Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lotor was tiring (not that he would admit it in front of his father). Zarkon rose from the crater, quintessence streaming down his armour; the same quintessence dripped from Lotor's sword. The emperor rose unsteadily, chuckling darkly - like he knew some kind of secret that Lotor didn’t. Rage flooded his mind, and the prince tore forwards.

Pidge stared in awe at the scene presented before her: a rocky wasteland, derelict and bare. Ripped apart by the sheer fury of the battling Galra. Father and son clashed, each determined to tear the other apart. Flashes of indigo and dust clouds erupted as the figures fought, blurs of black and purple darting across the ground. Lance's voice came over the comms.

“Should we help? I mean, the dude looks like he can hold his own, but I mean – Zarkon. He’s like, the final boss of a video game ya know?”

“Quiet Lance,” snapped Shiro. “Focus. Hold your position for now, keep destroying those ships, and intervene only when I tell you.”

Shiro had been... off, lately. His kind words and belief in democracy had been replaced with harsh orders and a claim to leadership. Maybe he was just stressed. Who wasn’t?

Pidge turned back to the battle, as Matt and her dad stared in similar astonishment at the carnage. They’d just have to wait and see.

Zarkon sent him flying into a barricade of rock, hitting the wall so hard it cracked. Agony ripped through his body. Lotor dropped to the ground, then crumpled to his knees - he couldn’t disguise the groan of pain that slipped past his lips. Through a haze of pain, he watched the sky as vibrant lions slashed through Zarkon's fleet. One by one, ravaged dreadnoughts decorated the atmosphere with blasts of scorching red. He turned to stare at his father.

“Your fleet is destroyed,” he rasped. “It’s over.”

Zarkon's weapon glowed brighter and brighter.

“It’s over for you,” came the cold reply.

Lotor closed his eyes.

Suddenly, a barrage of blasts struck the Earth around the emperor, forcing him back with a growl. The lions! Another wave of pain racked his body, and he doubled over. He was glad of the temporary relief, however fragile it was. Voltron had come to his aid after all; maybe they could finally trust each other. Lotor wondered why they had helped him – the team most certainly didn’t like him. He would ask them, when the battle was over. He looked up to see Zarkon aiming again.

At the lions.

At his associates, allies, perhaps even his friends. If that weapon fired, they would be obliterated. The universe’s only hope, turned to ashes on the wind.

Adrenalin rushed through his veins. With a sudden burst of strength, Lotor screamed in fury.

“No!”

He sprinted forward, snatching up a glinting shard of wreckage from a fallen fighter. The edge was jagged – sharp enough to kill. Leaping forward, he howled in rage; letting every single ounce of resentment, bitterness, anger at his father resonate through his makeshift sword. Cold metal met armour. Then plunged straight through it.

Zarkon howled in pain. The weapon fired, a beam of indigo slicing through the air, missing the paladins by an inch. Lotor stared in apprehension as the light in his father's eyes flickered. Then it was extinguished for the last time, and an empty shell dropped to the ground. The evil that had dwelled within it was gone.

One step further on the path to peace.

The prince stood victorious over the body, wind rippling through his hair. The sunlight broke the clouds, spotlighting the figure on the ground. Lance groaned.

“Seriously, this guy is just naturally dramatic.”

As the ships drew in closer, he waved to them, wincing as he did. Dark fluid dripped from his armour, pooling at his feet.

“Is he... bleeding?” asked Hunk worriedly.

“I can’t be sure from this far up,” replied Shiro.

Lotor answered the question for them. He dropped his hand to clutch at his stomach hastily; more of the liquid dripped through his fingers. His face paled as he began to sway unsteadily. Then his eyes fluttered shut, and he collapsed next to his father.

Chapter Text

The two Galra lay still on the rocky ground. No one spoke for a while. Then Lance's voice came hesitantly over the comm channel.

“Is he... dead?”

“No!” scolded Allura. “He’s not dead. I think.”

“Damn,” he muttered.

“Guys, shouldn’t we help him?” asked Hunk.

“I don’t know Hunk, should we?"

“Eh, I don’t really care,” added Pidge.

Hunk was indignant. “Oh come on, he saved us! Twice! We could at least help him out.”

“I still don’t trust the guy.”

“Paladins!” broke in Shiro. “It is our duty, as sworn Defenders of the Universe, to help anyone in need. Anyone. Not to mention, Lotor is currently in alliance with us, and I’m sure you can tell we owe him our lives. We are helping him. Understood?”

“Sure. He’s not riding with me though,” grumbled Lance.

So the assembled ships descended upon the two bodies.

