Chapter Text
Keith suspected everyone hated the quiet the most. Not that he was the most talkative of the bunch, not by a long shot. It was the silent half-nods of acknowledgement and the indifferent shrugs which he figured got everyone down. Between the mumbled words and the half-eaten bowl of green goo in front of him, he felt spent. It had been two weeks since Team Voltron had its second battle against Zarkon, and this one had left him wounded and feeling hurt in more ways than one.
It had been two weeks since Shiro had disappeared without a trace.
When the news had broken, everyone had looked immediately at him. He had hated that. He still hated that so much. Just thinking about that moment made him tighten his fist, made him want to thrash about. He couldn’t stand to have so many eyes on him; he had frozen up, choked. There was a pressure on his chest that he had never quite felt before.
Shiro was nowhere to be found, and funnily enough, Keith had been given instructions in case this exact thing happened.
“I want you to lead Voltron,” Shiro had said, or at least he had said something like that. In fact, he had said it many times in recent memory. At least twice since they crash landed on that craggy gray planet with nary a hope of rescue. Keith had brushed it off at the time; Shiro was delirious with fever and thought he was dying, and Keith could forgive him.
Now that he was gone, the crushing weight of all the responsibility that Shiro had been bearing suddenly fell onto him, and Keith felt as though he was going to collapse. Did Shiro know? Is that why he told Keith? So he could abandon Voltron?
“Keith?”
Keith pushed those thoughts aside, looking at his tightly closed fist on the table. He slowly released his fingers, and blood flooded back into his palm. He made a noncommittal noise at the air. He wasn’t exactly sure who had spoken.
“You should finish your food.”
The phrase was so weirdly parental, so much like an adult chiding a child that Keith half expected Shiro to have rematerialized at the table, as though everything he had experienced thus far had been a dream. When he saw that it was Lance that said it, who was the only one who dared to look at him, his face fell. He could see Lance’s brows furrow and his shoulders tighten, unsure of how Keith was going to react. He was wound like a cat ready to flee.
“Yeah,” Keith breathed, and he saw Lance deflate with relief. Everyone was so quiet at the table, it was killing him. Pidge and Hunk tried not to look at him, for fear they would antagonize him. Hunk seemed to have a hard time finding a place to look, having long finished his food.
“You know,” Keith started, clearing his throat so it didn’t sound so scratchy from disuse. “You don’t have to stay at the table.”
All three of his fellow paladins seemed to shift uncomfortably in their chairs. It was an unnecessary comment, he knew they weren’t going to leave. They wanted to see him eating, they wanted to get him talking; to say anything, really, that wasn’t about Shiro or the situation they were in. Maybe they were waiting for his direction, waiting for him to take up the mantle as black paladin and lead Team Voltron to Zarkon’s central command and save the day, and also Shiro, and then everything could go back to normal. If only things were that simple.
They had raided Galra base after Galra base, upturning files and smashing their way through robotic soldiers to get their hands on any information they possibly could about Shiro. There was nothing. Not even an inkling of anything that could help them find him. They all assumed, if the Galra had him, that they could find him with ease. But they were wrong; Shiro could be anywhere. A nameless slave, most likely lost in a million different tired and haggard faces. But, everyone reasoned, if Pidge could locate Matt, then they could probably locate Shiro. However, they didn’t really find Matt, did they? They just knew he was somewhere not in Galra space-- safe, hopefully, and alive for now.
“Keith, stop it.”
It was Pidge this time who spoke, Keith could make that much out from under his mop of hair. At first he was confused, but then he looked down at his hand, wound so tightly around his spoon that it was shaking. The spoon made a rattling noise in his fist. He dropped the utensil and placed one hand in the other, rubbing at his skin. His fingers trembled in his other hand’s grasp.
“...Okay, dinner’s over, come on,” said Lance, who pushed his chair out from the table and collected both his and Hunk’s plate. He meandered over to Pidge, gathered up her dishes, and then hesitantly made his way over to Keith. He extended a free hand, the other dishes balanced on his other arm like he was a waiter. Keith looked down at his unfinished goo, and then handed it to Lance.
“I…” Pidge started, and everyone looked at her. She seemed to shrink even smaller than she was. “I can look again, Keith, if you want, I have time and I wouldn’t mind--”
“No,” Keith said, barely above a whisper.
“You never know, maybe I made a mistake, I think if I tweak the search this--” she started again, a little more forceful this time, as though if she said it louder it would be true.
“Please, Pidge, no.” His voice was a squeak at this point, and Pidge didn’t have the heart to continue. Lance had taken this opportunity to deposit the dishes in the kitchen, leaving just Hunk, Pidge, and Keith in the dining room. Keith couldn’t remember if Allura and Coran had been at dinner at all, or if they’d left when they were done like people should have.
Keith scooted out his chair and slowly rose to his feet. “I’m going to be in my room, if anyone needs me. You can...knock, but, if I don’t answer,” he began, and Hunk and Pidge swiftly nodded, allowing him the luxury of not finishing his sentence.
The hallways of the Castle of Lions were as quiet as they ever had been. The only sound Keith heard was the echo of his own footsteps against the not-quite metallic floors. He felt as though he was just now appreciating the sheer size of the Castle that he had called his home for months. There were so many hallways and passages, emergency chutes and maintenance tunnels that it was a wonder he had not gotten himself lost before. It was just big enough for him to wander.
