Chapter Text
“One,” Keith murmured to himself as he plucked at a strawberry, dropping it into the basket at his feet. “Two, three, four,” he continued counting.
The wind swept past, rustling his bangs across his sweaty forehead. The sun beat down, the weather adjusted for camper comfort, but not the physical labor of hours in the strawberry fields.
“Five… six…” Two more thumps into the basket, filling fuller with the ruby red fruit, delicious where they shined in the bright sunlight. “Seven…”
Keith paused, hand carefully extended to number eight. His fingertips brushed its smooth surface, but he retracted it before it plucked.
He righted himself from his bent posture, directing his line of sight across the field where numerous others were hard at work. The satyrs played their music. The Demeter and Dionysus kids wiggled their fingers, making the vines dance. There were some other kids who had gotten roped into the task too, but mostly it was just them. Satyrs. Demeter and Dionysus kids. And that one kid who hadn’t been claimed yet.
For eight years.
It really had been that long now, hadn’t it? Keith had stumbled his way into camp eight years ago, dirty, scared, orphaned, and only seven years old. Somehow, he had found his way there, in a place he was supposed to belong. Finally.
Except, not even at Camp Half Blood had Keith really belonged. He’d been stuck in the cabin of rejects, of extras, of forgottens. And, whoever his godly parent out there was, they hadn’t cared to get him out.
Hadn’t bothered to send just the tiniest sign. For eight years.
Suddenly, Keith didn’t feel like working in the field anymore. That eighth strawberry could pluck itself.
So he gathered his basket and walked to one of the others, handing it over before making his way out of the fields. He was tired from his work, and nothing sounded better than a bed right now - a bed which had taken years to earn since he wasn’t even an official part of the Hermes cabin and all - but he wouldn’t be going back to the cabin just yet. If there was anything guaranteed about the chaos of the Hermes cabin, it was that there would always be people in it, always a crowd, and Keith didn’t feel like dealing with a crowd right now.
Instead, he went to the arena where only a couple of people had decided to spend their afternoon. Since the border had been poisoned, the weather had become increasingly hotter and its magic was unable to regulate it. Most people were inside, with the air conditioning.
So Keith found himself a corner of the arena and started to hack away at one of the dummies. He was already sweating from his work in the fields and the scorching weather, but he decided he didn’t care much as long as he got to swing his sword, stretch his muscles, and ignore the world.
He didn’t want to think of it all. The border. The monster attacks. That Percy kid off on another quest to save them all. Luke…
“Aren’t you sick of it? How many years has it been now and your mom won’t claim you?”
Eight years…
He swallowed down the sick feeling that rose in his throat, putting extra effort into slashing the dummy. It split, half of it falling to the ground. Shit, now he’d have to replace that.
Keith threw his sword into the dirt, leaving it to stick up like Excalibur in the stone, while he went to drag away the useless dummy. He tried to forget Luke’s voice. He tried to forget how tempting it had been to follow. He’d trusted Luke. He’d looked up to the guy - was even kind of close to him, considering no one survived in the Hermes cabin without having known its cabin leader. He had been a great cabin leader.
But it hadn’t been a shock, really. Keith regretted that - that he had almost seen it coming. Luke had always been so bitter towards their parents. There had always been something off about the way he brushed it off, like he had to force himself to calm down.
It was something achingly familiar, this grudge that Luke held onto. Like a life raft. This resentment towards their parents Keith understood completely. He didn’t think a war was necessary for it, but he understood.
Despite this, a lot of people were wary of him now. More and more unclaimed were disappearing from camp to join Luke. Why would Keith not? Eight years was a long time to wait, after all…
And maybe Keith might have. If not for Shiro.
Shiro was the closest thing Keith had to a brother. Once upon a time, it had made him consider the chances of being a child of Hebe. He’d gotten rid of that idea almost immediately. Children of Hebe were way too good to be anything like him. Not that he had much to go off of. Shiro was the only claimed child of Hebe at camp at the moment, and, even though he was stuck in with all the unclaimed and Hermes kids, he never seemed resentful. He always paid attention too. He helped kids get settled in when they arrived, made sure they had plenty of people they could go to, even kept an eye on them after they’d been claimed and moved cabins. It was just in his nature to care - something Keith couldn’t understand how he did for all the brain cells he put into the notion.
