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“Your gardens really are quite lovely, vas-Chirrich,” Allura says.
She is careful to address him with his ambassador honorific and not his noble one. The Borrians take their culture and their propriety very seriously, and it would never do to insult her contact so early on in the proceedings. Always show your respect for other cultures and traditions, her father had always said, and be accepting of them when interacting with other worlds. This is more than just diplomacy; this is decency.
Her comment is more than just a political nicety in this case, though. The lunar gardens of Ambassador Chirrich’s home really are spectacular, and he’s chosen an excellent place for them to dine while discussing matters of alliance. The Borrian people are nocturnal, and it shows in their surroundings. They are seated at a long table in the very center of the garden, underneath the open stars and the planet’s three moons. They are surrounded on all sides by absolutely beautiful plant life in a variety of colors and shapes. During the day, these flowers are all closed against the sunlight. But at night, from the first moment they are bathed in moonlight, the petals open. At that moment the speckles and stripes and whorled designs on the flowers seem to glow brightly, and the most beautiful fragrances dance through the air.
Gardening is considered a masterwork skill amongst the Borrians, and Chirrich’s gardeners are truly experts. The garden is arranged artfully in accordance with the moon phases, meaning Allura can actually watch as moonlight slips across the massive gardens and the petals open and grow brighter, and the scents mingle in a truly pleasing way one at a time. Nothing will ever be quite as beautiful to Allura as the sight and smell of Altean juniberry flowers, but these come exceedingly close.
“Second only to the minister’s gardens,” Chirrich says proudly, his long ears twitching, as he waves his long fingered hand in the direction of the nearest patch of flowers. “The yellow cryosiths are in full bloom at this time of year, look. They juxtapose against the fire-lillies there most excellently. Just take in the scent of them together. Marvelous.”
Allura can’t deny it; the two flowers really do look gorgeous against each other, and their colors, markings and scents compliment each other well. “It is very beautiful,” Allura agrees. “Perhaps you can enlighten me more on this master-craft while we dine?”
Really, Allura wants to just cut to the chase and discuss alliances. In the aftermath of their battle against Zarkon, the Galra Empire was starting to become unstable, but was still as much of a threat as it had ever been. Ten thousand years of conquering did not vanish overnight, even if its emperor had fallen. As soon as the paladins had managed to recover Shiro, they had dedicated themselves to forming alliances and freeing planets, hoping to gain strength and stability to use against the empire.
The Borrians were a crucial part of that alliance. They were a prim and proper race, not given to warfare, but they excelled when it came to medicine. Their master-craft gardeners could be used for purely aesthetic purposes, but their gift with plant life extended to herbs and treatments, and they were a species gifted with healing. They could be very useful in an alliance for helping to repair the damage the Galra had left behind—if they could be convinced to join. The Borrians were also as a nature very nervous, especially when put out of their element. If only they could all be as confident as Chirrich was when speaking of his beloved plants.
Which was why Allura had to be careful and take it slow, much as she wanted to push forward to the heart of the matter. Go at the pace the other party needs, she remembers her father saying, but always keep guiding them towards the goal. Be strong enough to keep them on task but subtle enough to let them think they are controlling the situation.
Fortunately, the tactic works. Chirrich seems pleased by her interest in his gardens and their culture, and talks at length about the careful balance of color, scent, and season as his servants bring out the first course of dinner. And watching them carry the platters out is truly a spectacle. Shiro says these people look a bit like a flighted mammal called a ‘bat’ from on Earth; Allura believes they look like a korvisk from Altea. Either way, she continues to be impressed with how easily they handle objects when their thin fingers are partially webbed together. They swarm around both Shiro and Coran carefully, walking a bit awkwardly on stunted legs. But their long fingers are delicate and careful as they place the food on the table and depart, long ears twitching low in a sign of deference.
Allura spares Shiro a brief, apologetic glance while Coran, acting as her attendant today, dutifully pours her a golden glass of Borrian nectar from Chirrich’s personal stock. Shiro is, as instructed, at the left side of her chair and back two paces, straight-backed and in full paladin armor. It’s exactly appropriate for a diplomat’s bodyguard—close enough to protect if necessary (not that Allura needed it), but far enough back to seem deferential to more high-rank speakers. When permitted to bring only one bodyguard, Shiro was the best choice for a people like this; his military bearing and obvious discipline made him look every inch the quintessential knight in shining armor, and his appearance impressed. Arriving for their meeting in the Black Lion set a very powerful impression of strength, nobility and control, as well. Those first impressions were absolutely necessary for a skittish people like this, who needed to see them as powerful and capable but also honorable. But she did feel sorry for having to use Shiro like this, especially when he wouldn’t be permitted to dine tonight, but would be stuck standing for the duration of the meal.
