#for context lance and allura are both royalty in this scenario. matt is a combat medic. everyone else is a knight <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[scattered-winter]

Keith sprinted down the corridor, heart pounding and pulse racing. He held his sword in one hand and his knife in the other. Both blades were wet with blood, and Keith was certain he had more on his clothes. None of it was his.

The smell of smoke hung heavy in the air, and it was all Keith could do to keep running. His vision kept overlaying with the burning farmhouse, the charred bodies—it took every bit of his focus to stay anchored in the present.

But for all the adrenaline coursing through his veins, there was fear there, too.

He’d encountered and brought down a few enemies already, but there were more; he could hear the screams, the shouts, the sounds of battle echoing through the castle halls.

Lance. He had to find Lance.

Keith rounded a corner and stopped short, blades snapping up as a figure materialized from the shadows. The figure dropped into a defensive stance when he caught sight of Keith, but held it for only a moment before relaxing and lowering his bloodied sword.

“Keith!” Shiro cried, relief clear in his tone. “Are you okay?”

Keith’s defensive posture melted away, but he didn’t sheathe his blades. “I’m fine. What’s going on?”

“Bandits,” Shiro answered, expression grim. “A lot of them. I’ve been trying to establish a perimeter, but there’s too much chaos and not enough knights. We’re spread too thin.”

Keith’s heart plunged into his stomach. They’d just sent most of their forces out to take care of skirmishes on the border; the castle was defended by a skeleton crew at best. Had the bandits planned this?

From the look on Shiro’s face, he’d reached the same conclusion, but it wasn’t like either of them had time to worry about it.

“Where’s Lance and Allura?” Shiro’s tone was clipped, all business. It was only because Keith knew him so well that he could see the underlying fear, the tightness around his eyes. “We need to get them both to safety.”

“I was with Allura when the attack started; I left her with Shay and Romelle, in the armory." Keith exhaled shakily. "I—I don’t know where Lance is. I’m trying to find him.”

Shiro gave a short nod. “Okay. We’ll establish a perimeter around the armory and medical wing; if you come across anyone else, send them there.”

Keith nodded and opened his mouth to ask another question, but movement at the corner of his vision caught his eye.

A group of heavily armed bandits on the other end of the hallway were bounding up the spiraling staircase, one after another. Blood-covered blades flashed red in the moonlight.

Keith’s blood turned to ice. They were heading for Lance’s rooms.

He sprinted after them without a backward glance, fear and adrenaline singing high and wild in his veins. Behind him, he could hear Shiro on his heels.

An explosion rocked the castle, and Keith stumbled, glanced back.

Outside the window, smoke plumed from the medical wing, trailed by bright tongues of flame. The infirmary was burning, and an entire section had collapsed in on itself.

Shiro had stopped in the middle of the corridor, eyes on the smoke and face white.

Matt.

Keith didn’t hesitate. “Shiro, go! I’ll get Lance!”

Shiro didn’t need to be told twice. He bolted in the opposite direction toward the medical wing, and Keith adjusted his grip on his blades and kept running. He reached the stairs and started bounding up them, two at a time.

The smoke only got thicker the higher he got, and Keith could barely breathe from the primal, instinctual terror.

But Lance was up there. And Keith would tear his way through fire and smoke to get to him, no matter how terrified he was.

He skidded to a stop as a bandit appeared around the corner, brandishing his weapons with a battle cry.

Keith ducked beneath the swing, arced his knife forward, felt the blade slice through leather and flesh. The bandit screamed and collapsed, blood spraying Keith’s tunic to join the rest.

Keith kept running. Another bandit leapt at him, swords flashing in the moonlight. Keith danced to evade, his own blades clanging against the bandit’s as they fought.

He sidestepped to avoid a strike, but his exhaustion was getting the better of him. Pain hissed through his side as one of the blades sliced through his tunic, and Keith ground his teeth. He stepped in close, knocking aside the blades, and kicked the bandit in the stomach to send him tumbling down the stairs.