But it had really helped him throughout the years. Shiro had always been there for him, since he’d first arrived three years ago. After so long of being alone, it was nice to have someone like Shiro.
Dragging the dummy out of the way, Keith thought about going to find Shiro. Maybe they could spar together. Or go to the dining pavilion - it was close to lunch anyway. Just then, though, a voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Oh, hi, Keith,” Lotor said, walking up to him with purpose, tailed by the two girls who were always following him around. “Here all alone? I suppose it makes sense an unclaimed doesn’t have any friends.”
“Piss off, Lotor,” Keith spat, pulling out a dummy and carrying it over to one of the empty mounts.
“I guess it makes sense that you have no friends at camp. I heard they’re all with Luke. Only a matter of time until you follow, I suppose,” Lotor said, sighing like he really believed in that inevitable. Keith felt his blood boil.
“I’m not turning on camp,” he said, turning to Lotor suddenly. “And, for your information, I have friends here too.”
“Oh, yes, whatever,” Lotor said, waving his words away like particularly annoying flies. “Anyway, we were going to spar, but we seem to be uneven here. Care to join?”
Keith knew that was a bad idea. Everyone knew that was a bad idea. You see, Lotor was a kid of Tyche, the goddess of luck, and a pretty powerful one at that. Going against Lotor was stupid, dumb; he’d lose for sure.
Which is exactly why he couldn’t back down each time. Lotor had won too many times, and Keith was determined to bring him down. It wasn’t fair, especially when Lotor won on nothing but his own unnatural luck. Keith was brought down time after time from a misplaced foot or the awkward angle of his sword. The fights were never on skill, and that frustrated Keith to Hades.
When he accepted Lotor’s offer this time, he ended up on the ground not two seconds into the spar. But, hot-blooded as Keith was, he kept going back. And back. And back. Any time Lotor challenged him, Keith was there to take up the offer, as many times as he continued to lose.
Keith was good, but luck, luck was better. Luck had never been on Keith’s side.
“Again, Kogane?” Lotor asked from above, but Keith was already exhausted. The adrenaline from Lotor’s initial challenge was already wearing off, especially after he had already been sparring all day, even long before Lance had arrived.
But Keith had never been known to do things for his own good. He rose to his feet, readied his sword. “Again.”
He was taken down time and time again, none of it by skill, all by happenstance. Stupid things. A foot in the wrong place. A wrong sword angle.
It wasn’t long until Ezor and Zethrid were laughing their butts off. Lotor chuckled too as he watched Keith rise once again, wiping sweat from his forehead. “If this is what Luke is looking to recruit, camp should win without problem.”
Keith was exhausted. He knew, logically, he wouldn’t win anything like this, but he couldn’t leave it at this. Lotor would get what was coming to him and Keith would be the one to deliver it. Eventually, his luck had to run out.
“I bet you’re staying at camp to do the recruiting for him,” Lotor laughed. “How pathetic that he would choose someone who has gone years without being claimed.”
Keith brandished his sword before him. Lotor rolled his eyes, but he put his sword up again too.
“I’m not working for Luke,” Keith gritted out through clenched teeth. His voice shook. He knew he was letting Lotor get to him.
Shaking the emotions away, Keith readied himself to lunge again when a voice interrupted them. A familiar voice. A voice Keith did not want to hear right now.
“What’s going on here?” Lance asked, stalking up to them, flanked by two other kids. Keith recognized them. It would have been strange not to, as long as he’d lived at camp. It was Hunk and Pidge, a child of Hephaestus and a wood nymph. Keith wondered what they were doing there.
“Keith, why are you always doing this?” Pidge asked, stalking forward to look up at him with this look in their eyes. He knew exactly what they were referring to. What they all saw, and what they all knew of his record with Lotor.
“Sparring,” he grunted simply, trying to stand tall despite the exhaustion dragging down his limbs. He crossed his arms, trying to appear put together. Pidge, of course, saw straight through him. And so did everyone around.
