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There's something about winters that Shiro respects. The lasting echoes of silence which settle on the forest floors. The cold pin pricks against your skin, making each joint tingle with every movement. And the snow that covers the land; a white blanket that stretches out across the horizon.
But the best part of winter were the stars.
Shiro would stare at the silver speckles; burning brighter under the watchful moon.
His favourite star was the one that faced South, his eye was always drawn back to glowing hew of red and purple. No matter where Shiro was in his travels, he would look up amongst the vast constellations and find it.
The star of courage.
Shiro watches it now. He stretches out his hand, the silver metal glinting under the moonlight. No matter how much he moves the limb, it doesn’t feel cold. The phantom sense of frost and ice prickles at his shoulder along the mass of scar tissue. An ache that is horribly new, one he is still adjusting to. He remembers the hushed whisper Shh, it’s okay Shiro. It’ll be okay now, the soft touches across the skin chasing away the pain.
Although Shiro enjoyed visiting Atlea and being a guest at Princess Allura’s court, he wants to go home. He needs the comforts of his own land, and the thought who is waiting for Shiro when he returns makes his cheeks feel warm.
Shiro sighs as he drops his hand and grips the reigns. He nudges his horse forward. Unlike him, Black’s not a fan of the snow. She kicks out at the white fluff in her path and her tail swings in frustration.
“I know. I want to go home too,” He coos at her, fingers stroking her neck. “But we have to do this.”
Shiro pulls up his hood against the prickly breeze and keeps his head down. They travel through the late hours of the night, trudging through the snow and Shiro sets up a small camp off the main trail so Black can rest as well. They follow the same pattern for a few days before they see something that stops them in their tracks.
It is a wide patch of charred and dried out land, the whole area spanning out in a wide circle and dipping in the centre in a bowl-shaped feature. As though something substantially heavy landed here. The soil is cracked and littered with the dust and ash.
He notices the absence of salt in the air that usually travels through this part of the land. It was as though winter had withdrawn from this area and mother nature herself had abandoned her folly. What is present here is a static energy in the air; charged and waiting for something.
Shiro dismounts and settles his hand against Black’s fur, “Just stay here, I’ll be right back.”
Black flicks her tail against his boots and lowers her head to the ground.
He moves towards the damaged land and rests his hand against his blade. His eyes move across the area.
His boots hitting the ground with a steady crunch crunch. The ends of his cloak trailing through the ash. The air stings his skin in an unsettling manner.
Shiro flinches at heat burning in his chest. He pulls out a necklace that was tucked under his shirt. The necklace held a small Balmaren crystal gifted to him by Princess Allura; it is a rare gem that is rich with natural energy and it provides the unique gift of sensing magic and those who wield it.
The crystal starts to light up but there is a flutter of magenta that taints the white glow. Shiro frowns, there is only one magic user with this signature and he recognises it. His shoulder trembles and goosebumps break across his skin from the memory.
Shiro tucks the crystal back under his shirt. Pulling off the riding glove from his flesh hand, he drops to the ground and places his hand on the cracked soil.
Closing his eyes, he concentrates. He feels the sorrow, death and decay from a land that mourns. There is no hum of life that you usually feel in a land. No, wait. Not gone entirely, there it is – the vibrations are gentle, almost halting, but there nonetheless.
Shiro focuses on the energy and reaches out. I’m sorry for has happened here and for what you’ve lost. The hum flutters at his words and he feels it press against his palm. I want to make sure something like is not repeated, not if I can help it. The soil feels warm against his hand. Please tell me what happened here so that we can stop them.
Shiro feels the rumble beneath his fingers, the language of the land striking straight through his palm and into the chest; into his core.
He gasps as the energy surges through him, his skin emanating a steady radiance of light. Shiro’s eyes fly open. His eyes glowing white as he sees the history of the battle that left this land so wounded. This is a warning for all those who oppose the Emperor. They will suffer at the hands of our magic. He sees the draping hood of a druid, purple robes marked with a crest of a vulture’s claw.
Shiro gasps and snatches his hand away from the ground. He hunches over, his hand straying to the blade at his side. Beads of sweat trail down his face.
He knows this magic. Spent months with this magic inside his head, scorching fire in his limbs. Pain flares up in his shoulder, the skin feeling raw. However, he's has never seen it do such damage, if the Druids have learnt to weaponise it to this scale, then the alliance should be worried. He can’t help but imagine the destruction this magic could cause in battle.
Shiro takes a deep breath, lets it out, and repeats the motion. He focuses on a different memory, the gentle fingers…Shh, you’re home now, warm promises underneath heavy blankets, you’re going to be okay, I know you will. I’ve got all the faith in the world.
