Archive of Our Own ^beta

  “One less threat to Zarkon and one less threat to us.”

  She crosses her arms, holding back a huff. Her earlier vociferations have already achieved their purpose. She is getting her dad back and that is that.

  The wall behind her seat separates an extremely precious cargo possession from the cockpit of their tiny shuttle. The handcuffed prince is worth more than all the gold in the galaxies. The most expensive exchange currency, in order to retrieve her father.

  A thousand thoughts zip through her worried mind, like tiny bullets battering her already thin patience. Pidge is counting every second until meeting again with her father. She can do her math in seconds, in ticks, or concomitantly; they’ve both been quantified and measured precisely, the moment Zarkon laid out his terms for the prisoner swap.

  Yet, many ‘What Ifs’ pester her attempts to keep calm. Her tiny heart flutters faster and faster as the Altean shuttle pierces the atmosphere of the barren planet. White pillows of clouds greet their descent, dissipating in their ship’s trail, like the frail veil of her attempt at remaining calm.

  Earlier, Shiro expressed his concern about Zarkon double-crossing them.

  What if Shiro is right?

  Matt seems to always look up to Shiro for guidance. Although he hasn’t voiced his own gut feelings, Matt sure doesn’t look very confident about this deal either.

  What if Matt is also right?

  No, no — not Lotor! Why should she trust his smooth, foxy tongue? “You think he’ll return your father as he says? You think the corrupted leader of a ruthless empire will be true to his word?”

  A hot needle of anxiety drills through her diaphragm.

  Nevertheless, what if Lotor is right?

  Think, Pidge. Think! Don’t let emotions take over you.

  Aaah, all that smart brain of hers can’t hold the reigns on her stupid emotions. No, they’re not stupid. This is her family. Her family!

  She can’t wrap her mind around the fact that Matt was so tight-lipped during their deliberations. Always awaiting for Shiro to decide instead. Maybe growing up is messing up people’s ability to act? Turn them into sluggish decision-makers? Hesitant, always checking their every turn? Perhaps one day she’ll be like that, too?

  Anyway, in the end they all listened to her, and decided to turn Lotor in and get her dad back.

  “Pff!” Her thick eyebrows knot together.

   I can’t believe Allura was just about to fall for Lotor’s proposal.

  ‘Royal alliance.’

  Yikes!

   Like, in, political alliance, or… plain ol’ marriage arrangement? What the heck was she thinking? Well, clearly not ‘bout my father! 

  How could all of them discard my dad — my dad! — for this guy? Even Hunk??

  She shifts uncomfortably in her copilot seat.

  Lotor only wants to save his own skin. Heck, he even admitted it.

  And all that pompous talk about King Alfor side by side with Zarkon? Pathetic last ditch effort! Who the quiznack did he think he was fooling? Nice try, dude. 

  She almost chuckles, but refrains from it with a calculated pout. She doesn’t intend to embarrass herself around Shiro.

  “An alliance with the heir to the Galra throne could end the war… Think of the lives we could save. Think of the countless worlds we could free.”

  Ugh, Allura. I hate to break your bubble, but this guy is as shady as his father. 

  Next to her, under a somber gaze, Shiro quietly carries on with his task, at the helms of the Altean shuttle.

  The console in front of her displays a couple of angles from the rear cabin. Matt and Lotor sit across each other on facing benches, their expressions stern with heavy expectation.

  “Hey Matt,” she pings the cargo comms.

  Matt’s amber irises glide away from the prisoner. “What’s up, Katie?”

  “Ten more minutes!” she announces out loud, as if to muffle her own anxiety.

  “Yeah, I know,” Matt replies with a sigh, altimeter blinking on his wrist watch.

  “It feels like an eternity, doesn’t it?” Lotor suddenly speaks, taking them by surprise. The man has been uncomfortably quiet since the Paladins agreed to Zarkon’s deal. 

  “Says the guy who lived an absurdly long life,” she snaps.

  “Impatience is the aura of youth,” Lotor replies with unbroken serenity. “Yet life demands us to measure our time with equanimity.”

