woman to, but rather to me that he wasn’t even treated with a modicum of respect and rhaena did nothing to temper that. instead she spent her time with her lady-friends and neglected her daughter and husband, leading to aerea to act out and spill a whole chamber-pot on androw’s head in a childish retaliation.

- rhaena doesn’t owe androw her love. marriages in westeros are political and in marrying him she uplifted her minor house while also allowing herself to rest from politicking matters and difficulties that could come from marrying a man from a great house, especially since they could attempt to infringe on her rights as lady of dragonstone. rhaena even told him allegedly to find a pretty maid to bed.

- i think though at this point of her saying so, androw had already become depressed and unwilling to act. he had been humiliated through their travels as he wasn’t respected as her husband, and their marriage itself was questioned which would be rather humiliating for a man of westeros for not consummating a marriage is unmanly to do plus to have this happen all while a bastard is trying to seduce his wife likely also triggered this depression too. he drank a bunch, stayed abed for days and his figure changed from a handsome one to puffy-faced, possibly from the alcoholism.

- after the loss of his sister elissa, androw had nobody and so attempted to make something of himself by becoming lord commander of rhaena’s garrison, only to be laughed not only by rhaena but her LADIES too. i get that tensions were high as elissa who was beloved by them both had stole and ran off, but allowing ladies to laugh in the face of your own husband is a big disrespect that must’ve hurt androw a lot.

- androw was NOT in the right for murder whatsoever. he hurt an innocent maester and a bunch of ladies who did not deserve what he did. even if they insulted and laughed at him, nothing excuses such atrocities.

overall, i feel sympathy for both of them but even in the face of everything that had occurred to her, rhaena had NEVER done such thing on the level if the murders androw farman did against her ladies, her maesters and eventually himself. he did go through lots of humiliating things and i think elissa’s runaway was the trigger for him imploding, especially as she was his one confidant and may have tempered rhaena+ladies’ snarky attitude toward him, but still, no way this justifies what insane thing he did. i think they ended up with a fitting ending, androw did the terrible things he desired but ended it by killing himself, finally escaping the torment of life. but rhaena was justified in wanting revenge and was able to find that by having him fed to her dragon, but i think it was nice he ended on his own terms first because if she had his private parts butchered before murdering him, it would really make it seem like she did indeed un-masculinise him even in his final breath. instead, plain-old fed to w dragon seems better.

tl:dr: sad for them both but murder isn’t the answer so ig im on rhaena’s side more? but the treatment of androw was so diabolical and she should’ve never let that slide from her servants, ladies and own daughter. but im also sick of the ppl trying to justify rhaena because shes a “cool girlboss” and that androw defenders are just “loser reddit incels” because its so much more than that. they’re both broken people who did lots of wrong.

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday (Second, sillier part to follow Friday)

Poll Results: Trespasser Jak

Picking up from HERE, Jak and Daxter have been taken back to Spargus

The drive back to the city was not quiet. Every couple seconds, the kid with the amulet he shouldn't have had was pointing to something else, talking a mile a minute to the fuzzy orange thing. The red rock bluffs fascinated him. The crocadeer on the clifftops fascinated him. The frith-rotted cactus was interesting to this stranger.

Jak started to lean out of the seat again, trying to take in every speck of the horizon.

"Will you stop that?" Damas asked irritably, "You're going to fall out, and I'm not turning this car around to go get you. What are you so entranced by, huh?"

Jak's enthusiasm wasn't dimmed in the slightest. "After they took us to Haven- I thought there was nothing left out there but wasteland!"

"You're in the Wasteland," Damas reminded him.

"Nah."

Jak stood up despite the driver's protests and clung to the turret gun to watch a flock of birds.

"This place isn't wasted. It's alive."

"And you won't be if you don't sit down right now-!"

Damas’s headache only multiplied -- exponentially. once they had actually returned Spargus.

The stranger gawked at everything, sometimes lagging as many as ten behind to look at the most mundane things. Forges. The communication hub/post office. Leapers. A stray chickalope he tried to pick up-!

Getting him into the Gate District garrison building took five minutes longer than it should've, by which time Damas’s patience was almost completely gone. It was all he could do to keep some modicum of professionalism as he herded the boy and the talking spirit thing into a clean, well-lit room for interrogation. He left them with a stern warning to wait there until someone came to figure out who they were.

Then he left to make a very strong pot of coffee. He wasn't going back in there without it.

He quickly decided that needed another kind of drink when he returned ten minutes later only to find Jak, barefoot, sitting on top of the table like a moody teenaged gargoyle. That ratty blue winter tunic was tied around his waist now, and the loose scarf and oversized undershirt didn't quite cover a surprising amount of scars for someone his age -- or maybe not so surprising if he was an Heir, given the proclivity of Haven to put those through the wringer-

No. No jumping to conclusions.

Old burns on the soles of his feet that looked roughly six to seven years old -- a childhood accident or stubborn adventure, most likely -- were the most benign of them. Damas saw old, healed clawmarks, and strange fractal-like patterns not unlike those struck by lightning, crossing his upper arms, shoulders and chest. Here and there he saw raised lines -- the telltale sutures of do-it-yourself shrapnel removal. Regardless of whose blood flowed in his veins, this kid was a soldier. And it looked like he'd been a soldier for a depressingly long time.

Damas pushed the thoughts from his mind and took a seat in the chair the trespasser had ignored.

"Alright. Let's get this over with as quickly as we can, shall we? I have a lot of work to do today."

"Oh...kay...?" Jak gave him a puzzled, wary look and scooted back across the table to rest his back against the wall. "I mean, I can't answer everything, and half of what I do tell you won't sound believable, but that's honestly not my problem."

Patience, Damas. Inhale, slowly. You're just stressed. You can't kill him if he's related to you.

Damas took an exaggerated breath and folded his hands on the top of the table. "I don't much care about your activities in Haven. My agents deliver news regularly enough. No, I want to know how you opened a locked door with a Seal of Mar on it."

The kid looked surprised, and then intrigued.

"Mar? Wait, really? He made it out here too?" Jak looked almost impressed. "Huh! Guy got around!"

"Answer the question."

The orange one answered in the kid's stead.

"Jak here's got the distinct misfortune of being descended from the guy-"

*Allegedly," Jak interrupted. His voice was distinctly harder than before.

"What "allegedly"? Dragging me into the frickin nightmare tomb wasn't enough for ya?"

"Everything we know about that guy we got from Krew, or Samos," his companion argued, "And most of the Oracles didn't bother to warn us that Samos was lying to us our whole lives. So no, I'm not taking that on faith."

Clearly this was a sore spot for the young man.

It just so happened to also be a very sore spot for Damas.

They were just going to act like they so happened to "conveniently" let slip that this boy was supposed to be related to him? Did they think he was a fool?

"What are you playing at?" he snapped, startling them both. "Do you think I am so easily taken in?"

"What-?"

"Tell me, boy," Damas said, much more quietly, "What makes you either brave enough or stupid enough to try to pull that story with me?"

And Jak blinked at him with eyes that were a little too familiar. Wide. Full of shadows and pain and anger but still clinging to the vestiges of innocence. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head.

"Um. Who? Are you?"

If this was a con, the kid was a decent actor, Damas had to give him that.

"You're telling me you're a survivor of the House of Mar."

"No? I said other people told me I was related to that guy. People with a vested interest in controlling me."

Jak scoffed bitterly and spread his arms wide.

"Little "abandoned" orphan boy kept isolated to train as a soldier, so he wouldn't know what they planned for him. Wouldn't run. And then magically suddenly he's heir to the worst city on the planet? Give me a break. The guards in Praxis's lab came up with better lies than that."

Damas wanted to agree with the kid. He wanted so much to agree with him. Whatever else he might be, clearly Jak was not the kind of person who bought into delusions of grandeur. In fact, he sounded like he actively resented the thought. Damas could appreciate that. Rot, he could even sympathize with the kid.

But.

He had opened a sealed door.

And the river-weasel had just said something about a Tomb.

He really really didn't want to be right, but if they could give an accurate description of the Tomb at some point, that information would be pretty hard to fake.

"Why did they think they could pass you off as Haven's heir?" Damas asked bluntly.

"Because I can make old Precursor crap work, I guess? And the Oracles like me." Jak folded his arms and shrugged. "They're useless when it comes to actually protecting anyone, but at least they tried to help after the fact. More than most hu'mens did."

Oh. Alright, okay. Maybe he's a sage prodigy and he's never been trained. That would make sense-

"Pal, the Oracle called you a "chosen one". That's gotta mean something."

"Chosen for what? Time looped torture?" Jak's entire posture had become rigid. He was beyond agitated, but Damas couldn't quite pin down if it was anger or fear or something closer to grief.

"....I...sorry." The orange one looked down, clearly ashamed. "That's- fair point. I won't bring it up anymore."

Damas didn't want to hear another word of this. Not one. Without stopping to think lest he talk himself out of it, he drew a knife from the back of his belt. The boy tensed even further, looking like he might snap as he watched Damas pull a sheet of paper haphazardly from the notepad that came standard in all the interrogation rooms. Damas ignored him and placed the tip of the blade to the pad of his thumb, pushing until two large drops of blood dripped onto the paper. The boy's tension eased slightly, but he still looked vaguely alarmed.

Damas wiped the blade and, steeling himself, held it out hilt-first to Jak.

"Your turn."

Jak glared at him.

"Are you nuts?"

Damas remained stonefaced. "You want to prove those people wrong? Blood comparison. Computer will be able to identify if it matches old records or not."

"Then why'd you cut yourself?" Jak challenged.

"Control sample," Damas answered shortly, staring until the boy gave in and set the blade against the tip of his little finger.

He declined to specify whether he meant for or against.

Jak twisted his pinkie between his fingers and let a single drop of blood fall onto the paper. He narrowed his eyes at Damas.

"And this is supposed to take...how long?"

"Two months if they're not busy."

Jak unfolded his legs and slid off the tabletop. "Months?! What good does that do me? They'll probably have found a way to guilt me into going back to Haven by then!"

Hm.

Damas leaned back in his chair and studied the boy with a new perspective.

"You're a runaway. Aren't you?"

Jak scowled and folded his arms.

"I'm not! I'm just...there's something I have to do out here. And I can't go back yet."

Suspicion trickled in cold at the back of Damas’s mind. He folded the edge down over the bloodied paper and tucked it into his belt.

"And what," he asked warily, "is this "something" you intend to do?"

The boy's ears dropped, broadcasting uncertainty despite his belligerent posture.

"I...don't know yet. There's just...something was calling me. And I can't leave until I know what it is."

This boy was going to be a walking migraine trigger, wasn't he? But unfortunately there was a reasonably high probability that he was Damas’s kinsman, which meant that under no circumstances could he just toss the kid back to Haven and say "not my circus, not my moncaws".

Just get through this until the blood tests come back. Who knows, maybe the guy will find a place here in the meantime. Or he might decide to fight the squid and die horribly. One step at a time.

Damas opened the door and beckoned to one of the district guards down the hall. Commander Shui left her subordinates immediately to respond.

"Sir?"

Damas nodded back towards the trespasser.

"Have someone show him to the showers. Once he's cleaned up, see if you can't determine his age."

Shui glanced at Jak, but never lost her stoic expression. "Understood. Is he a candidate for the trials?"

Damas ignored the harsh whispering between the boy and the...okay that was called an ottsel apparently. Didn't have those out in the desert.

"I doubt even he knows. For the moment, we will proceed as though he is a refugee."

He sighed.

"I have matters to attend to. Inform me if he causes any problems."

Jak wasn't sure how to feel about this turn of events. Six days of maddening dreams of eco comets and a broken string of beads. Five days of something pulling on his eco core, or his soul, the way the Precursor Stone had.

He wasn't sorry for leaving Haven in the middle of the night. The Grand Council had been getting more and more vocal with their more...Praxian...views on his right to life and liberty, and Samos just kept telling him to focus on what was "more important", fighting metalheads and new Krimzon Deathbots.

When the Call took him down that ancient eco mine, it had felt like an escape. He'd told himself he'd go back after he found what was at the end of the tunnel. And he'd meant to, if only because he thought he had nowhere else to go. After all, Daxter had built a life in Haven. He had a mentor. A girlfriend. A whole business!

But regardless of all the pretty lies Samos and Onin and Ashelin filled his ears with, Haven was not Jak's home. He would not take responsibility for their evil. And even if he was descended from their founder, they all let Praxis kill whatever blood relatives he might've had! They decided the line of Mar had no say in government, so who was Jak to contradict them?

It was strange -- almost unfathomable -- how his perspective could have changed with a rebalancing of eco. The Oracle down in that desert temple, it had pushed through old scars, given him access to light eco, when he'd thought the substance didn't exist anymore. The constant aches that ruled his every waking moment when it was even slightly cold out, the irritability, the burning in his core, it was gone.

How had he become so accustomed to at least low levels of pain as a daily companion? Jak hadn't realized how bad his condition had been until it was gone. And his mind felt clearer than it had in months. Maybe even years. Home was far behind them now. Sandover was forever lost to them, along with all remains of Jak's innocence. Because of Onin. And because of Samos.