A few more lungfuls of air allow Shiro to compose himself. He thanks the land for its generosity and gets back to his feet.
He walks back to Black, who is still patiently waiting for him and strokes her fur. She nudges his shoulder gently and he huffs, “I’m okay. Besides, we’re nearly done, girl.”
He pulls his pack off her and takes out a small parchment and some ink. It’s important to inform Princess Allura about the situation so she can prepare the Alteans. They had known that Zarkon's Druids had been experimenting with Old magic, but never at this level. This was not a good sign.
Shiro explains the situation as best as he can and rolls the parchment into a small tube.
“One last favour, girl. I need you to get this back to the Princess,” Shiro whispers. He drops his forehead against Black's shoulder, her tail swishing against his leg. He smiles, “Don’t worry about me, I can find my way home.”
That gets him a small huff and another nudge. Shiro strokes her neck a few more times before he steps back. He looks away as a strong gush of wind glides past him, whipping his cloak into the air. Shiro hears a hushed croak and feels a small weight on his shoulder.
A raven is perched on his armour. The bird stretches out its wings and nudges its beak against his cheek. Shiro smiles and scratches Black across her jaw and down her back.
He ties his letter to Black’s leg and the raven jumps off his shoulder, soaring up into the sky. He hears her wings beat faster as she gains momentum. And off she goes.
His eyes stray from Black to the constellations, automatically drawn to his favourite star. It’s radiance still glowing brighter than the smaller stars around it.
Shiro smiles at the sight, his eyes crinkling.
His hand reaches for his sword and he pulls it out of his scabbard. It is a hefty thing, created by the Blades of Marmora. To receive a weapon from the Blades is an honour as no two of their swords are alike, each made for specially for its wielder. Shiro’s is made from solid steel and reinforced with a special element. Despite its weight, Shiro is able to hold it steady with his automated hand, fingers curled around its hilt. However, the most valuable part of the blade is right at the centre of its grip. A large stone, wielded into a frame of iron and wrapped with leather.
He points it now towards the star of courage; both stone and star gleam with the same colour.
Shiro runs his thumb across the stone and feels it core; the hum of energy. It's a comforting warmth that reminds him of home.
The hairs across the back of Shiro’s neck jump up.
He swings out with his blade and hits out at the arrow flying towards him.
Shiro steadies his stance and his eyes drift to the large shadow emerging from the edge of the forest.
A Galra soldier.
“Ah, exactly what I’d expect from our Champion.” Comes a self-assured drawl. “I see your instincts haven't weakened.”
Shiro clenches his fist. “What is your purpose here? You are trespassing on the land of -”
“This land belongs to no-one,” Snarls the soldier, “We don’t recognise a fake king-”
“Watch your words.” Shiro cuts him off with a hard glare. “You have no right to slander my king. Now state your purpose.”
The Galra slams a fist to his chest, the other folded behind his back. Shiro recognises the Galra salute, though it was never directed at him. “We expected you to be sent to investigate the Druid’s magic, and Commander Sendak sends a message for you. He requests your presence at our court.”
A heavy weight drops in Shiro’s stomach. His heart hammering away.
He takes a breath and states with a calm voice, “I am Sir Shirogane Takashi, Grand Master of the Dragon Lord’s army. I do not answer to Sendak nor do reply to the title of Champion. You can tell Sendak that I decline and I will never answer to a Galra’s command.”
“That sure is a different tone you’re singing now. If I recall, you were taking a lot of orders from us – our entertainer. You were a sweet little pet to the witch. We all heard of how you cried for home.” The creature lifts his lips in a nasty smirk, revealing sharp canines, “Are you sure your fake king is happy to have a broken toy pretending to be a Grand Master.”
A small blade buries itself in the shoulder of the Galra. He grunts in pain and glares at Shiro, who drops his hand back to his side and raises his sword at the creature.
“It seems you’ve forgotten that I only need one arm to kill your kind.” Shiro steps forward and starts at the sharp pinch of heat under his palm. He glances down at his sword and notices the small gem is glowing fiercely.
“Now leave, and inform Sendak that I am not interested in what he has to say. And if it is a war that he is threatening, then you are fools to underestimate the strength of the alliance.”
The Galra narrowed its eyes. “The High Priestess is not through with you, just remember your time with the fake king is only temporary.”
A loud rumble is heard from above, and a large shadow cast over them both, blocking the moonlight. The creature that lands behind Shiro and the ground trembles from the weight. A warm burst of air ripples down Shiro’s back and he smiles at the Galra’s wide eyes.