Above, Keith could hear fighting—grunts, shouts, metal on metal. The bandits had reached Lance. Keith had to hurry.

He continued to sprint up the steps, battling bandit after bandit the entire way up. It was taking too long. They were trying to slow him down, stop him from reaching the top.

The fear was a living thing, crackling beneath Keith’s skin like a live wire. The last time he’d been this afraid, his world had been on fire.

Above, the sounds of battle tapered off, leaving nothing but terrible, deafening silence.

Keith bounded up the last few steps and burst through the door at the top, blades in hand, Lance’s name on his lips.

Bandits clustered in the room around a fallen, crumpled blue figure. Keith could see blood on Lance’s tunic.

He brandished his swords, a low growl that didn’t even sound human rising from the back of his throat. “Get away from him.”

One of the bandits just grinned toothily at Keith. “I don’t think so.”

He tossed something underhand toward Keith; it rolled across the ground and came to a stop at Keith’s feet.

A round orb, topped with a lit fuse.

Keith’s eyes widened, and he leapt backward, arms flying up to shield his face.

And the world went white.

Keith’s senses returned one by one. Pain, so acute it throbbed with every beat of his heart, lancing through every limb. He could taste dust and smoke on his tongue, and the coppery tang of blood. There was a high-pitched ringing in his ears.

Keith painfully peeled his eyes open.

He was lying on the floor in a crumpled heap. All around him, the tower room was in shambles; flames licked at the curtains, and the far wall was gone, leaving a gaping hole staring out into the night sky.

Bandits were clambering through the hole one by one, shouting to one another; Keith could only hear muffled noise over the ringing in his ears.

A bandit in the last group had Lance’s limp body slung over his shoulder. Lance’s face was streaked with blood and soot, and his tunic was torn and burnt.

Desperately, Keith clawed for his knife, just a few feet away in the midst of smoldering rubble. His fingers curled around the hilt; he was lying halfway across burning embers, so hot it was cold, but he didn’t care. All he could see was Lance, his limp body outlined by the moon as the bandits prepared to leave with him.

Keith flipped the knife in his grip so he held the blade and threw it, end over end.

But he was dazed and wounded and weak, and the knife barely made it three feet before skittering pitifully across the floor.

Black spots danced in Keith’s vision, but he tried to push himself up, tried to stand. Desperation and terror pounded through him like a drumbeat, overwhelming every other sense, every other thought.

The bandit holding Lance saluted over his shoulder at Keith and disappeared.

Keith’s chest heaved with the effort to stand. A high-pitched wail echoed in the small room, raw with pain and fear, and it took Keith a moment to realize it was coming from him.

Something slammed into the small of his back, pushing him down, and Keith screamed, ragged and raw.

Someone rolled him over. Moonlight flashed on a blade.

A bandit stood above him, grinning as she angled her sword down to rest the point against Keith’s sternum. He couldn’t move; he could feel himself losing consciousness.

The bandit’s grin sharpened, and her blade arced downward.

_______________________

Shiro sprinted down the hallway toward the med wing. Terror like he’d never known filled his lungs with ice. He ran past battles, knights, bandits; he didn’t slow down to even process any of it. The only thought in his head was Matt. Matt. Matt. Over and over again, like a mantra, like a prayer.

Smoke plumed in the corridor from the medical wing, thick and black and choking. Shiro didn’t even hesitate before plunging into it headfirst.

It was like another world. Flames licked at the walls, bright and blinding; the smoke hung so heavy in the air that Shiro could barely breathe. An entire section of wall had crumbled, leaving a pile of charred rubble.

“Matt!” The name was torn from his lips, ragged and desperate and barely piercing the blanket of smoke and crackling fire. “MATT!”

Shiro caught a glimpse of something moving in the smoke—someone, moving toward him.