Without his thoughts dulled by pain and lack of sleep, Jak thought of his heartfelt thanks to the manipulative old sage and wanted to be sick.

And now he was on an island, eighty nautical miles from Haven. A wild, living, sanctuary of Wastelanders and open wilderness. They called it "wasteland", but Jak couldn't understand why when it was so beautiful.

That Call still pulled at his heart, told him he wasn't done here yet. And he was relieved, because the longer he spent under clear, blue, sky, the more he hated the thought of returning to that corrupted city.

Just because he'd told Ashelin it was worth saving didn't mean he belonged to it.

Damas -- the angry man he'd startled when they came up out of the catacombs -- left, and a well-built woman about his height entered the interrogation room.

"Holy crap, a lady Sig!" Daxter hissed in his ear.

The Wastelander did have a prosthetic eye -- her left, not her right -- of the same make, but that was really the only similarity. She carried herself like Ashelin -- someone in command, used to cooperation if not obedience -- and that alone put Jak on-edge. He met her searching gaze with a hard stare, determined not to be the first to flinch.

"Hm." The woman clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"I see what he means. When's the last time you washed?"

"Do pools of water count?" Jak asked. If there was sarcasm in the tone, so what? "Expendables don't get time to wash."

"Eesh." The woman curled her lip. "Well that's not going to fly in my garrison."

She turned to shout down the hall, "Strom! Get the rookie to the showers before the flies move in!"

"Oh rot you!"

[horizon-verizon]

Queen Alysanne played no part in the selection of the King’s Hand. Whilst the king and council were deliberating, Her Grace was absent from King’s Landing, having flown Silverwing to Dragonstone to be with her sister and comfort her in her grief. Rhaena Targaryen was not a woman easily comforted, however. The loss of so many of her dear friends and companions had plunged her into a black melancholy, and even the mention of Androw Farman’s name provoked her to fits of rage. Far from welcoming her sister and whatever solace she might bring, Rhaena thrice tried to send her away, even going so far as to scream at Her Grace in view of half the castle. When the queen refused to go, Rhaena retreated to her own chambers and barred the doors, emerging only to eat…and that less and less often. Left to her own devices, Alysanne Targaryen set about restoring a modicum of order to Dragonstone. A new maester was sent for and installed, a new captain appointed to take charge of the castle garrison. The queen’s own beloved Septa Edyth arrived to assume the place of Rhaena’s much lamented Septa Maryam. Shunned by her sister, Alysanne turned to her niece, but there too she encountered rage and rejection. “Why should I care if they’re all dead? She’ll find new ones; she always does,” Princess Aerea told the queen. When Alysanne tried to share stories of her own girlhood, and told of how Rhaena had put a dragon’s egg into her cradle and cuddled and cared for her “as if she were my mother,” Aerea said, “She never gave me an egg, she just gave me away and flew off to Fair Isle.” Alysanne’s love for her own daughter provoked the princess to anger as well. “Why should she be queen? I should be queen, not her.” It was then that Aerea broke down into tears at last, pleading with Alysanne to take her back with her to King’s Landing. “Lady Elissa said that she would take me, but she went away and forgot me. I want to come back to court, with the singers and the fools and all the lords and knights. Please take me with you.” Moved by the girl’s tears, Queen Alysanne could do no more than promise to take the matter up with her mother. When Rhaena next emerged from her chambers to take a meal, however, she rejected the notion out of hand. “You have everything and I have nothing. Now you would take my daughter too. Well, you shall not have her. You have my throne, content yourself with that.” That same night Rhaena summoned Princess Aerea to her chambers to berate her, and the sounds of mother and daughter shouting at one another rang through the Stone Drum. The princess refused to speak to Queen Alysanne after that. Stymied at every turn, Her Grace finally returned to King’s Landing, to the arms of King Jaehaerys and the merry laughter of her own daughter, Princess Daenerys.

Fire and Blood, by George R.R. Martin pg 227-228

[artificial-illustrator]

This boy brings you a stick what you do?

Garrison was inspired by a dream where I was being hunted by a pack of unrendered doberman. It seemed like a trippy concept. (This is the best way —balance of efficient and accurate— I’ve found to do the checkerboard pattern.)

picture used is in the creative commons.

[enigma-the-mysterious]

wait u mean to tell me there were people that hated aramis??? our himbo aramis? what is it 🤺 about🤺🤺 this discourse🤺 against him and🤺🤺🤺 who do I have to fight 🤺🤺

Haha, to each their own x) Thankfully, the fandom is (mostly) respectful and everyone keeps to their own lane (*glares at Star Wars fandom*) so hopefully you don't have to fight anyone here 😅

I was exposed to a lot of that discourse in my early days on Tumblr but that's on me because I didn't know how the tagging system worked :P Some of it talked about how Aramis was an unfeeling cad because he moved on immediately from Adele (ffs he didn't know she was dead, he just thought she had pulled the 17th century version of ghosting him), others don't like his reckless, womanising nature, one particular cursed post that is seared in my brain talked about how tiring it was to read all the fics where Aramis has to nurse everyone back to health like there isn't another person in the whole of Paris with a modicum of medical knowledge (he is the garrison's medic??? hello???) but most of the talks (the scathingly critical ones, not the gently ribbing memes lol) are about his STUPIDITY thanks to his baby brain and how it endangers everybody who ever breathed within a 50 mile radius of him.

If that kind of discourse is not your thing, then hopefully you won't have to engage in them if you know which tags to block (I haven't had a blocked tag crossing my dash for over a year but blacklisting the #anti aramis and #anti annamis tags and unfollowing a few blogs has done wonders to my fandom experience :D)

[chancellormatt]

Voltron Rewrite Episode Fifteen - The Imprisoned Princess

The Dark Reality - Ten Thousand Years Ago

King Alfor looks down at a burning Altea. Tears stream down his face, as he is helpless to do anything else. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t see this coming, Alfor” A voice says from behind. “Your people burn because of your actions.”

“You...monster!” Alfor whirls around to face Zarkon.

The pair of them stand on a suspended walkway hanging on the remains of the altean royal palace. The fires cast the pair in angry light.

“I wonder,” Zarkon says, “did you weep this much for Diabazaal? Did you even hesitate? Or were you eager to finally have an excuse to remove such a thorn from your side?”

“I did weep for your world, Zarkon! But do not compare my efforts to save the universe with this...this butchery!”

“There it is again. King Alfor, up on his moral high ground. Well in case you haven’t noticed, there isn’t much ground to stand on anymore.” Zarkon nods down to the burning fields that used to be Altea.

“You talk to me like a bitter enemy Zarkon...but you were my friend. A brother to me…” His eyes look very tired then. “But this...this isn’t the Zarkon I fought beside. Not the hero I knew. You are a warped shadow wearing the skin of my friend. How could someone like that do this to my people!? To my...my wife...oh stars, my wife.” He pauses, staring downward for what seems an eternity. When he looks up, his eyes are hard.

“One way or another…” Alfor summons his bayard, forming it into a longsword. “...this ends now.”

“At last, we agree on something.” Zarkon materializes his own wickedly curved bayard sword.

The two paladins charge down the walkway at each other. 

Alfor’s first strike is a thrust for Zarkon’s midsection. The large galra turns the strike away and kicks Alfor in the chest. Alfor goes flying backwards across the walkway, only barely managing to land on two feet. 

But Zarkon is back upon him almost immediately, unleashing a flurry of strikes. Alfor blocks the series of blows, but the power of each one pushes Alfor back further. Alfor ducks beneath the final swing and shoves his own sword upward, grazing Zarkon on the shoulder. 

Snarling, Zarkon knocks aside Alfor’s followup and grabs the King by the head. He slams Alfor’s face into the walkway’s railing, dazing him. As Alfor stumbles back, Zarkon swings again with his sword. The blow is only just blocked but the force throws Alfor down onto his back. 

Zarkon jumps up, sword plunging downward to pin Alfor to the walkway. Before he can be skewered Alfor throws up a hand, firing off a blast of blue lighting that blasts Zarkon backwards. 

Zarkon lands on his back, much like Alfor. 

Both leap to their feet, Zarkon moving in for the sword swing, while Alfor unleashes another blast of lightning.

The lighting strikes Zarkon, wrapping it's glowing tendrils along his body. Zarkon cries out in pain and anger but he does not fall. In spite of the alchemical lightning, he takes a step forward.

“Th-that’s your problem...Alfor…”

Another step forward.

“...you have never been…”

Another step.”

“...as strong…”

Another.

“...as ME!”

Zarkon swings his blade.

Alfor stumbles back, gripping his gut where the blade struck home. He sways, trying to remain standing. Then, he drops his sword and falls to his knees. He looks up at his former friend, face awash with pain and sorrow.

“You may kill me...but you will never have what you really want. You will never have Voltron!”

Zarkon chuckles, then laughs. He steps back and continues his mad cackle. Alfor looks on with confusion. Eventually, Zarkon regains his composure, looks back down at Alfor and smiles.

“Oh, Alfor...my men sent word just before I found you here. Your ploy to send the Lions away didn’t work.”

Alfor’s eyes widen.

“Yes, my men captured them, along with the Castle of Lion while they were trying to flee. Still, I must commend you. It very nearly worked. My men said it was fifty-fifty odds. Seems the coin didn’t fall in your favor, old friend.”

“Allura…” Alfor says with horror. “Wh...what about my daughter?”

Zarkon stares down at Alfor, as if hesitating.

“...she fought to the very end. Too much like her father, it seems.”

The light in Alfor’s eyes dies. He slumps over, drained completely. For a moment, both are silent. The crackling of the fires and occasional distant blasts are the only sounds audible. 

“...just end it already. I want to join my wife and daughter.” Alfor finally says 

Zarkon raises his blade, but stops before the swing. Alfor waits. The blade never falls. 

“...no.” Zarkon says, lowering his blade. “I’ve changed my mind.” 

Alfor looks up, mystified.

“I wanted to kill you at first. But that wouldn’t be the real punishment, would it? Being returned to what you only just lost, if one believes in that sort of thing. No...the far greater penance would be to live, knowing that you were the reason for the death of all that you loved. Only being able to watch as I use Voltron to conquer the rest of the universe.”

If Alfor’s eyes were horror before, they are utter dread now. “I...I can still stop you! Somehow I…” His voice trails off, lacking the energy to finish the sentence.

“Stop me?” Zarkon leans down and grins. “Alfor, you’re going to help me do it.”

“Never.” Alfor says, in a voice just above a whisper.

Zarkon chuckles. “Honerva may have lost her memory for now, but I’m sure in time we can put things right. With her help, we’ll twist you so far you’ll barely be able to remember your own name. But don’t worry, I’ll leave enough of you for the pain to remain.”

Alfor is speechless.

“Look on the bright side. You get to continue doing your duty as a Paladin of Voltron. And I’m going to make sure you’ll never be able to stop…”

Prime Reality - Now

Raimon carries an unconscious Allura down the landing pad of a shuttle. He steps out onto the soft soil of the altean colony. Zarkon and Lotor stand in the middle of a town square, with a small crowd of onlooking alteans on the periphery. At the precise center of the square is a metal post jammed into the ground, with a chain dangling from it's top. 

Raimon carries Allura over to the post, ignoring the stares of the onlookers. He lays her down so she sits with her back against the metal. Then, he reaches up and pulls down the chair to begin wrap around her wrists. 

As he does, Allura begins to blink and moan groggily. ‘

“Where…?”

Suddenly her eyes shoot open and tries to leap to her feet. Raimon shoves her back down, then locks the chain in place. 

“You!” She says in an accusatory tone. “You can’t...couldn’t…” Her voice loses its strength and trails off as she stares up at Raimon. Impassively, he pulls the chain taut, forcing Allura to her feet, with her arms stretched above her head.

“Oh, it's really him, Princess.” Zarkon chuckles. “But deep down, I’m certain you already know that.”

Allura gets a foul expression and averts her gaze. However, her eyes quickly find their way back to Raimon. The man does not meet her gaze, rather he doesn’t seem to look at anything in particular. His eyes are distant, almost dead.

“Well then, Princess. You wanted to see your people? Here they are!” Zarkon sweeps an arm across the alteans. 

Slowly, Allura tears her eyes away from Raimon to get her first good look at the alteans. They come in all ages, but elderly and children are the most common. All look back at her with some mixture of fear and uneasy. 

Allura smiles at them weakly. Many avert their gaze or shift uncomfortably.  

Lotor clears his throat. “Father do you think it entirely wise to do this? What if she ties to incite them to-”

“Is their faith in you so weak?” Zarkon asks immediately, “And if it is, what matters? You know how to maintain loyalty no matter what. I’m sure I’ve managed to teach you that much.”

“Y...yes, father.” Lotor says reluctantly. 

Zarkon smiles down at Allura. “Let her say whatever she wishes. It will not matter in the end. That is my purpose in bringing her here. To show her that our victory is inevitable.”

Allura scrowls, her posture and expression regains some of its original defiance. It is somewhat spoiled by her uncertain gaze occasionally drifting between Raimon and the alteans.