  Pidge swallows hard. She just can’t put her finger on it, but there is something about this guy that both intrigues and annoys her to the bone. Maybe because he is telling it like it is? Or maybe he is indeed on their side, like he claims to be? Yet everything about him feels so slippery! Her logical mind can’t confine his profile into any predefined boxes and it’s driving her nuts! Especially when placing all her bets on this swap for rescuing her father. What if Zarkon will indeed double-cross them? What if Lotor will double-cross them? Double-double-cross? What if? What if? Aargh! She hates not having all the cards of this game!

  Pidge spits the words out with unchecked ire. “My time is measured by how soon I’m going to reunite with my dad. I don’t care how you measure yours, but clearly you haven’t seen eye to eye with your dad in a seriously long time.”

  For a brief moment, Matt feels Lotor’s razor-sharp glare upon him, slitted eyes cutting right through flesh.

  “Katie…” Matt gently reproves. He’s always been the pacifying sibling against her teen emotional tornadoes.

  “It’s alright,” Lotor only raises one conciliatory forefinger from his clasped, handcuffed hands. His mercurial expression swiftly regains its composure. “I understand.”

  Do you, now? She clenches her jaw and bits her tongue, trying not to stir up Shiro, who seems to be out of sorts lately. What’s Shiro ruminating on?

  “That’s enough!!” Shiro had yelled at everyone, just a few hours earlier. He somehow knew that raising his voice was not in his character, but lately he couldn’t get a grip on these outbursts.

  Solving this conundrum felt like the most difficult task of his life. So many memories tied him to the Holts. He owed Pidge’s father so much. When the Garrison basically wanted to retire him, the man had given him a second chance on the Kerberos mission. Matt became like a younger brother to him. That whole little team had been his family.

  Matt and Pidge looked up to him to save their dad. Pidge’s desperate pleas definitely struck deep chords in his heart.

  But as a leader of Voltron, he had to see the bigger picture. Thoughts bounced fast in the cage of his mind, little birds desperate to escape the tormenting trap.

  Prince Lotor was, whether they liked him or not, a formidable political instrument, and, if his words were true, a flicker of hope for peace in the universe. Shiro had done his homework and studied the man in detail. He’d seen him in action from many galactic news; he’d watched footage from the Lions during their Thayserix experience. Lotor could hold his own in any combat situation.

  Gut instincts told him to trust the man. But his colleagues kept saying otherwise.

  No, he couldn’t listen to them.

  His mind screamed “this is a trap” only when thinking about Zarkon. The prince didn’t shy away from expressing the same feelings.

  Lotor or Holt? How could he even make a choice?

  Or could he?

  What if…?

  He’d taken risks in his life. Many, many times. From the little stunts and cliff dives in his youth, to defying doctors’ orders and flying on the Kerberos mission, to the most horrific pit fights in Zarkon’s arenas. But this was much bigger than himself; he was not just betting on his own life. The future of the universe hinged on this decision, the future of… Voltron hung in balance, the life of James Holt depended on how well he planned this operation.

  The elevator hummed down the castle shaft, slowly approaching the narrow platform. Shiro’s brow unfurled, as he pulled himself together for the next stage of his plan.

  His black boots thudded against the pewter floors at a fast cadence. Lotor was already standing, gaze ready to split the tense air, in expectation of their decision.

  Only one Paladin was coming and his expression gave no room for interpretation.

  Lotor’s countenance darkened, cobalt eyes catching a deathly reflection.

  The energy fence clinked off, and Shiro took another step forward. The prince quietly offered his wrists.

  “We don’t have much time,” Shiro said, a couple of feet away from him, ignoring the gesture.

  One silver eyebrow raised inquisitively. Time for what?

  The Black Bayard materialized in Shiro’s hand. Lotor winced, claws out in quick succession, a defense instinct hard to lose.

  To Lotor’s consternation, Shiro simply offered him the weapon, without a word.