(She’s already apologized in advance, while she and Coran took the varga before the meeting to instruct Shiro on basic bodyguard etiquette, and he’d assured her it was fine, that he completely understood. “I’d be a terrible bodyguard if I let myself get so easily distracted anyway,” he’d said. That had irritated her a little—she really needed no actual protection—but she’d let it slide for now considering the circumstances).
But Shiro was accomplishing his task, certainly. The Borrians had been very impressed with their arrival, and continued to regard Shiro in particular with awe. And while he portrayed the strong, confident paladin of Voltron to perfection, Allura’s job was to show the skilled, intelligent, diplomatic part of the Voltron Alliance. Part of the paladin’s mission was diplomacy, and her father had trained her all of her life for this.
She turns back to Chirrich, still rambling excitedly about his flowers, and gets to work.
Dinner is an interesting affair. Allura has studied over thirty forms of dining etiquette common across the galaxy, and after ten thousand years it seems not terribly much has changed. The Borrians favor a variation of sothuus course etiquette, which revolves around spearing bits of food with special utensils rather than using more classical tableware like forks and knives. One must still remember the order of utensils, which foods are acceptable to obtain oneself and which ones must be handed over by an attendant, when drinks can be taken, and how to properly hold one’s hands and eat one’s food once speared. The courses are largely specially chopped fruits and vegetables, but there are courses with shaved ice flavored with special extracts that require some finesse to eat with the tools at hand. And the seventh course contains an interesting meat dish, where carefully cut bits of raw meat are actually provided alongside a small bowl of boiling cooking oil, and must be submerged until ready to eat. The trick in all cases is to eat the foods without dripping sauces, oils, or juices, as this is considered impolite and a mark of inexperience.
Allura can tell Chirrich watches her like a yelmour through the proceedings. But she’d trained in this particular etiquette style for months with her father and Coran and her etiquette instructors, and had long since learned to engage in sorthuus with grace and dignity. Always show how willing you are to embrace other cultures with actions when you can, her father always said. Actions speak infinitely louder, and this will put them at ease enough that they will be willing to listen to you, because you listen to them. Chirrich seems impressed, which is a good sign. She can tell he’s already starting to think of Voltron not only as a powerhouse of military force, but also as something graceful and noble.
And she presses her advantage, guiding Chirrich through the conversation. She engages him on his gardens and the planet’s beautiful plant life through the first two courses, and guides him into speaking of their other cultural importances in the next two. By course five she skillfully turns the conversation towards the Borrians’ skills with medicine, discussing their unique approach towards healing and their ability to mesh the natural plant-life of the planet with healing the other living creatures around them. Chirrich is all too happy to talk at length on this topic—their knowledge of medicine and healing is a point of pride amongst their people. And by the time the seventh course comes, Allura is able to finally, finally, segue the conversation to her actual goal since the moment she glided down the Black Lion’s ramp in all her royal finery and trained poise.
“Your medicinal skills surely would be of value to others around the galaxies, vas-Chirrich,” she says, politely but firmly.
Chirrich hesitates in the middle of turning one of his cuts of meat in the oil pot, and Allura can tell he knows at that moment he’s been guided towards the discussion. He sighs, but there’s no way for him to back out of the conversation at this point, not when he’s spent the past two courses going on at length about his peoples’ medicinal prowess. He gives her a studying look, and she can see the well played in his eyes.
“I have no doubt that Borrian medicinal skill would be of great use to many throughout the galaxy,” he says slowly. “As I have stated, our skills as healers are quite renowned.”
“And a skilled healer is nothing if they cannot heal,” Allura says. “There are thousands of planets out there that have suffered under the hands of the Galra Empire. Trillions of people who could benefit from your knowledge and skills. What better a way to show your peoples’ most excellent skills than to join in the healing of the very universe?”
“We cannot heal an entire universe,” Chirrich says, waving a hand in disbelief. “There are not enough of us for that.”
