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It was awfully hard, Allura had to admit, to maintain a respectfully diplomatic exterior in front of her guest-slash-prisoner-slash-questionable-ally when his face was more reminiscent of a kicked puppy or a particularly distraught balloon than the Galran prince he was. Still, she made the attempt. It would have been mean to laugh. Out loud, at least.
“What are you looking at?” Lotor demanded in a voice so thick and hoarse that it took her a moment to interpret what he’d said.
“Nothing,” she retorted. No laughing. “…Are you quite alright?”
“Of course I’m alright. Don’t be silly.” There was something rather impressive about his ability to sound haughty and out of breath all at once. “Now if you’ll excuse me I need to go have a discussion with the Black Paladin about tactics.”
Allura nodded, keeping her opinions to herself as Lotor determinedly marched off in the wrong direction. About ten seconds later, there was a thud from behind her, and she turned around, running to his side and leaning over where he’d fallen face first to the ground.
“Are you alright now?”
“Yes,” came the grumbled response.
“I can see that. Would you like a hand up?”
“No. I’m pondering.”
“Pondering… the floor?”
“Yes. It’s a very interesting floor.”
Allura sat down crosslegged next to him. “…You’re rather awful at being sick.”
“I’m not sick. Illness is for people with nothing to do.”
“Uh huh.” Allura chuckled. “I suppose I should tell you now that Shiro’s off on a diplomatic mission anyway.”
“…Why was I not informed?” Lotor retorted peevishly.
“You were. You forgot.”
“…Oh.” Beat. “I don’t suppose I could avail myself of a bed.”
“Aw, are you and the floor not friends anymore?”
“We’re getting a divorce. It’s very acrimonious. I’m taking half of their dust mites as part of the alimony.”
Allura rolled him over with a smile, then lifted him up in her arms with the barest of effort. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you some nunvil and you can drunkenly denounce them to me.”
Lotor just grumbled at that, staring balefully at Allura’s hands. “…Good god, you’re strong.”
“I’ve been told, yes.”
He didn’t say anything else, eyes sliding closed. Allura pretended not to notice his head lolling against her shoulder, although she had to admit, it was kind of cute.
---
By the time Lotor woke up again, she’d not only dumped him into a bed and pulled the sheets up under his chin, she’d brewed up a pot of soup they’d traded for on their last stop and gotten him a bowl of food goo.
“What’s all this?” he asked, voice still thick and congested.
“Stuff to help clear out your throat. You’ve got a xyngar virus.”
“Xyngawhatta?”
Allura rolled her eyes. “Xyngar. Aren’t you half-Altean?”
“I wouldn’t overstate it, but yes.”
“It’s an Altean virus.”
Lotor sighed. “Wonderful. Another thing to thank my lovely mother for.”
“It’s nothing bad. Every child gets it. I don’t know why you’re only catching it now but I guess some of it must have been hanging around the castle.”
“It feels rather awful.”
“It will pass.”
He blew a raspberry at her. It took her so aback that she ended up blowing one back at him – and then, startled and embarrassed and trying desperately to keep decorum, stuttered something about ‘drink all that or else’ and ran off.
----
She checked back on him a few hours later. He’d fallen asleep again, but some protective urge had her sit down next to him anyway, watching his sleeping face. Not for the first time, she wondered how to ask all the questions she had. She knew he was half-Altean – he couldn’t have hidden it from her if she’d tried. But she didn’t know who exactly his mother was. She didn’t know if he knew anything about Altean life; if he didn’t know anything about xyngar, she had her doubts.
It was bad enough that her people were dead. But apparently one of the few survivors she’d found was cut off from his culture too.
She reached out to brush a strand of hair off his face; a clawed hand jolted up to grab her wrist, and an alarmed gasp left her mouth despite herself as his eyes glared up at her. Time froze; he stared up at her, then sighed, releasing her wrist.
“My apologies, Princess. I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was a little slurred, and Allura realized he’d still been asleep. It had been a purely impulse reaction. He waited for a heartbeat, then his eyes flickered to her wrist. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He sounded so tired, still.
“No, no! I’m quite alright. Just startled.” She got to her feet, brushing non-existent lint off her lap, but he made a motion with his hand.
“…Keep me company. If that’s alright.” He crooked a smile. “I would hate to get you sick, but I imagine you’ve already survived it once.”
“I have, yes.” She sat down carefully, scanning his face for signs of a plan or some ill intention.
Lotor smiled, eyes closing. It was a small smile, a little wistful from behind the strands of white hair sticking to his face. “I suppose you were far less pathetic about it.”
“Oh, quiznak, no. Admittedly, I was twelve at the time.”
“So I’m as pathetic as a twelve-year-old princess. Good to know.”
Allura snickered. “My mother told me to stop whining and take my medicine like a proper Altean. I’m being much nicer.”
Lotor opened one eye. “Really? I’d gotten it into my head that Alteans were –“ He coughed and cleared his throat, conveniently enough. “Never mind,” he croaked.
“Pansies? Is that what you were about to say?”
“No,” he lied. Badly.
“I know you’re a much better liar than that when you want to be.” She couldn’t quite manage to be properly offended. “I’ll have you know we used to say much the same thing about Galra.”
“Really, now.” Lotor pushed himself into a sitting position. “Isn’t that incredible. I feel perfectly fine, all of a sudden.”
“Lie down,” she laughed, reaching over to push him back down. She lost her balance and found herself nose to nose with him – and he still had that stupid smirk on his face, even if he was still red-cheeked from the sickness.
“…I do feel much better, you know. Your presence is remarkably rejuvenating.”
“How do you come up with all this fancy language while being so sick?”
“If I’m any less than glib, assume I’m truly dying,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “Just because I can’t walk doesn’t mean I need to sound like an idiot.”
Allura glanced down at herself, half-sprawled on the bed. “I-I should move.”
“No need. I’m perfectly comfortable.”
A heartbeat passed.
“Why, Princess, I think you’re getting sick too. You’ve gone very red.”
“I hate you.”
“Strong words! Shame our empires are already at war.”
That was it. She grabbed the nearest pillow and smacked him with it. “Prince Lotor, if you don’t stop being so shameless, I will smother you with this myself!”
He laughed under the assault, stifling another cough. “Alright, alright! I yield!”
She climbed off the bed, crossing her arms and trying not to smile. “I’ll get you some more soup if you lie down and behave.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ma’am.”
“Yes, mistress.”
“That’s worse.”
“Yes, Empress.”
“I – could get used to that.”
Lotor gave her an unreadable gaze. “I’m sure you could,” he said in a tone she didn’t quite understand.
She broke the gaze, trying to stop the heat in her cheeks. “If, um – if you’re having trouble entertaining yourself, I think we still have some recordings of Altean folklore. If you’re interested.”
There was another of those pregnant, heavy pauses. She almost expected him to be offended by the suggestion, although she wasn’t sure why. Then –
“I think I would enjoy that greatly, Princess.”
She gave him a quick bow – a bow? Really? – and made her escape. She felt, oh, she wasn’t sure what! Happy? Embarrassed? Accomplished?
It was diplomacy, she reminded herself.
Now if only she could get her cheeks to return to their normal colour.