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Chapter Text

Lance’s door slams open, and Allura enters his room like a starburst, vibrating with energy. “Lance.” She gasps, her chest heaving up and down. “I have news.”

Lance sets down the datapad that he had been using to study flight patterns, a smile breaking over his face at his sister’s antics. “I only hope you can tell me what’s gotten you so worked up before you pass out.” He jokes dryly, keeping his face composed. Inside his mind, however, he’s dying from curiosity. Although Allura is first in line to the throne, Alfor routinely takes both of them with him to intergalactic summits, but never both at the same time. This last one had been Allura’s turn to meet with the planet heads and Paladins of the Voltron Coalition. 

“A courting has been agreed upon.” Allura states, walking further into the room and settling down across from Lance in his window seat. 

Lance raises an eyebrow. “So Hunk and Shay will finally be an official pair? That’s not exactly surprising news.”

But Allura is already shaking her head, taking Lance’s hands in her own. “Shay is set to mine her devotion crystal next movement, but what I’m excited about isn’t their courtship,” She says. “But yours, Lance.”

Lance’s mind goes blank, and he’s sure his mouth drops open even if he can’t feel it. “What?” He had known that he would have an arranged match eventually, but he had thought there would be more warning, that he would be able to read the incoming signs with plenty of time. His whole world has been turned upside-down and set to fast-forward. “I thought- Wouldn’t you be first?” He asks. 

“My suitor situation is complicated, as you know.” She explains, and goddess, does Lance know it. There isn’t a lord or lady this side of the galaxy that wouldn’t want Allura’s hand. Unluckily for them, she’s in love with her handmaiden, Romelle. “And Father wasn't the one who proposed the match.”

“Who?” Lance asks, feeling like he was teetering on the edge of a precipice. Hunk and Shay were practically engaged, Pidge was neither of age nor disposition to marry, although her older brother, Matt was a possibility. Plaxum, too. Lance had enjoyed his time in Queen Luxia’s court. 

Allura takes in a deep breath, the same one Lance has seen her make before she delivers a speech. “Chancellor Krolia, for Keith.” 

The Palace could be falling apart around them and Lance wouldn’t notice. There hadn’t been an Altean and Galran match since Zarkon and Honerva. It was a topic no one dared talk about, but all agreed upon. Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it, his tutor had drilled into him. “But- I thought-” He couldn’t wrangle his thoughts into a complete sentence. 

“I know,” Allura tells him, understanding in his eyes. “It’s Krolia’s belief that we cannot keep skirting around the issues of the past, or we will allow so much space between us that animosity will grow. This is a new leaf, a new opportunity.” 

It suddenly became clear to Lance. Galran traders were officially welcomed back on to Altean soil, but Lance knew they were always designated the worst places in the marketplace and were starved for customers. Events were carefully selected by each planet for the intergalactic games so a head-on match between the Altean and Galran teams never occurred. There were reports of violence between their people’s every other movement. If these trends continue, Lance knows there could be a possibility for another Great War. 

“Keith and I have never gotten on that well.” He admits.

Allura looks back at him, a shine in her eye. “I think you would be surprised at what could happen if you give it a try.”

Lance has already been awake for hours by the time he has made it out to stand at his father’s side, watching the Galran ship approach.

He’d woken at a terrible hour of the night and tossed and turned for the rest of it, agonizing over what the Galran’s arrival would bring. Just as his body had worn itself down to drag him back to sleep, Allura and Romelle had commanded him to wake so they could help him get ready for the official landing. “First impressions are important, Lance.” Allura had chided him as she tamed his hair into an acceptable shape and squeezed him into a tight powder blue doublet.

Except this isn't a first impression. He and Keith already know each other, as did all the heirs of the Voltron alliance and its possible future paladins. They’ve learned, lived, and trained with each other already on the Atlas, in the hopes of becoming Paladins. It’s meant to both prepare the Paladins of the future and encourage goodwill between the planets, not that it had worked out so well for Lance and Keith. Every time Lance had felt confident in his abilities, Keith had been there, knocking him down or earning a higher score. He was Lance’s greatest obstacle in the way of following in his father’s footsteps and becoming a Paladin. It had made their instructors nervous.

Sometimes, in the quiet and dark of his own company, it seems that there is nothing Lance can do to raise himself to Keith’s level. Sometimes he wonders if Keith knows it, too. 

They knew each other, rotated in more or less the same bubble, but Lance doesn’t know if he would call them friends. Rivals, then. 

And now they are about to become promised to each other. The whole idea doesn’t seem real to him. How could they ever be equals if Lance can’t catch up?  

There’s no time to back out now, and even given the opportunity, Lance knows he wouldn’t take it. He owes it to his planet to make this match work. 

The Galran ship lands, and the Altean drums start. The distance between the landing site and the Royal greeting party is excessively long on purpose, Lance knows. It’s lined on both sides with grand bell drums, their musicians hitting out a rhythm mimicking a heartbeat. The Altean people have flooded the space behind them, thousands now looking between the ship and the royal party. A royal engagement is a public event, after all. The fact that this is the first Galran and Altean match since the Great War has only captured the attention of the entire planet more. 

It’s both a welcome and an intimidation, Lance knows. He also knows that Keith is always up for a challenge. 

Even over the cacophony of the drums, Lance can sense Coran shifting from one foot to the other behind them, anxiously waiting to see what Keith will bring. He hasn’t stopped lecturing Lance on Galran courting customs since the match was announced. 

Everything the Galra do in love is intentional and intense, right from this first gift to that terrifying proposal. What Keith brings for him now and Lance’s reaction to it is meant to dictate the fate of their union.

The landing ramp lowers, a figure appears, and the heartbeat thrum of the drums picks up in tandem with Lance’s own. It’s Keith, and he has something grand and enormous slung over his shoulders. Lance can’t make out what it is yet, but he’s sure it’s heavy, although Keith doesn’t let it show. 

He begins the parade walk, three more figures appearing behind him. The Altean people all lean around each other, vying for a look at the second prince of Daibazaal. 

Keith soon approaches close enough for Lance to see what he has slung over his shoulders. It’s a great tree bough, the most unusual rich purple color. 

“Oh, my glibberwobble,” Coran breathes behind him. “That’s a branch of the Atmos tree.” 

Lance’s mother lets out a chuckle just loud enough for them to hear without showing any movement of her shoulders. “Care to enlighten us, Coran?” Melanor asks, her voice almost hidden underneath the drumbeats. 

“That tree,” Coran begins, doing a much worse job at dimming his voice. “Is the only of its kind and is planted upon the highest mountain of Daibazaal. It’s guarded by a giant serpent.”

Keith is over halfway now, and Lance notes Chancellor Krolia to his right and Shirogane, the legendary Black Paladin to his left with his Tierra husband.

Allura catches his wrist. Lance glances at her out of the corner of his eye, and she smiles back warmly. She breathes in and then out, over-exaggerated. A reminder. Lance lets out the breath he didn’t even know he was holding. 

The Galran entourage is close enough now that Lance can see the spiked golden leaves that cling to the bough that shake with Keith’s every step. He’s also close enough now that Lance can see the black combat suit he’s wearing, armor plates badly cracked and littered with cuts and rips. The tip of the famous Malmoran blade is just visible from where it’s mounted on his back.

Keith’s violet eyes flick up and meet Lance’s immediately. He holds Lance in place with just that one look, and Lance feels like his skin is burning. 

This Keith is different from the one he remembers from training on the Atlas; a short boy, eyebrows naturally drawing into a frown, shoulders tight. This Keith is taller, undeniably stronger. He holds himself upright with a confidence he didn’t have before. Before, it had been easy to read the annoyance that had played across Keith’s features. Here, as he approaches the dais, he’s composed enough that Lance can’t get a read on him. 

The entourage reaches the foot of the stairs, and the drums pick up again until they’re a persistent thunder crashing. Keith’s feet are sure as he ascends. He doesn’t look away from Lance for a moment. 

Lance swallows. He can see dried blood and pale violet skin where the combat suit has ripped and from a wound just above Keith’s hairline. The wood creaks as it is jostled, the twisting bark digging into the meat of Keith’s shoulders. 

Keith reaches the top of the dais, and the drums stop instantly. The following silence is deafening, and Lance wonders if Keith’s keen Galran senses can hear his heartbeat. 