Allura was the first one down. She hopped out of the Blue Lion’s cockpit, and made her way cautiously towards the prone figures on the ground. One by one, the other paladins joined her. Only Matt stayed on the Galran ship with Samuel Holt. She was glad he and Pidge had finally found their father - many a night had Allura wandered the halls of the castle to hear quiet sobbing echoing from the Green Paladin's room. Upon further inspection, she had discovered Pidge slumped on her bed, clutching a photograph in shaking hands. Allura didn’t have to try hard to guess who was in that photo. She knew all too well the pain of losing a father. But all thought of family was wiped from her mind as she finally came to a stop next to the lifeless Galra.

Zarkon was dead. That much was clear. The emperor's corpse was slumped in a pool of quintessence, devoid of the life promised by the mysterious elixir. Flickering indigo lights covered his armour, as did a multitude of marks and scratches from the battle. A serrated gouge stretched across the chest plate, evidence of his son's fatal blow.

Lotor was alive – barely. The prince was laid on the ground where he had fallen, hand limp across his midriff. Deep gashes littered his body, bleeding stygian violet. His ivory hair was stained with crusted blood, and his eyes were closed. Only his rasping breaths told Allura that he still had a chance. She had never seen a Galra look more human in her life, and in that moment, all her mistrust and contempt for the man was pushed aside, replaced only with pity and a newfound respect for the prince that had betrayed his empire.

The paladins stared in numb silence, clearly thinking the same things. Lance gazed at the body with something that looked suspiciously like awe, while Hunk looked downright terrified for the dying man. Pidge nudged Allura and motioned towards Shiro, who was focused solely on Zarkon's remains. Seething hatred raged in the eyes of the Black Paladin; his prosthetic fist tightened, attempting to reign in his loathing for the emperor.

“Uh.. what do we do?” gulped Hunk.

Pidge shrugged. Shiro was still glaring at Zarkon.

“Shiro?” prompted Lance. “Team leader?”

Shiro blinked. “Oh, uh.. yeah. Lotor. Um...”

Even the famed Champion seemed at a loss for words. Allura sighed – she had to do everything nowadays. She opened a comm link with the drop ship the Holts were stationed in.

“Matt, Sam, get back to the ship with Hunk and Pidge – report to Coran and help prepare a pod. Shiro, Lance, help me get Lotor into the Blue Lion. We'll leave Zarkon to rot,” she finished, with slight satisfaction at the thought.

Lance grinned, glancing at Shiro. “You got it princess. I gotta say, I didn't really like Prince Lotion here, but beating up your evil dad is pretty gutsy.”

“Yeah,” agreed Pidge. “Guess we really can trust him. Weird.”

Hunk nodded. “I’m kinda glad, I don’t like not trusting people.”

The group stood in awkward silence for a while. The only sound was the whistling of the wind, and the occasional groan from Lotor, still sprawled on the ground.

“Uh, shouldn’t we go?” prompted Pidge.

Shiro blinked again. “Right.”

Lance and Shiro (the latter still hesitant) moved to pick up Lotor. The prince cried out in pain as they shifted him, but made no other move. Lance threw one of Lotor's arms around his shoulders, then the other around Shiro's. The paladins rose unsteadily and began to make their way to the Blue Lion.

“Guess they’ve got it,” remarked Hunk. Allura shrugged, then followed them to the gaping mouth of the lion.

Coran's voice filled their ears. “Matt and Sam are back and the pod is ready! Anytime you feel like dropping a half-dead Galran prince off?”

“Oops,” sniggered Pidge.

Hunk and Pidge turned and ran to their respective ships, and the Paladins of Voltron flew back towards the Castle.

Chapter Text

Lance and Shiro deposited Lotor on a pull out bunk in the Blue Lion's cockpit, while Allura conferred with Coran via the comm. Lance glanced down at the prince, no longer attempting to disguise his worry. The poor guy looked half dead – he had gone completely still, and his shallow breathing was barely audible. His lilac skin was pale and dotted with wounds, sluggishly ooozing purple liquid. Lance turned to Allura, still in the pilot seat.

“Uh, Allura?” he called.

“Yes?” came the reply.

“What’s the creepy purple stuff coming out of him?”

“Oh, no need to worry Lance: that’s just blood.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?!”

“At least it’s not infection.”

“That’s not the point!”

But their conversation was stopped abruptly as Lotor jerked awake, eyes wide and panicked. He sat straight up, seeming not to register the pain it caused him, and stared at the Paladins in confusion.

“Where...?” stuttered the prince. “How did I...” He gasped, and reached towards his belt for a sword long gone. “Zarkon!”

Allura held up a placating hand. “Lotor. Zarkon is not here; you defeated him. We are on the Blue Lion, and heading towards the castle.”

