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There was a whistle, soft like a breeze growing bolder until it was a cicada on a summer’s day, then a thunk and the target was struck.
“Whoop! That’s how you do it,” said a brown haired teenager, jumping in the air and throwing his arms overhead. A flock of chickens cawed and flapped before cautiously returning to their midday meal.
“L-Lance,” said his younger companion, his cheeks dusted red. His youth made him shorter than Lance, and while he spent a good amount of time in the sun, his skin was pale where his friend’s was tan, except for the dark scar that crossed the bridge of his nose.
Lance grinned and rustled the boy’s dark hair, who bowed his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “You keep hitting the bull’s eye like that and I’m going to be hooting and hollering enough to scare the whole town’s chickens.”
The boy looked up, his grin stretching. “Keep your hooting and hollering for when I kick your ass with my sword.”
“Oooh, tough guy, huh? Remember those words when I get you eating dirt again.”
He smacked Lance’s hand away when he saw it reaching for his hair again. He went to retrieve his arrows from the target, ignoring Lance’s verbal bait. Anyways, Shiro found it riled his friend up more to be ignored than to respond. Sometimes taking the higher road paid off instantly.
By the time he pulled his arrows out – one in the bullseye, and two in nearby rings – he could already hear Lance whining his name. Shiro studied the marks - he was getting better with the bow, and like the great warriors from stories he was honing any skills that could be useful. But he wanted to feel the heavy weight of iron in his hand, feel the scrape of it against the scarab and watch the sun glint off the blade. He wanted to swing his family’s sword and be a knight.
“What did that arrow ever do to you, huh?” asked Lance.
The boy whipped his head up. “What – why would – what are you talking about?”
“You’ve been staring at it like it personally offended you. Or like it’s telling you the mysteries of life, but you’re not impressed.”
“Has anyone ever told you how ridiculous you are?” asked Shiro.
“It’s ridiculous how I keep coming up with these brilliant ideas, I know,” said Lance, eyeing his nails and dusting them on his shirt. “I’m just saying it how I see it.”
Shiro put the arrows back in his quiver and walked back across the grass to his friend’s side. “When am I gonna get a real sword?”
“Uhh… Smooth. Was the arrow whispering you promises or something?”
“Come on, Lance.”
Lance threw his hands up. “Hey, I don’t know either! I’m not calling the shots. That’s between you and your parents.”
The boy picked at his quiver and stared at the hole in the bullseye. Lance’s arm swung around his chest and pulled him tight to his side. “No sulking, kiddo. Seriously, you’re going to have a sword in no time. When you’re a knight, this is all going to be a funny, distant memory. ‘Hey, remember when I didn’t have Justice’ – which, by the way, I’m totally assuming you’re going to name your sword that because you’d name it something dramatic. And then we’ll laugh and have a good time and I’ll whoop your ass because no matter how hard you train, I’ll always be the better knight.”
“Lance,” Shiro smiled and leaned his head against his friend’s shoulder, “we both know you’re the one who’s going to name your sword something awful.”
Lance had no rebuttal because he was mature enough to accept this was true.
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The church bells rang loud and clear throughout the castle. The cobblestone streets flowed with townspeople from nearby provinces cheering the newly inducted knights of the Voltron realm. Small children threw flowers at the parade of men and women in their shining armor as they marched down the streets. A tan skinned knight caught one of the flowers and put it behind his ear.
The march was not long. New knights did a circuit through the main streets of the castle proper to see and be seen before they filed into the open square. There, at the top of the stairs, stood the king who thanked them for their fealty and announced the festivities begun.
Lance broke from his cohort and chatted with new faces – a pretty lady here, a townsman from another province there – but steadily edged towards the less populated streets as quickly as he could, which was not quickly at all with the congregation. And he was pretty sure there was no polite way to hide his armor without looking like a douche on the first day of his knighthood.
Eventually he made it past the square and through small streets to the familiar Takashi Blacksmith sign and ducked into the alley past it. A tall young man stood near the alleyway entrance and if it wasn’t for his familiar black hair, Lance would not have recognized him. “Shiro,” he cried, and latched on to back of his unsuspecting victim.
“Lance!” Shiro said, his tone equal parts admonishment and fondness. Lance squeezed his friend tighter, gripping his shoulders, which were wider than he remembered them being. Was this Shiro? Lance blinked his eyes open and found familiar grey eyes staring at him, nearly at eye height. He didn’t remember him being so tall.
Shiro reached out and touched Lance’s breastplate – the metal was smooth and strong and carved with the palace symbol. “Wow,” he said, softly under his breath.
“I know, right? I do look pretty dashing.” Lance released Shiro in favor of stepping back to show off his armor, complete with a pale lilac behind his ear. “You like?” he asked, twirling the flower and puckering his lips.
Shiro nodded and smiled, “You look good, Lance.”
“Oh, uh,” said Lance, blushing warmly. The heat flamed his face and went down his neck.
“But if I had to guess, I’d say you’re going to be impossible now that you’re a knight.”
Lance released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and crowed in response. Shiro tried his best, but even with his discipline, something he prided himself on, he couldn’t fight the edges of a smile.
“You haven’t even seen the best part!” said Lance, who drew his sword and laid the other end flat on his palm. The metal was polished, and in the sunlight it gleamed a blue-grey color.
“Made from your folks. I call her Lady Blue.”
Admittedly, Lance could have named it a lot worse, but it was still horribly cliché.
There was a loud noise from the street and both Shiro and Lance turned, the latter sheathing his sword as he did, but it was impossible to see through the swell of people on the streets. The townspeople stayed calm and some laughed heartily. Lance relaxed and turned his attention back to Shiro and his broad shoulders. Which weren’t broad. And he wasn’t tall.
He noogied Shiro.
“Gods – Lance,” Shiro said and shoved his offending arm off. “How old are you?”
“Old enough to rock this shiny new look,” said Lance, who dipped into a pose that stuck his butt out, which was grudgingly impressive to do in a suit of armor but highly embarrassing to see.
“Have you even shown your family, yet?”
“Quiznak!” Lance yelped and straightened. “Shiro, I was supposed to meet them at the fountain.”
“So excited to show me you forgot to show your family?” asked Shiro. It was meant to be a dig but his tone didn’t hit the mark quite right.
“Yeah, yeah. Shut it,” said Lance, throwing his arm around Shiro’s shoulders to drag him out of the alley. “You’re coming with me, dork.”
Lance pulled Shiro back into the chanting and dancing crowd. It was like fighting against a current, except that the current unexpectedly ran in their directions for short bursts, and it was hard to tell which direction they were headed, but Shiro felt safe with Lance’s hand in his.