The dragon standing behind him is made of muscle, large wings, and a sharp face. It is covered in iridescent midnight blue scales and its long tail curls around Shiro protectively.
A deep growl erupts from the dragon. The sound carrying through the valley. It surges forward and snaps its jaws in front of the Galra.
“I believe that is your final warning to leave.” Shiro warns, shoulders dropping under the presence of his King’s dragon. “Otherwise one of us will not be able to return home.”
The Galra takes one step back, then another, keeping his eye on Shiro and the dragon. He continues to move backwards, one hand pressed on his shoulder.
He disappears into the shadows.
A moment passes before a large dragon head drops onto the ground next to Shiro. A front foot curls around him, pulling him close to its warmth.
Shiro laughs at the manhandling. He reaches out to touch the scales.
“Hey, Kosmo. I’ve missed you too.”
Kosmo tightens his hug and chuffs at Shiro. He opens his jaw wide open and a tapered tongue flicks out to lick Shiro across his chest and face, leaving behind a trail of wetness.
Shiro groans but still runs his fingers underneath Kosmo’s jaw. He drops back against the dragon.
“I’m sorry I was away so long, and that you came all the way out here,” Shiro whispers, “I know you’re not a fan of the cold.”
That earns him a rumble as Kosmo just curls himself tighter around Shiro.
Shiro doesn’t mind the extra pressure. It feels steady and secure; reminds him of the chilly mornings where he’d wake up with a weight pressed up against his body, warmth bleeding into his skin and the steady beat of a heart pulsing against the entire span of his back. He can close his eyes and hear the huff of breath against his skin, the feel of it sending goose bumps across his neck. The gruff tone that always morphed into a whine, why do they need something so early in the morning, nothing that could be that important. I want to stay here.
Shiro traces the lines of Kosmo’s scales, “Kosmo, do you think you can take me home now?”
He feels the muscle vibrate as the dragon lets out another pleased rumble. And Shiro lets a small creep onto his face. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea.
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Although Shiro loves travelling with Black, who is a dependable and loving companion, he has to admit, riding with Kosmo is something that can’t be compared.
Soaring through the air with such an incredible speed, to feel the muscles on Kosmo’s back shift with every movement of his wing. The force of the wind brushing past him.
He feels so light.
There were miles of land stretched before them. All of it covered with white, as far as the eye could see. Shiro pushes his arms out, feeling like he could touch the stars. He can feel their energy reaching out to him.
Kosmo dips and Shiro grips onto his neck. They are racing towards the ground. Kosmo’s wings pull in tight as they fall, and fall, and fall. Then with a powerful push of his wings, they swerve away from the ground and pull up towards the sky.
Kosmo’s mood is infectious and Shiro laughs as they continue to play amongst the stars.
They fly past the shadowed lands, further past the trails of Kerberos, and continued on south through the mountains of Daibazaal. They soar further south and Shiro’s eyes were always drawn to the steady gleam of his favourite star. Getting brighter as they were get closer.
And just past the Twin Black Peaks, Shiro sees it.
The wide valley, wrapped in a blanket of snow, large lakes frozen over with a scatter of houses spaced along its bank. The land gives way to an ample town, for a few miles still and Shiro spies a few people out at night, walking amongst the streets. Some spot him and stare up in awe at the sight of the King’s dragon.
His heart beats steady at the sight of the castle. The red banners draped across the front walls. Displaying the colours and crest of the king; a sword held in the centre of a dragon's wings.
Kosmo glides over the castle’s towers and moves towards the private gardens, ample acres of fields nestled at the base of a few mountains. Strategically the mountain range provides ample protection to their castle and works to prevents any surprise attacks, especially since it is also the residence of Kosmo.
The ground trembles under the weight of Kosmo as he drops to the ground. He settles onto the grass and presses down as far as he can go so Shiro can slide down his front leg.
“Thanks for the ride, boy.” Shiro says as he strokes Kosmo’s scales. “It’s good to be back, huh?”
Kosmo nudges Shiro and then swirls his face towards the castle, chuttering loudly.
Standing at the edge of the field is a man dressed in embellished robes. He is smaller than Shiro but his frame is still well defined. The Dragon Lord was watches Shiro with a soft smile.
Yeah, Shiro blinks, a flush working through his chest and cheeks, it’s good to be home.
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“It was only a matter of time before the witch meddled with the old magic,” Kolivan says, “This makes the situation more dangerous than we initially anticipated. We need to figure out how it works properly before we mount any attacks.”
They're seated in the council room, warmed by the fire. Shiro shares what he's learnt from his visit to Altea and his journey back. And it seems during the months he’s spent in Altea, the Blades have proved to be reliable allies against the Galra. They have been working together, along with the rest of the alliance, to help free smaller towns and farms from Galra control.