“I have work to be doing. Enjoy the stay, girl. Soon your friends will be joining you.” And with that, Zarkon walked away. Lotor followed shortly afterwards, only pausing briefly to shoot an uneasy glance at Allura.

Finally, Raimon turns to go.

“...I don’t care what reality you’re from.” Allura said suddenly. “My father...King Alfor would always fight to the bitter end to stop men like Zarkon! Especially to protect his people. If you’re my...if you’re Alfor, then I know there must be some part of you still fighting him!”

Raimon stops in his tracks. He stays there unmoving for a long moment. Then he says, “There is no longer any Alfor…only the servant of Zarkon. Only Raimon.”

He leaves. Allura watches him go, wilting. 

Eventually she forces herself to turn her gaze back to the still staring onlookers. She seems to regain a modicum of strength at the sight of them. She closes her eyes and takes a breath. 

When Allura opens her eyes, she has a smile on her face. It is a weak ragged, unconvincing smile. But a smile nonetheless.

“H-hello...my name is Princess Allura. I’m here to rescue you.” 

***

“Dammit!” Keith swears, slamming his fist into a wall. “We fell right into their trap!”

He and the other paladins are back inside the Garrison base. They are all either standing or sitting inside a living area. Sullen expressions are on all their faces, save Keith’s. His is one of unbridled rage.

“I can’t believe what a complete idiot I was!” He punches the wall again.

“Easy, Keith.” Shiro says gently. “This isn’t all on you.”

“The hell it isn't! I was in command, I had final say! This is my mistake! It's my fault they got Allura!”

“And do you think anyone else here would have made a different choice? It was a risk, yes. But at the time, it seemed a worthwhile one. Lance? Hunk? Pidge? Would you have made a different choice in Keith’s position?” 

“Probably not…” Lance admits.

Hunk shakes his head.

“It...seemed to make sense, risks notwithstanding.” Pidge says.

“And how about you, Shiro?” Keith retorts. “Would you have made such a colossal screw up? Would you have put her and everyone else in danger like that?”

“Keith...did you forget?”

Keith tilts his head in confusion.

“I did.” Shiro shrugges. 

Keith blinks, looking more confused.

“Back when I was leading Voltron, Allura and I infiltrated that ship to get information. I barely got out and she ended up captured.”

“...right.” Keith replies, embarrassed.

“So no, you aren’t the only one that can make bad calls. And this also isn’t the first time Allura’s been in a sticky situation. She’ll manage, she’s a paladin too. So with that in mind, what do you think we need to do?”

Keith takes a breath before responding. “...calm down and plan our next move. We need to get Allura back, but at the same time can’t go in half cocked. That’ll just lead to more mistakes.”

Shiro nods with approval. “Alright then, seems like you’ve got a handle on things.”

Keith smiles. “...thanks.”

“Anytime.”

The door opens on the far end of the room. 

“The Princess has been captured!?” Coran says marching in.

“I...yeah.” Keith replies.

Coran takes a breath and look as if about to rant but hesitates, then shakes his head and sighs.

“I suppose...that’s part of the job.” He says finally. “Really doesn’t do my stress levels any favors, though.”

“We’ll get her back, Coran.” Keith swears.

Coran nods slowly, then more quickly. “I know”

“Grand Regent!”

Keith cringes. He turns to see Skriel run inside, followed by the other galra commanders. 

“I only just heard what happened to the future empress! I swear to you that Urok, Erva, Mutava and myself will not rest for an instant until she is rescued! Even if it means laying down our lives! And by the stars if it comes to that, they will know that it was the mighty Skriel who-”

“Enough.” Keith sighes. “No ones going anywhere until we have a handle on the situation. Going in half-cocked isn’t going to help anybody. You guys will have your chance to help, just not yet.”

“...understood.” Skriel says, looking disappointed.

“And stop calling Allura the future empress!” 

. In spite of the situation, the other Paladins stifle snickers.

“Of course.” Skriel winks

“And stop winking!”

“Uh...right.” Skriel straightens. 

“Now...anyone have ideas on what to do first.”

“Well you could start by seeing the message we just received.” A new voice says.

All turn to see Admiral Sanda now at the door. “Seems like you’ve gotten yourself into quite the mess.”

“Yeah, well...what else is new?” Keith sighs. “Now what’s this message you’re talking about?”

Sanda pulls out a handheld device that projects a large holographic image in front of them. It shows Zarkon. 

“To this reality’s pitiful excuses for Paladins: Hello, it's me. Your proper ruler. I understand some of you are having trouble accepting that. It's understandable. Weak minds often have difficulty comprehending their betters. You will not bow without a fight. To that end…”

The feed changes to show a new subject. Allura chained to a post, in the center of the altean colony. The paladins all gasp.

“As you can see...your friend is waiting for you.” The feed switches back to Zarkon. “I dearly hope you don’t keep me waiting.”

With that the feed goes dead.

Keith's fists clench, then tremble.

“...the colony.” He says finally. “That’s where she is.”

“You and your mother went there, correct?” Sanda inquires. “Do you know a way in?”

“We got in once, but that doesn’t mean much. Lotor wasn’t there at the time, and this was long before Zarkon took over. I have no idea what kind of new defenses he’s added by now.”

“Well then it sounds like you’re back in the same position as before. Only this time the bait is far more enticing, and you can’t afford not to take it.”

Keith says nothing for several moments, apparently thinking. Then, his eyes widen and he straightens. 

“...we do have one person that knows both the colony and Zarkon better than anyone.”

The other paladins look confused then their eyes widen with realization as well.

“I think it's time we talked to Lotor. Our Lotor.”

***

“I know this must be hard to hear...but the man you serve is not who you think!” Allura exclaimes.

The alteans reply with angered boos. 

“We don’t want to hear your lies!” One woman shouts.

“Traitor!” Says another. 

“Please you have you listen to-” Allura tries to get in.

“Keep you mad ramblings to yourself!”

Allura continues to try to reason with the increasingly angry crowd. 

“I’m trying to help you quiznak it!” She eventually shouts.

“Help us by shutting up!” bellows an older man. 

She grits her teeth with frustration, but does not give up.

“Please! He’s using you for his war! He-”

But she is soon drowned out by the angry cries.

“Oh dear Princess, your foolishness would be comical were it not so pathetic.” A loud voice declares, breaking through the clamor.

The crowd opens a wide berth to reveal Prince Lotor standing behind, with Luca at his side. The former has a gloating expression. The later averts her gaze when Allura looks at her. 

“I must say, it was entertaining for the first hour, but it's really gotten quite dull.” Lotor says.

Allura sneers. “I see you finally grew a spine. And here I thought you might be too scared of what I had to say to these people you’ve been manipulating.”

Lotor scoffs. “I was, at worst, concerned for their welfare in the presence of such deceptive ideals. But my people are loyal to their very bones. You cannot break that with a few poorly constructed lies.”

“The only one telling lies here, is you Lotor.” Allura shoots back. “Or would you like to be the one to tell these people that you are an imposter?”

“Quit your slander of Lotor!” One altean hisses. 

Lotor chuckles. “Don’t let her provoke you.” He turns to face the crowd. “That goes for everyone. You only empower this woman by listening to her ramblings. Let her serve as an example, nothing more. Please go back to your duties.”

Reluctantly, the alteans mumble agreements and begin to disperse. 

Allura watches biting her lip with frustration. Lotor smiles with satisfaction before he too turns to go.

“...I wonder if Zarkon reigns you in the same way you just did with them.” 

Lotor freezes. 

Allura shakes her head. “No, on second thought, I’m sure he uses a much firmer hand on you.”

Moving like a blur, Lotor whirls around and strikes Allura across the face. Everyone is stunned. Even Luce blinks with shock. There is fury in Lotor’s eyes.

“You will not speak of things you know nothing about.” he says with barely-suppressed rage. 

Allura spits. “I don’t know why you continue to follow that vile man, father or not. You could always just kill him like our Lotor did.”

“Do not repeat that lie again!” He shouts.

“Why!?” Allura shouts back. “Are you so afraid of him that you can’t bear the thought of trying!? Or are you just terrified of what life would be like for you without him pulling your every string?”

Lotor pulls his hand back to strike again, unbridled fury on his face. Then, he seems to notice the staring crowd of alteans for the first time. Slowly, he lowers his hand and composes himself.

“...it's not worth it.” He spits out, before marching off.

Luca looks curiously between him and Allura. She shoots an uncertain look at Allura before running after Lotor.

The crowd remains for several more moments before they too, one by one, disperse. Finally, once alone, Allura sighs and slumps against the post.

***

High above it all, in a viewing station, Zarkon stares at a screen from which he watched the exchange.

“How...troubling.” He growls to himself.

***

Lotor, pilot of Sincline born of the main reality, sits alone in his cell. His glowing eyes stare at the blank wall opposite him. 

Suddenly, the door pulls open and Keith marches in, with Shiro and the other remaining Paladins. Lotor turns his head, but is otherwise unresponsive.

“I need your help.” Keith says simply.

“Isn’t that funny? Because I don’t need yours.”

Keith narrows his eyes. “We could make things better for you here. Nicer cell, anything you want.”

“Not interested.” Lotor waves a hand. “I’m quite comfortable here.”

“Zarkon has Allura.” Keith tries again.

“How unfortunate.” Lotor replies coldly.

“He’s keeping her captive at the altean colony. Your altean colony. Where he’s also been using them as living weapons.”

“...that too is unfortunate. But do you know what else it is?”

“What?”

“Not my problem.” Lotor turns his gaze back to the wall.

“I thought you said you wanted to help defeat Zarkon.” Keith says through gritted teeth.

“Maybe I don’t care anymore. Or maybe I just like seeing you feel what it's like to have the rug pulled out from under you.”

“Hard way it is, then.” Keith nods.

Lotor is looking up with confusion when Keith grabs him by the collar and shoves him against the back wall. Lance and Hunk move as if to stop him, but Keith waves them off, and they hesitantly step back. 

“You will remove your hand from me or I will remove it from your arm.” Lotor hisses.

“No, shut up. I’m going to talk and your going to listen!” Keith barks back. 

Lotor is surprised by the outburst, giving Keith all the time he needs.

Zarkon has Allura.  I am going to get her back. And right now you are the best chance of making that happen. I don’t like your Lotor. You’re a liar and a killer. But right now, I don’t really care about that, because frankly, I’m going to do whatever it takes to get the Princess back. If you don’t cooperate, the only difference that makes to me is that while I’m on the way to bring her back, I’ll make sure to stop and drop you into the nearest black hole. So how about you pick up what’s left of your ego, and stop pretending like you don’t want a chance to kill your dad a second time.”

Lotor stares down at the shorter boy for what seems like an eternity. Then, strangely, he smiles. It's a striking sight, with his new darker features.

“Remove your hand and we’ll talk.”

Keith lets him go and steps back. Lotor sweeps his gaze across the Paladins who all stare daggers at him. Lotor lets out a hollow chuckle.

“Seems you lot have more spine than I thought. Alright. I’ll help. If only to remove Zarkon’s vile hands from my precious colony. But I go free. That’s my price.

Keith hesitates. “...not until this is all over.”

The others look surprised at this but do not speak up.

“Fine. But I at least have to get out of this cell. I might have been lying about it's comfort.”

Keith nods curtly towards the door.

Lotor starts to move but Keith catches him on the arm. 

“You make me regret this and I really will drop you down a black hole.”

Lotor sneers in reply. “Threaten me again and see what happens.

Keith glares back but releases him. Lotor strides out of the cell, head held high, as if he owned the place.

“Oh yeah this is a greaaaat idea.” Lance remarks.

Pidge elbows him.

“What?”

Shiro eyes Keith. “You sure about this?”

Keith shakes his head. “Not really, but we’ve made our deal with the devil. Let’s see what he’s bringing on his end.”

***

Keith, the other Paladins, Lotor and their other allies conviene around a table in one of the Garrison’s briefing rooms. Lotor sweeps an unimpressed look across the room’s occupants. His eyes briefly meets Acxa’s but they turn away just as quickly. His gaze soon settles on the faces of the galra warlord commanders.

“Well now, I knew you were in league with the Blade of Marmora, but I did not realize that any real galra military commanders had joined your cause. Skriel I’m most surprised to see you here. Didn’t you want the throne for yourself but couldn’t make it to the Kral Zera?”

Skriel folds his arms and smirks. “Aye! I coulda gotten that throne if it hadn’t been for those pesky arganterian pirates. But that’s in the past now. I’ve the one man in the galaxy I can accept besides myself as leader, and that’s Grand Regent Keith Kogan!”

Lotor’s eyes widen and he turns back to Keith. “Grand Regent? My you’ve gotten far for a half-breed.”

“I don’t have any less galra blood than you.” Keith points out.

“True enough. But mine was royal. Do you really think you can hold onto the throne when your lineage is some earth-man and a turn-coat mother?”

Krollia flinches. Keith looks about to strike Lotor.

“Hey man!” Lance suddenly shouts, surprising both. “How about you shut up before I deck you myself!? Keith’s risking a lot asking you for help, but I’ll be honest, I’ve wanted to punch you since the day we met, so keep talking and why don’t ya see what happens?”