Her sapphire eyes bored into Lotor's as they faced each other. Lance had to resist the urge to whisper ‘sexual tension over 9000’ to Shiro, especially since he wouldn’t understand the reference.

Speaking of Shiro, the Black Paladin seemed lost in thought. His face betrayed his thoughts, clearly anywhere other than the situation at hand. Lance waved his hand in front of Shiro's face, to no avail. He really had been acting weird lately. Maybe he was just tired – Lance sure was.

More of the purple blood dripped to the floor. Lotor didn’t notice.

“Hey, uh, Prince Loturd?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You gonna do something about the whole ‘stabbed like a bajillion times' thing?”

Lotor glanced towards his stomach and breathed in sharply, as if the pain had finally returned.

“Ah. Y-yes, this might need addressing.”

“No, really?”

Allura jutted in. “We prepared a pod to treat the more substantial injuries, but it might do to bandage some of the lighter wounds here.”

Lotor didn’t seem to like that idea. “Oh, no, I’ll be fine. In f-fact, you don’t even have to prepare a pod, I- I heal easily!” Sweat beaded on his brow. “You just t-treat your own injuries first!”

“What injuries?” asked Lance incredulously. This guy was either a) off his rocker or b) trying incredibly hard to get out of being treated. He had changed his mind about the injuries ‘needing addressing' awfully fast.

Lotor was still protesting, gradually becoming more and more distressed.

Motioning comfortingly, Allura moved towards him slowly.

“Why don’t you sit down? I’m sure you could heal better resting,” she offered. 

This only agitated the prince further.

“I c-cannot wait around licking my wounds while a war rages on! We m-must continue to fight!”

He stepped forward, determined. That’s where it all went wrong.

His body clearly couldn’t handle any more movement, and the sudden jerk triggered an alarming reaction. Indigo fluid bubbled between Lotor's lips, and he proceeded to cough – a wet, raw sound filled with torment and clear regret. In assembled horror, the paladins watched as the prince choked, blood staining his pointed teeth and lips. The man hacked blood onto the cockpit’s bunk until grey was washed purple. And then, for the second time that day, the heir to the Galran empire ended up unconscious on the floor.

Chapter Text

my beloved subscribers,, hello again

Liaka_lucid this one goes out to you homie thanks for sticking around and reminding me? blimey

ok so quick summary:
I dropped off writing fan fiction pretty much right after I last updated this fic. I really tried to get back in but my executive dysfunction was crazy, I was swamped in exam stuff, and I never really got the chance

then season 8 of voltron happened,, yikes

despite still holding a special place in my heart, the show got the heck out of my priority list after that, and I'm afraid I've since moved onto other fandoms and harder exams :')

however!!!! if there's one way to combat lack of motivation/executive dysfunction it is overwhelming guilt, and the comments on this fic and my other unfinished work(s?) were a constant reminder for what.. 3 years? blimey

I convinced myself at some point that writing fan fiction was cringe, but I carried on reading it so that was rather hypocritical of me

anyway. I'm here to make possibly the world's latest ever comeback! I certainly can't promise consistency, or any new works, but I'm resolving to try and finish anything that I left, well, unfinished

signing back in,
SobbingInACorner

p.s. name reveal? you guys can call me Mol :D

Chapter Text

When Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe had woken up this morning, he'd started his day like any other – a stretch to keep his excellent form, a delicious bowl of food goo, and a brisk stroll round his grandfather's castle whilst twirling his moustache and ruminating on the day ahead. He’d expected minimal chaos that day – perhaps a small malfunction in the hangars, or a backfired prank that always seemed to result in ‘injury-to-paladin'.

What Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe hadn’t expected was to be faced with the sight that he stood in front of now – the Blue Lion, slumped on the floor with her jaw wide open, and a trail of Galra blood coating the newly waxed floor as Number 1 and Number 3 dragged Prince Lotor's body through the hangar. The Princess hurried after them, hovering over Number 3’s shoulder with trepidation. Coran allowed his jaw to hang open for only a moment before letting out a very manly scream and screeching (no, ruggedly yelling) for someone to grab a mop.

“Coran!” shouted Shiro, looking distinctly irritated. “How about we refocus our priorities?”

Ah, the dying prince!

“No need to worry Number 1! That was my second priority. I care for this magnificent hangar a little more than I care for Prince Lotor, as I’m sure most of you will agree.”

Lance appeared to stifle a laugh, one of Lotor's arms still slung over his shoulder. It was a rather morbid sight – a sniggering human, clad in Altean armour that was dripping with Galra blood.

Allura cleared her throat and motioned her head towards the prince's listless body.

