Work Text:
They were weapons. Their makers had called them instruments of peace, but they had always been weapons. For hundreds of phoebs their Paladins had wielded them in the name of all things good and just, protecting the defenseless and diffusing conflicts. But they were weapons, the most powerful of all, and with power like that came fear. Fear led to anger, led to hate, led to war.
For thousands of phoebs they slept, coccooned in particle barriers and waiting for their Paladins to return and awake them. The ones who did were not the ones they had expected, but there was no denying that they were true Paladins. Their hearts were good, their energies compatible, their wills strong. But for all that they were capable pilots, they were not soldiers. They smiled so easily, so readily, like children playing a game. The older ones, the Black Paladin and the last of the alteans, they were not so free. They carried a heaviness on their shoulders which spoke to loss, to experience, and Black treasured every small smile she got from her Paladin. In time, the others learnt to do the same. They could not protect their Paladins, not completely. They were weapons, after all, meant to hurt so that others could heal.
Green could not guard her Paladin from the pain of loss, but she could help the smallest, youngest Paladin lash out at those responsible. Yellow could not shield her pilot from the knowledge that his strength had become a weapon he never wanted to wield, but she would gladly let him lose himself in petty repairs, would never deny him a chance to use his hands for creation when so often he was made to use them for destruction. Blue could not protect hers from the unpredictable chemical shifts in his own brain, but she could give him a reason to push the worst of his thoughts away, she could provide an escape, however brief, from the doubts and fears which nagged at him so incessantly. Red could not answer her Paladin’s endless questions, but she could channel his frustration into speed and flames.
They were weapons, and in time their Paladins grew into warriors who reflected that fact. Soldiers, coordinated and disciplined, who wore their ancient armour well. They watched their Paladins cease to be children, and learned to treasure the moments when their smiles reached their eyes. When they forgot the decorum of their rank and laughed like fools. When the years of war melted away and even for just an instant they were children again, smiling and playing tag as a piloting exercise.