“The way I understand it, the druids are somehow stealing life energy from the land and are using it as a power source,” Shiro explains, “I’m not sure what spell would require such immense energy but the outcome is devastating. I'm thinking if we can identify which enchantments require living energy, then maybe we can counter it.”
“I am uncertain whether the Blades have any records for anything like this,” Kolivan rubs his cheek, “Our informants can aid you on any military manoeuvres Zarkon may be planning. But I must confess, we haven’t had many encounters with Haggar and her Druids. The Alteans have a long history with the old magic. Perhaps Princess Allura would be of more help, we should look into the way she countered the magic in your arm.”
Shiro looks down at his automated hand. Steel plates cover the complex mechanisms underneath; a combination of gears and wires. The mechanics ran on the quintessence that Princess Allura had infused into his arm. It had taken weeks for Shiro to learn how to operate it with the new energy. Before then, Shiro’s arm had run on Haggar's magic.
Back when he’d was trapped in the dungeons of Zarkon’s kingdom. Back when he’d been helpless in Haggar’s experiments.
Soft fingers gently run along the back of Shiro’s hand.
He blinks and looks up to see Keith speaking to Kolivan, but Keith’s thumb is rubbing circles over his metal arm.
“Then we wait and see if Allura can make sense of the magic. In the meantime, make sure your generals keep an ear out near the Galra outposts and we hold off on attacking Galra held towns. I think we should focus on strengthening our efforts with the Olkari, they would definitely have suggestions on how to protect the life force of our lands.”
“And I think it’s best if we tell our people to stay away from any hollowed lands.” Shiro adds. “We don’t want any of any of our men walking into a nasty surprise.”
“Great,” Keith declares as he leans back into his chair, “Now that we’ve gotten that out of our system, let’s tackle the rest tomorrow. Meeting adjourned.”
Kolivan nods and lifts himself off his chair. He looks up at Shiro, and there is something to be said about Kolivan’s attention; it holds you frozen in place as you hang off his every word. He’s been in this war too long to hold back his thoughts, “I will see if we can identify the Galra soldier who spoke to you and gather more information on Sendak’s request.”
“Please do,” says Keith.
Shiro watches Kolivan leave the chamber. As soon as the door closes, he looks over at Keith, who is relaxed in the chair next to him, grey eyes watching him.
His heart prickles at the sight.
Keith huffs as he leans forward, “I thought he’d never leave. I swear he enjoys aggravating me for no reason.”
“He was barely here an hour.”
“Yes, but this is your first night back. When I heard you’d called for Kosmo, I thought…I was just – ” Keith says. His voice taking on that earnest edge and his eyes bright with sincerity, an expression Shiro's seen countless times over the years, “You’ve been gone for months and I’ve missed you.”
The room feels warmer. It would explain why Shiro’s cheeks are burning for no reason at all.
“Yeah,” He whispers, reaching out to take Keith’s hand, “I missed you too.”
Keith’s smile definitely did not have anything to do with Shiro’s full body flush.
The room was just too goddamn warm.
“Are you hungry?” Keith asks, tightening his grip on their joint hands, “I can probably request some of that stew you like.”
“I’m okay, I’m not that hungry at the moment.”
“You’ve had a long night,” Keith nods to himself and stands, trying to pull Shiro with him, “Come on, you’re getting some rest.”
“I’m okay really,” Shiro adds even if he finds himself trailing along Keith. And because he can’t help himself, he mutters, “I should probably speak with Iverson as well. I need to go over the new training schedule for – ”
“None of that,” Keith huffs, bumping his shoulder into Shiro. Dragging them out the door towards the king’s wing, “I know you haven’t slept in god knows how long, so it’s straight to bed with you. And if you don’t complain, I’ll have you attend strategy meetings with Iverson, and every other general for the next three weeks. How does that sound?”
Fantastic.
The jolt of electricity running down his arm has Shiro smiling the rest of the way.
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The nightmares always catch Shiro off-guard.
On the nights he goes to bed warm and soothed, they creep into his dreams and wake him up in hysteria. On the nights he goes to bed with a smile, the sting of unease strikes so hard, he jerks awake with wet eyes and a hoarse throat.
Every time Shiro thinks he’s doing better and allows himself to drop his defences, he’s reminded in cruel detail of his suffering and the things that were taken from him. The haze of purple blends into his unconscious and speak to his greatest fears. A memory arises of strong hands holding him down as he struggles to breathe. Fire burning along his shoulder.