“The Princess is right.” interjected Shiro. “Let’s move.”

Lance didn’t like Lotor. Sue him! He didn’t. Anyone with hair that shiny couldn’t be trusted – the dude looked like a walking L'Oréal commercial. Still, Allura seemed plenty distressed, so Lance figured it was worth helping the guy out.

Standing in front of the pod brought back memories. Most specifically, the memory of when he got blown up and almost died! Good times. Now that he came to realise, he was pretty sure that Lotor was in the same pod that he had been in. Rude.

Coran walked up behind him, tapping away at something on a data pad. Allura moved to stand next to him, peering over his shoulder in an attempt to catch a glimpse at the specifics of Lotor's condition. Her brows creased with worry as the royal advisor hummed in concern. Lance tried very hard not to feel jealous.

Hunk and Pidge walked into the room side by side, followed shortly after by Shiro, running a weary hand through his hair.

For a moment there was an awkward pause, as everyone tried to avoid looking at the prince in the pod (haha, alliteration). Then, in typical team Voltron style, the uneasy silence was broken by a loud and sudden exclamation from Coran, one that sent Pidge tumbling from her perch on the steps in alarm. As Hunk shot to his feet to rescue the Green Paladin from her new position on the floor, Shiro switched from running his hand through his hair to massaging his temples with a pained expression.

“Care to inform the rest of the room, Coran?”

“Ah, yes! Sorry!” replied Coran. “Nothing particularly exciting, I just finally got the diagnostics to run! The species identification system was having a little trouble. It has been a long time since we had a Galra in there...”

Pidge, upright now, sniggered. “Maybe it’s because Lance broke the pod last time he was in there.”

“You’ll end up in there if you’re not careful Pidgeon.”

“Guys!” Shiro ground out. “Shut. Up.”

Geez. He'd been grouchy ever since he was rescued. Did they even bring back the right Shiro? Maybe ugly haircut Shiro was his super grumpy clone or something.

Allura snatched the pad from Coran, scanning the readings furiously. What she saw on the screen seemed to alleviate some of her concern, as the tension drained from her face. The prince still looked kinda half dead, but Lance figured it was easier knowing what was wrong and how to fix it – rather than not knowing anything at all. Coran confirmed this.

“We’ve got all sorts going on in there – a bit of blunt trauma, some internal bleeding, laser burns, heat exhaustion, etcetera. One might refer to it as a cocktail of problems!”

Shiro levelled his glare at Coran.

“Not me, of course!” the advisor continued with a nervous chuckle. “Luckily, it’s nothing the Castle can't handle! The prince will be back to his rather unpleasant self in no time.”

“But why was he coughing up that purple stuff?” asked Hunk, looking rather pale.

“Purple stuff? Oh, of course! One of the strikes from Zarkon must have pierced a lung, the ‘purple stuff’ was the blood filling his airways.”

Hunk turned ever paler.

Pidge wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”

Lance couldn’t help but agree. The group fell into silence once more as they stared at various spots on the floor. Finally, Coran clapped his hands together and started moving briskly towards the door.

“Right, seeing as Lotor's fate rests in the Castle's hands now, I think we ought to focus our efforts on scrubbing the hangar spotless. Paladins?”

Pidge shrugged and pulled herself to her feet, and Shiro stood and began to follow Coran. Hunk, having realised rather suddenly what they would be scrubbing off the hangar floors, made a beeline for the door on the opposite side of the room. Allura stood still.

“I think I ought to stay here,” she said to Coran.

He turned at the door, replying, “Lotor won’t wake up any time soon, Princess. Waiting seems futile.”

She bit her lip. “Still. Someone should be here with him."

Hadn’t this guy been trying to kill them, like, a week ago? Lance didn’t get why she was so into the dude. His hair was too shiny. Lance grunted as he made his way to his feet, sauntering over to Allura.

“Sure you don’t wanna come clean the hangar with me Princess?” he offered, grinning. “I’m a master of the mop.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, staring with vacant eyes at Lotor's pod. Pidge rolled her eyes from the doorway and walked towards Lance, grabbing his elbow and tugging him away from Allura. He squawked with indignance.

“What gives, Pidge?!”

“She clearly cares about him for some reason, dimwit,” she hissed. “Get your head out of your ass and stop flirting with her for 2 quiznacking seconds.”

“Jeez, alright!” Lance conceded, rubbing his elbow where he had freed it from Pidge's grasp. “I don’t need her anyways. I could mop that entire hangar by myself.”

Pidge raised her eyebrow. “Is that a promise?”

“No!” he cried.

“Race you there?”

“Also no!”

Pidge was already gone.