Both stare at Lance, dumbfounded. Keith regains himself first. 

“...thank you Lance, but that’s alright. He was only trying to provoke me after all.”

Lotor smiles again, but with less malice in it this time. “So you are capable of seeing subtly after all. Good. Zarkon will provoke you with far more than that, and with much larger stakes at hand.”

“Right. But word of advice. Don’t talk about my mom.”

“As you wish. Now, I assume Zarkon has contacted you? Perhaps leveled some kind of taunt or ultimatum?” 

Keith nods to Pidge who taps a key on the table and a hologram appears above. Lotor watches intently as a projection of Zarkon’s message plays. 

The message ends, and Lotor closes his eyes.

“...well?” Keith asks.

Lotor opens his eyes. “Bring up everything you have on the colony, and enemy movements around the Quantum Abyss.”

Kolivan steps forward and taps several keys. A holographic projection of the Quantum Abyss appears, with the colony specifically being magnified. Several galra vessels highlighted in red are shown in and around the Abyss.

“This is the best we can get for enemy movements in the area. Intel is limited as Zarkon has taken great efforts to compartmentalize everything. If we had more time we’d be able to get a clearer picture, but…”

“It doesn’t matter.” Lotor shakes his head. “I just needed confirmation.”

“Of what?” Keith asks.

Lotor frowns. “That this Zarkon is the same as my real father, that he thinks the same way. What you have here confirms just as much. I’d know those formations anywhere. It really is him. Now, Is all his military might held here?”

“Many of his forces are spread about to other locations, but the bulk of them seem to be here.” Kolivan reports. 

“There is one other location of significance.” Mutava speaks up. 

The blades look confused, which causes a smirk to form on Mutava’s lips.

“So you don’t know everything. How nice to hear.” he plugs a device into the table, and a new projection appears. It is of the teleduv, in space with several larger rings build around its circumference, and one smaller ring within it's center. Construction on the massive rings continue. Dozens of galra ships and silver robeast surround it. 

“The teleduv…” Kolvian muses. “We haven’t been able to get any information on it since the attack on the station. Haggar, or Honerva rather, cleaned house after the incident. How did you get this?”

“I have my sources.” Mutava shrugs. “You may work hard to insert spies in key positions, but I prefer to pay off the average engineer or workman. So much easier. Anyway, it seems that they conversely moved the teleduv after our little attack and have concentrated many of their robeasts there for protection. Unfortunately, I cannot speak to their intentions with the device.”

“I might have something later.” Pidge speaks up. “Those files we stole from the station should be done decrypting soon.”

“This is...concerning.” Lotor notes. “It always is when you don’t know what Zarkon is up to. But ultimately, this is irrelevant. For now our goal is retrieving All...The Princess. Anything else is a distraction.”

“Agreed.” Keith nods. “So, how do get past Zarkon and his forces?”

“Not easily. My father could be a fool at times, but he knew battle strategy better than almost anyone.” Lotor allows the barest hint of a smirk, which ends up looking more like a sneer. “But there’s no one in the universe who knows my father’s tactics better than me.”

“Can you outsmart him?”  

“Possibly. The Princess makes this...difficult. As long as he has her he will be able to manipulate you and force your hand into meeting him in battle. That is where he is strongest.”

“What about his weaknesses?”

“His arrogance. And his pride. He could have threatened to kill the Princess. It might not have worked, but he’d have lost nothing. But wants to beat you in battle. Show that he’s the strongest person in the universe. He needs to show the universe that, lest he shows even the slightest bit of weakness. But at the same time, it won't be so simple to get him to appear in person. Pride works both ways. He won't fight himself if he thinks the battle is above him. That’s what minions are for.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“Ideally you would infiltrate the colony and snatch the Princess from under his nose. But that’s a great deal easier said than done. And he’ll be expecting you to do that.”

“We got in easy enough.” Keith nods to his mother.

Lotor scoffs. “That was when I controlled the colony. I had limited resources and  Its primary purpose was to keep people in, not out. The Quantum Abyss was supposed to be barrier enough for any outsiders. Apparently, that proved false. But this is far different. Zarkon will have countless ships guarding any approach vectors. That’s not to mention any upgrades on the dome’s security that he’s certainly made. Even if we somehow make it past all of that, I’m sure he’ll have at least a couple of traps inside the colony itself.”

“Again, I’m not hearing a plan.”

“Well I don’t exactly have much to work with here. Meeting Zarkon in force is suicide, but subterfuge is nearly as risky...” Lotor hesitates for a moment. “...there is one possible way…”

“Go on.” Keith urges. 

“It's...something I set up should something similar happen. A backdoor, if you will. A hidden transport tunnel connecting the colony to the far side of the planet. It was well concealed, so I doubt Zarkon has found it. With a good enough distraction, we might be able to slip a small team onto the planet, and circumvent all the dome’s security.”

“What kind of distraction?”

“Remember when I said my father wants to beat you in battle?”

“Yeah…”

“Well the one thing that might entice him to fight is all of you to bring an all out attack in your Lions, and whatever else you have. With him occupied, the planetary defenses might be thin enough to slip through.”

“Yeah let’s just ignore the part where Zarkon can form Voltron and we can’t.” Pidge says.

“With the Atlas and the Lions we might be able to hold out long enough.” Shiro points out.

“Alright.” Keith muses. “For the sake of argument, let’s pretend we do all that and meet Zarkon head on. THen we’d need to send in say...the Blades to do the infiltration and get Allura out. It's definitely risky but I suppose-”

“There...is a catch.” Lotor cuts in.

Keith sighes, but motions for him to continue.

“The tunnel will only open in response to my biometrics.”

“In other words…”

“I have to be on the mission.” Lotor said flatly.

“No.” Keith says firmly.

“It's the only way.” Lotor replies matter of factly.

“After everything you’ve done, you think I’d trust you with that? Trust you with bringing back her!?” 

“Keith,” Krollia steps in. “It's not as if we’re forced to sent him alone. We can keep him in line.”

“I don’t like it.” Keith shakes his head. “Even with Blades there, he could pull something. He knows that place better than anyone, how do we know this isn’t a trap of his own?”

“Do as you wish.” Lotor replies coldly. “I’m only telling you what I think is your best chance at retrieving the Princess. If you don’t like that, then maybe you can try your hand at fighting Zarkon without my help.”

The two stare each other down for several long, uncomfortable moments.

“...I need some air.” Keith finally says, before walking out of the room.

***

Allura remains chained to the post, now looking weary. It is now night at the altean colony, and besides Allura, there is not a soul in sight.

She looks up at the synthetic moon of dome, and sighs. 

“Father what would you do?”

An image of Raimon flashes in her mind.

Allura cringes and shakes her head.

“Must Zarkon ruin every good thing in this universe?”

She sighs and leans back against the post. She closes her eyes, as if to rest.

“...psst! Hey lady!” Someone whisper yells. 

Allura’s eyes shoot wide open. She scans her immediate surroundings, seeing nothing in the darkness.

“Down here!” The voice goes on.

Allura looks down to see a young boy standing right next to her. He has a curious expression on his face.

“...hello.” Allura says, with confused optimism.

  “Hi.” The boy waves nonchalantly. “So you’re supposed to be the bad guy, huh?”

Allura winces. “Is that what Lotor says?”

“Yeah.”

“And what do you think? Do I seem like a ‘bad guy’?”

“Lotor says bad guys can look nice.”

She sighs. “In that, I have to agree with him.”

The boy doesn’t reply, choosing to instead stare up at Allura.

“So...if I really am the bad guy, why would a nice boy like you be hanging around me? I could be dangerous.”

The boy merely shrugs. “Did you really mean what you said about Lotor? The part about him not being the same Lotor?”

“I did.” Allura says without hesitation. “...why? Do you think I’m right?”

Again the boy shrugs. He does a double take before leaning in to speak the next. “He...seems kind of different from before.”

“Different how?” 

“He doesn’t remember anybody’s names. Lotor used to know all of us. He also kinda acts more...I dunno, careful? Like he’s scared of something’. Old Lotor was never scared of nothin. And that’s not even mentioning his scary parents. Especially that Zarkon guy…”

The boy shivers. “And I know I’m not the only one that’s noticed it. The other kids agree with me. And when my parents don’t think anyone’s listening they talk about it too sometimes. They still worship and serve Lotor and everything, but they seem a little confused.”

“They should be confused.” Allura nods. “They’re being used by a very bad man. He looks like the Lotor you’ve known, but he is not him. He’s taking advantage of your trust and worship and using it for his own evil means.”

“Why would he do that?” The boy asks curious.

Allura gives a pained smile. “Because we alteans are capable of great things. We have so many gifts, but unfortunately there will always be people like him who want to exploit us...” Again, Raimon, Alfor’s face flashes in her mind. 

The boy looks down, uncomfortable. “My mom says that we used to have a whole planet to ourselves. That people used to look up to us. But we almost all got wiped out, and now this is all we got. And if it weren’t for Lotor we wouldn’t have even that.”

Allura nods carefully. “Yes I...suppose that much is true.”

The boy’s expression grows sad. “So, if we used to be so awesome, how come we’re like this now? All bunched up here, scared an’ hiding. At least the ones Lotor picks get to see what it's like outside. The rest of us just gotta sit and wait. If Lotor’s really been replaced with a bad guy, then what can we do? Seems like all we’ve done for a long time is get pushed around.” 

Allura’s eyes grow hard with determination. “What you do is stand up on your own two feet. Show them that we’re more than their pawns. All it takes to prove bad men wrong is to show them that we’re still willing to fight to do the right thing. That’s...something my father used to say.” She frowns, but slowly it grows back into a smile. “We’re a proud and noble people with a great history. How about acting like it?”

This makes the boy smile. “Ya know...you’re pretty nice for a bad guy.”

At that Allura chuckles. “I try.” She grows serious. “But be careful about talking about this. I don’t know what Lotor will do if he finds out, but certainly nothing good. Having courage doesn’t mean being careless.”

The boy nods quickly, face concerned.

“Man this is all so...scary. I just wish the old Lotor would come back. I bet he’d beat up all these bad guys.”

Allura is quiet. She opens her mouth, then closes it again. The boy looks up at her, confused. Staring down at him, Allura sighs and shakes her head.

“It's nothing. Just be careful, as I said.”

The boy nods again. 

Allura tilts her head in curiosity. “By the way, what’s your name?”

The boy grins. “I’m Ayden!”

“Nice to meet you Ayden. My name is Allura. I’d shake your hand but…” She shakes the chain.

Ayden chuckles.

“Ayden!” A distant voice calls. “Where are you!?”

Ayden flinches, and gets a guilty expression. “That’s my mom. Looks like she figured out I’m not in bed.”

“Well then, you better get home and back in bed, before she finds out where you’ve really been.”

The boy nods and starts running. “Night Allura!” He calls back.

“Goodnight Ayden.” She smiles back.

The boy disappears, leaving Allura alone again. 

This time, when she stares back up at the artificial moon, she is smiling.

 ***

Keith steps out into the night air, expression sour. He strides out onto the dirt ground, kicking up dust in his wake. He finds a decent-sized rock and plops down. He glances up at the night sky but his gaze quickly turns down to the dirt. 

Shortly there is the pitter-patter of feet behind. Keith stiffens and turns around. He relaxes when he sees that it’s Kosmo approaching.

“Hey boy.” Keith smiles as the wolf walks over to sit beside him. “Sorry I haven’t had much time for you lately, buddy.”

The wolf barks in agreement. Keith shakes his head, and starts scratching Kosmo on the top of his head. The wolf lays down and it's tail begins to wag as Keith continues his scratching. 

“We’re gonna be going back to the Quantum Abyss soon.” Keith explains. “I bet it’ll be nice to be home huh?”

The wolf predictably, does not reply.

“Then again maybe not. Was kind of a crazy place to try and survive in wasn’t it?”

Kosmo barks, and Keith cracks a smile. He shakes his head and looks up at the night sky.

“...quiznak. How did I get us in this mess. I could really use Allura’s advice right now. Isn’t that ironic?”

“Well, I’m no altean Princess…” Comes Shiro’s voice. “...but I’ve been known to give advice from time to time.”

Keith turns to see his mentor approach.

“This seat taken?”

Keith shakes his head, and scoots over. Shiro sits and the two are quiet for a moment. The only sound is Keith scratching Kosmo’s head.

“...be honest with me Shiro, am I screwing everything up?” Keith finally asks.

Shiro studies him. “Do you think you’re screwing everything up?” 

“I made a really bad call agreeing to go meet those alteans. Then I couldn’t stop Allura from getting captured. And now, the best plan I can come up with is to trust in the guy who tried to kill us less than a year ago. I’m trying to keep my hold on the situation, but it feels like everything’s spinning out of control.”

Shiro scratches his chin. “Well you asked me be honest, so I won't tell you that everything’s turning up roses. We’re in a rough spot, that’s for sure.” “You can say that again.” Keith agrees. “Trusting Lotor...I’m just terrified that this is going to be one more bad call. One more screw up.”

