#orous

“Cease your whining Paladin!” Orous barked. “When Vanguard was your age he once swam forty yards through a sewage tank, in full dark, without a single breath and still managed to diffuse a nuclear device.”

Lance bit back a groan and concentrated on maintaining his breast stroke until he touched the far wall of the pool. The grey head of Orous paced above – or was it below? – him, beside the red head of Coran (because there was no grey in the advisor’s head, nope, not a bit you see, grey hair was for old people). Lance sniggered a bit and the loss of concentration told in his arm movement.

“Keep your strokes straight!” Orous roared up at him.

“Isn’t water supposed to be your element?” Hunk asked as he paced past Lance, his movements seeing effortless if not particularly graceful.

Well all that extra buoyancy has to help, Lance thought a bit spitefully, and quickly shot up a prayer of forgiveness for the unworthy thought.

“In Blue maybe,” Lance said. Then swallowed a mouthful of water, and coughed, and started sinking, because Maria this whole training excersize couldn’t get any more humiliating after he had spent so much time bragging could it? Pidge darted past and Lance surged to the surface just in time to hear Coran call a rest for the three of them doing laps. Lance laughed and darted back under the water. Hunk needed a shark attack.

***

“There is something wrong with that boy,” Orous commented as he came over to the bend in the pool where what Lance had called the ‘remedial class’ was working.

Shiro grinned up – down? – at his Ieldran and promptly took in a mouthful of water. He spat it back out and focused on treading water.

“Put him in a pool and give him training exercises and he might be a rank armature,” Orous continued, seeming to ignore Shiro’s issues for which the Paladin was grateful. “Let him loose in any body of water and he might as well be one of those singing pests of human myth.”

“That’s Lance for you,” Shiro replied, trying not to snigger. He leaned back a bit in the water and angled his body to left a bit.

“You are compensating well for the lost buoyancy,” Orous commented, turning his full attention back on his clansman. “You might begin trying laps with the rest next session.”

“It’s coming back to me,” Shrio admitted.

Orous frowned at the words and Shiro wondered why. But just then something grabbed his leg and yanked him under. A brief flare of panic and guilt nearly overwhelmed him until a huge grin flashed in front of his face and Lance darted off into the water. Shiro broke the surface with a gasp just in time to see Keith making a valiant effort to catch Lance and extract vengeance for the attack on his big brother.

“You’ll never take me alive!” Lance shouted gleefully as he darted off through the water, looking more like a seal than a human.

“Dead is fine with me!” Keith retorted.

Shiro forced a smile onto his face and he heaved himself out of the water, rolling over and landing on his feet as the gravity reversal caught him. Orous reached out a hand to steady him and Shrio leaned into the touch all the more gratefully for that it wasn’t really needed. They watched the younger Paladins frolicking for a moment and Shrio tried to figure out where the growing ball of unease that was threatening to choke him was coming from. He finally realized that the steady dripping of the water being reclaimed by the pool was wrapping itself around a buried memory. Shiro shuddered and reached for his towel.

“I am going to get some sleep Ieldran,” he said softly. “Please make sure that they get to bed soon.”

Orous glared at him suspiciously but nodded curtly and turned his attention back to the frolicking paladins. Shiro found his way back to his room, did a round of pushups, and settled down to try and sleep. As usual the recharge imps were slacking off and he ended up glaring up at the ceiling while trying to ignore the echo of the water dripping in his head.

* * *

I am Champion, Shiro thought wildly as he watched the light fade from eyes of the gladiator on the floor in front of him. A being unlike him in form and mass but wearing the same jumpsuit that all the gladiators wore, minus the loose cloak. Just as they said, just as Hagar said. I am the Champion. The massive old alien gave a final groan and the Shiro knew he was dead. Aside from the growing pool of ochre blood under him Shrio had quickly learned to recognize death in many forms. The burning smell of the blood competed with the harsh sterile smell of the strange hospital ward Shrio had been sent to. The dark purple walls had the look of surfaces that were cleaned regularly. Probably of blood, Shiro mused as his hands began to shake. Why had the so-called medics left him alone and bound in a room with another gladiator? Did they expect him to be killed? To kill? Why had the other gladiator attacked him when there was no order to fight? He dropped the table leg he had used to defend himself and it clattered loudly along the floor. The steady dripping of some cleansing machine was the only sound in the room. Shiro staggered back again the wall and let his eye rest dully on the still form. However the adrenaline wore off and the lacerations the other gladiator had left along his back and arms began to burn calling Shiro to himself. The bonds around his limbs made escape impossible but he could hear the rough voice of some ancestor urging him to some resistance, some defiance. He fought down the rising bile and took a deep breath.

“I am Shirogane,” he whispered. Yes, he would remember who he was, his family, his clan, his mission. “I am Shirogane.” He said again. He might kill in self-defense but they would not make a murder of him. “I am Shirogane.” He said more firmly, but his voice caught as he heard the soft tread of claws on the floor again. The step was far lighter this time and Shiro wondered at it even as he snatched his paltry weapon back up and crouched.

A child crept around the corner, dressed in nothing but what was obviously the missing cloak of the other gladiator. Shiro’s face went slack with horror as he studied the small body under the rough purple material. There was no doubt that the gladiator he had killed was of the same species as this child no higher than his knees. The child’s eyes took in the scene with confusion and then sudden pain as it darted forward to clutch at the fallen one.

“Mar’ma,” the child cried out.

For a moment Shiro lost control and the contents of his last meal mingled with the blood on the floor. He reached out to comfort the little one but before he could offer even a touch the crisp steps of the medics sounded. The chief medic frowned down at the scene and touched the controller that dropped Shiro to the floor with a wave of pain. He heard the medic giving orders to dispose of the gladiator’s body.

“And what of its spawn?” another asked.

“Dispose of it as well,” the medic said coldly.

* * *

Shiro woke suppressing a scream but instead of the cold wall of the castle and the tight bindings of the blankets he had been thrashing in he felt strong hands on his shoulders and a powerful chest at his back.

“Peace my child,” Orous murmured. “Peace. I am here.”

Shiro stared wildly at the wall. He wanted to confess the memory, or dream, or whatever it had been. He wanted Orous to deny that it was real, or to claim some similar sin. But he was so tired. When Orous pulled him to his chest and began gently stroking his hair Shiro did not resist. And when the blackness of sleep began to overtake him, this time seasoned with the murmur of his Ieldran’s words, he did not fight him. Shiro curled into his Ieldran’s chest and wondered idly, why flannel pajamas? Tomorrow he would ask why Orous was there, how he had known to come. Tomorrow he would discuss the dream. Tomorrow.

“Sleep my child,” Orous murmured, tucking Shiro’s head under his chin. “I am here.”