“No, but you can certainly teach others,” Allura says. “I am not asking the Borrian people to become migrants and wandering healers, vas-Chirrich. Though volunteers certainly may, if they are interested in doing so. But the Voltron Alliance could certainly use a people of your unique and positive talents to help begin rebuilding the universe. Your people can train others, or provide emergency assistance for truly devastated planets and solar systems. You can provide medicinal supplies, or teach others to produce them that they might one day care for themselves. There are many ways in which the Borrian people can help restore balance to the universe, and many ways in which they can be remembered in history for thousands of years for their kindness and dedication.”
Chirrich doesn’t respond at first, and for a moment Allura thinks perhaps she laid it on a bit too thick with that last part. But a moment later she can see a glint in Chirrich’s eyes that says he’s really considering her words, and she mentally sighs in relief (not outwardly, of course. The first rule her father ever taught her when it came to diplomacy. Always maintain your composure). She had read the Borrians right—they were a prim and proper society, but they also wanted to be thought of highly. In the past ten thousand years, with Zarkon’s universe conquest, only warlike actions and pure strength were looked upon highly—the decidedly unwarlike Borrians never would have stood out in that setting. This was their chance to make something of themselves and turn over a new leaf, as the humans said.
But he still seems hesitant. Allura will grant that he also maintains his composure well, but there’s an almost imperceptible shake in his ears and his hands, and his posture seems to close up on itself slightly. He’s nervous. And when he speaks, she understands why.
“I am aware of the…potential gains my people stand to achieve in a situation such as this,” he says after a moment. “And make no mistake, Princess Allura, the Borrian people are truly disgusted by the destruction and devastation the Galra Empire has left in its wake. In less trying circumstances, my people would not hesitate to offer teaching and aid to those in need.”
Allura waits for the inevitable ‘but’ with a carefully neutral expression.
“But,” Chirrich continues, “the fact of the matter is that the Galra Empire is not yet an erased threat. Perhaps your Voltron has defeated the emperor—and on behalf of the Borrian people I thank you for that—but the Empire itself remains. And it is…not kind to people like us. Crossing the Galra is dangerous, Princess Allura. We must act accordingly to avoid that danger. My people must remain safe.”
Ah. So the ‘but’ was fear, then. Allura could work with that. “I understand your concerns, vas-Chirrich,” she says, forcing as much confidence and calm into her voice as possible, “But I assure you, your fears are unfounded. Joining the Voltron Alliance would not require only you to give. While your people help heal the rifts in the universe, Voltron will be dedicated to protecting you, and all innocent peoples throughout the galaxies.”
“Voltron cannot be everywhere,” Chirrich argues.
“But we will certainly not abandon you,” Allura says firmly. “The Voltron Alliance is precisely that: an alliance. Should you fear the threat of the Galra Empire, you have merely to call upon us for aid, and we shall come to defend you. This would not be the first planet we have protected, or liberated.” She gestures to Shiro on her left, and adds, “And I assure you, each and every one of my paladins are exceptionally skilled. You have nothing to fear with them at your side.”
Chirrich eyes Shiro like he’s considering, and Shiro at least has the sense to not move or be in any way antagonistic while still maintaining a disciplined, knightly impression. Not for the first time this evening, Allura is very glad she chose to bring him over any of the other paladins. The rest of them are wonderful individuals, but may not have inspired the level of confidence needed for a delicate task like this.
“Perhaps you can enlighten me on some of your previous escapades, Princess Allura,” Chirrich says after a moment. It’s not an agreement for an alliance, but it’s not a rejection, either. If anything, it sounds like he’s fishing for proof that they can actually do what they say.
Allura is happy to oblige. She chooses some of their more recent, more successful liberations and defensive missions, and explains them through the rest of the seventh course, and well into the eighth (the first dessert, sweet cakes slathered in a fruit paste).
It’s just at the end of the eighth course, when Chirrich looks about ready to signal his servants to clear their plates and enter with the final dessert, that Allura hears a noise off to the left. It’s a faint rustling sound, not unlike someone shifting the leaves in one of the garden hedges, and she cocks her head slightly. A quick exchanged glance with Coran confirms that he heard it as well, and Allura can tell that he’s quietly signaling Shiro—with his weaker human hearing—to remain alert. Their host does not appear to have noticed anything unusual, but the noise seems odd when there’s no wind, and there have been no additional guests in the garden for the duration of the moonlit meal.
