Chapter Text
Lance McClain stands toward the back of the crowd, nearly at the edge, with a battered lute strapped to his back and his arms crossed over his chest. He wishes, not for the first time that day, that Hunk would accompany him to such an atrocious event, but he knows his husband can’t stand it. Right now he’s back in their home, kneading the dough of his third loaf of bread. He’s also planning what spices and herbs he wants to put on turkey for dinner. Hunk’s mind already revolves around food, but in moments of high stress, it overtakes him. Lance is at least satisfied in knowing he’ll have a full belly when he gets home. Well, if he gets home. But he's fairly certain he will return unharmed.
As much as the Lotor and Haggar would like to boast about their random lottery, Lance knows better. The sacrifices always seem to be people rumored to have fallen out with Lotor, or elderly villagers that Lotor sees more as burdens, and less as people. Lance has done nothing he knows of to anger the council, and he’s still quite young, so he doesn’t believe he will be chosen as the sacrifice for a very, very long time. He’s tried to explain as much to Hunk, and to their ever bitter friend Keith, but the both of them are still disgusted by the whole ordeal.
Lance wishes he could play his lute at the moment, string out a tune to lighten the mood of the tense and fearful atmosphere, but then he will run the risk of really being on the council’s bad side. So for now, he stands and waits.
Lotor’s voice booms out over the crowd, welcoming everyone as if it’s some fun town event that everyone gets to join in. He then brags about how well the sacrifice is working since no one has been attacked lately. He then proceeds to talk about what an honor it is to be killed for the sake of “protecting” the town of some beast, and Lance fights not to roll his eyes.
If Lance had any coin to spare, he’d bet that the sacrifice would be the little old woman down the path from where he and Hunk live. She’s a sweet little lady, sure, but she has to be the oldest villager. Lance hadn’t heard any mumblings of anyone pissing Lotor off recently, but the councilman did like to hold a grudge. For all Lance knows, he could pick someone who angered him two years ago.
But then the name leaves Lotor’s mouth, and the air leaves Lance’s lungs.
“Takashi Shirogane,” rings out over the crowd, and Lance swears a stunned silence falls over them.
The first noise he registers is yelling. It’s Keith yelling, his friend, Shiro’s friend, Shiro’s housemate.
“I won’t let you take him!” He’s yelling and standing in front of Shiro as if he can stop Lotor’s guards from taking him.
Lance works his way into the middle of the crowd to get closer to them.
“No! I won’t let this happen!” But Keith is pulled aside by a guard. Perhaps not so easily, but pulled aside nonetheless. Keith tries to fight his way out of the guards grasp, but it does nothing.
“Keith! Stop!” Shiro is yelling, trying to convince Keith not to get himself into trouble as guards take a hold of him as well. “Keith, please, just go back to the hut.”
“No! I won’t leave you, Shiro. And I won’t let them take you!” He still struggles to free himself from the guard’s hold.
“Keith! Please, you have to. Just go to the hut. It’ll be fine.”
“How is this fine, Shiro?!” And he’s got a point, because this is absolutely not fine, but Shiro insists.
“Just let them take me! I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for everything, but please, just go home!” Shiro is being dragged away, still yelling for Keith to go home.
Lance steps in front of Keith, putting his hands on his shoulders to try to ground him. “Keith, buddy, you need to calm down, alright? Why don’t you come with me? We’ll go back to my place. Hunk will get you some food...” It’s a weak ploy, and Lance knows that Keith could care less about food right now, but it’s all he has to offer. Keith, not surprisingly, ignores him and calls out Shiro’s name.
The guard must lose his grip on Keith’s arm, because the next thing that happens, is Keith smashes his elbow into the guard’s nose.
And Keith runs.
Keith runs, and Lance doesn’t follow. Keith, logically, shouldn’t be alone right now. However, Lance, logically, cannot handle or do anything at all to help a distraught and angry Keith. So Lance needs back up, and that means going back to his shack to tell Hunk the news and then make Hunk accompany him to Keith’s hut.
The shack smells of yeast and herbs, and Lance wants nothing more than to sit down and eat a warm chunk of bread that’s just cooling from baking, but he has news to deliver first.
He walks in the door, drops into a seat at the table. Hunk doesn’t look up. He’s kneading another loaf of bread.
“I... have some bad news,” Lance begins.
Hunk continues kneading,
“It’s Shiro.”
Hunk freezes, fists mashed into the dough in front of him, pressing it into the splintered wood of the table. “What... What do you mean?”
Lance sighs. “It’s Shiro. He... He's the one they've chosen.”
Hunk sputters for a moment. “But... But, it couldn’t be. He’s not... He’s... He’s never done anything he just...”
“I agree. I don’t get it either.” Lance says, thinking back on the old woman down the path. Shiro was young and fit, and as far as he knew, never did anything that would warrant a death sentence from Lotor. Could it be the prosthetic? Sure, it was a bit clumsy, but the magic work has it working almost as good as a real life arm.
Hunk’s fist slams into the dough, into the table. He turns away, and Lance hears the telltale sniffle that accompanies wet eyes,
Lance, hating to see his husband cry, rises from his seat to wrap his arms around Hunk’s middle. “Please, don’t cry. Maybe we can help him.”
“Help how?!” Hunk cries, voice wobbly and wet.
“I... I’m not sure. Maybe we can break him out.”
Hunk turns around to face Lance, an incredulous look on his face. “You think we should break the sacrifice out of a heavily guarded cell? And just how do you suppose we do that?”
“I don’t know!” Lance exclaims. “But it’s better than crying about it! You’re sick of this aren’t you? These people dying every year, and Lotor standing up on stage acting like he’s doing us a favor?"
A brief look of anger flashes in Hunk’s eyes. “Yes.”
“Then let’s do something!”
Hunk hesitates, then moves back over to his dough. “I don’t know, Lance...” He starts kneading again.
“How can you think about baking right now?! Our friend is going to die.”
“I just need to think, Lance!” Hunk yells, as more tears fall from his eyes. Lance can't stand to watch Hunk cry. He needs to keep himself busy. He has a half formed plan and all he can do is try his best to get it off the ground.
Lance comes homes an hour later with a sack full of supplies--ropes, knives, helmets, a sword, and chains.
“What in heavens do you have?!”
“There’s no time to explain,” Lance says, out of breath. “I hope you’re ready to go, because I just stole all of this stuff and they’re going to realize it’s missing soon.”
“Lance! We talked about this, you need to quit with the thievery before the catch you.”
“Lecture me later, let’s go.”
Hunk grabs his cloak, knowing he won’t be able to talk any sense into Lance at this point, now that the crazed idea is in his head and he went out to steal supplies.
“And where exactly are we going, Master Planner Extraordinaire?”
“Keith’s hut, of course.”
Hunk and Lance step out into the chilly air, Lance heaving the sack over his shoulder. Hunk could easily carry it for him, but his husband made his choice and he’s going to have to live with it.
“We really shouldn’t bother Keith right now, he has to be devastated,” Hunk says.
“And that’s exactly why we’re going to bother Keith right now. Whatever you think I have planned, he probably has a plan a thousand times better. Our best bet is to help him.”
Hunk sighs and follows Lance down the winding path toward the edge of the woods, a rock sitting in the pit of his stomach the whole way.