Achingly slowly, Keith lifts the bough up off his shoulders and kneels, laying it at the feet of the Altean royal family. He breaks his gaze from Lance’s and looks to Alfor. “King Alfor, I land here in good faith,” He says, his voice ringing through the courtyard. There are cameras somewhere hidden, Lance knows, broadcasting this moment throughout Altea and Daibazaal. “To deliver this gift and begin my courtship to your son, Lance, Prince of Alvarez.”

There is one moment in which no one moves or makes a sound. Then, a smile is splitting Alfor’s face as he reaches down a hand to Keith. “It seems you have gone above and beyond, Keith.” He says.

Keith takes the hand gratefully, rising to his feet once more. “I’m sure you expect nothing but the best for your son.” 

Alfor keeps his grip steady a second longer than the norm. “That I do.” He agrees. Lance wants to make a face but knows he cannot with the thousands of eyes on him. 

Keith steps to the side, taking the time to lift Melanor’s hand to his lips and press a light kiss there. “Welcome, Keith.” She says, giving him a warm smile. 

Keith nods in return, and then he turns again to Lance. He reaches down and plucks a twig off the branch, holding it out for Lance to take. Lance does so in silence, turning the smooth purple wood over in his hand. Keith clears his throat. “This wood is sacred to Daibazaal and its throne.” He explains. “It is known for both strength and flexibility. With your talent for archery in mind, I have fought Zlyphae, the great serpent, so you might make this branch into a bow.” 

Lance is taken aback. It seems like an extraordinary amount of effort for one longbow. He tests the bend of the twig, amazed at the strength it possesses. “It’s wonderful, Keith.” He says honestly.

A great breath of air leaves Keith’s lungs at that. Lance wonders if it's relief. Was Keith nervous? He smiles. “I’m glad.”

Keith takes a step back, then, and Chancellor Krolia is stepping forward, greeting Lance’s parents formally but warmly. Lance knows that he should be paying attention to the conversation he is almost surely the topic of, but he can’t stop staring down at the Atmos wood at his feet, the golden leaves glinting in the sunlight. 

He finds himself looking forward to the days to come.

So begins four movements of courtship at the Altean Palace. The east wing has been cleared for their guests, though Krolia leaves before the suns set to return to Daibazaal. 

A small, private dinner is held that night between the two families. They’re seated at opposite corners of the table, as Altean custom dictates, with family in between. A part of Lance is glad for the distance. In training, it had been all too easy to come up with a retort to fire at Keith at any time of the day, but now Lance finds himself tongue-tied. This Keith is different to the one that inhabits his memory. Lance doesn’t know what to say to him with this tension that hangs between them. 

Allura, on the other hand, has no problem in talking to Keith. She has him recounting the tale of his fight against the serpent Zlyphae before the entree has been served, encouraging Shiro to jump in with missed details. Lance still can’t come to terms with how much Keith has changed. The boy he remembers hated talking to a room of people, but the one before him has the whole room by the heartstrings. Alfor erupts into bursts of laughter as Keith tells them about his various failed attempts to find the blind spot of a serpent with eight eyes. 

Adam, Shiro’s husband, has ended up on Lance's left. He leans in as Allura urges Keith on further into the story, a light smile on his lips. “So will you make it?” He asks. “The longbow, I mean.”

Lance nods, grateful for a reason to draw his attention away from Keith. “I will. I only hope I do the material justice.”

“I have a feeling you will,” Adam assures him. “I don’t think I’m meant to tell you this, but Keith agonized over what your courtship gift should be that he nearly ran out of time. At one point, Krolia threatened to drop him off on a cosmic whale and send him off into the quantum abyss.”

Lance can’t help but snort, bringing a hand up to cover his face. Melanor raises an eyebrow at him but says nothing. “What made him choose the Atmos wood, then?”

“Shiro told him to stop paying attention to what would be most prestigious, or most valuable,” Adam explains. It’s impossible to miss the loving way his voice wraps around his lover's name. “And instead focus on something you would appreciate but never think to get yourself.”

“He certainly hit that pike on the face.” Lance jokes. Adam’s face flickers in a strange mix of humor and melancholy. “Sorry, did I say something to upset you?” Lance rushed, afraid he had already managed to offend one of their guests.

“No, you didn’t, don’t worry,” Adam reassures him. “We say something very similar back on my home planet. Sometimes it catches me off-guard how similar our expressions can be.” 

“Earth, right?” Lance asks, even though he already knows. The tale of Shiro’s surprise courtship proposal to a pilot from a recently discovered planet was infamous for the shock it sent through the galaxy, most of all to Krolia herself. That courtship gift had been the very ship that Shiro had landed on, with a promise that Adam could fly wherever he liked in the entire galaxy. “Do you miss it?”

“I do,” Adam confesses. “I miss the people I left behind, and my favorite foods. I miss the rain. But we go back often enough that it’s not too bad, and I couldn’t imagine myself staying there without Takashi.” As he says it, Lance watches the way Adam’s eyes can’t help but seek Shiro out in the room. Their eyes meet, sharing a smile that feels too private for Lance to witness. 

“You two really love each other.” Lance says without realizing, a hand coming up to his face, but the deed has already been done. He can’t take the words back.

Adam laughs, loud and free, nodding in agreement. “Don’t worry, you’re right. And I’m glad it’s that obvious.” He demurely raises the serviette from his lap to wipe away a happy tear. “You’re a pleasure to talk to, Lance. I know this situation is overwhelming because I’ve been in your shoes.” Lance shifts. He can’t imagine that Adam has ever had the chance to wear Lance’s shoes in the short time he’s been here, but he lets it go. “I wish the best for you and your match with Keith, and I’d like to give you a small bit of advice, if you’d let me.”

Lance nods. “Of course.”

“I think it’s easy to misread Keith as being aggressive, when his actions are really done in earnest,” Adam says carefully, inclining his head toward the far side of the table. “It’s important to be able to see the difference.”

Lance follows his gesture and finds Keith, staring back at them, that gaze burning him just the same as it had that afternoon. In the past, Lance would’ve taken it as a challenge, but now- he thinks he understands Adam’s point. Earnest indeed.

His guards offer to take the Atmos wood down to the workshop for him, but Lance refuses. Keith brought this gift from Daibazaal on his own shoulders, for Lance and only Lance. This was something Lance needed to do by himself. 

He visits the dais early the next morning and wraps his hands around the branch, testing the weight. It’s lighter than expected, but given the sheer size of the thing, it is still plenty heavy. He begins his walk down to the workshop, down the stairs and along the garden path, nodding at the gardeners who pass by, knowing smiles on their faces. 

As he makes it past the east turret, he feels an inexplicable pickling between his shoulder blades. Carefully, so as not to upset the balance of the Atmos wood, he turns around, searching the walls of the Palace.

There’s an open window on the fourth floor. Leaning against the frame is none other but Keith, watching him keenly. He’s too far away to make out the exact expression on his face, but Lance imagines him with a look of grudging respect. Lance offers him an amused tilt of his lips and adjusts the weight, turning back toward the workshop. He had made the right call about taking it himself. 

Once he gets to the workshop, he sets the branch down carefully. He strips it of its beautiful golden leaves, setting them aside to make use of them later, soon followed by the twigs and smaller branches. He traces a finger along the rippling grain of the purple wood, unable to shake the image of Keith ascending the dais steps from his mind. 

He had made many bows before, but this one needed to be perfect.

A movement passes, and he and Keith have not been able to talk privately. It is tradition, of course, but that doesn’t make his parents’ visible efforts to fill Keith’s days with events and activities far away any less infuriating. It seems Lance isn’t doing that good a job at hiding it either, going off the amused smirks that have met him at every corner

Before, in training, Lance had been able to talk to Keith any time he liked. Now, a barrier of several of his well-intentioned family members is in the way. What’s more, Keith has successfully won all of them over. 

He and Allura have a secret passageway that connects their two rooms, meant for the event of an emergency. Allura has been using it nightly to debrief him on Keith’s actions during the day, from fixing a stone caught in the horseshoe of Melanor’s stallion, to the one-on-one sparring he had started with Alfor. He’s even invited Allura to spend time at their royal spiritual retreat on Daibazaal, with the assurance that it was a solitary experience and one need only bring a handmaiden for company. When Coran had mused about reinventing the system with which the library was ordered, Keith had offered to help reorganize the books within a second.

Needless to say, everyone loved him, and the word was getting out to the Altean people. Reports from the marketplaces showed that Galran wares had come into fashion, and the merchants had gone from struggling to make ends meet to being overwhelmed with orders. 