Allura is glad her team, at least, is at the ready. Not a minute after the unusual rustling is heard, a figure leaps forward from the hedges. It looks like a Borrian, but the largest one Allura has seen yet, all corded muscle and surprisingly coordinated in a dead run. Most Borrians are not given to combat, but this does not, apparently, apply to all of them. This particular individual makes a beeline for the table and Chirrich, even as he reaches over his shoulder and draws a sword.
Shiro meets him halfway, his hand already glowing. He deftly disarms the attacking Borrian with one sweep of his hand, deactivates it, grapples the attacker’s arms, and flings him back the way he came from. The attacker lands on one of the carefully raked gravel paths with a loud grunt, scattering pebbles everywhere. Allura is just happy Shiro had the sense to not toss the opponent into the flower gardens—surely it would have been considered a massive insult to do so. Shiro sweeps to his feet when finished, but remains planted firmly between the table and the prone attacker, now in his element.
Allura maintains her composure throughout the attack, perfectly confident Shiro can handle it. She takes a sip of the delicious golden nectar in her glass, and regards Chirrich curiously. “Is that an associate of yours?”
Chirrich looks alarmed, and some of his own composure has melted away. “No—I don’t—what is this—“
The attacker Shiro threw scrambles to his feet, drawing several daggers that fit strangely well in his long, webbed fingers. At the same time there’s a flurry of movement around the garden as several other figures burst into view, rushing at the table with a vengeance.
Shiro moves fast to intercept again, grabbing the nearest of the new attackers and throwing them into two others, before trading blows with a fourth. He presents enough of a threat that the attackers seem confused by the resistance. Whenever they try to scramble around him, the black paladin gets in the way, disarming blades, trading blows, and forcing the attackers back from the table.
Shiro, to his credit, holds his own well—but based on what Allura has seen of his combat prowess, this is hardly any surprise. He seems hampered by the fact that he’s playing defensively, primarily trying to keep any of the attackers from slipping past him towards their target, but he doesn’t seem to be in extreme danger. Already, one of them appears to be down for the count, sprawled on the ground, and a second is limping back from the fight with a pained look on his face.
Still, the attack is strange. Allura distinctly recalls seeing guards inside Chirrich’s home as they were led to the garden for dinner, and wonders where his home security is at now. She turns to ask, but Chirrich looks wide-eyed and terrified now, and is watching Shiro’s fight against the small posse of attackers with an open mouth and a trembling body.
He seems frozen in place, and won’t be much help. So Allura shakes her head, and says calmly, “Coran—see if you can summon the native authorities, will you? I believe vas-Chirrich’s personal security may have been disabled for this attack.”
She remains sitting calmly in place herself, not ruffling her skirts or acting in any way out of place for a princess. It’s still imperative to maintain an illusion of propriety, and there’s no need to break it yet when Shiro clearly has things under control. Never show that you are disturbed by a situation, even when things are tumultuous, her father always insisted.
And on top of that, another lesson: show you are quite confident your followers are capable of handling themselves. It means you know what you are doing, and you know how to surround yourself with smart, capable people. One man—or woman—alone does not a kingdom make, not even a king, or a princess. Inspire confidence by being confident yourself.
“Certainly, Princess,” Coran says. He’s also the spitting image of a proper servant, but Allura can see the twitch of a smile beneath his mustache the moment he turns away from the ambassador. He runs towards the gravel path leading back towards the massive stone manor. One of the attackers harrying Shiro tries to break off to prevent an alarm being set up. Coran calmly cracks the attacking Borrian over the head with the serving platter still in his hands, and the would-be attacker slumps to the ground with a groan. Coran disappears around the hedges and, presumably, off to summon aid.
Allura nods to herself and sets down the glass of nectar, still holding it properly and not showing haste. Propriety is all well and good, but if things do get ugly, she’d prefer to have her hands free. She laces her fingers primly in her lap and surveys the ambassador (still terrified) and the fight (still ongoing). Shiro’s taken three of the attackers out of the fight, and has, more impressively, managed to keep the remaining five from getting past him to the table with a mix of attacks, disarms, grapples, and generally being impossible to predict the movements of. He seems to be doing okay—Allura observes carefully, but she doesn’t see any injuries other than what might be a bruise to his jaw. He seems all there mentally too, focused on the fight and in the moment.