“Well Keith, it's not like you’re the only one in there. Kolivan, you mother, the other blades. If you can’t trust Lotor, you can at least trust them to handle him if anything goes wrong. You’re the leader of the team, so yeah a lot of the responsibility falls on you. But part of that is knowing when to trust the people under you with a task. You might be the head, but the rest of the body’s there for a reason.”

Keith sighs. “You’re right, as usual. I guess we just gotta hope Lotor isn’t completely making all this up.”

“Worst case scenario, we just improvise.”

“Yeah, that never goes wrong.” Keith smirks, shaking his head. 

They grow quiet again, as Keith begins staring at the stars again.

“You’re getting better at it.” Shiro says with a smile. 

“At what?”

“At showing how terrified you are.”

Keith stiffens. 

“Relax, it's normal. Every leader is scared that they’re doing the wrong thing and making a bad call. The key is not showing it, and you’re doing alright.”

“You still saw through me.” Keith replies scratching the back of his neck.

“I’ve got a bit of a knack for spotting stuff like that.” Shiro shrugs. “...so you’re really worried about her, huh?”

Keith hesitates, then nods his head. “...yeah. I know she’s probably fine and knowing her, already working on her own escape plan by now. But...it still sucks. Not knowing, I mean.”

Shiro pauses. “...yeah. It does suck.”

Keith laughs. “Really? No words of wisdom or guidance for that one?”

“Nah. Some things just suck. But that’s life. We’ll get past it.”

Keith nods with determination. “Yeah we will.”

Kosmo barks in apparent agreement.

Shiro looks down at the wolf and chuckles. “Sure would be nice if you could just use Kosmo to jump in, grab Allura, and jump out.”

“Yeah it would, ” Keith smiles. “But even he has limits.”

“Oh yeah?”

Keith nods. “Usually he needs line of sight, or has to have been there before. Limited distance too.”

“Ah well. Never is that easy, is it?”

“Nope.”

Keith gives the wolf one last scratch and stands up. 

“Well…I’ve wasted enough time out here.”

Shiro gets up and they both start walking back to the Garrison Base. 

After a moment, Keith smiles and shakes his head. “You know Shiro, I have no idea what I’d do without you.”

Shiro frowns. “You’d get by.”

“You kidding? I’d be completely lost.”

“Well you’d better figure it out.” Shiro’s frown deepens. “I may not always be here to give you advice...”

“Hey, quit talking like that.” Keith says serious. “And that’s an order.”

  After a moment Shiro shrugs. “Yes sir.”

“Now let’s go in there and pretend this plan isn’t as crazy as it really is. Because...that’s what leaders do?”

Shiro smiles widely. “Now you’re getting it.” 

***

Morning rises in the altean colony. Alteans begin to rise and go about their daily tasks. Allura still receives many dirty looks, but none try to engage her this time. The sun continues to rise and as it does Allura begins to pant. Her breaths start to grow ragged. 

That is until a short while later, when an elderly woman approaches her. The woman walks with a slow gait, age wearing heavy on her. She carries a basket in her hands. Strangely, she looks on Allura with a more curious than hateful expression. 

“Well...I’m not impressed.”

“...s-sorry?” Allura stutters, coughing.

“The way everyone talks about you, I figure you ought to have horns, scales and be able to breathe fire. Instead, I see a young girl strung up and left out to dry.”

Allura blinks with surprise. 

“You haven’t had anything to eat or drink have you?” The woman goes on.

“No…” Allura replies, uncertain.

The woman shakes her head and reaches into the basket. She pulls out a glass bottle of water which she opens holds up to Alllura’s lips. 

“Come on now, drink slowly.”

Allura draws from bottle, taking slow but long gulps. The woman pulls the bottle away, empty.

“...thank you.” Allura says genuinely.

The old woman shrugs. “What’s your name, girl?”

“Allura.”

“Well Allura, I’m Sahan.”

“Nice to meet you, Sahan.” 

Sahan studies Allura, tapping her chin. 

“So, Allura. How does a nice young girl like yourself end up here, tied to a post?”

“Why don’t you ask Lotor?”

“Because i’m asking you.” Sahan frowns. “Now don’t make me ask again, I may be old but I still know how to discipline an unruly child.”

Allura smirks at that, which Sahan doesn’t seem to like.

“I’m here because I was trying to help some alteans that I thought wanted to be free of Lotor. It turned out to be a trap and I was imprisoned here.”

“And why would you think someone would want to escape from here?”

“Because believe it or not, Lotor isn’t who you think he is. He’s an imposter who’s manipulating your affections so he can use you as pawns in his father’s war.”

Sahan studies her for a long moment. “...are you a loon?”

“I’m not crazy, fi that’s what you’re asking.”

The old woman chuckles. “Well you must think I’m one then, if you expect me to be able to swallow that story.”

“Oh? And you haven’t noticed anything strange about Lotor, since his return? Forgotten names? Unusual behavior? Bringing strangers into the colony? Fighting alongside the Galra Empire, the institution which displaced you all in the first place?”

Sahan says nothing, opting to pilfer through her basket instead.

“Let’s...pretend I think your words hold some weight. I didn’t say they do, but let’s...pretend. Who would that make you then? You’re altean, that’s for sure. But I’ve lived here as long as anyone, and I don’t recognize you. Where are you from? Are there other surviving alteans on the outside?”

“I’ll answer your last question first: Not really. To my knowledge only myself and one other survived, besides those from this colony. As for who I really am…” Allura straightens. “I am the last of the royal altean line. Daughter of King Alfor, I am Princess Allura. And whether you believe it or not, I am here to help my people.”

“Princess, huh?” Sahan says skeptically.

“Ask Lotor yourself, if you do not believe me.  I think he will admit to that much, though I’m certain he will call me a coward and a traitor to my people with the same breath.”

“Well if you really are the Princess then-”

“Sahan!? What are you doing over there? Don’t listen to that viper!” An older man calls over.

“Oh stuff it down your gullet, Merv! I can talk to whoever I please!”

The old man reddened at that, but Sahan paid him no heed and turned back to Allura.

“So girl, if you’re the Princess, then where have you been all these years?”

“My father, King Alfor sent my advice Coran and I away to protect the Castle of Lions and the secrets of Voltron from Zarkon. We slept for many millennia in stasis, until new Paladins arrived to help us begin to fight back against the Galra Empire.”

Merv, maintaining a foul expression, slowly walks over to the pair. He stops dozen feet or so back, and continued to look on disapprovingly, but said nothing more.

“So if that really is true then...you used to live on old Altea?” Sahan asks carefully.

Allura smiles and nods. “It was the most beautiful planet in the universe…”

As she continues to talk, more curious alteans approach. If questioned, Sahan always gives a curt reply and asks Allura to continue. However, as the number of alteans grows, the more they simply listen. She smiles and winks when she sees Ayden in the crowd. He returns the expression. 

“...and if the wind hit them in the right way, it sounded like those whispering trees were singing.”

The alteans are glued to Allura’s every word on the subject of Altea.

Sahan smiles wistfully. “My...grandmother told me about those. She used to tell me lots of stories of how grand old altea was.”

“It certainly was…” Allura remarks, equally wistful.

The two are silent for a moment. Then, Sahan seems to notice the crowd around them for the first time. She sweeps her gaze across them, and nods seeming satisfied by the number.

“Allura,” She says, growing serious, “there's something I’m going to ask you, and by stars you better answer me truthfully.”

“Alright.” Allura nods for her to continue.

Sahan takes a breath. “...many of our youths have gone to fight alongside Lotor in those monstrous contraptions. Many have not come back. Did you kill any of them?”

Allura’s eyes blaze. “You have been lied to. Those altean pilots are alive.”

The is a series of gasps and mumbles. Sahan puts up a hand silencing them. She studies Allura, as if searching for any sign of deception.

“...can you prove this?”

Allura frowns with uncertainty. However after a moment her eyes widen.

“I believe I can! If those alteans died in battle, there’s no way I would know any of their names, would there?”

“...perhaps.”

Allura draws in a breath. “Dramor, Lagmor, Gratva…”

As she rattles off names, many from the crowd let out sounds of shock and joy. 

“...Vatta.” Allura finishes.

  Sahan’s eyes widen but she otherwise remains guarded. 

“I’m going to need a little more than that.”

Allura thinks for a moment. “Well Gratva is a stubborn older fellow…”

“That he is.” Sahan nods. “What about Vatta?”

She considers. “...perhaps it was my imagination but there seemed to be something between her and that Dramor boy-”

“That’s her. For reasons I’ll never fathom she loves that fool-boy.”

  Sahan lets out a sigh of relief and smiles warmly. “Thank you.”

Allura nods in reply. 

“So you believe me then?”

“About them being alive? Yes. I said nothing about the rest of it.”

“And yet, this means that Lotor lied to you.”

“Or he was mistaken.”

Allura sighs longsufferingly. “I understand your hesitation but-”

“All of you are to return to your duties!” A voice bellows through the crowd. Luca walks through the crowd of alteans. They collectively look down as if in guilt. Except for Sahan, of course. Luca strides up to stare Allura in the face.

“You are not to speak to them.”

“Or what?” Allura replies.

“There will be consequences.” She turns back to the alteans. “Leave now.  Lotor’s orders. This woman’s propaganda is clearly affecting you all. Return to your duties.”

The alteans quickly disperse, with only a handful hesitating.

“Thank you, Allura.” Sahan says quickly. “For telling me that my granddaughter still lives.”

 “And thank you for listening.”

Sahan smiles. “Well after a certain young man vouched for you, I had to find out for myself.”

Allura looks over at Ayden and nods in appreciation.

“You will return to your duties.” Luca repeats.

“Luca I remember when you were in diapers don’t you talk down to me.”

Luca hesitates but ultimately remains her stance. Sahan gives Allura one last nod, before turning to walk away, with the remaining alteans in tow. Luce turns as well but stops,  shooting a curious look over her shoulder.

“You can’t really think we’ll turn on Lotor.”

Allura shrugs. Luca scoff and looks as if to leave, but hesitates once more. When she speaks next it seems to be with a great deal of effort.

“...why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you save me? When the trap was sprung, you threw me out of the way.”

“It...was the right thing to do.”

“I betrayed you, I’m your enemy!” Luca hisses. “That makes no sense!”

“That’s not the way I see it.” Allura says simply.

Luca stares at her, shifting from foot to foot. Then, throwing up her hands in frustration, she stomps off, leaving a smirking Allura behind.

***

When Keith and Shiro return to the briefing room, they are surprised to find a commotion among the room’s occupants. It seemed to somewhere between argument and discussion.

“What’s going on?” Keith asks, and all eyes turn to him. Then, they shift over to Pidge, who adjusts her glasses nervously.

“That data that we stole just finished decrypting. I’ve been spending the past few minutes going over it and trying to interpret what it all means…”

“And?”

Pidge sucks in a deep breath, and forces herself to  look Keith in the eye. “I know what happened to the Dark Paladin’s reality. I know why they came here.”

“Go on.” Keith says, uneasy.

“It's all detailed here in Honerva’s notes.” Pidge brings up an image of Voltron, with several energy readouts beside it. “Zarkon a machine unlike any other and what could be done with it is almost unfathomable to any sane person. Unfortunately Honerva and Zarkon aren’t sane. They thought that Voltron could serve as a conduit for all the universe’s supply of quintessence.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means that they were going to open the floodgates of the quintessence field, with Voltron as the focal point. They were going to try and energize Voltron completely with all the quintessence in their universe.”

“Like what Lotor did with Scincline?” 

“No.” Lotor shakes his head. “What I did only soaked up a tiny portion of that sea of energy. Zarkon was trying to draw in the whole space-damned ocean.”

“But isn’t that...infinite?”

“Pretty much.” Pidge nods. “The amount of energy that would be funnelled into Voltron would effectively be endless. If Zarkon were to be inside Voltron when that happened assuming he survived...well he’d basically become all powerful. All the universe’s energy at his disposal. The notes say that Zarkon wanted to reshape the universe to his will, to make a reality where no one could ever resist his rule again.”

There is a collective shiver among the rooms inhabitants.

“Well...what happened?” Keith finally ask.

“Their calculations were wrong.” Pidge explains. “Nothing, not even Voltron could accept all of that energy at once. Voltron survived but the strain that trying to funnel all of that energy put on the fabric of space-time was unbearable. It actually frayed the fabric of their entire universe. They didn’t have much time after that. They used all the energy they were able to draw in to bore a hole into our reality, and the rest of it is history. The Darktron reality is just...dead. Torn to pieces.” 

The room grows silent. Keith swallows hard, and forces himself to ask the question on everyone’s mind.

“...do you know what they’re going to do next.”

Pidge looks sick. “Some of the notes were more recent. The reports there indicate that...they’re going to try again. ”

“They...they’d really risk destroying a second universe? After what happened the first time?”

“Yes, but they have a resource they didn’t have before: the alteans. They have a unique relationship with quintessence and the colony was pretty much a gold-mine for them. Honerva plans  open another breach to the quintessence field with the modified teleduv, and then use alteans in robeasts to filter the flow of quintessence, before in turn passing it off to their Voltron. With enough of the alteans she thinks she manage the massive flow of quintessence this time.”

“Is she right?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. The amount of math here...I could spend years going through it all.”