While Keith was off wooing the rest of his family, Lance ended up spending most of his time working on his bow, with the company of Shiro and Adam. At first, Lance had been awkward around the war hero, not knowing what to say to the man he had idolized during his training. Shiro was a prodigy, that fact well known from the moment he overcame Zarkon and took control of the Black Lion right from the emperor’s ship. 

Lance had expected to meet a composed Paladin, and he had. But he had also met a man with a goofy sense of humor whose love for his husband and younger brother is clear to see. When Lance had asked him about Galran symbols he could decorate the shaft of the bow with, Shiro’s eyes had lit up, suggestions spewing forth. 

Now, looking down at the completed longbow and quiver of arrows in his hands, Lance knows that they couldn’t be any more perfect. Every great Altean weapon is forged with song, and this one is no different. Shiro had helped him choose the lyrics to a Galran adventure epic stamped with golden pigment made from the original leaves. The lines wrap around the deep purple Atmos wood, in a way that the reader would have to turn the bow in their hands to read it. 

There is a banquet tonight, and parties from all the planets of the Voltron alliance have come to attend. It is time for Lance to respond to Keith’s Galran customs with his own. 

He’s wearing formal white and pale blue robes, which only make the dark purple longbow stand out where he’s slung it over his back. The quiver of arrows is left behind; he will have no use for them tonight. Atop his head isn’t a crown, like tradition states, but a wreath he had made from the spare golden Atmos leaves. 

The palace bells begin to strike eighteen, and Lance makes his way to the doors of the banquet hall. He’s shaking, just slightly, and he hopes no one notices. The last bell chime fades into silence, and the doors are pulled open before him. 

“Presenting Lance, second Prince of Altea, Prince of Alvarez.” Coran calls out, and the hall erupts into applause. 

The first person Lance’s eyes land on his Allura, who is smiling back at him encouragingly. The second, unsurprisingly, is Keith, standing to the right to the dais, swathed in the high-necked, dark formal robes typical of Daibazaal. 

Lance makes his way through the hall, slightly overwhelmed by the sheer number of people who have come to witness this moment. To his left, he can see Pidge and Hunk, each sending him complex hand signals that he thinks are meant to be supportive. Even Kolivan has come on behalf of the Blade of Marmora.

Lance reaches the dais and turns back to face their guests, an absolute hush falling upon the room. “I bid you all welcome to this courtship banquet on behalf of Keith and I,” He says formally. His mother had drilled this speech into him mercilessly, so there was no way he could mess it up now. “The time has come for me to announce my courtship trial. Let any member of this galaxy come to Altea and challenge me in the event of archery, so that I might prove my worth.” He says, to no surprise from the audience. “The trial will commence two movements from now. I nominate my dear sister, Allura, to brew the juniper berry serum for me. Thank you all for coming, and I hope to show you Altea’s pride at the trial.” He dips his head in a half bow, and the hall bursts into applause once more. 

The orchestra wastes no time in launching into song, and Lance takes the cue to turn to where Keith is standing at his side. He holds out a hand. “Care to dance?” 

Keith smiles, even though violet skin has verged on the side of pallid. “Of course. You’ll have to excuse me if I step on your feet, though.”

Lance can’t help but let out a laugh at that. Keith naturally excelled at so many things; it was ridiculous to think that something like dancing daunted him. “I don’t mind.” He promises, pulling Keith into the center of the hall. 

He places his hand on Keith's shoulder delicately, being sure to leave the correct measure of space between them so as not to cause a stir in the congregated Altean nobility. This close, it’s impossible to ignore Keith’s growth spurt. He’s probably taller than Lance now, not that he’s too eager to ask someone to check.

While Keith won’t be winning any Bloomworth dance competitions, he is better than he gives himself credit for, reacting instinctively to Lance’s direction as they spin amongst the other dancing pairs. Being honest with himself, Lance is glad to have the opportunity to be in his element and lead Keith for a change. “How’s this? Not so scary?” He asks softly, aware of the many eyes and ears trained on them. 

“It’s not too bad,” Keith replies honestly. “This is my first formal banquet like this, actually.”

Lance lifts an eyebrow. “Oh? The Galra don’t care to dance?”

Keith grins back at him wide enough that Lance can see his sharp incisors. “Not really. We celebrate with tests of wit and skill, combined with a lot of drinking.” He nods off to the side, where Lance’s family is watching them with Adam and Shiro. “Adam’s the one who gave Shiro and I dance lessons. It was hilarious when I was the one watching Shiro stumble around blindly, but when it was my turn, I was terrified.” He confesses.

Lance tilts his head back in a laugh. “I wish I was there.”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t want to see that.” Keith chuckles with him. The hand at Lance’s shoulder tightens, Keith’s thumb rubbing over the supple bowstring. “You’ve made this really well- It’s impressive.” He tells Lance. “I’m honored that you’ve chosen to use it for your trial.”

Lance smiles back at him, all of a sudden shy. “I don’t think I’ve ever made a better one.”

“How are you feeling, going into the trial?” Keith asks, a twist to his lips. “Is it true that the juniper berry serum might kill you?” 

Lance takes a second to consider. “This trial- it’s something I’ve known I would have to do all my life.” He states simply. “I’m nervous, but not afraid. The serum has killed an Altean royal family member before, but I trust Allura with all of my life. For me, it’s not a question of if she will brew it right, because I know she will. And she knows that I will do the same for when it comes to her courtship trial.”

Keith nods along. “It’s the same with me and Shiro.” The song was beginning to wind down, and Lance could see Allura starting to make a beeline for them, and he was sure Keith could, too. “Before we’re whisked away, I just wanted to say- I’m confident that you’ll succeed, Lance. I know I wasn’t any good at showing it on the Atlas, but- I know you can do it.”

Lance dips his head. “Thank you.” And then Allura’s there, her hand catching Lance’s wrist with an apologetic smile and a list of guests they must greet. As she pulls Lance towards the tables, he chances one look back.

Keith’s standing still in the sea of moving people. He’s looking down at his hand, a smile on his face. It’s small, but to Lance, it feels like a new beginning.

Chapter Text

The next two movements are a rush of trial preparations, full of carpenters making tracks over the grounds as they add extra seating to the royal amphitheater. An extra force of maids and footmen are hired to prepare for and welcome all of Lance’s challengers from across the galaxy. There are so many people milling through the palace, Lance feels like they’re all about to run out of air.   

It’s been a long time since a member of the Altean royal family has undergone a courtship trial, so the event is drawing more travelers and masters of archery than expected. Especially since, according to Pidge, this match is the talk of the galaxy. 

The sheer number of competitors does make the event more daunting. Every day gives him a new skilled warrior to overcome, a better score he must achieve. Realistically, he knows that even if he were not to win, as long as he put forward an honorable effort, both the planet and Keith would accept the match.

But he had missed out on first place so many times during training that he wanted it desperately now. He wanted to show Keith he was capable of being the best. 

Where the Galra were more direct, the Alteans created fanfare. The courtship trial’s intention is to be a show of how far Lance would go for Keith, a display of the amount of effort he is willing to put in. For a high-profile match like this, Lance will need to put everything he has into coming out on top against some of the best marksmen of the galaxy. 

If Keith is dissatisfied with the match or unimpressed by Lance’s performance in the trial, he is at full liberty to reject him. 

When Lance had brought that fact up Allura, she had scoffed in his face. “The man fought a giant snake monster to bring you a piece of sacred wood,” She had stated. “And you think he’ll reject you after all that?” 

Lance knows she’s right, he just wishes that his brain would agree, too. 

So Lance spends the majority of his time on the training deck, running target simulations. Shiro accompanies him, watching his form and always pushing for Lance to be a second faster, to take the difficulty level a step further. Lance can understand why Keith was so good already when they had all started Paladin training together. 

“Blindspot!” Shiro yells, and Lance reacts instinctively to his voice, spinning on the spot and shooting down the target flying right at his face. He hears the whine of another coming up of his left and takes that one out quickly, too.

“Incoming!” Shiro warns only a second before one of the simulation’s boulders would’ve fallen on his head. Lance weaves his way through the fake rockslide, shooting at the targets as they appear, each one faster and more unpredictable than the last. He’s almost at the end of the simulated crevasse when he reaches back and finds he only has one arrow left. 

Adapt. Overcome. Two more drone targets are on his tail. He nocks his final arrow and aims, waiting. The moment comes when the two drones look as if they’re about to cross paths, and Lance lets the arrow fly, diving into the goal zone just as the one rock wall crumbles completely. 

He gives himself a moment to just lay there, appreciating the cool floor against his flushed skin. Shiro’s footsteps approach, stooping to pick something up off the ground.