But it’s when she looks back to Chirrich again to gauge how the ambassador is doing in the midst of the attack—not well, as he’s now trying to hide under the table—that she catches the movements out of the corner of her eye. And that is when she realizes the true extent of the attack.
There are two more Borrians slipping in from the exact opposite side of the main attack. Unlike the attackers Shiro is currently dealing with, these two don’t charge. They move stealthily but with purpose, heading for the dining table.
Ah, I see, Allura observes, as one of the stealthy Borrians slips towards her. This is a distraction technique. Make the attack look obvious, then slip a pair of kidnappers or assassins in to actually deal with the targets while the security is distracted. It’s actually fairly clever for the Borrians, who are not prone to this degree of deception or skilled violence, either. Somebody has it out for ambassador Chirrich, and that somebody has been learning the art of warfare.
That’s a troublesome topic, but one to be considered later. More pressing is the Borrian kidnapper coming straight for her. He looks quite sure of himself, and probably thinks the Princess of Altea and commander of the Voltron Alliance will make a most excellent hostage, especially when her only bodyguard is otherwise occupied and her servant has left her.
Allura sighs to herself. It really is a pity they insisted upon the one bodyguard rule, she thinks in irritation. We accepted as a matter of courtesy, but really, if they aren’t going to take their own security seriously, how do they expect us to handle it with only one official combatant?
There is little help for it. She supposes she’ll just have to get her own hands a little dirty, unbecoming as it is for one in diplomatic negotiations.
Her kidnapper is next to her chair now, and towers over her. There’s a bit of cloth wrapped over his muzzle-like mouth to help hide his identity, his dark fur and dark clothing speckled with silver helps him blend into the dark and moonlight surprisingly well. “On your feet, princess,” he barks, reaching for her with one long, thin-fingered hand. “My master would have words with y—“
She calmly reaches up and grabs his wrist before it can touch her, and feels bones grind under her fingers as she squeezes. Her would-be attacker jerks to a halt as his low growl rises into a sudden high-pitched whine, and his fingers spasm in alarm.
Without giving him a chance to react, Allura flows to her feet, still holding his wrist in one hand. Grace always, when moving in royal dress, she can hear her instructors lecturing her, as in a distant memory she works through form after form in the dance hall. You must always maintain calm, always show only control, always master poise, and never use extraneous or unnecessary movements, even in the heat of battle. A sacred Altean must show nothing less.
And as if moving in the first steps of the old dances, Allura flows into movement, graceful yet precise. She twists her would-be kidnapper’s wrist, and he gasps, crouching exactly as she desires to try and alleviate pressure. Within seconds his arm is wrenched behind his back, with almost the same form she had used on Lance so long ago now when she first awoke from her crypo-pod. Unlike with Lance, who had clearly never been trying to hurt her, this attacker receives no leniency. There is a sharp snap-pop as something gives in his arm, and his shoulder dislocates. He screeches in surprise and in pain, but doesn’t do so for long. Allura gives him a deft cuff upside the head, and Altean strength outperforms Borrian endurance significantly. The attacker grunts as his head lolls and he collapses to the ground in a heap.
Allura settles into the resting dignitary stance instinctively—hands folded politely in front of her, straight-backed, ladylike and graceful but also portraying confidence and strength. Her skirts rustle gently around her as she falls still just as quickly as she flowed into movement. In the brief tick of rest she’s earned herself, she surveys her surroundings.
Shiro is still fighting, although he seems to be gaining the upper hand even in what had begun as something like an eight-versus-one battle. Three more are down, and he’s clearly having an easier time keeping them corralled away from the moonlight dining area with less opponents to keep track of. She doesn’t think he will need her assistance, and she trusts the black paladin to be capable enough to handle himself.
Chirrich is another matter. While she has disabled her own would-be kidnapper in a matter of seconds, Chirrich’s kidnapper is currently trying to drag him out from under the table, and looks to be succeeding. Chirrich is chittering with alarm and calling for his guards, but Allura has already deduced those aren’t coming.
Fortunately for Chirrich, he is dining with the Voltron Alliance tonight.
