Chapter Text
At last, the war was over. And they had won. The universe was safe and the team could finally release that breath they'd been holding since they’d learnt of the war.
The final battle was hard fought, with Voltron ultimately emerging victorious, but at a price.
During the fight, Allura had sacrificed herself to save not only the universe but all it’s realities, and as a result, left her in a comatose state. When the princess woke in the Garrison’s medical wing three weeks later, one of the first things she did was to ask for Lance, and of course he was at her side in an instant. An hour or two had passed when Keith had ran into Lance, right as he was slipping out of her recovery room, eyes red-rimmed and puffy, while on the way helping Coran deliver a handful of things to her doctor. The whole time Lance said nothing and neither did Keith, as he accompanied his friend back to their Garrison assigned room.
It was several days later, whilst sharing juice pouches on the roof, when Lance blurted out that Allura had broken up with him, telling him that nearly dying had given her a new perspective on certain things . Right away Keith saw red, but his instincts to confront her were very much quashed in a snap by the dejected look on Lance’s perfectly handsome face. It wasn’t his place to intervene. All he could do was be there for Lance as he proceeded to unload his sorrow and confusion against the backdrop of a sinking sun.
About a week after that, the six of them were formally discharged from Garrison medical supervision, deemed fit enough to continue with their lives.
And they did.
Allura, along with Coran and Romelle, moved to New Altea, where she was crowned Queen months later.
Pidge joined her brother and father in the expansion of the scientific study and potential applications of non-human artificial intelligence technologies.
Hunk went on to create his intergalactic catering business, with the support of Shay and a number of other Coalition members.
Shiro chose to remain at the Garrison, rebuilding his fragmented relationship with Adam, and working as a part-time strategic advisor and honorary Earth representative to the Coalition.
Lance decided to return to Cuba and help out on his family’s farm.
Keith ended up going back to space, assisting with the transition of the Blade to a more humanitarian oriented organization, as his mother and Kolivan adapted to their new appointed roles as representatives for the Garla to the Coalition.
Keith kept in contact with all of the team, but none more than Lance. He always made time for him, whether it was daily messaging or a late-night, cross-galaxy video chat.
He visited Lance on the farm as often as he could, which averaged to about a few days every month or so. And whenever he did, he and the rest of the McClains would welcome Keith with open arms and warm hearts, so much so that he had to adopt the title, ‘Uncle Keith’ shortly following his first visit.
In the beginning, it had been rough on Lance. Despondent from the breakup on top of the general readjustment, he barely smiled, and when he did, it’d usually been small and forced. His previous sunny aura overshadowed by a new veil of guilt and self-doubt.
Still, the former Blue paladin genuinely seemed to enjoy the change in pace that came with living a much simpler life, and not that Keith would ever blame him. Every time he’d visit, he would teach the half-Galra something new, like kind of soil plantains prefer, how to shear a sheep, or the right way to press sugarcane.
And every time, little by little, he’d smile more and more, til Lance smiled just as often as he did before, though a tad more constrained.
When it was just them, it was just them.
They’d chat on Lance’s porch, late into the night. They’d laugh, playing a fool while running errands on the farm. They’d stargaze from the roof of the McClain’s barn. They’d even cried once or twice, after a light-hearted conversation unintentionally opened some old wounds.
Whatever they would do, they never did it alone, always together. Keith made sure of that.
Nevertheless, his duties as an interim leader of the Blade kept Keith relatively busy, and he couldn’t spend as much time with Lance as he’d liked.
He did occasionally hint at the offer for Lance to join him at the Blade for a mission. Something simple, nothing life threatening. Keith, reasoned that the Blade, experts as they were in stealth and reconnaissance, still lacked the diplomatic skills key to securing new alliances and maintaining friendly relations, skills that Lance excelled in.
Each time, the younger would say “he’d think about it ” and Keith never pushed further, knowing well that Lance’s reservations were valid. He was a war hardened soldier, as was Keith and the rest of the team, with the battlescars to prove it. And if doing space work reminded him too much of a life he’d rather not revisit, then that was fine with Keith.
What was important was that Lance was safe, healthy and happy.
So it was to much Keith’s surprise and joy when he finally accepted his offer many months later.
Which was how they found themselves in their present situation.
The Yevka, the natives of the planet, Ázirrtgo, were a petite yet gangly, pastel skinned race, with angular features and a decorous demeanor. They were on one hand grateful for the aid, after a rogue gamma wave from the major star in their system laid sudden damage to the majority of crops. On the flipside, having been one of the ‘colonies ’ Lotor had confessed to, were apprehensive about the idea of forming any potential alliances with the Coalition. Ázirrtgo, located at the edge of the third quadrant of sector HY49, sat in a strategically favorable position and had the potential to become a hub, being fairly abundant in natural resources and the only habitable planet in the system, a point Keith had put forth with hope of encouragement.
Still, the leaders were chary.
King Mezprhal emphasized, “You must understand. After generations of deceit, we are wary of whom we place our trust.”
“I assure you,” Keith reiterated, frustrated after over an hour of active forum, “the Coalition will only—” but was abruptly cut off.
“How can we trust you to speak the truth if you cannot trust each other with it?” the chief seer, Oenrix, berates, staring down the two former paladins through glossy, pupiless eyes.
It’s a sharp accusation that leaves the duo swapping bemused looks but agree to push passed it for now.
Lance, sensing Keith’s temptation to cave, steps in, equable and innocuous. “Is there any way we can convince you?”
The king and his council chitter amongst themselves. The royal adviser, Uwespa, mummers something into the king’s ear, and he nods.
Clearing his throat, “Perhaps,” Uwespa, looks closely between the two boys, “There is the trial of Vinbrak . It is typically undertaken by those who’ve been charged with grave wrongdoings, who wish to prove their repentance to Velun who suffered the consequences.”
“It is a test of intention. We believe that a solid path for the future cannot be built on a foundation marred by regret. The strongest bonds are forged by trust, and are unequivocally tied to the truth, especially one’s personal truths and the communication of them.”
“We’ll do it,” Lance announces decidedly from beside Keith, without an ounce of hesitation.
“Then it is settled,” declares King Mezprhal from his throne, raising his sceptre. “The Paladins will face the trial of Vinbrak .”
The empire had fallen. Zarkon was dead. Honerva was defeated. Lotor was on the road to redemption.
So why was Keith being overcome by this deep sense of dread? Why did he get the feeling like this might be the scariest thing he’s ever had to do?