  A mix of disbelief and insecurity crossed Lotor’s face. “Perhaps my own sword would serve me better?” the mighty prince murmured, lowering his chin. When Shiro didn’t flinch, he added, “I’m much more versed in controlling it. This, I’ve never—”

  “It doesn’t hurt to try. The Bayard can shape-shift to your combat style. Go ahead,” Shiro insisted.

  “But only Paladins can…” he trailed off. “I…”

  For the first time in millennia, Lotor hesitated. Would a Paladin Bayard accept him as its master? Legends shrouded by veils of time and buried under seas of memories told stories about Voltron, about magical powers that could only be earned through trust and brave endeavors.

  He blinked a few times, then timidly reached for the holy object.

  Whatever powers the universe had withheld from him for ten thousand years, suddenly flowed freely under his fingers.

  “Ah!” the prince gasped, mind not yet ready to grasp the magnitude of this simple event.

  The Bayard morphed into a multi-bladed saw that extended into a whip at a simple flick of his wrist. Without even thinking, his wrist shook the hilt once again. A purple energy blade flashed into his hand.

  “Wow, it seems you already unlocked two of its powers,” Shiro nodded admiringly.

  “How…?” Hot air left Lotor’s lungs.

  “Clearly, you’re worthy of the Black Bayard, Prince Lotor,” said the Paladin, a short flicker of friendliness peeking through his official tone.

  “I am deeply honored,” the prince replied, contemplating the powerful weapon.

  Alas, the handcuffs that clanged in Shiro’s left hand dampened the mood. It was time.

  Lotor retracted the bayard inside his vambrace, quietly extending his wrists once more. Shackles clicked shut, and Lotor took a deep breath, eyes steeling for the path ahead. The dimly lit bridge leading to the elevator awaited.

  “I shall do everything in my powers to help you save the father of your two friends,” Lotor spoke softly, through the cadence of their footsteps, echoing about the dark space of the castle.

  “So you do think Zarkon will double-cross us,” Shiro inferred.

  “There is no doubt in my mind,” Lotor continued walking with a measured gait. “But, what you did today will change the course of the universe. I could feel it since the moment I touched the bayard.”

  “Let’s hope it will change it for the better. As you must already be aware, the Black Bayard belonged to your father for ten thousand years.”

  A brief shudder traveled through Lotor’s lithe frame. Right in front of the elevator doors, he stopped, casting a side glance at Shiro. “I am fully aware…” He took one more dignified step, the blue lights of the lift chamber engulfing his stern expression. “You have my word that I will use this Bayard to counter the forces of evil. But we must work together to succeed.”

  “…I understand.”

  Lotor’s last words pinch Shiro’s awareness back to the present moment.

  He will pull through. He must. We all must. Together.

  “We, humans, create strong family ties,” Matt explains, walking the tight rope between a polite explanation and a cold, almost grating answer.

  “Something natural to most evolved species, including… the Galra,” Lotor replies, golden gaze fixed upon him.

  “Really? Which Galra?” from the cockpit, Pidge cannot hold her tongue.

  Matt doesn’t reply. Cannot reply. The beautiful lilac complexion droops, morphing into a desolate, broken-hearted expression. He barely knows the prince, but he cannot but feel sorry for him. He’s never been able to stay mad on his sister, his mom or his dad for longer than a day or two. What would ten thousand years of family discord do to someone?

  The golden eyes blink slowly, maintaining their aim at Matt. There is an unspoken dialogue that only they understand, and somehow Matt senses gratitude flickering inside the molten gold, gratitude for his silent empathy.

  Matt’s eyes slowly travel down to Lotor’s hands. Tightly clasped together, thumb nervously resting over the other hand, there is something unsettling about it.

  Living among aliens for a while, he learned to read not only their faces, but their technology as well. One of the lights on Lotor’s right vambrace is marginally brighter than the other. Just a smidge brighter, imperceptible to untrained eyes.

  Matt feels his pulse halt in his throat.

  Tech avid as he is, he’s grown attuned to these little details. When a weapon is stored in the vambrace’s nano-buffer, sometimes there’s an uneven neutron distribution between the two button indicators. Especially, as he recently learned, when said weapon contains ore from trans-reality comets… such as Paladin Bayards.