He enters into Lance’s field of vision. He’s holding Lance’s final shot, a single arrow piercing both targets. He lets out a low whistle. “Not bad, not bad at all.” He praises. “You really could teach Keith a thing or two. That boy needs to realize that not all problems can be solved by running straight at it with a sword.” He plays it off with exasperation, but Lance could see the fond smile on his face, clear as day. 

It hits Lance then, that Shiro is already treating it as fact that he and Keith will end up together. The amount of faith from a man he’s looked up to so much makes his head spin. “That might be a losing battle.” He counters.

“You’re probably right,” Shiro affirms, laughing. “You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve been on Altean soil, and I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would.”

Lance sits up. “What do you mean?”

Shiro drops down to sit beside him, setting the double target shot to the side. “After the war, we made our reparations to your people,” He begins. “But that was just on the surface. Deeper down, I could see that the Altean people weren’t going to forget or forgive what Zarkon did. The way that they instinctively took a step back whenever we passed by, I couldn’t stand it.”

“But you were always on our side,” Lance countered, a frown coming down upon his face. “We probably would’ve lost the war if it weren’t for Krolia.”

Shiro smiles back at him sadly. “It is one thing to know that, and another to betray your instincts when you see a Galra and think of an enemy.” He explains simply. “But now, I can walk through the streets, and everyone wants to stop me to ask for some detail about Keith, or when the wedding might be. An elderly lady asked me to pass on a list of baby names just yesterday. While my people back on Daibazaal are less open about it, they are just as enthusiastic. This match- it’s a symbol for hope, Lance. A hope that our two planets will be close partners as they once were.”

Lance nodded, overcome with the amount of faith Shiro put in him so easily. “I hope I won’t let you down.” He confesses.

Shiro bumps his shoulder against Lance’s. “I know you won’t.”

Lance can hear each competitor be announced, one after the other, a dizzying line of obstacles between him and completing his trial. The quiver of arrows feels all too heavy on his back. The day feels stiflingly hot, a bead of sweat already forming at the nape of his neck. Finally, Coran begins his introduction, and the thick curtains in front of Lance’s face are pulled away. 

“-Prince Lance!” Coran finishes as he steps out into the center of the arena. The roar from the crowd is deafening, and Lance almost feels embarrassed to be the home favorite. 

He rolls his shoulders back to loosen them, admiring the way the golden lettering on his Atmos bow glitters in the sun. He can’t help but pick Keith out of the crowd first, standing next to Alfor. Keith meets his eyes steadily, and then his eyes flick down all too deliberately. Lance can almost feel the heat of Keith’s gaze on his skin as he takes all of him in, from Lance’s toe tips to the crown of his head. 

Lance watches the way a smile curls Keith’s lips upward, and Lance gets the message. Keith likes what he sees. 

When Melanor had first brought out the combat suit, he had thought it was ridiculous. Blindingly white and impractical, sleeveless with sheer mesh panels. After he had tried it on, however, he understood the purpose. This way, almost all of Lance’s Altean markings were on show, from the twisting pattern on his back only found in the royal family, to the lines wrapping their way down his arms and legs. 

The juniper berry serum going well, Lance knows that it will be one impressive show. 

He lines up with the other competitors, finishing off the broad collection of species, forms, and strengths. They eye him carefully, appraising. There is a lot of prestige associated with being a competitor in an Altean courtship trial, but none more than beating the prince who named the task. 

Alfor approaches the railing of the royal box, and the gathered crowd falls into silence. “Welcome all, to this courtship trial. We are honored to have so many masters of archery competing today. I know I am biased, but I wish fair fortune to each of you.” He clears his throat, turning to the side where an aide is waiting, holding out a small box. Alfor reaches in, drawing out the item: a gold ring. “Your task today is simple: the first competitor to thread their arrow through this gold ring will be our champion today. I have enlisted the help of one of my prized fire falcons to hold it nice and high for you.” It went without saying that killing the bird would not result in a favorable future.

More than the rules Alfor had said aloud, there are those he stated by not saying anything. There are no restrictions on firing at another competitor. All their arrows had been inspected beforehand for this purpose, to ensure the arrowheads had been blunted, as instructed. There are safety measures, but Lance knows they aren’t failsafe. 

“Princess Allura will now bestow the juniper blessing.” Alfor announced, and all heads turn in unison to watch as Allura entered from the gate opposite. 

She too, is dressed in white, to compliment her brother. But where Lance’s suit is tight and designed for fighting, her robes fall from her shoulders like rippling water, the trailing hem pulling the sand beneath her feet into a half-moon pattern. Wound into her braided belt is a single Atmos leaf. A show of support. A reminder.

In her hands is the pale pink juniper berry serum that Lance knows she has been agonizing over for the last few quintants. It gleams dully within its chalice, shaking sluggishly in reaction to her movements. 

Before the lions, before the Altean race acquired the means of space travel, and before they had even developed a simple blaster, their ancestors had the Prime State. The juniper berry serum allowed them to reach sharper mental capacities, heighten their senses, and push their body further than it would usually allow them to. This was how the warriors of old fought, their markings shining bright, a warning to their enemies. It’s the subject of the majority of paintings and tapestries around the palace. 

There are a few reasons why current Altean warriors don’t access the Prime State. Most important of all of them is the harsh drop and exhaustion suffered directly afterward. These days, it’s a ceremony reserved only for formal trials like this one. 

Allura comes to a stop before him, and Lance drops to one knee, looking up at her with as much trust he can muster. Her hands are shaking, just a tiny amount that only he’s close enough to see. They have both grown up with the tales of their great uncle, who, when in the position that Lance is putting himself into now, hadn’t survived to see the Prime State. The juniper berry serum, if brewed incorrectly, could take as much as it promised to give.

The arena is deathly quiet. Slowly, Allura brings the chalice to rest against his lips. “Blessings to you, warrior.” She says, tilting her hands so the serum can slide down his throat. It’s sweeter than he expected, and viscous, clinging to his teeth. 

For a moment, nothing happens. Allura is watching him fiercely, and he can’t help slide his gaze over to the stands, to his parents, calm expressions carefully constructed on their faces. To Keith, who’s leaning forward, hands gripping the railing like he’s readying himself to launch over it.  

Then, searing, overwhelming heat bursts from his heart. A shiver runs through his limbs, and Lance is suddenly so aware of everything. The suit, cool and smooth against his skin. He can taste the dust of the arena in the back of his throat, smell the sudden apprehension of his competitors. Hear the gasp that escapes Allura’s mouth as she takes a half step back. 

He rises back to his feet. His markings are shining, and he knows his eyes must be, too. He had never felt so free to move, like time is treating him better than everyone else around him. His heartbeat rushes in his ears, a stallion gone wild and out of his control. It is as terrifying as it is brilliant. 

He’s glad that he’s not required to say anything because he’s honestly not sure if he’s capable. 

Alfor steps back to the railing. “Let the trial commence!” He bellows, and Lance can feel the air vibrate from it. 

He’s so distracted by the sudden rush of information to his senses that he’s surprised when the ground beneath his feet shudders, great stone walls rising quickly to separate the competitors. Then they began to move, and Lance had to leap back to avoid being crushed by the great slabs of pale stone. They’re forcing them to the edges of the arena. 

The fire hawk cries, far overhead, and Lance looks up to study it before he can think. It’s hovering up near the clouds and at an awkward angle. He couldn’t take a shot from here. 

The grinding movement of the walls stop, and he takes a moment to listen. Footsteps, maybe ten paces away. Lance holds his breath and creeps closer, waiting for the perfect moment. The other competitor falters, must have reached an intersection. They take the turn towards the center of the arena, and it’s a mistake, because now they’re right on the other side of the wall. 

He takes the opportunity, vaulting over the wall and whipping the shaft of the bow down to catch the Olkarian on the shoulder, sending her to the ground. Her own bow falls from her grip, and when she looks up, Lance has already notched an arrow in her direction. Sighing, she raises her hands. “I yield.” She declares, and the ground beneath her opens up, and she’s gone. 

Lance takes the path she was chosen, trying to make his way to the center so he can get a better angle at the ring. Somewhere, there’s a cry, the tell-tale sound of grinding sound signaling that another contestant has been sent below. 

Alfor had taught him the trick with mazes after the first time Lance had gotten lost in the dizzying turns of the palace gardens. If you pick a direction, and always turn that way no matter what, you’ll always find your way out, eventually.

But Lance doesn’t have eventually, he needs to be the fastest-

Something’s wrong. 