“Don’t spar with him,” Pidge said, practically growling on the last word as they glared at Lotor. Lotor just looked on, amused and innocent. At this, though, he spoke up.
“Keith here seems just fine sparring with me,” he said, shrugging a shoulder and smirking. “And I’d really like to continue, if you three don’t mind.”
They both turned toward Keith, Lotor with a challenge in his eye that set a fire in him that wanted to lash out, Pidge with a disapproving look. “Keith,” they said in warning.
Keith had never really listened to them when it came to stuff like this. He didn’t even listen to Shiro half the time when it came to Lotor. He turned back toward Lotor, lifting his sword. “Pidge, give us space.”
“Nope! Nope nope, nuh-uh,” Lance suddenly cut in, making Keith look his way. He was walking forward, coming to stand next to Pidge. “You, my friend, are exhausted. Don’t be an idiot.”
“Seriously? You’re calling me an idiot and expecting me to listen to you?” Keith asked, putting down his sword yet again to turn toward him.
“Yep,” Lance said, self-assured. “And you’re going to.”
“And why is that?” Keith couldn’t help but ask.
Suddenly, Lance seemed to get serious. He leaned forward, talking in a low voice and holding Keith’s eyes to his like glue. “Because, if you keep sparring Lotor like this, you’re never going to win. You’re probably the only one at this camp who can do it, but if you go in blindly like this, he’s never going to get what he deserves. And that’s to eat dirt at the tip of your sword.”
Keith paused, letting the words going through his mind, felt them tug on him, felt them tug him toward Lance, to put down the sword. Lance was right. Keith wanted Lotor to get what he deserved so bad, but Lance was right. That wouldn’t happen today. That wouldn’t happen when he didn’t have the strength to do it, or the level head to execute it.
So he clutched at his sword, then sheathed it. He turned toward Lotor. “Another day.”
And, with that, he followed the three out of the arena.
-/-
Lance, Pidge, and Hunk invited him to the mess hall for lunch, but Keith turned them down. Instead, he went to the showers, then back to the Hermes cabin, deciding to call it a day.
“Long day?” another camper asked as she walked by. Keith merely grunted in affirmation and Romelle giggled. She was a new comer there, yet she had already been claimed. Daughter of Iris. Apparently, since Iris was a messenger goddess, Romelle had inherited some strange ability to project thoughts into others’ minds.
Feel better, she whispered into his mind, and he pushed back a Thank you that he hoped she got.
“I’m heading to Athena cabin,” she called as she left, and Keith could hear the excitement in her voice. That was another thing. As the daughter of the goddess of rainbows, she also claimed to it was her god(dess) given right to be as hopelessly gay for cabin six resident Allura as possible.
“Good luck,” Keith called, but she was already gone. He chuckled, then dropped his head back into his pillow. He stayed like that for a while, listening as voices carried in and out of the cabin. No one paid him any mind and no one disturbed him. Eventually, he was able to drift off, sleeping away much of the hot and sticky day as he could in the tolerably okay temperatures of the busiest cabin.
When he awoke, it was with regret. Mid-day naps were never a good idea. He felt groggy, somehow more tired than when he’d gone to sleep, but, as he tried to roll over and drift again, his body kick-started, letting him know that he would not be getting any more sleep any time soon. Great, he pissed his body off.
So, with a groan, he sat up, rubbing at his eyes. When he looked around, he noticed that the cabin was darker, but still relatively empty. Beams of orange sunlight streamed in at odd angles, signalling a sunset over the Big House and time for dinner. Keith wasn’t sure if he was really hungry, but, then again, he’d only had breakfast that day and Shiro would surely come looking for him if he skipped two meals.
He huffed before swinging his legs over the bed, getting ready to stand before he saw another inhabitant of the cabin. Lance, laying in is bunk across the room, book propper up on his pillow where he had been reading on his stomach, was staring over at him. Keith’s wasn’t sure if it was the sunset or what, but his cheeks looked particularly dark.
“Lance?” he asked, causing the boy in question to jump.
“Keith!” he exclaimed, cheeks going even darker. “You’re up!”