  He swallows hard, and slowly raises his eyes once more. Purple lips are slightly parted, fangs peeking, as the prince takes in a deep breath. And again, unspoken dialogue unfolds between them. There is danger in that lilac expression, yet Matt doesn’t feel threatened. There is pain, unimaginable pain, scorching the soul hidden behind the molten gold. Fear. Wrath. Ten thousand years of unsaid emotions whirl inside the deep cobalt of his irises.

  Matt blinks once, more like a slight nod, and Lotor reciprocates.

  Shiro knows what he is doing. He must.

  He trusted Shiro with his life so far. He will once more. Their father will be alright.

  “Thank you,” Lotor says simply, handing the Bayard back to Shiro. The cargo bay of the castle is quiet, except for Lotor’s voice echoing about the tall space, as if to amplify the feeling of gratitude.

  The Black Lion’s eyes flicker for a short fraction, enough to catch the prince’s attention.

  “Would you like to check out the Lion?” Shiro asks, a spontaneous offer, a token of the new friendship born between them; also, a distraction meant to soothe the visibly grieving appearance of the prince.

  “Um… I… Yes, of course. Thank you.” Lotor’s vacant eyes peer at the massive mecha, furrowed brows carrying the heavy sorrow of his father’s death.

  The cockpit is just as quiet, save for the loud thoughts inside the prince’s mind. He stands next to the empty pilot seat, eyes slowly sliding over the consoles.

  “My father used to fly it,” his fingers gently dust over the backseat. His eyes are visibly raw.

  Shiro suddenly realizes his oversight. Perhaps bringing him here was not so wise.

  However, he’s not prepared for what happens next.

  As if drawn by a force beyond his willpower, Lotor takes a seat.

  His chest depresses as the air slowly leaves his lungs, almost as if preparing to venerate a holy sepulcher.

  Then he touches the helm rods.

  And…

  The Black Lion comes alive. There’s no doubt - the roar - the lights - the motion.

  “No, no!!” Lotor springs out of the seat.

  “Are you alright, prince?” Shiro shouts. Lotor looks like he’s seen a thousand ghosts.

  “I… I don’t know, I saw…” he pants in panic, while the Lion freezes again like a statue.

  As much as Lotor is terrified, Shiro looks astonished. The Black Lion responds to Prince Lotor! Maybe because he’s Zarkon’s son? Or simply Black’s preference? These big cats are quite picky, so this is utterly surprising.

  “What did you see?” Shiro grabs him by the shoulders, as he looks like he’s about to fall face-down.

  “F—father. He was here, was… me. He was me. I was him. We both sat at the helm. I… I cannot. This cannot be. I am not my father. Not—not my f—father…” he leans into Shiro’s solid hold.

  “No, no, you are not your father,” Shiro gently echoes his words, encouraging him. “What you saw… I think you tapped into the Lion’s memory. Although I haven’t been able to reach inside the Lion’s memory space since I escaped, I remember my fight with Zarkon. I could see things beyond my visual abilities, like an expanse unlike any real, tangible space.”

  “Yes-yes. Precisely. It was unreal, but my f—father was there. Yet he was somewhat… different.”

  “You may have seen your father from the time before… he traveled into the rift,” Shiro replies with a pensive expression.

  “I believe you may be right… The Black Lion retained the memory of him from the olden times of glory,” Lotor regains a little bit of composure, and Shiro releases his shoulders.

  “Yes,” the Paladin nodded, while Lotor steps away from the pilot chair. Clearly, he doesn’t wish to repeat the experience.

  The silver cascade of hair sways forward. Shiro watches  the forlorn silhouette stagger out of the cockpit.

  “I’m so sorry… for your loss…” Shiro mutters behind him, not knowing what else to say.

  “Thank you,” Lotor stops in the doorway, voice raw with emotion. “I am happy that Commander Holt was saved. Paladin Pidge and her brother Matt deserve to have a father.”