Shiro jerks awake, his body moving in mindless terror. A shadow drifts along the edge of his vision. Shiro cranes his neck to follow the movement. All he sees are the drapes of curtains along the edge of his bed. He steadies his breathing as the rest of the room comes into focus. The rug laid out next to the hearth, where the fire had died down through the hours of the night.
Shiro is cold; ice prickling at his fingers and toes. His heart hammering in his chest. The strength of its pounding starts to hurt. Shiro’s jaw is clenched so tight his teeth ache.
A warmth presses against his side and Shiro feels Keith’s breath across his neck. He doesn’t say anything, he gives Shiro the space to collect himself. Some nights, he stays close while Shiro has cried; heaving ugly, terrified sobs at awful memories of his captivity. On the days Shiro battles with the unfairness of what was taken from him, Keith presses his lips against his scars with barely-there kisses across his skin. The pure comfort of it leaves Shiro breathless.
In the privacy of the dark, Keith lets Shiro have his sorrow, because that’s what he needs; and Shiro lets Keith comfort him, because that’s what they both need.
He pushes himself against the warmth of Keith’s body.
Shiro’s heart starts to slow, matching the thrum of the body that pressed against him. He stares up at the canopy and waits for the inevitable question.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
No judgement, never any judgement from a man who has an endless stream of patience.
Shiro’s breath shudders as he shakes his head.
Keith doesn’t say anything else. He runs his fingers through Shiro’s hair, across the shorter strands and all the way through his tuft of white hair. He repeats the motion again and again.
Shiro’s limbs loosen as he’s cocooned against Keith. It won’t take long for him to fall asleep.
“How did you manage in Atlea alone?”
It takes a few moments for Shiro’s brain to process the words.
He looks over at an embarrassed Keith, like he’s ashamed he couldn’t hold the question in for Shiro, that he’s broken an unspoken rule.
It’s a ridiculous look on him and Shiro has no problem letting him know.
“Shhh,” Shiro whispers, stretching out his arm to grab onto Keith’s neck. He pulls Keith in until their foreheads are pressed together. “I managed.”
Their legs tangle together, ankles and knees bumping into each other. Shiro rubs gentle circles into Keith’s neck. Keith pulls himself closer to Shiro, drawing his hands around Shiro and tucking his face underneath Shiro’s jaw.
“The first few nights were not easy,” Shiro admits. “I would wake up confused and I would panic, and I just – it was hard. But I got better at it.”
Shiro had nearly bolted the first night, when he had woken up and realised Keith wasn’t there. It had taken time for him to be able to work himself down from the fear. As the days passed, Shiro learnt to focus his breathing or count down from 300. It got easier to recover from his episodes.
“That’s good.” Keith says, his lips brushing against Shiro’s throat. “I didn’t want to send you out alone but you insisted and it was –”
“The only time I won against your stubbornness,” Shiro smiles. “A victory to remember.”
Keith gives him a half-hearted glare.
“I needed this, Keith.” He says gently. “I know you’re always going to be there. But I needed to not give up on myself.”
No one really knew of Shiro’s nightmares, of his trouble since his captivity. Shiro had picked himself up and continued to be the person his people needed him to be. The warrior and general that never faltered in front of the Galra. The symbol of hope and strength.
Shiro had always been too ashamed of his nightmares, had tried to hide them from Keith in the beginning. But Keith could always see through Shiro. Always knew what to say or do. Was always there whenever Shiro would hide away. Keith who was honest and sincere in his support, who had continued to look at Shiro like he was invincible.
And Shiro had wanted to feel invincible again – or something close to that.
“I didn’t want you to be alone again.” Keith says.
“But I will be alone,” Shiro says. He watches Keith bristle at the comment, ready to vehemently deny it, but Shiro tightens his grip on Keith’s neck, “No, listen to me. I have my responsibilities, Keith. There will be training camps with the new recruits, or diplomatic visits. There’s a war brewing, and we have to make sure the alliance is ready. We need to follow up with Kolivan on what Sendak and the Druids are planning. There are going to be times when I have to be away from here and I can’t have the Dragon Lord hold my hand through every nightmare.”
Shiro kisses away Keith’s dispute.
“You want to know how I’m okay with being alone again?” Shiro looks into Keith’s wide eyes.
Keith’s fingers press into Shiro’s chest.
“It’s because,” Shiro grins, “I know that no matter how far away I am, or whatever hellish nightmare I find myself in, this is what I’m coming back home to.”
Keith smiles at him, the sight of it is blinding and strikes something hard in Shiro’s belly.
Shiro matches the smile, his chest feels warm and his hearts starts to hammer away again.
It's good to be home.