“Yeah…” he replied, then stretched a bit, arms overhead. Lance made an odd sound. “Are you not going to dinner?”
Sounding rather strangled, Lance replied, “No, no. I am.”
“Okay…” Keith said, finally catching up to the awkwardness of the situation. He paused. “Well, we should get there?”
“What?” Lance squeaked. “Like, together?”
Keith frowned. “Um, I guess?” Why was Lance being so weird. “Why are you being so weird?” he decided to ask. Lance blinked, then shook his head, sitting up from his position. He cleared his throat.
“Weird? No, not weird. You’re weird,” he accused, jumping down from the bed. “Let’s go get food.”
Keith, confused but amused, chuckled and shook his head. “Alright,” he said as he followed after.
Much of the walk there was spent in silence, and Keith watched the sunset, watched the blue of the Big House and the lonely porch swing out front. He looked up into the pavilion, seeing the commotion of kids getting food, scraping into the offering, talking and laughing and crowding into the Hermes table. But Keith’s thoughts wandered back down to the arena, looking at the desolate area and thinking about earlier in the day.
“Thanks for earlier,” Keith said, startling Lance.
“Huh?” Lance asked, brows furrowing in a cute way. Keith shook the thought from his head, refusing to get stuck on that bullshit again.
“When I was sparring Lotor. I shouldn’t have taken it so far.”
“Oh,” Lance said, then shrugged. “No problem. I know how you get.”
“Do you?” Keith asked, genuinely curious. He hadn’t been aware that anyone paid attention to him. Shiro kept tabs on him. Pidge would beat up anyone who messed with him. Lotor did so only to the extent that he could piss him off. But Lance?
“Well, you’re always fighting Lotor, even though no one has beat him. He’s just got way too much luck for it to be worth it. But you think it’s worth it.”
“It’ll be worth it when he understands he can’t always win,” Keith huffed, frustrated and tired all at once. It was always an uphill battle when it came to Lotor. Or, maybe not even uphill. He was on a cliff and Keith couldn’t scale it. There was never any progress.
“But you always go at it when you’re not ready,” Lance pointed out, and Keith’s attention snapped to him. He frowned, ready to protest, but Lance continued. “Your emotions get everywhere, then you tire yourself out, then you won’t think straight. You’re way too impulsive.”
“That doesn’t matter. One of these days, I’ll beat him.”
“Not like that, you won’t,” Lance shook his head. “Hermes kids are like a Jack of All Trades, you know? So I know what it’s like to spread myself between different things. I’m not great at anything, but I can be alright at a couple.”
“You’re selling yourself short,” Keith said without thinking of it, then went red at the compliment. Lance looked at him a bit incredulously and Keith cleared his throat, determined now that he had said it, to explain. “I mean, you’re good at a lot of things, and it’s not just ‘alright’. Being a Hermes kid means you have the capacity to understand a whole lot, and you do.”
“Oh,” Lance said, and Keith turned towards him. His eyes were wide and staring at him, the tips of his ears red in the setting sun. He averted his gaze almost immediately, but Keith’s heart was already thumping wildly in his chest. There was the smallest of smiles on Lance’s lips as he determinedly stared down at his scuffed up tennis shoes, and it made a smile of his own appear on Keith’s face. “Thanks,” Lance said.
“It’s the truth,” Keith replied simply, turning to look back ahead of them again. They were quickly approaching the mess hall.
“Yeah, well, so, it’s like that,” Lance said, clearing his throat and tapping his fingers to his thigh, looking all around, probably to avoid Keith’s gaze. “Beating Lotor isn’t going to rely on just one of your skills. You have to pay attention to a lot more than that. You have to use your head as well as your instincts to figure it out.”
For a moment, Keith was silent. He watched the pavilion where he could see Shiro at the offering fire talking to Pidge’s brother, eyes soft as Shiro laughed at something Matt said. Lotor’s words filled his head again, the accusations he knows everyone must be thinking.
Shiro was the only one who had known just how close Keith had come at one point to actually following Luke out of there. One night, he had exploded with the frustration of it all and Shiro had been the one to calm him down. He’d told Keith not to cling to resentment, to use his head instead of running head first in with anger. It made sense then and it made sense now.
