Full summary: A curse once cast cannot be broken; but a curse newly cast may be altered.

Years ago, Lance altered a curse and paid a heavy price. Banished from the Altean Court, he works as a town hedgewitch selling charms and expertise. When the Galra Court begins to overstep its bounds, acting in Human territory, it kickstarts a series of events that no one could foresee. As long as the Shield remains powered, protecting them from the outside world, all should be well.

If it should fail...

A/N: I should not have done this. I have too much going on as it is. But I just... I couldn't not. Sorry not sorry.

Chapter summary: In which Lance gets bad news and makes a decision that will set more in motion than he originally intended.

Fairest

1: Decision

A curse once cast cannot be broken; but a curse newly cast may be altered.

Lance stared at the declaration in his hands in stunned disbelief. The black ink of the handwritten letters glared up at him with the heavy weight of finality. One day. He had one day until he lost all of his freedom and individuality and become nothing but an object.

And still his traitorous heart yearned to say yes.

"He can't do this," he whispered in despair. "I live here. I'm not a Courtier." He lifted his blue gaze to the expressionless herald and shouted, "He has no right to do this to me."

"I think you'll find he has every right," the herald said in calm, even tones that remained wholly undisturbed by Lance's pleas. "You'll be expected at the cathedral tomorrow at sunrise. Should you be late, you forfeit any right to plead your case."

As if anyone would listen to such an appeal in the first place. He wasn't stupid.

"I suggest you take the rest of the day to put your affairs in order," the herald continued, gray eyes glancing around the little spell shop. "Anything not explicitly named in your Will will be confiscated in the name of His Royal Highness Prince Lotor."

Furious, Lance slammed the letter on the counter. "He can't do this!" he shouted. "This is neutral territory. Human territory. The Fae and especially his royal prissiness have no jurisdiction he-!"

Staggering from the unexpected blow, Lance pressed a cool wrist against his aching jaw. There would be a bruise there shortly, but at least his jaw wasn't broken.

"You will speak of the Prince with respect," the herald said, face as impassive as ever.

Lance spat at the man's face.

"You have until dawn," the herald said.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the shop and into the waiting yelmor-pulled carriage. How official. Bastard. Lance watched the unfeeling messenger rode away from his shop towards the edge of town. He barely noticed when his knees hit the cool wooden floor, the letter still lightly held in nerveless fingers.

So this was what happened to the others. Vanished, the whispers said. Taken, others wrote. Murdered, more heard. They were forcefully recruited by the Galra Court. Those Courtless who answered their hearts' desire vanished, those who refused…

Those who could refuse…

No wonder there were so few of the Courtless now. Alone without the protection of an affiliated Court, they were vulnerable. Lance was vulnerable. A Court was protection in the form of quintessence, brethren, and a place to call home. A place to rest in safety and security. Something no Courtless had whether by choice or force. Yet something each yearned for with everything in them.

The inborn desire to seek out the protection of a Court, either Galra or Altean, was a constant ache in every Fae soul. Even after so many years, Lance still felt the empty chasm in his soul where his Court affiliation once nestled. It was gone now, ripped away from him as his price. Sometimes he regretted his rash decision, like now. Other times, he was proud of his choice.

There was always the chance he could earn his way back into the Altean Court. No longer. The letter that fluttered to the floor by his knees had all but sealed his fate as a member of the Galran Court. It was an invitation, freely given, but with no doubt deathly consequences should he refuse.

If it had just been an invitation to join the Court, he would have been hard pressed to refuse. It would have destroyed him to refuse. He would have been rejecting his very nature and it very well might have been the end of him. But that hateful catch-

"Rejoice, for thou art chosen to be the honorable concubine of His Royal Highness Prince Lotor…"

Bullshit! Rejoice all the way to hell. Honorable for as long as he was deemed useful. Once his quintessence had been drained and Lotor got tired of him, he would end up like the countless others who came before him. Broken, bereft, locked away, tossed aside, or, if he was lucky, dead.