“So in other words, we have two nightmare scenarios. We just don’t know which one is most likely.”

“That’s pretty much it.”

Keith closes his eyes and sighs. When he opens his eyes, they are hard as stone.

“Then I don’t think I need to tell anyone in this room that failure is not an option. We will not let this happen to our reality. We’re going to stop Zarkon, and that starts with getting Allura back. We’re gonna need her to form Voltron and kick Zarkon and his cronies back down the hole they crawled into our reality from.”

He turns to Lotor. “We’ll do it your way. What do you need?”

“A ship. Fast one, with stealth.” 

“Done.”

“And, whether I like it or not, I suspect I’ll have some company.” Lotor’s eyes flicker over to the blades, Acxa in particular.

“That’s right.”

“Then the only other thing I need is form you, is to distract Zarkon.”

“I think we can manage that.” Keith nods, he sweeps his gaze across the allied leaders of the Coalition. “Any question.”

There are none.

“Good.” His eyes narrow. “Let’s go get our Princess back.”

[mojave-pete]

IT’S GROUNDHOG DAY. AGAIN.

Will Hillary see her shadow and run for president a third time?

Many people, including H. A. Goodman and myself have said she will. Hillary just came out and said she ‘feels the urge’ to run again. Of course she does. She’s a narcissistic sociopath who has craved the power of the presidency since she was a young woman. Running for president is an addiction she can’t kick.

She went on a tour to promote her book about ‘gutsy women.’ A boring documentary was made about her. She’s constantly in the public eye. So why hasn’t she announced already?

There are a variety of reasons. Her health cannot have improved all that much. She could not handle the stress and pressure of running in 2016. Remember when she passed out and was tossed like a side of beef into a waiting black medical ban?

Remember her head injury and subsequent seizures? Remember her constant coughing?

She must know she can’t repeat that and so most likely she’ll present herself as a savior in a rigged convention this summer. Everyone knows none of the other candidates stand a chance against Trump anyway. The one who was fresh, original, and had a modicum of integrity was Tulsi Gabbard and Hillary promptly slandered her as a Russian agent.

Hillary will continue to play the reluctant candidate. She will avoid the stress of debates, traveling, and public speaking until after she steals the nomination from Bernie once again.

I want Hillary to run again. Seeing her lose again to Trump would be a glorious. She needs further humiliation as payback for years of dirty deed doing. The danger is she will double down on her rigging, including votes from illegal immigrants, hacked voting machines, more dead people voting, and so on. I don’t think that will be a factor, because Trump will compensate with his landslide of support.

Hillary casts a long, cold shadow of corruption.

—Ben Garrison

[treidor]

bells ring, the birds sing. The war is over. He had made it, against all odds. There are people surrounding him, some still living some hollowed corpses strewn about the ground. The living work to dispose of their dead, their heads hung like fruit from the trees and in spite of all the carnage life begins to thrive again. This time there were no walls. Was this what freedom truly felt like? In the pit of his stomach there are rocks, weighing down the guilt. He knows he is the one person who deserves to stand here the least. Yet there is a modicum of hope within him that maybe he could find peace now, somehow. He can slip away and carry on.

There is a woman, clad in the Garrison uniform. She is exhausted, staggering to her feet and something clicks in his head, urging him to help her stand. ❛ You fought well. You must’ve to have made it. ❜ It was absent-minded, maybe it was more for himself than her.

/ @belzinone​​  ✗

[jenniferrpovey]

More The Lay of Lady Percival stuff

As “Look inside” doesn’t work on pre orders, I figured I’d tempt you guys with an excerpt!

The ancient hill fort loomed, torn by the wind that came off the sea. From its ramparts one could almost see Gaul, the narrowest part of the sea splashing, beneath it, against cliffs as white as snow. Tucked below, not far from the port, the villa seemed cozy in comparison, hints of flickering light coming from the windows.

The young woman had walked some distance from the villa. The ships she watched were all leaving the harbor. Galleys, and even from where she was, she heard the drums. Beat, stroke. Beat, stroke. She imagined the slaves, large men, bare torsos sweating in the summer heat as they bent to the oars.

On the decks, the soldiers milled a little, finding places offering a modicum of comfort. Was her soldier amongst them, the last of the Legionnaires to depart Britain's shores? Rome could simply no longer afford to garrison these far reaches.

The Empire had not fallen with a resounding thud, but slowly, withering away like an unpicked grape. Persy watched. Was he with them?

He had been an officer, a leader of men, but would he stay for her? She felt her heart lift towards her throat. If he stayed, they would wed. Even in these uncertain times, with the Saxons on every shore and the Norsemen a-viking in the north, marriage meant something.

The fact that her soldier was of those northern bloodlines meant nothing. If he stayed, then she would know he had chosen...

"Are you Briton, Norseman, or Roman?" Her own words from the last time they had spoken echoed in her head.

"Did I not agree to a handfasting in the old style?" Even the recollection of his voice was enough to cause a stirring within her.

It had been properly done, quietly, by a woman who still remembered such things, who had not fallen entirely into the Roman style of worship. Dangerous, these days, with the Christ-cult now the only religion it was legal to practice.

Persephone lowered her hands to her belly. It was still flat. She had not told him, wanting him to stay for her, not out of obligation to a child. True, by the old ways, he should wed her, fertility having been proven.

She simply did not want to hold him, to trap him.

So young, he was, for the position he had held. Too young to retire, but under normal circumstances, he would have wed her and stayed. Many did, legionnaires and auxiliaries sent to serve in other parts of the Empire, where it was felt they would be less likely to desert.

Persephone had a childhood friend who's skin was as dark as wood, her father having come from some place far to the south. From Nubia, south of Egypt.

With what seemed like the strokes of a thousand oars, the ships streamed south. A tear rolled down her cheek. He must have gone with them. He knew where she waited. He would have come by now.

Slowly, she turned, and walked away, but not to the villa. There had been a grove, once, past the fort. That was where her steps led her. The Christers had not yet claimed the site, as they had so many others, for their temples.

They were almost like a plague, she thought. Some were good men and women, but some...

Some did nothing but try to convert everyone in sight. They had, no doubt, rejoiced in Constantine's conversion. And it seemed that they were always miserable.

Persy would not follow their path, which would condemn her child as a bastard.

#

"Gwydion, Gwydion, slow down!"

The toddler stopped, but punctuated it with, "No."

She had chosen a British name for her son. Perhaps it was because they had to be British now, not Roman. Perhaps because she did not want to remember the other half of his heritage.

There was much of Arthur about his features, although he had his mother's dark hair, sure to be black before he matured. She quickened her pace, caught him up in her arms. "Do you want to see the warlord or not?"

He squirmed, but briefly. The warlord. The man the tribes had chosen to lead their united warband. Dux Bellum, the Romans would have said.

His name flowed through her mind and almost reached her lips. Arthur. It could not be her Arthur, yet...the name was the same. How rare a name was it? Rare in Britain, yes, but not in the lands of the Norse and the Dane and the Saxon. Thor was one of their gods.

He had been named after a god, just as she was. Yet, had he stayed, he would have come to her on that clifftop. Had he stayed, she would be at his side now, and Gwydion riding on his shoulders.

For a moment that vision was clearer than the reality. The one servant she had brought helped her clear a way through the crowds.

He would be acknowledged outside the Cathedral, a nod to the Christians. That was not how it should be. They should be in the great royal circle of Avesbury, not that teeming city, diminished yet still vibrant.

Gods. Persy hated Londinium.

Yes, there they were on the steps, the most important of the royals of Britain, gathered. She should be with them, her blood was as good. Something about her urgency was picked up by the crowd, who parted, leaving a clear route to the center of it all.

Gorlois of Lyonesse, his wife Ygraine and daughter Morgan. Lot of Orkney, with his wife, Gorlois' sister Morgawse...once considered the most beautiful woman in the land. Their two sons...Gawain and Galahad, the latter barely fourteen. And Leodegranz of Wales with his daughter, the fair Guinevere.

She knew she should not, but nonetheless she let her track drift to the edge of the group.

A white horse came through the crowds. It bore a figure in armor akin to that a Roman general might have worn, but a longsword rested at his side.

The warlord dismounted and removed his helm, and her heart skipped a beat. "Arthur."

His eyes turned to her, lingered, and then glided away. It was almost as if he did not recognize her.

No, his eye had gone elsewhere once it had rested not on Persephone, but on Gwydion. It was the child he denied, and the mother with him.

Then he turned to face the Kings. The Bishop of London stepped out onto the steps, where the highest of the druids, Merlin, should have stood.

"Arthur," he greeted. "Do you truly take the charge of leading our defense?"

"I do." His eyes were entirely on the bishop now.

Persy's were entirely on him. As were Gwydion's, the boy too young to understand but fascinated by the ceremony.

"Then..."

It was Morgawse who interrupted. "The Christian kings will accept him. But for those of us who follow the old ways, we want more."

Arthur turned towards her.

"If this man is to lead above even the Kings, he must be bound to the land."

"Meaning?" That word came from the bishop, and in it sounded a volume of disaste, every aspect of his tone and the shift in his stance revealing that he wished nothing of such pagan rites.

"He must wed a woman of our royal line." Morgawse's eyes fell first on Morgan, then on Guinevere, then, after a long moment, on Persephone.

She bit back 'He already has'. Why was he betraying her? For his eyes did not move towards her.

Instead, he regarded the two other women, one dark, one fair who faced him. And she knew the truth of his choice. Morgan was as pagan as they came, rumored to be both a powerful witch and priestess of the terrible Morrigan. Leodegranz was Christian, as, one could presume, was his daughter.

"Then, I will wed Guinevere of Wales."

Hatred and confusion boiled up within Persephone's heart. She would see him brought down. She would...

...she could not. Without one unified leader, they would fall. So, instead, she stood there, watching.

Watching as he vanished into the church. Then, she understood. Arthur had converted to Christianity. A wife named after a Greek god could be nothing but an embarrassment to him and a bastard child could only be worse.

Yet, he owed her. Could he not see that?

She vowed to speak with him, before he could wed fair Guinevere. She had one thing that delicate, blonde woman with the slender hips did not.

She had his son.

Pre-order links:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07XKC7DWG

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[violethowler]

The People's Champion: A Meta on Shiro's Missing Year

I keep seeing this perception of Shiro in the Voltorn fandom, particularly post-Season 8, that treats the nickname of “Champion” like it’s something sinister linked to his time being experimented on by Haggar and that the ultimate expression of it is usually along the lines of what we got in The Black Paladins and the end of The Colony, with him serving as a brainwashed puppet who coldly does whatever Haggar commands. The fandom likes to argue that the name “Champion” was a major part of his suffering at the hands of the empire. Except… that’s not what canon tells us.

The first time the name Champion is uttered in the series, in relation to Shiro, is by captured slaves. Fellow prisoners of the empire who were there with him in the arena. The only other characters to refer to him by that moniker were Pidge, who was just as confused over the nickname as he was, and Haggar, who from her tone of voice was clearly making fun of him. It’s very telling that Shiro only had a strong negative reaction was with Haggar, and that was more of a reaction to who was saying it. When Pidge and the other prisoners use it, the worst he expresses is concern over what he might have done in order to earn it (yes, he denied that he would have hurt Matt, but that was unconnected to the name itself).

Season 1 makes it clear that “Champion” was not a moniker given to him by his captors and tormentors. It was what his fellow prisoners called him. When the captured aliens rescued in “The Rise of Voltron” refer to Shiro as Champion, they say “if anyone can get us out of here, he can.” We know Shiro didn’t escape until Ulaz rescued him, but one of his first flashbacks back in the first episode clearly shows Sentries charging at him. But that raises the question of what happen. While it is admittedly disappointing that we don’t get any verbal acknowledgement of this, something I’ve come to realize is that the writing in Voltron is a lot like a pointillistic painting: all of the details are there, but you need to take a few steps backward in order for you brain to process the work as a complete image instead of a series of colored dots.

When the prisoners aboard Sendak’s battle cruiser recognize Shiro, the grey one (also the only one with lines) says “if anyone can get us out of here, he can.” There is no trace of doubt in his voice. He speaks with certainty that the Champion is here to free them, and not only that, that he will succeed. That pretty much tells us what Shiro did to earn his nickname. Just being a tough gladiator wouldn’t be enough to earn that kind of reverence from his fellow prisoners. If he was just a gladiator, the other prisoners were more likely to fear him instead.

But when you combine that reverence the prisoners have for him with his brief flashback of sentires charging at him, it becomes clear that while he never successfully escaped on his own until Ulaz, Shiro has pulled off multiple prison breaks before. And for the name of Champion to have that level of trust attached, each one of those prison breaks would have had to have been successful. The fact that he was Haggar’s pet project was probably be the only thing that would’ve saved Shiro from execution each time. And with the fact that the name itself didn’t prompt any flashes of memory the way Allura saying Zarkon’s name did earlier in the pilot episode, I don’t think Shiro was aware of the moniker his fellow prisoners had given him until that day.