His footsteps stutter. He hadn’t heard anything, but something was off. Then it hits him, a damp, dark scent that doesn’t fit in with the heat and sand of the day. Someone is waiting for him.

Ahead, the path takes a sharp turn. That’s where they’re waiting for him, he’s sure of it. 

He tries to keep his steps even as he approaches the corner. What should he do? He doesn’t want to shoot anyone at point-blank range, not even with blunted arrows. He changes his grip on the bow, hoping the same blow he had dealt the Olkarian would work a second time. 

He’s expecting someone slight, to have moved so silently. Instead, what he gets when he rounds the turn is a Balmeran much taller than him. 

The shaft of his bow bounces off his opponent’s chest, and a hard arm catches him in the ribs, sending Lance crashing into the maze wall. All the air is forced from his lungs, and he gasps, hearing the whistle of the air parting around the next blow before he can see it. He blindly rolls to the side, and the fist connects with the wall, cracking it. He winces, whipping out a leg that causes the Balmeran to stumble.

He still has the Atmos bow in hand. When the next blow comes, he ducks under the alien’s armpit, planting a foot on the Balmeran’s knee. He launches upwards, twisting in midair to bring the bow around the Balmeran’s neck, legs scrabbling for purchase.

The Balmeran thrashes, backing into one of the walls, and breath leaves Lance’s lungs a second time. He hangs on grimly, keeping the pressure over the windpipe. A few ticks later, the Balmeran lets up, rapping his knuckles against the wall. Lance lets him go, putting a few steps between them instinctively. The Balmeran nods at him one, lips curling in disappointment, and then the ground opens up to take him down, too. 

Lance feels his chest, hoping nothing’s broken. He didn’t want to get into another close-quarters attack like that, and this maze was taking up too much precious time in the Prime State. He flicks his eyes up to the top of the walls. Much more conspicuous, but definitely faster. It was certainly one way to think outside the glegagon. 

He leaps up and hits the surface on top of the wall running. He scans the sky for the hawk, finds it still too far away. He jumps a gap, trying to gage if there are any more competitors nearby. 

Lance hears the whine of an arrow and ducks just in time, sees it cut through the air where he had just been standing. A second follows shortly after, and he flips to dodge it, following the line where it came from to the shooter. 

He has an arrow nocked and ready when his opponent bobs back up to take the third shot, his fingers releasing without having to think about it. The unknown alien’s arrow flies astray, but his connects solidly with the bulk of their blow. He’s turning away as he hears it splinter into pieces. 

He continues his sprint to the center, dodging arrows left and right as he sends off a few of his own, aiming to destroy bows or stun his opponents. He eyes the fire hawk. It’s starting to swoop lower, the sun glinting off the gold ring in its grasp.

Someone aims an arrow, but another competitor ambushes them, and the arrow goes far wide. From what he can tell, there’s only a handful of them left, but it’s still enough that taking time to aim for the ring is going to be almost impossible.

Another competitor is running full tilt through the maze, about to cross beneath him. Lance leaps, somersaulting in the air, enjoys the look of surprise on their face as he pulls their bow right from their hands. He uses the momentum from the rest of the flip to throw the bow somewhere off into the stands. That’s another down.

He’s still midair when he hears the arrow approaching, too fast and too close. He won’t be able to twist away in time. His hands react on instinct, whipping his bow around in a smooth motion. The shaft connects with the arrow with a sharp clang, and he swipes it straight out of the air. 

He lands, sending an arrow out that he knows connects. 

There can’t be many left now. He drops down to the ground again into a dead-end, aiming for the ring. Hardly no wind, the fire hawk swooping down smoothly, all three suns behind him. It’s going to be a good shot-

He has to dive out of the way to avoid another arrow bearing down at him from above. Cursing, he ducks around the corner, waits for the second arrow to come. Once he hears the tell-tale whistle, he’s up on top of the walls again, aiming for the arrow’s source. He can’t aim fully at the Dalterian before they’re dropping behind cover. 

They’re far enough away that he can’t look down into the row they’re hiding in. He sprints for the direction the arrow had come from, but can’t make it far before he has to duck under another arrow coming from a slightly different direction. They’re on the move.

With a start, he realizes he can’t hear any other commotion in the arena. They must be the last two left. He needs to eliminate this final competitor so he can take the final shot. He reaches back to check his quiver. There are only two arrows left.

The next arrow comes from another change in direction. Lance huffs, pushing down hard with one foot to turn sharply. They’re fast, leading Lance further from the target. 

His blood freezes when he realizes. They’re playing him for time, waiting until the Prime State wears off, and the exhaustion takes him out.

Time isn’t on his side. He needs to finish this, fast. He comes to a stop, and then immediately rushes back the way he came, faking like he’s trying to put enough space between them to take the shot. He listens intently, waiting for the moment the Dalterian begins to pursue him-

A pair of feet landing, almost soundless. But not soundless enough. 

Lance nocks his second to last arrow and spins, releasing the draw before he can even think to aim. The arrow springs off the string half a precious second before the Dalterian’s. His eyes follow its flight, right until it slams into the Dalterian’s bow, splitting it in two. 

Half a second later, the Dalterian’s arrow hits him in the shoulder. 

Lance stumbles, the hand not holding his bow catching the edge of the wall, steadying him. He had thought the other’s arrow would fly astray. How had he not sensed it coming? 

With a heavy heart, he looks down at his markings on his hands. The glow has begun to fade. When he looks up for the firehawk, his vision is not nearly as sharp as it had been fifteen ticks ago. 

He’s leaving the Prime state, and he hasn’t had the chance to take the shot. 

Frustration wells up in his throat, hot and sour. The noise from the crowd has begun to wrap around him again. There’s gasps, his people muttering as they realize what is happening. 

He tries to find a familiar face in all the eyes looking back at him. Then he sees Shiro, staring him down, mouth shaping words Lance can’t pick out but understands all the same.

You don’t need it.

Lance sets his mouth straight. He was a good shot before he entered the Prime State, and he’s still one now. He reaches back for his last arrow, slotting it onto the string in a motion well-practiced. 

He lifts up, finding the firehawk again. Stops listening to the commotion around him. Aims for the space he knows the firehawk is about to fly into. Lets out a breath.

When the arrow leaves his fingers, he knows it’s good. 

He follows its flight through the air, but when it reaches the firehawk he can’t see if it threaded the ring, can’t hear the sound of an arrowhead hitting gold. The arrow lands, and the maze walls grind down. 

When his feet hit the sand again, all the shine has come out of his markings. He’s so tired he feels like his bones have been magnetized, pulling him down to the core of Altea. His shoulder throbs, but he has more important things to worry about. 

He crosses the empty arena to where his arrow fell. Holding his breath, he reaches down with shaking fingers and picks up his last Atmos arrow.

It has a gold ring threaded onto it, held in place by the fletching. 

Grinning, he holds it aloft for all to see, and the resulting cheers ring in his ears. Footsteps pound towards him, fast and desperate. He turns just in time to see Keith, hands coming up to grasp at his shoulders, then, remembering his injury, Lance’s face.

“You did it, Lance.” Keith gasps, a manic smile on his face, a laugh bubbling right from his lungs. “You crazy sharpshooter, you actually did it.”

Lance smiles, holding the arrow out to Keith. “This is for you,” He replies lamely. 

Keith’s fingers wrap around the arrow carefully, thumb rubbing over the polished gold. “I accept this gift.”

A sudden rush of giddiness overtakes Lance. That’s when he passes out.

Chapter Text

When Lance wakes, he’s back in his own bed. The suns have moved, no longer blinding bright, but softer, golden. He can see specks of dust in the air as they undulate in the light of his window, and he’s mesmerized for a few moments. It must be late afternoon, hours since the trial this morning. 

There’s a low but present headache making itself known at the back of his head, Lance moves his eyes sluggishly from the window around the room. There’s one very important factor that is out of place.

“Keith?” He asks, unable to push surprise into his croaky voice.

The man in question sits up straight from where he had been slumped in an armchair at Lance’s bedside, eyes flicking up from the data tablet he’s holding. “You’re awake.”

Lance grins back at him. “Evidently.” He says, planting his hands to the mattress in an attempt to sit up. His shoulder flares in a bright burst of pain and he falls back down. 

Keith’s already up, strong hands sliding underneath his back. “Forgot you got shot in the shoulder, huh.” He muses, lifting Lance up all too easily, wedging a pillow between him and the headboard. 

“I didn’t really get shot,” Lance counters. “The arrowheads were blunted.”  