...like hell.

If Lotor wanted him that badly, even after being rejected once already, then the spoiled prince would have him. Lance had a day. Not a lot of time to get what he needed to do this, but it should be enough to construct what he needed and create a decent distraction. Better start now.

Dawn was breathtaking. It always was. The sun crested the far horizon pouring molten gold onto the ocean's surface. Gulls hovered in the morning breeze far above the gold tinted foam of the cresting waves. Far below, little fishing town he had called home for so many years, a bell in the cathedral tower chimed the early hour. One of the two, daily Boundary Hours when the Fae had an advantage in the magickal arts.

The wind howled around him as if in reply to the bell. Up here on the mountainside, the vestiges of Summer were forced to surrender to Fall. Fiery colors painted the tips of green leaves and the mountain air had a chilled bite to it. He wasn't as far ahead as he would have preferred to be by now, but he had to be sure the illusion would hold. He had perhaps a few more precious minutes.

Turning away from the beautiful view, Lance tugged the reins and clicked his tongue urging his faithful yelmor forward. He wanted to get as much distance between himself and the seaside fishing town as possible. The feathered beast clucked, ruffled its ebony feathers, and raced down the dirt road.

Lance fingered the tiny fluorite crystal dangling from his throat, feeling the strands of quintessence moving and winding through the fractures within the stone. As long as his magickal construct remained whole, his quintessence would remain woven in the focus stone as an anchor. Unfortunately, the further he went, the weaker his connection became. Too far and-

Snap!

Frayed threads of quintessence yanked back from the shattered construct, through the crystal medium, and into his soul where it belonged. So he'd been found out already. Sooner than he would have preferred, but with the result he expected.

Lance grinned despite his fear. What he would have given to see the look on that prissy prince's face when he discovered his newest toy was nothing but an illusion. He hoped Lotor enjoyed the basket of apples, even if it ran the risk of revealing his hand too early. Lance was always up to adding insult to injury when he felt it was deserved. He was still part Fae, Courtless or not. He had the right to be petty.

This road followed the ridge line away from the sea and further inland. The steep, grassy slopes on either side of the rode plummeted to farmland and pastures on the valley by the winding river Myr. The Humans settled here knew him, the hedgewitch of Nalquod. They wouldn't think much of him riding as fast as Lady could carry him along this road. They had seen him make several emergency runs this way at all hours of the day and night.

Didn't mean they wouldn't talk. Better not to be around when they did. Just in case.

The Citadel of Voltron was a good day's ride from Nalquod if he stuck to the Ring Road. The Humans' capital city was on the west facing slopes of Resting Mountain facing the Port of Seven Smokes. Ah, yes it would be nice to visit the capital city again. If he was lucky, he could catch the eye of his favorite Blade.

Lance shook his head in wry amusement. The Humans were fantastically insane and Lance adored them. How they managed to build their homes on the slopes of active volcanoes continuously bewildered him. How they designed machines to sail through the air like ships on the sea blew his mind. How they viewed every new thing with childlike curiosity was something to be protected.

More importantly, the Humans were notoriously neutral when it came to anything related to Fae politics. They never took sides. Well, except for that one time… But that was absolutely deserved. The Galran Court had overstepped its bounds. Something they seemed to be doing yet again. If the Galra Court was making a move in Human territory, then the Paladins needed to know. Particularly Blaytz. Lance doubted the Blue Lion's chosen Paladin would approve of the interference in his hometown.

"Faster, Lady," he urged his feathered mount. "Faster."

Our Lady of the Deepest Oceans, Lioness of the First Spring, watch over your Druid. Give him the speed of the deep ocean currents and guide him to the nearest safe harbor. Wherever that be.

Damn. He just knew he was going to pay for buttering the Blue Lion up like that. She would be insufferably full of herself. Better make sure her shrine was suitably tasteful as soon as he got the chance to make it. He didn't want to wake up soaking wet again. Not fun.