And, surprisingly, coming from Lance, it calmed him down easier than Shiro’s own go at it had. When Lance said it, it sounded like a plan, it sounded like something, not only logical, but attainable.
“I’ll think about that,” Keith said with a nod. Then, they stepped into the pavilion and were swept up in the hassle of kids all around and the delicious smells of dinner.
“And, Keith?” Lance asked. Keith turned to look at him, surrounded by excited kids and sloshing drinks and the smell of sweet burning. Lance scratched his head, looking sheepish, when he said, “About what Lotor was saying to you…”
“About what?” Keith asked, but he had a bad feeling that he knew what. He swallowed, unable to tear his gaze from Lance’s. His worry must have shown on his face because Lance’s gaze softened.
“I know that you aren’t with Luke, and so do a lot of people here. You’ve been at camp for too long to actually think that we could believe that. Too many here have your back for that. You know that, right?”
Keith felt frozen on the outside, but his insides were alive and a squirming hot mess. Suddenly, there was a lump in his throat and he had to look away in order to swallow it down, nodding his head.
“Yeah,” he said as evenly as he could. “Thanks, Lance.”
“No problem, man.”
-/-
“Keith,” Lotor greeted, walking into the arena and making an immediate detour his way. Keith, who had just been sharpening his sword before practice, turned to him with a scowl, clutching the whetstone tighter. He rubbed the pommel of his sword with a thumb, back and forth.
“What do you want, Lotor?” he asked, already on guard. Lotor didn’t have his lackies today, though, and the arena was considerably full of campers, all training for the day. Lotor wouldn’t try to pull anything.
“Our fight was interrupted the other day. Since we both seem to be in for practice, why don’t we give it another go?” Lotor smiled cruelly down at him, flicking a tiny lock of white hair that had fallen into his face away.
“So, you want someone to beat down for the day?” Keith translated, unable to really care about his pride at the moment, especially when a shocked look crossed Lotor’s face. This guy really needed someone who could counteract his powers if he ever wanted to become a better swordsman. Keith would prove that luck couldn’t always win one day, and then Lotor won’t have a single way to get better for those instances.
“I suppose I will have to go easy on you, then?” Lotor asked, rolling his eyes, but Keith shook his head.
“I won’t need it,” he huffed, feeling frustration bubble up inside him. Then, he remembered Lance’s words.
“You’re way too impulsive.”
Impulsive indeed. Keith paused, collecting his thoughts, letting his emotions settle down. He took the time to consider… was fighting Lotor right now a good idea?
He wasn’t tired from practice. And he had sorted out his emotions. His frustration was a dull murmur in his head, but, overall, he could think clearly. If there was ever a time, Keith decided it was now.
So he walked out into the open space, turning to face Lotor, who had done the same. People around the arena seemed to have taken notice and were hushing and gathering, interested to see how another Keith vs Lotor match would go. There were no exchanges of hands in the audience. They all obviously thought they knew how it would go.
And it probably would. Keith had lost to Lotor enough times to realize that, and could think clearly enough to know that he still wanted to try. He would never give up on trying to teach Lotor this lesson: that he couldn’t always win. Since he wouldn’t give up, he might as well learn from the fight.
So he raised his sword, defensive before him and stance low. Lotor tied back his hair, then mirrored the stance. Keith could hear murmurs in the crowd. He breathed one more deep in and out. He was ready as he’d ever be.
Then, he lunged.
Their swords clanged in a metallic ring, screeched as they broke apart, and repeated its reverberations over and over as they each attempted to disarm the other, and put each other in check-mate. He let his body carry him through on instinct, but maintained a clear head, watching to make sure his feet landed correctly, and his blade didn’t skid horribly. He was on the look-out for blatant uses of Tyche’s luck, but it was hard to divide his attention between his opponent and everything else.
One moment, his foot stepped to the side, far from where he’d meant, and he knew what was at play. Lotor’s sword came down to trip him, but Keith moved at the very last second, breathing heavily as the toll of the fight dragged on his limbs. Lotor was fluid and natural, but even he looked to be feeling the effects.