Keith raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m sure you know better than I do how much force is behind an arrow, sharp or not.”

He has a point and he knows it. Lance bites his lip, folding his hands in his lap so he wouldn’t fidget. “Anyway,” He says awkwardly. After the weeks of glances over dinner tables and brief touches, being alone in his bedroom feels so… His cheeks feel hot and he hopes Keith won’t mention how red they must have become. “How are you here? In Altean courtship terms, this is pretty scandalous.”

Keith shrugged. “I may have insisted on seeing you back to the palace, and then Allura may have implied that she would let me in through the secret passageway if I wasn’t allowed to wait for you to wake up officially.” He hesitated, wavering halfway back to the armchair. “Although if you’re not comfortable, I can-”

“Keith.” Lance interrupts. “It’s fine, really. I’m not worried about my innocence, or whatever half the palace will be saying about it by now.” 

“Right. Okay.” Keith says, dropping back down into the chair. Lance thinks he might be blushing too, but it’s hard to tell with the way the golden light plays over Keith’s soft violet skin. “She’s uh- she’s a force of nature. Allura, I mean. I’d never really gotten to know her before because she started training a year before us.”

Lance hums in agreement. “When my father passes the crown to her she’ll probably flip the whole palace upside down.” He states seriously.

Keith chuckles, low and in the back of his throat. Lance surprises himself by how much he enjoys the sound. “Be careful, now you’ve said it, it'll probably come true.” he replies, bringing a hand up to brush an errant strand of hair back.

Lance’s eyes catch on the golden ring on his finger, gleaming in the afternoon light. “That’s -you’re wearing the ring.” He stutters.

The hand stills, Keith looking down at the ring self-consciously. “Am I not meant to?” He asks. “I thought it was a gift.”

“No you are meant to,” Lance assures him, frowning at himself. It seemed so strange to him like even after he had completed the courtship trial he’s still not ready for their match to be real. “It’s just- Does this all seem strange to you?” 

Keith brings his hands down to the armrest in a casual motion that seems forced. He looks at Lance carefully, like Lance is a puzzle he doesn’t know how to solve. “In what way?”

Years of propriety and manners lessons have given Lance a sense for when he’s on the verge of saying something obtuse. He swallows it down now. “Well, in training we were always pitted against each other, remember? Keith and Lance, neck and neck, rivals. Especially with all the tension between our planets after the Great War.” He looks down at his hands, wrapping his fingers together. “I always thought you hated me, at least at first.”

“Lance, I-” Keith starts, voice full of conviction. “Maybe we disagreed, and were competitive, but- I’ve never hated you, Lance. Not ever.”

That sends a cool wave of something through Lance, although he won’t admit to himself that it’s relief. “I- okay.” He says, feeling awkward. “That’s good, then. It wouldn’t be too good if we entered into this match acting the same way we did at training.”

“It wouldn’t.” Keith agrees easily, eyes finding Lance’s again. There’s some emotion there that Lance can’t name, not yet. “A lifetime is a long time to argue and try to overtake one another. But I think you’d be surprised by how well we fit together.”

Lance nods. Altea and Daibazaal needed them to be able to work together, to be a team. “For the good of both our people.”

The corner of Keith’s lips twitches up at that, like he's forcing them not to turn down. “For the good of both our people.” He agrees.

After that, Keith and Lance are allowed to spend more time together. Lance takes advantage of the opportunity to show Keith around his favorite places of Altea, as Keith has never ventured much further than the palace grounds. 

He flies them to Belancia, an extinct volcano nestled in the embrace of it’s larger sister mountain, Hertha. He refuses to tell Keith where exactly they’re headed as they hike up the mountain, or even why they’re going. Keith only huffs in exasperation and follows dutifully. 

Once they finally reach the lip of the crater all is revealed: a river, running off the higher peaks of Hertha, disappears into Belancia’s crater, seemingly falling forever. The sound is deafening, and the view stretches out far over the Altean landscape. Lance doesn’t pay too much attention to it, though. He’s too entranced by Keith’s face as he takes it all in, eyes wide, jaw slack. 

The next time they have a chance to go out, Lance takes them to the Hollow Forest, leading Keith through the impossibly large trees that reach high into the sky. Keith had been able to guess from the name that the trees were hollow, and Lance had let him try and find the entrance for a good ten doboshes before relenting. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he gently stroked the tree bark, convincing the wood to part for them. 

But the movement comes to an end all too soon, and Lance stands with his family, watching the Galran ship return to space. Their Altean courtship period has ended; Lance would be following him in a movement to begin the Galran part. 

His stomach twists itself in knots thinking about what might await him on Daibazaal. Had Keith felt the same, coming to Altea?

A hand drops down on his shoulder, familiar and comforting. Lance looks up at his father. “Should we take a walk, son?” He asks, tilting his head toward the gardens. 

Lance nods and lets himself be steered into the bushes. 

“Keith has come far, since your days together in paladin training, don’t you agree?” Alfor asks, smiling down at him. 

Lance hums, not entirely sure where the conversation is heading. “Yes, he’s- he’s really grown into himself.” He pauses, unable to find the right words. “He seems more like a prince, now.”

Alfor raises a brow at that. “And so do you, although I’m sure you haven’t noticed. You both have grown into impressive men, even if you don’t give yourself credit for it, Lance.” That hits Lance hard and he has to swallow down the emotion it brings up. “Especially in comparison to that time I saw the two of you make a mess out of that simulation on the Atlas.”

Lance winces at the memory. “Neither of us knew you and Krolia would be watching.”

Alfor chuckles. “I believe that was the point, actually. It’s not good enough to put on an impressive show when you know people are watching. You need to be great yourself, all the time, even when no one else can see you.” 

“That- was that Zarkon’s problem?” Lance asks, hushed, unable to speak the dead emperor’s name normally.

The corners of Alfor’s lips tighten. It’s been decaphoebs since his friend’s betrayal, but Lance can tell it still hurts as if it’s only just happened. “Yes and no,” Alfor replies. “Zarkon did fool us with a show for a long time, but there was greater evil rooted in him from the rift. It was my fault for not seeing it sooner. Fewer lives would have been lost.”

He’s thinking of Trigal and Grygan, Lance knows. He had been young when Zarkon had turned his forces on Altea, but he remembers the last time he saw them clearly: strong and determined as they had met Alfor and Blaytz in the throne room, conviction clear on their faces as they promised to protect Altea. 

Lance remembers their funeral, afterward. A joint gathering of the Rygnraths and Dalterians, the yellow and green lion's heads bowed down in grief. The shadow that had lived in his father's eyes as he announced he was stepping down from the Red Paladinship, memories like ghosts, haunting him.

Now, Blaytz is the last paladin from Alfor’s team still serving, despite loudly wishing for retirement. The Blue Lion has always been picky.

“But the point I wanted to make,” Alfor continues. “Is that lesson doesn’t only apply to being a Paladin, or a leader. It matters for marriage, as well.”

Lance frowns. “What do you mean?”

Alfor stares ahead of them, taking time to gather his thoughts. “I know you and Allura have made connections from the worsening relations between Altea and Daibazaal to this match. I’m glad you have duty in your heart.” He turns to Lance then, gaze serious. “But I do not wish for you to be a slave to your duty. I have absolute faith that you can make both our planets cherish this match, but I want you to be able to cherish it, too.”

Lance is glued to the window as their ship makes its landing on Daibazaal. He has been here before, on diplomatic ventures with his parents. But it had just been a planet, before, a tenuous ally at best. 

Now, this could be a home to him, too. 

Where Altea boasts a landscape full of vivid colors, Daibazaal seems darker, more muted in comparison. Mountains soar up high, their peaks lost in tawny clouds. Below, the capital city is nestled in a wide circular valley. Its tall, dense buildings are pock-marked with thousands of windows, lights glowing gold instead of Altea’s white. Around the crater, the city ends abruptly, giving way to deep blue and green grids of farmland. Daibazaal’s greater population and its need to feed them is obvious, space conserved keenly in a way they have never needed to on Altea. 

Most striking of all is the dimensional rift, frozen in time: jagged edges cutting through the city and farmland alike, obvious in its intention to swallow the planet whole. Just the sight of it sends a shiver down Lance’s spine. 

The ship lowers and Lance can’t help but fiddle with the heavy coat that hung from his shoulders. The outside is the expected stark white of Altea; but the inside lining boasts a deep Galran purple. Lance knows that the detail will not go unnoticed.