Fans latched on to the fact that Haggar was aware of the nickname and took it as a hint towards what her ultimate plans for him had been. But while fanon interpretations of his Champion persona regard him as a cold, brainwashed killing machine, every use of the name in canon by someone not part of the empire carries an undertone of reverence. The Champion was a beacon of hope to his fellow prisoners. Someone who, when all the details we get in Season 1 are taken together, staged several successful breakouts from Central Command that allowed his fellow prisoners to escape the clutches of the Galra Empire.

Guys, Shiro was basically a proto-Spartacus in space. 

So, when the moniker is alluded to in Clear Day, it’s a reminder that as much as we all want to see him fly the Black Lion again, there is more to Shiro than being the Black Paladin. He isn’t just the Captain of the Atlas. He isn’t just an ex-Paladin, or a former Garrison pilot, or a diplomat. He’s the man who spent an entire year held prisoner and tortured by a hostile regime, but used the small modicum of status and privilege (if being Haggar’s lab rat could even be called such, but as I said before, it would have kept his head off the chopping block) his captors had unintentionally given him to help his other prisoners escape to freedom at the cost of his own. And even after all these years that heroism is still remembered. 

I have plenty of issues with the way the season we got in December treated Shiro, but the reminder of the Champion nickname is not one of them. It’s a reminder that you can take away the Black Lion. You could even take away the Atlas. But Takashi Shirogane always has been and always will be a hero.

[timhatchlive]

A King Like The Rest

It must be noted that Saul is the answer to the people's request for a "king like all the other nations" around them. The reason this must be noted is that Saul is not a King like the Lord God. That will be revealed later in an unexpected character to come. So far in the narrative, we see the elements in Saul that the Israelites would have seen in the kings of other nations. First Saul is from a prestigious family. 1 Samuel 9:1 (ESV) There was a man of Benjamin whose name was Kish, the son of Abiel, son of Zeror, son of Becorath, son of Aphiah, a Benjaminite, a man of wealth. Second Saul is tall and handsome. 1 Samuel 9:2 (ESV) Saul, a handsome young man. There was not a man among the people of Israel more handsome than he. From his shoulders upward he was taller than any of the people. It would be wise to remember Israel's history for being short and visually insignificant to the nations around them. Saul is the first Israelite noted for his stature. Later in the narrative, we see that Saul cannot find his father's donkeys. He seems a bit inept at caring for those under his charge. When Saul is ready to give up it is his servant (not Saul) who suggests finding the prophet Samuel. Saul is not even aware of Samuel and when the servant suggests this course of action Saul's first thought is payment. 1 Samuel 9:7 (ESV) Then Saul said to his servant, “But if we go, what can we bring the man?" 

You have in Saul the makings of an earthly king like all the other nations. He looks the part, he's visually impressive and he comes from money. But he's unspiritual, he's unable to properly care for his father's herd and he considers spiritual advice to be a financially based transaction as most kings did in the ancient world. 

Saul is the king you get when you reject the Lord God as King. 

But what is most notable about Saul is his lack of any experience with the Lord prior to his calling. Samuel will unpack what is going to happen in chapter 10. 

1 Samuel 10:2–7 (ESV) When you depart from me today, you will meet two men by Rachel’s tomb in the territory of Benjamin at Zelzah, and they will say to you, ‘The donkeys that you went to seek are found, and now your father has ceased to care about the donkeys and is anxious about you, saying, “What shall I do about my son?” ’ 3 Then you shall go on from there farther and come to the oak of Tabor. Three men going up to God at Bethel will meet you there, one carrying three young goats, another carrying three loaves of bread, and another carrying a skin of wine. 4 And they will greet you and give you two loaves of bread, which you shall accept from their hand. 5 After that you shall come to Gibeath-elohim, where there is a garrison of the Philistines. And there, as soon as you come to the city, you will meet a group of prophets coming down from the high place with harp, tambourine, flute, and lyre before them, prophesying. 6 Then the Spirit of the LORD will rush upon you, and you will prophesy with them and be turned into another man. 7 Now when these signs meet you, do what your hand finds to do, for God is with you.

Note that Saul's spiritual lack will be made up for by the grace of God. The grace of God exhibited in Saul's life are these: His problem with the donkeys is taken care of, he can relax. He is led and directed by others to the place where God lives (Bethel). He is provided food and wine at no cost. Finally, he encounters a group of people who create an atmosphere for Saul to experience the Lord. Now the question is this, why does God do this for His people when they really deserved an inept albeit impressive looking king due to their rejection of Him? Because God considers His people HIS possession. And though they make some unwise decisions along the way, the Lord will graciously guide them through the experience of realizing what they "want" is not what they need. The Lord will do this for us regularly. And for that, we should be thankful. His grace covers us through the unwise decisions behind us. Through Saul, Israel will experience a modicum of victory but ultimately find Saul's kingship not what they hoped. Their hearts will be primed for a man after God's own heart. In the end, even our mistakes are leveraged to turn our hearts from worldly images of success to the abiding love of our Father.

via Blogger https://ift.tt/2ABNe2Z

[med-man77-blog]

#FalklandsWar 1982 Operation Mikado... By Neil Tweedie and Thomas Harding Five in the morning, May 21 1982, seven weeks into the Falklands conflict. The Argentine radar operator at Rio Grande airbase, on the island of Tierra del Fuego, is looking forward to his bed. Outside, rain is blowing across the deserted airfield. The blip appears out of nowhere, 25 miles out to sea, coming in fast and low. Suddenly alert, the operator calls over his duty officer, but the blip has already faded. Out over the South Atlantic, two C130 Hercules transports of 47 Squadron Royal Air Force battle through the night. Buffeted by strong headwinds, they skim the waves at 50 feet to evade detection. The co-pilots peer through night‑vision goggles, guiding the pilots towards the coast, one lapse enough to cause disaster. Night vision is in its infancy, the devices a secret gift from the Americans. Tension mounts as landfall over Argentina approaches, the conclusion of a 13‑hour flight from Ascension Island involving two mid-air rendezvous with Victor tankers. Behind the crews, in the cavernous holds of the Hercules, some 60 men of B Squadron, 22nd SAS Regiment, ready their weapons and vehicles, Land Rovers bristling with machine guns. This is a one‑way mission, the best outcomes being escape to neutral Chile, or capture. The worst outcome is all too obvious. Minutes later, the C130s slam down on the runway at Rio Grande. The rear doors are already open, the lowered ramps scraping the ground. In an instant, the Land Rovers are charging straight for the apron where four French-built Super Etendard fighters of the Argentine navy stand. Some of the SAS fling charges into the engine intakes while others search for the Etendard pilots, who are to be shot on sight. Another group search for the weapon that above all others threatens Britain with defeat in the South Atlantic: the Exocet. Moments later, the first charges explode. Gunfire erupts. The world dissolves into chaos. Had it happened, Operation Mikado would have been the most dramatic raid staged by Britain since the Second World War, a desperate coup de main intended to remove the Exocet threat to the Royal Navy task force seeking to retake the Falklands. With the approach of the 30th anniversary of the war, some of those involved have cast fresh light on an operation that can be seen either as an audacious assault in the finest traditions of the SAS, or a hubristic suicide mission. “In my own mind I saw it as a one-way ticket,” says Tom Rounds, navigator in one of two Hercules crews trained for Mikado. “In my final letter to my wife I said as much. We all had our bags packed. If we didn’t come back, they just had to put them on the next plane back to the UK and hand my stuff to the missus.” The SAS, known as “hooligans” to the RAF crews, began planning assaults on Argentine airfields within days of the invasion of the Falklands on April 2, and a month before Exocet, a French-built sea‑skimming anti-ship missile, burst on to the world stage. “The planners had decided that fighter bases were acceptable targets,” says Rounds. “We reckoned it would take 20 to 30 minutes. The vehicles would rush out full of hooligans to reap mayhem. We would seal the aircraft up and take off in a minute – real Second World War stuff.” Training was intense, involving simulated nocturnal attacks on RAF airfields from Kinloss in Scotland to Binbrook in Lincolnshire. The rule book was torn up as the Hercules roared low over Britain, trying to get into airfields without being spotted by ground radar. “The station commanders were told that we might arrive at any time and would not call the control tower,” says Rounds. “We came in as low as 50 to 100 feet.” Rounds’ pilot was Jim Norfolk. “It was huge fun,” he says. “So exciting, so bloody dangerous as well. There was no night vision, there were no runway lights. One time, the rear aeroplane ended up in front. We passed each other in the descent and never knew a thing about it.” On April 19, Argentina deployed four of its five Super Etendards to Rio Grande. Only five air-launched Exocets were available. On May 4, two of the fighters, each carrying one Exocet, went in search of prey. They found it in the shape of HMS Sheffield, alone on radar picket duty. She had three minutes to react before one missile scythed through her hull, killing 20 men. Shock at the loss of a modern destroyer to a single guided weapon was profound, but solutions to the threat posed by the remaining missiles were few. Argentina’s Patagonian airfields were 4,000 miles from Ascension, Britain’s nearest airfield, making a sustained RAF bombing campaign impossible. A Sea Harrier strike would involve exposing the task force’s two irreplaceable aircraft carriers, Hermes and Invincible, to attack. Enter Brigadier Peter de la Billière, director of the SAS and a favourite of Margaret Thatcher since the Iranian embassy siege in London in 1980. He now championed the Mikado assault to the War Cabinet. There was a problem, however. Some RAF ground controllers claimed to have spotted the Hercules approaching their airfields. Surprise was the essence of Mikado, and early detection would be fatal. “There was a degree of professional pride,” says Rounds. “Air traffic control was saying, 'We spotted you way out.’ I thought, 'No, you didn’t.’ Also, they were forewarned about our coming – the Argentines wouldn’t be. Nevertheless, it created negativity that was picked up by some of the SAS.” Major John Moss, commander of the SAS’s B Squadron, became steadily less convinced about the operation’s viability, matters coming to a head as his unit prepared to leave Hereford for Ascension. The Argentines were believed to be taking steps to thwart such an attack, garrisoning airbases and dispersing aircraft. A major setback occurred on May 17, when a covert mission to insert an SAS team to observe Rio Grande was aborted. The helicopter involved flew on to Chile, where the crew and SAS team gave themselves up. Chile was a secret ally of Britain throughout the war, allowing an RAF Hercules to be based first on Easter Island in the Pacific and later on the mainland. The aircraft markings were painted out and the crew disguised with American-style flying suits. Moss’s objections earned him summary dismissal. In his autobiography, de la Billière states: “I was dismayed to find that the attitude of this unit [B Squadron] remained lukewarm. The trouble, I found, lay in the squadron commander, who himself did not believe in the proposed operation.” A more gung-ho CO was appointed and B Squadron shipped out for Ascension. Despite the failure of the covert reconnaissance mission, Mikado proceeded. It came nearest to taking place between May 19 and 23 when one, not two, Hercules was prepared for the attack. “I had a hearty all-day breakfast,” says Rounds. “Jim [Norfolk] was pacing around smoking, going, 'Rounds, how can you eat at a time like this?’ “It’s not bravery, it’s just backing yourself. If you’re worried about death, you’re in the wrong business. Get out and become a bloody accountant. It’s war. You are trained to fight and die, if need be. It didn’t matter if we couldn’t get out, but we had to get in. There was always a good chance of that. If the aircraft got shot up on the runway it didn’t matter, as long as the hooligans destroyed the fighters. Coming home was a bonus.” “You knew you weren’t coming back because there was no tanker plan for the return leg,” says Norfolk. “The plan was for us to sit on the runway waiting for the hooligans to do their stuff and come back, but they had no intention of doing that. They were going to bog off on foot to Chile, and I was going to take the aircraft and do the same.” Would it have worked? “The SAS were bloody good. If they could get off the aircraft they would have destroyed everything in sight. There would have been a lot of revenge, though, which probably would have been directed at the Hercules. “The Mikado raid? I thought it was bloody stupid, actually. Too bloody far. We didn’t go because it wasn’t authorised. Hereford had run wild with this idea. Luckily, our flight commander was down on Ascension, keeping us on the sensible side of hooliganism. With half an hour to go, he told us no order had been received. It came down to Margaret Thatcher, I suppose. It would have been too much of an escalation.” “We were geared up to go,” says Rounds, “a hair’s breadth away from the trigger being pulled. It was a huge anticlimax. The intensity of the training was immense.” John Moss has remained silent on Mikado for 30 years, but now allows himself a modicum of self-defence. In a pointed reference to de la Billière, he says: “Only four people knew what was happening, I was one of them. One person, who has written a book, didn’t actually know everything as he wasn’t at the training. Afterwards we all shook hands and decided we would never say anything about it, but one person decided to do otherwise. “I put my point of view across at the time, which I felt was the right one. After leaving the Army I went down to Argentina to look at things in a bit more detail. I’m happy with the decision I made. It was the correct one and I couldn’t care less what other people have done.” Argentina’s remaining air-launched Exocets were to claim one more victim, the container ship Atlantic Conveyor, sunk by a single hit on May 25, Argentina’s national day. With her went Chinook and Wessex helicopters intended for the British assault on Port Stanley. “Moss articulated what a lot of his men felt, and took the flak,” says Rounds. “Personally, I regret we didn’t do it. I really wanted to be tested. But we would have been lucky to get out.”

