Chapter Text
He’d appeared at the quadrant to a fight, flying himself into an absolute shitstorm.
Of course he had been expecting that. He’d known his mother had been planning something, had been planning a launch against Voltron, and the rebels, and the Coalition, something that would destroy them, hopefully take almost the whole force out, and leave them limping. So when he turned up to a Galra fleet powering up, and the Voltron Coalition attacking the fleet, he knew this was it. He saw them all, the rebel fighters, and Voltron attacking, and he saw a single Galra fighter flying towards the barrier and his mother’s ship.
The shot wasn’t an easy one – or wouldn’t be – in any other ship. But in this, the ship made from the asteroid, Lotor’s finest creation, the shot took a moment to line up, before he fired on the cruiser. The attack easily pierced through the particle barrier, taking out the battle cruisers weapon.
He’d taken the shot from a distance, far enough away to be safe from the explosion, although the ship was still rocked by the shockwave. The Galra fighter however had been right next to the particle barrier, well within the range of danger, and Lotor watched as it changed course swiftly, thrusting up and backwards, running from the explosion that Lotor has caused.
A Galra fighter should have been able to run from the explosion without too much difficulty. But this ship looked to be struggling with it, the ship lagging possibly. From his distance he couldn’t identify the cause, or even if maybe it was just pilot ineptitude, although judging from the swift reaction to his attack that seemed unlikely. He watched as the ship pulled up, leveling off, and it still looked shaky as it flew, but that wasn’t really his concern right now.
He opened the communication channel.
And made contact with Voltron.
The Paladins accepted his offer to talk and discuss collaboration, albeit with some apprehension and reluctance. He certainly didn’t blame them for that, he would have been very careful to accept any offer from him - if he were in their position. The Black Paladin instructed him to follow the fighter to the Altean ship - which he called the Castle of Lions - and to land his own ship in the hanger.
Following behind the fighter, it was obvious that the fighter had taken on damage. As he piloted his own ship in, cutting most of the power to slow the usually speedy craft, he watched the Galra fighter, studying it, for lack of anything else to do while he flew. He noticed it was listing significantly to the left, the damaged wing causing too much drag on the craft, and the engine was clearly at sub-optimal levels, probably also damaged from the hit.
The fact that the pilot could still hold the craft steady was in itself am impressive feat; he was clearly very talented.
He should know, he’s spent his career watching for uniquely talented individuals.
It’s how he found his generals.
Not that he wants to think about them now.
But it means he’s supremely good at recognising talent. And this pilot is very talented. He would have been very pleased to recruit a pilot with that level of talent. He also recognises that despite the pilot’s talent, there was no possibility that the pilot hadn’t been flying to their own death when they’d been flying at the battle cruiser – or more accurately – at the particle barrier.
It was a dedication that Lotor couldn’t help but find impressive, even if the action was foolish.
The fighter landed roughly, the damaged engine impeding the motion. Lotor felt a sense of satisfaction at the fact that he landed his own craft flawlessly.
He opened the cockpit to his own ship, taking the steps to exit into the hangar. He was unsurprised to find that he stepped out to multiple paladins. The paladins standing in front of him wore black, blue and pink armour. He put his hands up in a show of surrender, waiting for the paladins to make the next move, or instruct him as to his.
Behind the paladins, he saw the hatch of the Galra lift, before being shoved open, covered hands visible as they pushed the hatch open. The hatch should have lifted open on it own, the fact that it needed to be forced open another sign of just how extensive the damage to craft had been.
He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but when a small Blade of Marmora fighter climbed out, he was sure he hadn’t been expecting that. When the Blade slid down the side of the craft to the ground, Lotor was conscious of just how small the Blade was. Lotor thought they were one of the smallest fighters he had ever seen, especially for a Galran. Either they were another half breed Galran, or the Blade was now resorting to sending children out to fight for them.
The Blade approached the paladins, identity hidden by the outfit, the hood and the mask covering up anything that would have given them away to Lotor. The Blade walked straight up to the paladin in black, positioning themselves at the right side of the man, who turned and nodded at the Blade, before turning back to Lotor. The Blade turned their masked face towards him also.
It was only then that Lotor realised the pink paladin had been talking to him.
“–do you want with us Lotor?” She asked, voice terse.
“It is as I said over the communications channel.” He stated. “I wish to discuss an alliance.”
“And why should we hear you out?” Asked the Black paladin.
“Well for one, I saved your lives Paladins. And yours Blade.” He added pointedly, looking at the Blade, who didn’t acknowledge the words, or their meaning.
“Keith is a paladin.” The Black paladin said pointedly. And – oh, that was interesting. Besides the black paladin, Lotor only noticed the way the Blade flinched at the words, at the statement that he was a paladin, because he was still watching him, eyes still focused on Keith the Blade and Paladin.
“Oh really?” Lotor let the curiosity seep into his voice. “Which lion do you pilot then?” He addressed the question to the Blade.
“That is not your concern.” The pink paladin told him. “And you’re not the one asking questions here.”
Lotor let the subject drop. He was, after all, asking for their assistance here. Even if they would need him just as much. They may not realise it yet, but they would realise in time.