Allura lifts her skirts to avoid tangling them in the unconscious kidnapper, holding them exactly proper for a gala event—high enough to not trip or kick them and portray inexperience, but not high enough to look undignified and slovenly. She moves quickly, but with grace. Never appear to be hurrying, Allura, her etiquette instructor always said. Glide, quickly if you must, but do not walk and do not run. Haste is unbecoming in a sacred Altean. It makes you appear too eager to rush, and too unprepared to plan accordingly. And you must never appear to lack control. And she does as she’s long since been taught, though perhaps her instructor would lecture her about using more speed than was necessary.
But, well, the ambassador was about to be kidnapped. Surely there were exceptions to all rules.
(Her instructor always liked to lecture her for her haste anyway. This would be nothing new).
She glides quickly to the other end of the table and releases her skirts, reaching out to grab the kidnapper’s arm and pull him away from Chirrich. The attacker loses his grip as she yanks, and snarls, trying to turn to face her. But she moves with him, placing her other hand on his spine and keeping a firm grip on his right arm, crossing her ankles to perform a perfect series of sidesteps that would have made her dance instructors proud. Father had been so pleased with her the day she mastered this footing with both accuracy and grace.
The attacker snarls again, this time in frustration, as he tries to reach her. She moves with him again, always staying behind him. Then, when he tries to tug his arm free from her grip instead, she responds in kind. She yanks back on his arm, and presses forward with the hand still resting against his spine. At the same time her skirts ripple around her as she kicks forward and to the side, and snakes her foot around the attacker’s own in a perfect youur-jun heel twist. The combination of trip, tug and push sends the Borrian tilting off-balance with a yelp. Not giving him a chance to recover, Allura re-adjusts her left hand from his spine to the back of his head, and calmly slams it into the table as he goes down. Several pieces of dining-ware shake alarmingly, and Chirrich’s goblet of golden nectar overturns, spilling all over the tablecloth.
Allura sighs internally. Quiznak. Perhaps the head crack had been a bit over the top. Or at least she should have had better sense to use the table to do it.
The would-be kidnapper lets out a pained grunt and goes limp, slowly sliding off the table to slump onto the gravel beneath the table. Before he even finishes collapsing to the ground she has already withdrawn a proper distance, skirts twirling around her as they flow from quick and graceful action into prim stillness, and she places her hands neatly in front of her again.
Chirrich stares up at her from half under the table, jaw hanging open and ears straight up.
There’s one last smacking noise, and Allura looks up just in time to see Shiro knocking out the last of the attackers. He raises into a stand and immediately turns to survey the table and his supposed charges, and spots the two huddled lumps of unconscious attackers with shock. He meets Allura’s eyes next, and he’s wearing the exact same expression he had the day they’d infiltrated that Galra warship and she’d broken down the computer room door to assist with their escape.
Really, the things that will surprise humans continue to be baffling and unpredictable.
But he at least has the sense to compose himself in front of the ambassador. It wouldn’t do to exhibit such surprise at one’s team’s own abilities when trying to sell them, after all. His expression quickly shifts to one of calm command as he strides over to them. “Are you two all right?” he asks, clearly more for show than anything else—Allura is well aware Shiro is not stupid, and he can certainly see she had things well taken care of. He may take team protection a little too seriously sometimes to the point when it’s stifling, but at least he’s acknowledged she’s perfectly capable before.
“F-fine,” Chirrich stammers, as he crawls out from under the table. Shiro helps him get back into his seat (it would be unseemly for a princess to do so in this scenario), and the ambassador looks around nervously. “They are…gone?”
“Yes,” Shiro says, all confidence and reassurance. Chirrich seems to calm a little, which is to say his shaking grows a little less violent.
“My attendant is fetching your authorities as we speak,” Allura adds, as she gently lifts her skirts and glides—now completely unhurriedly, with no immediate threats—back to her dining chair to sit. “Naturally, we will remain with you until they arrive, in case Shiro is required to safeguard us both.”
Chirrich’s jaw opens wide as if he wants to comment, but his instincts as an ambassador must stop him from blathering his first thoughts. Excellent. A bit weak in the heat of battle, but he recovers fast, at least. “My thanks, Princess Allura,” he says, sounding dignified but also grateful. “I appreciate the interventions of your paladin and…your alliance.”