A bandit materialized, blade held aloft. He ran at Shiro with a shout. Shiro was too dazed with overwhelming fear to even raise his sword.

The bandit’s cry turned to a strangled gasp, and he stopped short and crumpled.

Matt stood behind him, breathing hard, long knife clutched in one hand. He had blood on his face and was barely staying upright.

Relief swept through Shiro, heady and overwhelming. Matt was alive.

“Takashi, come on!” Matt grabbed Shiro’s arm and tugged him back the way he’d come.

Shiro shook himself and followed, forcing the overwhelming emotion down and away; now wasn’t the time to lose control. He had to stay focused if they were all going to make it out of this alive.

Outside the medical wing, the other medics and several knights stood in groups, dazed and soot-smeared. There were no bandits in sight, but Shiro could hear the sounds of battles still raging elsewhere in the castle.

“We’re setting up a perimeter around the armory,” Shiro said.

Matt nodded sharply, amber eyes steely. “We’ll head there.”

He waved to get the other medics’ attention, and made a few sharp, hurried hand signals. The other medics nodded and set off toward the armory.

“We’ll set up a field hospital,” Matt said, starting after them. “I have a feeling we’re gonna need one.”

Shiro made to follow him, but another explosion rippled through the castle, making him lose his footing.

When he regained it, he raised his eyes to meet Matt’s horrified expression.

“That came from the east tower,” Matt said quietly.

East tower. Lance’s rooms. Where Keith had just gone.

For the second time that night, ice-cold terror swept through Shiro like a wave. He whirled and sprinted back the way he’d come.

He could vaguely hear Matt following behind, but Shiro outpaced him easily. All his senses were overwhelmed with bone-chilling fear for his little brother.

Shiro reached the spiral staircase in record time and bounded up them, heart pounding in his chest like a drum.

He reached the top and had only a split second to take in the scene that met him.

The tower room, charred and crumbled. Keith on the ground, bloodied and half-dead. A bandit standing above him, sword drawn.

Shiro threw his sword, end over end. It wasn’t designed to be thrown, but his aim was true; the blade sunk to the hilt in the bandit’s back, and she gurgled and collapsed.

Keith was trying to push himself up, a high-pitched whine of pain rising strangled and ragged with every movement, and Shiro burst forward, dropping to his knees and wrapping an arm around Keith’s shoulders to support him.

Keith was shaking, head to toe, and his chest heaved with every breath.

“Woah, hey, slow down, okay? Just—just breathe. You’re okay.” Shiro’s voice cracked, but he swallowed back the wave of emotion. Keith was in bad shape. Really, really bad shape.

But Keith just struggled harder. “Shiro, they—they took him.” His voice was raw with desperation, with pain, with fear.

Dread pooled in Shiro’s stomach, and his mouth ran dry. “What? Took who?”

Keith shuddered in Shiro’s arms, slumping against his chest as his adrenaline was spent at last. “They took Lance. Shiro, they took Lance.”

Hurried footsteps announced Matt’s arrival; he was out of breath and panicked, and his eyes only widened further when he took in Keith’s state.

Keith swallowed thickly. “We have to—we have to go after them,” he said, pushing weakly against Shiro’s chest. “We have to—”

“Hold still,” Shiro ordered, pushing past the fear to grasp desperately for control, for calm. “You’re in no condition to—”

Keith’s eyes rolled up in his head and he slumped against Shiro’s chest, unmoving.

Shit.

Shiro met Matt’s eyes above Keith’s head. “What’s the situation down there?” If Matt noticed the tremble in his voice, he said nothing, for which Shiro was grateful.

“The bandits have pulled out,” Matt said grimly. “The fighting has stopped.”

They’d gotten what they had come for. They’d gotten Lance.

But there was no way they could go after him, not now. There was too much to do, too many people who needed help.

Shiro slipped an arm beneath Keith’s knees and pulled his little brother into his arms, letting Keith’s head loll against his shoulder. “Come on. I hope that field hospital is set up.”