He wasn’t sure what brought him to the lower decks of the Castle. They hadn’t exactly gone into a state of disuse; Keith was almost certain there was some kind of robot or machine doing the cleaning down here, but they looked dark and dreary. This part of the Castle didn’t see people often, Keith supposed. The hangars for the lions were on the opposite side, which left a wide range of the Castle relatively empty.
Eventually, he knew where his feet were taking him. He knew when he retrieved his dagger from his pocket, looking upon the blue symbol shining bright in the darkness of the bowels of the Castle.
“Paladin.”
Keith looked up. In front of him was a lounge of some sort, meant maybe for whoever used to live down here in the Castle 10,000 years ago. A wide open window exposed the inky blackness of space, dotted by brilliant stars. He was sick of space by now.
In the middle of the window, with his back to Keith, stood Kolivan. There was something unnerving about the Galra, Keith thought as he approached him. Not just Kolivan, but his race as a whole. Even though they differed greatly, the great height the Galra reached made them formidable foes, and Kolivan was no exception. He stood a good three-fourths the height of the window, and was cloaked in the light of the stars, a white sheen on the armor of the Blade of Marmora.
Despite hesitating, Keith ultimately joined Kolivan by the window. There was nothing but black for miles out there, and it reminded Keith of just how big the universe itself was. Finding Shiro in an endless expanse of darkness seemed unrealistic at best, and at worst? Impossible.
“Tell me,” Keith began, starting when the silence became unbearable and stopping only because he was unsure of himself. Kolivan’s ear twitched. He gave Keith a few moments to collect himself.
“Tell me,” he started once more. “Tell me you have someone, anyone.”
When it became clear that was all Keith was going to give, Kolivan peered down at him with unblinking yellow eyes. “I’m not quite sure I understand, Paladin.”
“On the inside,” Keith stuttered, his eyes meeting Kolivan’s. A shiver went down his spine--it was unsettling, no pupils; the eyes of the Empire. “Someone who can see, who knows, who knows anything about Shiro. Please, just anyone.”
Kolivan took a breath, and let it out as a heavy sigh. “A spy. Like Thace. Or Ulaz.”
“Yes,” Keith breathed, hopeful.
“They died.”
Keith looked down. He felt as though he had been scolded. “I know. I’m sorry.” He fought with himself briefly, wondering what exactly to say next without sounding completely insensitive. He didn’t know if the Galra, especially the militant types, were capable of being offended; but he was trying to be civil despite the desperation in his voice.
“I need someone on the inside. You said the Blade of Marmora would help,” Keith asserted firmly, gaining a second wind and no longer afraid to look Kolivan in the eye. “All I saw… All I saw was you and Antok, and Thace... Ulaz. What about the others? There are more of you.”
Kolivan turned directly towards Keith, away from the window. He was such a hulking figure that Keith took a step back. His lips seemed to twitch, giving Keith a flash of dangerously sharp teeth.
Suddenly, Kolivan turned back towards the window, as if to compose himself. “Unlike Zarkon’s...ideology, if you could call it that, I believe every life is worth something. It would be unfair to ask any of the Blade of Marmora to risk their lives for someone they have never met; a human--an alien, who had been experimented on by the Witch, no less.”
“I never mentioned them being the ones to go and find Shiro,” Keith pointed out, feeling queasy. His stomach was roiling with nerves.
“Regardless, there are countless Marmora just waiting to enter Galra space to subvert the Empire--but they are waiting to do so effectively, not commit suicide via rescue mission,” Kolivan pointed out.
“Ulaz thought Shiro was worth it,” Keith spat.
“Ulaz was an ideologue,” Kolivan replied.
“No! You don’t get to do that to him, not when he's dead and he can't defend himself,” Keith shouted suddenly, forcing Kolivan to face him by pulling him by the arm, pulling the Galra down to his height. Kolivan retracted and made a hissing noise, but that didn’t stop Keith. “Shiro is worth the effort! Shiro was the only thing that brought and kept Voltron together. He was--he is our leader! He’s as vital to us as you are to the Blade of Marmora.” Keith wondered if he sounded as pathetic as he thought he did. Voltron wasn’t the only thing that Shiro kept from breaking apart. It was so painfully apparent. “Please.”
After the outburst, they stood in silence for many minutes, maybe admiring the view of space from the window, maybe just waiting for the other to break the quiet. Keith didn’t know what else to say. He was out of options. Pidge couldn’t find Shiro, the Galra base data was fruitless, and now the Blade of Marmora wouldn’t help him. He could understand why, but he didn’t want to. He had held onto a slim sliver of hope until now. He would never see Shiro again. Keith had tallied up another lost family member. His brother, gone, and his last wish unfulfilled. Keith could never take his position as the black paladin. He could never lead Voltron. He failed.
He felt his vision go blurry, but he refused to cry in front of Kolivan. His lip trembled, and he bit it so hard he could taste blood. His fingers curled back tightly into fists, and maybe if he just slammed himself hard enough against the glass he could break the window and be sucked into the vacuum of space.
“The Blade of Marmora can’t help him,” rumbled Kolivan. Keith glowered at him, fists quivering, itching to break the weird nose on Kolivan’s face. There was a long pause as they both looked at each other with the intensity of the brightest suns.
“But you can.”