Allura nods to him gracefully, catching full well what he really means by ‘your alliance.’ “Think nothing of it,” she assures him. “As I said earlier, it is the duty of Voltron to protect all those in need. The alliance simply acts in accord. Incidentally, I must apologize for some of the mess those actions caused.” She gestures to the spilled nectar and stained tablecloth. “I assure you, in no way was any offense meant to your culture or your people, vas-Chirrich.” Smooth over even the tiniest of cracks before they become gaping chasms, her father’s voice echoes in her ears. Show that no disrespect is meant before a tiny action becomes infinitely more meaningful.
Chirrich looks surprised at the apology. “No offense is taken at all, Princess Allura, I assure you,” he says quickly, waving one of his thin, membraned hands. “And…please accept the gift of my kes title, if you would.”
Allura keeps her surprise from creeping onto her face. The kes title? That was considered to be much more familiar, the equivalent of permitting one to be on a first-name basis with another. It is a title not earned easily, and only familial, close platonic, and bonding titles were held in higher regard in terms of trust. This was a great step forward in terms of making connections with these people, not to mention it meant the Voltron Alliance was now clearly regarded with high respect in Chirrich’s eyes. As long as they can finish the dinner successfully, she is sure he will represent Voltron with great dedication in the planet council meeting two days from now.
“I am most honored to accept this gift, kes-Chirrich,” Allura says, with her most charming diplomatic smile.
Coran returns with half a dozen members of the local security force at that moment. All of them (save Coran) look quite surprised to see the danger is long past. Coran returns to her side and calmly re-fills her glass of nectar, still looking deeply amused when the ambassador isn’t watching. Shiro retakes his place behind and to the left of her chair now that actual police are on the scene.
The officers dutifully sets to work bundling off the attackers for questioning and processing. One of the officers speaks to Chirrich briefly, and the ambassador looks momentarily disgusted. Allura overhears the officer mentioning that all of Chirrich’s personal security had been drugged or knocked unconscious, and that they already suspect set-Kirrik of sending them based on some insignias found on the attackers. As far as Allura is aware, set-Kirrik is the name of a political rival and long-standing advocate of ceding control to the Galra Empire. It seems the Borrian feared a Voltron Alliance, and took a dangerous gamble that did not pay off.
It does pay off spectacularly for the Voltron Alliance, although Allura wishes outright violence hadn’t been necessary to achieve it. While Alteans believe in fighting when necessary, they have always believed in peace first, and Allura would have preferred the negotiation to go without bloodshed. Still, if anything, it proved to Chirrich that Voltron and its paladins are more than capable of protecting him and his people when needed, and that seems all the proof he requires. By the end of the night, Chirrich has agreed to speak for them with great dedication at the council meeting, and he has some of the strongest influence on the council, second only to their prime minister. Allura does not doubt that the meeting will go well, and that hundreds of planets in desperate need of healing and care will soon be able to benefit from their skills.
Still, it is with quite a bit of relief that she finally makes the customary winged bow to the ambassador and glides delicately up the Black Lion’s jaw ramp into the cabin. She keeps her straight back and calm poise and natural grace until the jaw snaps shut behind Shiro, the last to enter, and then she lets herself slump, just slightly.
“Be sure to have a dignified but powerful exit,” she instructs Shiro. He raises an eyebrow at this, but he’s no fool, and he’s been watching the proceedings all night. By now, he has to know what a good impression means to these people. Allura and Coran both hold on to the Black Lion’s chair as he grips the control levers, and the Black Lion itself seems to sense a need for a little flashiness. It stands tall and proud and roars, before it and Shiro crouch and leap gracefully into the air. There’s no need for showboating twists and spins, but the Black Lion’s flight is controlled and dignified as it leaves, a diplomatic and royal transport for a diplomatic and royal mission.
“I’d say that was a rousing success, Princess,” Coran says with a smile, as soon as they’re out of orbit and heading back for the Castle of Lions, left politely on the Borrian’s third moon, Settes. “Chirrich is as influential as they come. They’ll be sending healers to planets in need in no time!”
“One can hope,” Allura says with a sigh. “Though it will take far more than the Borrians to heal all the wounds in the universe, even with Zarkon’s defeat.”
“One step at a time, Princess,” Coran says, patting her arm reassuringly. “You can’t rebuild an entire universe in a single day. For the resources you have, you’ve come quite a long way already.”