It showed most especially in the increasing number of Keith’s simple screw-ups, things that would have rarely happened had he not been against such strong luck. Somehow, though, he barely dodged each one.
“You have to use your head as well as your instincts to figure it out,” Lance’s voice in his head reminded him.
Balance. It was something Lotor lacked. There was no balance between his wins and losses. There was no balance between his goods and bads. Luck spun everything around Lotor, and he avoided the natural order of the world with it. Keith had lacked balance too, relying on his instinct and frustration to carry him through his battles. Not anymore.
Keith’s sword skidded at an odd angle along Lotor’s blade, heading straight for the dirt below them, and, after that, Keith would be unforgivably open for take-down. He could feel the power behind the move, the golden luck winding its way around Lotor’s blade, blessing it, and its repercussions, its own way of balancing the world, pushing all the bad luck onto Keith’s blade. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.
But this action and reaction were twisting the natural order, pushing things around that weren’t meant to happen. And Keith felt his need to right it.
Then, he pushed that need into the power he felt around him, burning away the luck and bad luck and leaving only the way of the world. He felt it all cancel out, his blade swinging with his weight so that, instead of falling into the dirt, it spun around with his body and fell back on the other side of Lotor’s blade. Lotor, for a moment, looked shell-shocked, before he snarled and bat away the blade.
They were back into the throng of it, metal clangs, the audience’s cheers, sweat in their eyes. Keith could feel the luck working around him, working against him, but he could also feel something else. He could feel it canceling with each of his moves. He could feel the luck withering away.
And Lotor could too. His swings became harder, his spurts of luck more and more desperate. They were both tiring, but, somehow, in some way, Lotor’s luck was running out.
Then, in a display of great irony, Lotor’s foot misstepped. Keith reached forward with his own, hooking around the ankle and pulling. Lotor fell right to the ground, wincing as his head hit the dirt. Keith kicked the sword from his hand, then hovered over his pliant body, surprise on his usually impassive face. He pointed his sword at Lotor’s jugular and called for his concession.
Swallowing, Lotor looked around, then down at the blade at his throat. He must have known Keith wouldn’t hurt him, but the sight seemed to scare him all the same. He’d rarely been in this position in his life, now had he? And the sudden appearance of it must have opened up some sort of crisis in his brain.
“I concede,” Lotor said, his voice shaking, then Keith lowered his sword and offered a hand up.
Surprisingly enough, Lotor accepted, though, once standing on his feet, he fled immediately, not looking back. Keith didn’t have time to dwell on that, though, because, almost immediately afterward, he felt someone tackle into his side.
“Oh my gods, Keith! You did it!” Lance practically shouted in his ear. Keith was stunned, momentarily, by the sudden closeness, and it must have shown on his face because, when Lance looked at him, their faces mere centimeters apart, he stopped short, eyes widening and sucking in a breath. Lance backed away very quickly. “Sorry.”
But Keith just laughed. “That’s alright.”
That was when he heard the crowd around him, all cheering and rushing in with congratulations. Pidge and Hunk were there too, whooping and hollering, and Keith felt a smile grow on his face.
Then, everything stopped. The crowd shushed around him, and they all ceased approaching, suddenly looking wide-eyed. Some were excited, some looked confused others pointed somewhere overhead.
Keith glanced toward Lance, but he was frozen too, looking somewhere above.
Keith looked too.
“Oh,” he breathed, the glowing sigil a dull pulsing glow in the midafternoon sun. Around him, campers started to kneel, as was custom. He watched as they all lowered themselves, like a great wave. Hunk and Pidge knelt, the nymph, sending him a thumbs up when they saw his gaze. He saw, towards the back of the crowd, Shiro approach and kneel, holding a fist to his chest as he watched on in pride. Keith saw so many of his friends from the Hermes’ cabin there, including Romelle, and Allura next to her too.
And he saw Lance, at the front and still closest to him, kneel with a reassuring smile and a nod of his head. Chiron wasn’t present, so Lance seemed to take it upon himself to do the honors.
“All Hail,” he said, voice strong and carrying over the throngs of people, “Keith Kogane, son of Nemesis.”