[xtruss]

Biden’s Debacle

The Fiasco in Afghanistan is a Grave Blow to America’s Standing and Much of the Blame Lies Squarely with Joe Biden

If the propagandists of the Taliban had scripted the collapse of America’s 20-year mission to reshape Afghanistan, they could not have come up with more harrowing images. As insurgents swept into Kabul, desperate Afghans, terrified about what the victorious zealots might do, chased departing American cargo planes down the runway, trying to clamber into the landing gear and inevitably falling to their deaths. The American-backed government had surrendered without a fight—something that American officials were insisting would not happen only days before. Afghans were left in such a horrifying bind that clinging to the wheels of a hurtling aircraft seemed their best option.

America has spent $2trn in Afghanistan; more than 2,000 American lives have been lost, not to mention countless Afghan ones. And yet, even if Afghans are more prosperous now than when America invaded, Afghanistan is back to square one. The Taliban control more of the country than they did when they lost power, they are better armed, having seized the weapons America showered on the Afghan army, and they have now won the ultimate affirmation: defeating a superpower.

The insurgents have made a show of magnanimity, pledging that they will not take revenge on those who worked for the toppled government and insisting that they will respect women’s rights, within their interpretation of Islamic law. But that interpretation kept most girls out of school and most women confined to their homes when the group was last in power, in the 1990s. Brutal punishments—floggings, stonings, amputations—were common. The freedoms that urban Afghans took for granted over the past 20 years have just gone up in smoke. It is an appalling outcome for Afghanistan’s 39m people, and deeply damaging for America.

It is not surprising that America failed to turn Afghanistan into a democracy. Nation-building is difficult, and few imagined that it could become Switzerland. Nor was it unreasonable for Joe Biden, America’s president, to want to draw the conflict to a close. America has spent 20 years in a place of only modest strategic importance about which most American voters have long since ceased to care. The original reason for the invasion—to dismantle al-Qaeda’s main base of operations—was largely achieved, though that achievement could now be reversed.

The claim that America is showing itself to be a fickle ally by allowing the Afghan government to fall is also overblown, given the duration, scale and expense of the American deployment. The defunct regime in Kabul was not an ally in the way that Germany or Japan is. It was far weaker, more corrupt and completely dependent on America for its survival.

But none of that absolved America of the responsibility to withdraw in an orderly fashion. Mr Biden failed to show even a modicum of care for the welfare of ordinary Afghans. The irony is that America had a plan to do just that, which had been in the works for several years. It had hugely scaled down its garrison, from around 100,000 troops in 2011 to fewer than 10,000 by 2017, along with a similar number from other nato countries. They were not supposed to defeat the Taliban, but prevent the Afghan army’s collapse, largely through air power, and so force the Taliban to the negotiating table.

Apologists for Mr Biden argue that his predecessor, Donald Trump, had already scuppered this plan by trying to rush it to a conclusion before last year’s presidential election in America. It is true that Mr Trump was so desperate to strike a quick deal that he accepted preposterous terms, agreeing to end America’s deployment without even securing a ceasefire, let alone a clear plan to end the civil war. He had already reduced the American presence to little more than 2,000 soldiers by the time Mr Biden took office, and had promised to get the rest out by May 1st.

But Mr Biden did not have to stick to this agreement. In fact, he didn’t entirely, refusing to keep to the original timetable. The Taliban were clearly not holding up their end of the bargain, pressing their advantage on the battlefield instead of negotiating in good faith with the Afghan government. That could have been grounds to halt or reverse the American withdrawal. There was little political pressure within America to bring the war to a speedy conclusion. Yet Mr Biden was working to an arbitrary and flippant deadline of his own, seeking to end the war by the 20th anniversary of 9/11. Although the speed of the Afghan government’s implosion surprised most observers, including this newspaper, America’s soldiers and politicians were among the most naively optimistic, insisting that a total collapse was a vanishingly remote prospect. And when it became clear that the Afghan army was melting away, Mr Biden pressed on intransigently, despite the likely consequences.

As a result, America’s power to deter its enemies and reassure its friends has diminished. Its intelligence was flawed, its planning rigid, its leaders capricious and its concern for allies minimal. That is likely to embolden jihadists everywhere, who will take the Taliban’s victory as evidence that God is on their side. It will also encourage adventurism on the part of hostile governments such as Russia’s or China’s, and worry America’s friends. Mr Biden has defended the withdrawal by arguing that Afghanistan was a distraction from more pressing problems, such as America’s rivalry with China. But by leaving Afghanistan in such a chaotic fashion, Mr Biden will have made those other problems harder to deal with.

After the Fall

The shambolic withdrawal does not reduce the obligation of America and its allies to ordinary Afghans, but increases it. They should use what leverage they still have to urge moderation on the Taliban, especially in their treatment of women. The displaced will need humanitarian aid. Western countries should also admit more Afghan refugees, the ranks of whom are likely to swell, and provide generous assistance to Afghanistan’s neighbours to look after those who remain in the region. The haste of European leaders to declare that they cannot take in many persecuted Afghans even as violent zealots seize control is almost as lamentable as America’s botched exit. It is too late to save Afghanistan, but there is still time to help its people. ■

— Associated Press | August 21, 2021 Edition

[frequencied]

Frost blue, burnt umber, currant

MEME.  MEME TAG.  INBOX. ALWAYS ACCEPTING !

frost blue: does your muse enjoy the snow and cold? or are they the type to enjoy summer more?

matt's pretty ambivalent about the weather, except for one thing: in the winter, you can see the stars better. cooler air means less haze means better stargazing.

but he's also probably not terribly accustomed to the cold, considering the garrison seems to be set in the middle of a desert. he's probably one of those babs who go out in 15 degree weather in sweaters and a windbreaker because the cold is not kind to his skin.

but the stars, man. it's worth it for the stars.

burnt umber: how stable is your muse, mentally or emotionally?

stable enough. probably more stable than most, even considering his trauma. matt spent a lot of time alone in that listening outpost reflecting on what his life meant up until that point and what had happened to him and, honestly, it made him stronger. and while he may have moment of unrest and instability ( having to tell pidge about their dad, for instance ) he does try to exercise a modicum of self-care.

currant: what's something that absolutely disgusts your muse? (cna be a person, place, thing, ect)?

he's perpetually frustrated with what he feels is the sloth of more enduring species. matt is twenty-five, which means a quarter of his life is already done. when he hears people like lotor are centuries old and these longstanding issues with the galra still exist he's just... dude, seriously?

with a firm and rapidly-approaching expiry dates comes a feeling of urgency, and matt works tirelessly to try and make each day as productive as possible. the rebels and the voltron coalition have done more in a sparse handful of years than some of these organizations have done in millenia and matt genuinely does not understand why, and can only chalk it up to the fact that, when you're functionally immortal, there's never a rush for anything.

[artificial-illustrator]

First time using any 3D software since 2009, figured Garrison would be a good subject matter because no matter how horribly amateur it turned out it would still look accurate.

[jordan102791]

The Danger with Faeries and Mortals part 22

"May we get dressed, or will our departure need to be expedited?"

"We would prefer sooner rather than later, but yes, you may change your clothing," the small female says.

"Are you able to make yourselves scarce while we handle such matters?"

"Oh. Yes, of course."

"We'll... Just wait over there," Anton answers for the group, waving towards a seating area.

"Thank you," Joseph says with a tight nod. "Rebecca do you require assistance?"

"Perhaps a bit, but we certainly cannot bring the servants up here to find them," apprehension creasing her brow.

"No, I suppose not. Would you be oppose to my help?" Color dancing across the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes hiding from his own. "It's all right my dear, maybe the small lady faerie can help?"

"No, it's... It's all right. You may assist me." Her gaze finally lifting. "But if it would please, my lord, can we go simpler?"

"My dear, you can speak plainly to me. You're my wife, not some serving girl. We'll have none of this 'if it pleases my lord', what pleases you?"

"I would like very much to not have to constrict myself into a corset."

A warm smile crinkled the skin around his eyes. "Then never wear one again, if that's what you wish."

"But it is not proper of a lady."

"I worry not about what is proper, but what shall make you happy. Besides, I may be the hand of the King, but it's not as if I'm that highly thought upon. The people will be more concerned for your marriage to me than the outrage of you not being properly dressed. Now come on, let us try to get ready. There should be some clothes in the armoire for you."

She opens the armoire, smothering her in colors and shades across the spectrum, pulling out a deep purple shift. "Joseph, can you assist me in untying the back of this gown, I can't quite reach."

"Absolutely," he says turning from where he had situated himself with his back to the girl. His quiet, easy strides announcing his approach. His warm hands scorching her skin as they brush against the space between her blades. She wonders if she'll ever not feel like her skin is being licked up by flames again around this man. Some thing deep inside her telling her it is unlikely; that she'll drown in this inferno, catching only glimpses of the swirling, sunlit pools of his face and incinerates. "There. Do you require more assistance?" Words failing her, she swallows the rock in her throat, shaking her head. "All right. Let me know." The kindness, a warm salve in his voice.

Tugging and pulling, the gown skates over her skin falling to the ground. Tossing a quick glance over her shoulder, she sees the tension marking his shoulders as he ridgely keeps his back to her, giving her some modicum of privacy. Slipping into the plum dress, the silken fabric tickling her skin. "Joseph? Would you help me button up the back?"

"Yes, of course." He meets her across the room. Rebecca holding the loose bodice to her softness. She turns, lifting her hair over her shoulder to give access to the buttons. The opening parenthesized by the shimmering buttons. The fabric waiting to be nipped together ending at her lower back. With shaky hands he seizes both pieces. His fingers caressing her flawless skin, she flinches in surprise. His sharp intake of breath giving away the effect of her skin against his own has. "My apologies," when he can speak again.

She nods. "It's all right. It just surprised me, is all."

Finishing the final button, his hands slide back down to her waist, turning her to face him. He releases her from his clutches, that beg to pet more of the silken material covering her feminine form. "All done my dear." Holding out his hand to her, he asks "shall we let our... guests lead us to Fairy?" She says nothing, but entwines her hand with his.

*****

"How do the people not see you?" Joseph gestures to the cloaked faeries surrounding them.

"The cloaks hide most of the wings, and humans only see what they want to see anyways. Perhaps, they'll see a flicker of wing as we pass or the shimmer in our hair or maybe even a glow from our skin or eyes, but they'll find some way to explain it away," the female faerie answers.

"So the faeries are all around us and we're just blind to what's in front of us?"

"No, there aren't many fae her anymore. But if there were then yes. It makes it easier for the few of us that slip in and out anyways."

"So the faeries really are gone from here?"

"Obviously, we still make trips in from faerie for our own purposes, but yes. We don't stay here anymore."

"Why not?"

"The heinous beast."

"The heinous beast?"

"Yes, the one she was to marry."

"My brother? What does he have to do with the faeries?"

"Enough chatting. We'll be there soon," Anton chimed in. "The Queen will explain."

They turn a corner into an empty alleyway. The rough cobblestones marking a faded path. "This ia it? Where is the entryway? It's empty."

"Not quite. There's a portal at the end, only the fae can open it, so the humans just think it's another dead end stone wall, but it's there. It's always there."

"So this is why you all always seemed to just disappear when we would follow you?" A swift nod. "May I?"

"Certainly, but it'll just be like every other wall here."

Joseph approached the wall indicated, reaching a tentative hand towards the space that wasn't real. His hand swirling the illusion like milky glass. "It's cool to the touch," he says turning back to the waiting fae. Confusion marking their faces. "What? Is something the matter?" Rebecca now looking into their faces as well.

"You... You..." Stammers one of the faeries.

"You can enter Fairy," a look of awe stark on Anton's face.

"But how?" Asks the female.

"What do you mean he can enter Fairy? I thought you said he couldn't open the portal," Rebecca asks.

"He shouldn't be able to."

"So, you weren't doing that to show to him?"

"No, he did that all on his own." Turning back to the small man. "Are you fae?"

"I don't believe so. I've never heard story of my mother or father having any fae blood."

Anton clears his throat, regaining his composure. "Well, we should be going. I suppose if you may enter Fairy on your own that you may come to meet our queen. Perhaps she can give some insight to this situation."

Stepping through the portal revealed a land with brighter colors than Joseph would've imagined. Gilded walkways, the sun raining down from the tree tops. Clouds swirling like ink across the skies. A cluster of orange glinting in his periphery. He crouches down to examine the treasures hidden.

"What is it Joseph?"

"A citrine." He lifts it to her to see.

"It's beautiful. Do they line this whole place?" She asks the group of fae.

"No. Not particularly. No more than anywhere in the human realm. Someone must have dropped it recently. Come, let's be going. Your mother awaits."

*****

"Your majesty, we have received word from the front gate that the garrison has returned with two."

"Two? They should have only been bringing my daughter to me. Is this other fae in need of medical attention?"

"No, your highness. It would appear not, but he... he... holds the girl's hand."

"The girl? You mean your princess?"

"I would assume."

"Why would a fae be with the Princess, let alone holding her hand? Tell me more of this man." The fae guard tells of all that he was told, which wasn't much. "Very well, see them in."