Shiro frowns and glances back at her. “You really have, princess, but I’m sorry I almost ruined this step tonight.”
She blinks at him in surprise. “Ruined?”
“You brought me as a bodyguard, but I wasn’t able to fulfill that duty completely,” he says. His voice and expression are those of the calm, calculated leader he tends to portray, but Allura can see a flash of frustration at himself in his eyes. “I wasn’t able to get to those two other attackers in time.”
Allura scoffs at that. “That was hardly your fault, Shiro,” she says. “No matter how skilled, one man should not be expected to deal with—what was the final total? Eleven attackers?—simultaneously entirely on their own, while also restraining their combat to be non-lethal and not damage the environment.” Because he had, very impressively, managed to take down all of the attackers without any lasting damage to any of Chirrich’s lunar garden, other than requiring the gravel be given a good raking.
“There were only ten,” Shiro counters, as if one less man made him at grounds for fault.
“Ten, then,” Allura says dismissively. “The point stands. If they wanted exceptional body-guarding, they should have ensured better personal security, or permitted me to bring more than one paladin. As it stands, you handled the situation excellently in terms of attackers. And as I have told you before, I do not actually require your protection.”
He seems somewhat mollified by this, although Allura has a feeling he’ll stew over it a while longer to figure out how to get better for next time. After a moment that seems to get set aside though, and he says, “About that. What…what was that? What the hell did you do to those guys?” His tone is a little incredulous, and the look he gives her is not dissimilar to the Galra warship door incident again.
She gives him a flat look in response. “I am a princess. A princess in a wartime era, no less. You can’t honestly expect nobody has tried to kidnap me before? As the daughter of King Alfor I would have been a most valuable hostage for influencing my father, were I to be taken. My father ensured I could protect myself.”
“I mean, I know you can fight,” Shiro says, as if this was obvious. She’s pleased with that at least, that he doesn’t consider her completely helpless. “But that was completely different than any kind of style I’ve seen you use before. I only saw bits and pieces of it in the middle of my own skirmishes, but…”
“Ah. You mean because of the dress, and the youur-jun style,” Allura says, smiling a little. “The thing is, for whatever reason, would-be attackers seem to think it would be easiest to do so during a fancy function, when dignitaries and royal bloodlines are dressed up in their cumbersome finery. There is an assumption that nobility inevitably equals pettiness, weakness, and helplessness. My father ensured I could protect myself in all situations, whether or not I was armed with a staff or a goblet, or dressed in armor or Altean silks. Youur-jun is a delicate style that favors precise, graceful movements, and works well in cohesion with diplomatic finery.”
“Your father was so proud when you mastered your first arm-lock,” Coran says wistfully. “And then when you used it for the first time on that two-bit trickster hoping to get Alfor in his pocket with a quick ransom…”
“I remember that,” Allura says, thinking back on the memory. “He certainly regretted trying to kidnap me after I dislocated his arm.”
“Wait, is that the same move you used on Lance when we first found you?” Shiro asks, looking a little alarmed.
“It is one of my favorite moves,” Allura admits. “It comes very easily to me in muscle memory. But don’t worry, I never would have really hurt Lance. I could tell he didn’t mean any harm. I was just…confused at finding intruders in my castle after exiting cryo-sleep.”
“It can be a bit disorienting,” Coran agrees. “Especially after ten thousand years.”
Shiro looks moderately mollified by this.
“At any rate,” Allura says with a sigh, “Our mission appears to have been successful. Once again, diplomacy and peace are victorious, and the Voltron Alliance grows.”
“I don’t know how to tell you this, Princess, but I don’t think it was the diplomacy that swayed him,” Shiro says, shaking his head. There’s a slight twitch of a smile at his lips. “Pretty sure it was the ‘actions of the Voltron Alliance’ that had him on our side from the moment that attack finished.”
Ah. Yes. So Shiro had caught that little piece, too. Well, Alteans do believe in peace first, but Allura has always been content to use battle and strength where necessary to live up to the code, too, and she did not regret doing so this time, either. She had preserved and protected innocent life doing so, and spread the paladin’s mission farther. If it had caused their allies to be impressed, then so much the better.
And if she had found the encounter a little entertaining, a little stress-relieving, a little useful to her cause…well, as her instructors always said, it would be most unladylike to admit to it.