The ship touches the ground and his father drops a warm hand on his shoulder, leaning down to look Lance in the eyes. “Ready?” He asks.

“I suppose so.” Lance replies, trying to remember the posture classes he had hated at seven decapheobs old. He imagines a string attached to the crown of his head, pulling up into the sky, shoulders falling back, chin tilted up just the right amount. He thinks of the string, held in a hand in the sky, controlling his movements. 

The bay doors open, and Lance is faced with the Galra castle. Sheer, unmarred walls reach high into the sky, trailing off into a thousand spires. At every window and door, a golden lantern hangs, the color of a Galran’s eyes. Their color of welcome. 

The entire Galran court is assembled on the castle steps, forming an impenetrable wall of grey and purple. Krolia stands proudly at the front and center, a black crystal staff held in one hand. Lance can’t see Keith anywhere.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to walk nearly as far as Keith had to when he came to Altea. As he steps down to the black platform, he sees his own reflection looking back at him, framed by the amber sky. He’s suddenly struck by the overwhelming sensation of being out of place. 

He pushes the thought aside, following his father as they walk towards Krolia.

“Chancellor Krolia, I am pleased to see you again on such good terms.” Alfor greets her.

Krolia inclines her head. “I feel the same, King Alfor. We are excited here on Daibazaal to see the joining of our two families.”

“Then I expect the next time we meet we will be on even better terms.” 

Not for the first time, Lance is glad that Allura is the heir to the throne and not him. Just trying to construct these careful, diplomatic sentences seems incredibly taxing. 

“Are you satisfied in leaving your son in my care?” Krolia asks formally. 

“I am,” Alfor replies, nodding. He draws Lance closer to him and places a kiss on his forehead. “I am proud of you, my son.” He murmurs, low enough for only Lance to hear. 

Lance smiles. “I’ll see you soon.” He promises. 

“Come, Lance,” Krolia says, becoming with an arm. “There is something for you to see.”

With a last look back to his father framed by the Altean guard, Lance follows, walking up the steps. He can feel the eyes of the court on him as he passes. Is he meant to look back at them? It would be strange, wouldn’t it, if he were to rotate his head every which way like a pipieak bird. He resolves to keep his eyes fixed on the clear line of Krolia’s shoulders as he passes them all by.

Soon, they enter the cavernous entry hall of the Galran castle, glittering black stone winking at him in a million reflections. But they aren’t there for long, Krolia leading him into a smaller corridor off the side. “I hope your entrance was not too intimidating,” Krolia says. “I tried to organize something a little more subtle but the court wanted to see you.”

Lance almost stumbles. “They wanted to see me? To know what I looked like?”

Krolia smiles at him, slowing to make him walk beside her rather than behind. “I imagine almost every Galran knows what you look like, Lance. But there are some things that a picture or footage cannot show, things that are very important for us.”

“What kind of things?” Lance asks, fiercely curious as to what the court was examining him for. 

Krolia hums. “For one, the way you hold yourself. You have been presented as a warrior, and they wanted to know if that was true. Another was to detect any sense of malice or ill intent. The proposal being what it is, well- Keith is well loved in the court.”

Lance nods as they rise up a series of steps. “They can tell all of that just from a few doboshes?”

Krolia smiles. “Among other things, yes.”

Lance wants to ask what else she means, but he suspects that he will come to know these things with time. They enter a new grey corridor, just like all the others before, except now Lance can see through a series of slotted windows that show just how high they have climbed. “Can you tell me where we are going?”

Krolia looks up and to the side, as if considering the best course of response. “The Galran courtship revolves around gifts,” She tells him. “The Atmos branch Keith brought you when he arrived in Altea was the first. This is another gift, one that he has made for you. All are promises for the future.”

Lance lowers his head, turning his mind over her words. What could Keith have for him now? And why did it have to be in some lofty corner of the castle, instead of out in the open, like last time?

Their footsteps are loud on the bare floor, and the sound bounces off the wall. It seems stark and cold in comparison to the love of decorating in Altea. Lance hopes that he will come to find something to love in this castle like he loves the Altean palace. 

They rise up yet more stairs and exit into a shorter corridor. At the end is a door, blindly white against the gray stone. Krolia smiles gently at him and gestures to the door. “This is where I leave you. What is behind this door is between you and Keith only.”

Lance swallows, throat suddenly dry. “Thank you,” He croaks.

With one last knowing look, Krolia turns and leaves. Lance lets out a breath. Breathes in deep. His hand comes to the door handle, turning it carefully. 

He pushes the door open, immediately shocked by the sudden change.

He finds a large, airy room. His eyes can’t help but be drawn first to the large windows that look over the countryside of Daibazaal. He steps forward, shoe catching on something soft. The muted grey floor of the rest of the castle is clothed in pale blue woven rugs. Lance bends down, already knowing that it’s genuine Altean make before he runs his fingers over the soft threads. He also knows that these rugs can only be found at the palace township’s market back in Altea. 

Everywhere he looks, he can see an intermingling of Altea and Daibazaal, from Galran purple chairs adorned with white Ulurian blankets, to the bowl of dried juniper berries sitting on a chrome table. There’s a stand by the door where Keith’s Marmora blade is hanging, with a spot right beside it that Lance already knows will be perfect for his Atmos bow. 

There are framed photo-tablets hanging on the walls, cycling through places familiar and not: the Altean palace, Belancia, and the Hollow Forest, all beside places Lance has never seen - a mountain range, a silver river flowing up into the sky, a collection of moons. 

Lance tears his gaze from the pictures and is faced with the bed. It’s simple but large, facing the windows. Lance wonders if it’s as soft as it looks, wonders how the smooth sheets would feel against his skin-

“This would be our room,” Keith says, clearing his throat. “All going to plan, that is.”

Lance whirls around and, finds Keith leaning on a doorway he hadn’t noticed before. “Oh,” he replies dumbly, a jumble of words he wants to say caught in his chest. “It’s lovely, Keith.” 

Tension that Lance hadn’t noticed before bleeds from Keith’s posture. “I wanted- I know Daibazaal is very different to Altea. I want you to be able to feel like you’re at home here.”

Something blooms in Lance’s chest at that, tight and hot and almost painful. “I think this could be a home,” He says, quietly. “Or I want it to be, at least.”

Keith swallows and takes a few steps closer. “Does that mean you find this satisfactory? I have to ask for tradition.”

“I do.” 

A smile crawls onto Keith’s face. “Then I’m glad,” He says, coming ever closer. “Listen, Lance, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Lance stills, simultaneously wanting to look anywhere but Keith’s face but being unable to. “There is?”

“The other day, you talked about this match needing to succeed for the good of both our people.” It’s not a question, but a statement. Lance nods. “I just- I don’t want you to be burdened by this match. There are other ways to strengthen ties between our planets. If you don’t want to go through with this, then you can say so.”

Lance’s throat runs dry. “Keith, if this is about the proposal, you don’t have to worry-”

“I’m not thinking about myself, Lance, but you.” Keith cuts him off. “I don’t want to see you miserable a few years from now because you’re trapped in an arranged match when there could be other ways-”

“Keith, you know this is the best option.” Lance shoots back.

Keith sighs, frustrated. “For our planets, yes, but I’m trying to talk about you, here.”

Lance frowns. “And why are we not talking about you, then? Is this really about you not wanting to go through with it?”

Keith opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. Finally, he says, “Lance, I made my mind up about this match a long time ago.”

“What does that mean? The match was arranged not too long ago.”

Keith looks out the windows, clenching his jaw. “The match was- It was my idea. The marriage wasn’t a suggestion from the advisory committee, but my own.” All the breath seems to leave Keith, his shoulders sagging. “But I won’t force you into this if you don’t want it.”

Finally, Lance can recognize the guilt writhing beneath Keith’s skin for what it is. Slowly, he reaches up, careful to make sure that Keith can see the hand coming before it lands on his cheek. “You don’t need to worry, Keith. I-” How does he say that he’s looking forward to marrying Keith? “I-”

There’s a knock on the door. “Princes?” A voice calls. “It’s time to prepare for the welcoming banquet.”

“One moment!” Keith calls, turning back to Lance, some unreadable emotion clouding his eyes. “Are you sure? I need to hear it.”

Lance sallows. “I am.”

Lance was expecting a Galran banquet to be something otherworldly and strange, but in the end, it seems like every other banquet he has attended. He sits at the head table, to the left of Krolia while the food is served. Keith sits on her other side, beside a tall, imposing man who seems to have an eternal scowl. Lance cannot be happier that Shiro is seated beside him, Adam at his side. 

The talk through dinner is pleasant, Krolia inquiring over the state of Altea’s seasons, and what activities Lance does in his spare time, and did he have anything he had heard of Daibazaal that he wanted to see.

“The Atmos branch Keith brought was so lovely,” Lance comments, seeing Keith choke on his food out of the corner of his eye. “I would like to see the tree itself, I think.”

Krolia chuckles. “It is not an easy journey, nor a safe one.” She warns. “But then, I have no doubt that you can manage. We watched your betrothal trials here, too. The Galra know just what a formidable warrior you can be.”

“I can assure you, Chancellor, that it is much more impressive in person.” Shiro adds, his voice just a touch louder than usual. 

Lance’s eyes sweep the room. Though the nobles of the court are turned together, talking amongst themselves, he distinctly feels as if they have been listening in to the entire conversation. Shiro’s words are not only for Krolia, but the room at large. 

Krolia is nodding in agreement. “Well then, may the Galra expect a demonstration from you, at some point in the future?”

“Certainly, Chancellor.” Lance replies, a smile on his face. “I’d be happy to.” 

“In fact, perhaps Keith could join as well,” Adam speaks up. “I understand that the two of you were notorious for sparring often in your Academy days.”

Keith snorts but makes a big effort to appear like he isn’t listening. Krolia laughs loud enough to cover the sound, leaning in closer to Lance conspiratorially. “Both in and out of the training room, I believe.” She says quietly, just to him, causing a blush to erupt over Lance’s cheeks. Then, louder: “I believe that would suit very well. There’s a harvest celebration approaching in some quintaints. It could be good for the spirit of the people.”

A sign of unity, Lance understands, but doesn’t speak it aloud. 

Somehow, they have progressed throughout all the courses, the last plates being cleared quickly. Krolia is the first to stand, and she pulls him up with him. A hush falls over the court, their eyes on him, but Lance is comforted by Krolia’s warm smile.

“I welcome you as a new son,” She says clearly. “Finding his new home here for the first time.” She drags her hand down the side of his neck, a motherly gesture. There’s another intent behind it, he knows. Another type of welcome, one for the more sensitive Galran noses.

She moves away, and Shiro rises next, clasping his shoulder firmly, looking directly into his eyes. “Welcome to Daibazaal, Lance.” He says. “I have thought before of the kind of person who would deserve my brother, and you’re better. I am happy to see you here.”

Adam steps up beside him, pushing a lock of Lance’s hair from his face, tousling it slightly. “I welcome you, Lance, as I myself was welcomed. I hope you find a home on Daibazaal as I have done.” 

Then he too steps aside, leaving room for the formidable man that had been sitting beside Keith. “I am Krolian, leader of the Blade of Marmora. This is our customary greeting,” He says, gripping the top of Lance’s forearm. Lance repeats the action, half wondering to himself how he ended up in this position with such a famous war figure. “I too saw your strength in battle. You fight with spirit like the best of the Galra. Welcome.”

At that, the rest of the court presses forward, each member taking time to touch Lance in some way, each drawing some connection to him. One lady invites him to practice his archery with her, followed by the head of the merchant’s guild, promising to import juniper berries in his honor. 

The flood continues, until Lance has been greeted by every member of the court. All but Keith, who hangs back, his eyes never leaving Lance. When it is all done, Lance can’t help but turn to him, expecting it to be Keith’s turn, a light blush burning his cheeks. 

Keith meets his eyes, nods at him once, then turns and leaves the room. 

“It is done,” Krolia states, suddenly beside him again. “Takashi can escort you to your room. I suggest that you get a good night’s sleep.”

Bewildered, Lance can only nod, following Shiro from the room. Keith hadn’t said one thing to him the entire evening.

Lance sleeps well past dawn the next morning, awakening to a warm plate of Galran breakfast and a tell-tale curl of steam coming from the bathroom. He eats and bathes, delighting in the small comfort of his Altean soaps and lotions. When he returns to the room, a white suit has been set out for him on the bed. As he puts it on, he reveals the thick purple cloth underneath, shining slightly under the light of the new day. 

Lance unravels the cloak and swings it over his shoulders. It’s heavy, but not like it’s dragging him down, but an embrace. This is the day, he knows. 

There’s a knock at the door, and Lance isn’t surprised to see Shiro on the other side. “Ready?” He asks. 

Lance grins lopsidedly. “As much as I can be.” 

Shiro laughs, patting Lance on the back as he gently guides him from the room. 

Their footsteps echo in the corridors, but Lance doesn’t want to make idle conversation. Shiro seems to sense this, because he makes no move to start one, either. As they descend through the castle, Lance becomes more and more aware of a kind of rumble, like a large beast. He doesn’t think there were any kinds of monsters involved with the proposal, but then again Keith could be so dramatic at times would it really be a surprise-

But no. Now, he can understand the noise for what it is, a cacophony of many voices, each reaching of and intermingling with the other. A crowd, and an enormous one at that.

As if Lance isn’t nervous enough already. 

They reach the reflective entry hall, and Lance finds the faces he met last night, looking back at him as they stride down the middle. They are smiling, which is a relief. It seems that they have faith he will not mess this up.

The light from outside streams through the open doorway, almost blinding in comparison to the black hall. As they approach, Lance’s eyes adjust and he sees waves upon waves of Galrans, the paved space where the Altean ship had landed the day before, the gardens surrounding the castle, even past the gates and in the city beyond, filling all the streets he could see, others leaning out of windows in the towers. 

Once again, cameras follow his every movement, whirring as they adjust. Lance knows that his family will be watching in Altea and the thought makes him smile. 

The courtiers follow him as he steps through the doorway. Krolia stands to the side and smiles as his eyes alight upon hers. Shiro moves from his side to hers, leaving Lance alone because-

There, standing halfway down the steps, is Keith. He’s looking back at Lance, dressed only in a pair of simple black trousers, violet skin bathed in sunlight. His hair has been braided neatly from his face. In his hand is his Marmora blade. 

Lance looks down at him from the top of the steps. The nobles behind him have stopped moving. The crowd has gone silent, or maybe Lance has stopped being able to hear them. He takes the first step, heart pounding in his ears.

He vaguely wonders how embarrassing it would be if he tripped and fell down all these stairs in front of half the galaxy. The smart thing to do would be to look down, to be sure of his step, but Lance can’t look away from Keith. 

He thinks of the day Keith came to him with the Atmos branch to begin the courtship. Then, he had walked up the Altean steps to Lance. Now, Lance was walking down the Galran steps to Keith. 

It’s both an eternity and not enough time when he finally reaches Keith. The Marmora blade glows, growing in size. Keith swings the blade up, other hand reaching for Lance’s-

The hilt of the blade is warm in Lance’s palm. Keith steadies his grip, then draws his hands back, holding the blade level with his chest. Keith steps forward, pressing the tip of his own sword into the bare skin over his heart.

At another time, this could be the scene of a battlefield, the prince of one planet leveling a sword at the other. A tragedy. 

“Lance, Prince of Alvarez, son of Altea,” Keith begins, speaking clearly. “My last courtship gift to you can only be my heart. Do with it what you wish.” Keith shifts ever closer, and the slight of dark blood welling around the point of the blade almost makes Lance panic. All he wants is to drop the blade, but he knows he must keep it steady and let Keith say what he needs to. 

“If you feel the same as I do, then marry me. But if you do not, then show mercy upon me and strike my heart dead.” Keith declares, looking deep into Lance’s eyes. 

Lance swallows. He could do it. At this moment, he had the power to kill a prince of the Galra, and Krolia, Shiro, the court, and the entire crowd before him would let him, as custom dictated. He could fly back to Altea, no doubt arriving to the declaration of war. 

But there is no life that Lance could live in which he did such a thing.

“Keith, second Prince of Daibazaal, I will marry you.” Lance lifts the blade from Keith’s chest with relief, lowering the point to the floor-

Keith’s hands cup his cheeks and he draws Lance into a kiss. He feels like he’s burning under Keith’s cool touch. He’s thought about kissing Keith before, but this is better. His hands flutter to Keith’s shoulders, relishing in his new license to touch. They break apart before it can be deemed improper.

Keith is looking back at him with such adoration that Lance is half worried his swollen heart will burst right out of his chest. Lance can feel the cheer of the crowd vibrating his bones even if he still can’t hear it yet. He smiles back at Keith, shyly linking their fingers together. Unity. 

Ahead of him is an entire lifetime of happiness at Keith’s side. Lance has never been so sure of anything.