He learnt their names.
The black paladin went by the name Shiro.
The blue paladin – who flew the red lion – was named Lance.
The pink paladin – who flew the blue lion – was the Princess Allura.
The green and yellow paladins – who flew the same coloured lions as their armour – were called Pidge and Hunk respectively.
And of course the Blade was called Keith.
Although the blade suits had been designed to hide the wearer's identity, giving all blades the advantage of anonymity, as well making them seem a formidable army, Keith had been immediately recognisable outside of the suit.
His height and size were a major giveaway. Even among the paladins, he was small. Smaller than all the paladins except one. Lotor didn’t think that his size made him any less formidable though. In fact one of the other reasons that Lotor had been able to pick him out immediately was his stance, the way he carried himself. Keith held himself like he was ready for a battle. He also noticed that even in the Castle, in what Lotor would assume was relative safety, Keith still had his knife strapped to his belt, ready to use at any moment.
When Keith was standing around talking to the other paladins, Lotor observed the way that Keith’s fingers drifted to the knife, deft fingers tracing the hilt, running along the handle, tracing the blade emblem, before returning to trace the handle once more.
The movement was hypnotic, and Lotor found himself watching his fingers almost obsessively. The motion should have been threatening. In any other setting – if Lotor had been sitting opposite Keith at a negotiation table, he would have assumed the man to be doing the action in an attempt to intimidate him. As it was he was sure he should be wary of the man, was in no way discounting him, but it wasn’t intimidation, or fear for his life he was feeling. It was intrigue.
Keith intrigued him.
The paladins had given him far more freedom than he would have given himself, were he in their situation. He was allowed to roam most areas of the castle, although he was informed that his actions were monitored. He was provided a room to stay in, and he was also provided some literature to read in his downtime. He was allowed access to the kitchen and common room at any time, but other rooms had to have another individual in the room for it to unlock for him, such as the control room.
Some areas, such as the lions and armoury, were off limits completely.
The pods were off limits to him, although Allura had said that in the event of an emergency, this feature would be overridden.
“How reassuring.” He’d said, filling his voice with condescension, just to watch the frowns on the paladins faces at his words.
He might be trying to cooperate with Voltron, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun along the way.
Most of his fun comes from observing the Paladins.
There’s not a lot to do currently. They’re still negotiating, and he accepts that he’s safest here with Voltron. Voltron can fight off Zarkon and Haggar. Which is more than he can say for himself currently. Maybe if he’d still had his generals – but no.
He takes to sitting in the kitchen. He doesn’t hide, but he finds if he sits further away from the food dispenser, and doesn’t move around or acknowledge the individuals as they enter, they don’t notice him, and tend to keep talking when they come in.
By far the most interesting to listen to are the blue and yellow paladins.
They tend to talk a lot as they move around the kitchen, the blue paladin jumping up on bench while the yellow paladin moves around the kitchen.
It’s from them that he finds out that Keith spends most of his time in the training room. The blue paladin complaining that even though Keith is currently living in the Castle of Lions, that they still barely see him. He continues to complain how Keith has become even more of a loner than he was before, spending all his time in the training room.
“I never thought I’d miss when Keith was –” The voice cuts off suddenly when he notices Lotor, and the paladin freezes, stopping his trajectory towards the table. The other paladin bumps into him, unaware that the blue paladin has stopped, and the interruption drags his attention up from the tablet in his hand, the other hand holding a bowl of food.
“How long have you been here?” The blue paladin asks, a scowl on his face.
“Since before you came in and ruined the peace.” He responds, locking his own tablet, and standing from the table. “I will leave you to it.” He sweeps out the room, feeling the eyes of the paladins on him until he exits the door.
They were no longer of interest, and he had a more important place he wanted to be now.
The training room opened under his palm, indicating that there was someone using the room. Lotor stepped inside, looking around, hoping and – yes, there he was.
Keith was training with one of the training droids. He was using his blade.
Lotor had noticed the blade before. Other Blade fighters had longer blades, wider and fully formed swords. Keith’s was small. More like a knife or dagger. Maybe he had been provided a smaller knife to better suit his smaller stature, or possibly – Lotor considered – this was just the choice of weapon for Keith.
He watched as Keith fought off the droid, parries, broad slashes, and sharp jabs to keep the device at bay. A larger blade would have been more effective for the slashes, and the sharp jabs were only just reaching the droid, the area where Keith hit flashing red at the impact, but the droid fought on, the hits doing no significant damage to it.
Then, as Lotor watched, he saw the droid dive forward, attacking Keith with its own blade, instead of jumping back to avoid the attack, Keith twisting sideways. It wasn’t until he was almost turned back facing the droid that Lotor noticed Keith had flicked his knife up, thrown it when he twisted, and in a smooth movement, Keith caught it with his left hand, the opposite hand to prior, before diving forward himself, imbedding the knife in the droid. The droid flashed red, but didn’t fall, still holding it’s own sword, ready for an attack. Lotor expected him to yank his blade out, to step back out of the droids reach, regroup, and attack again. What he didn’t expect was for Keith grab the blade handle with both hands, lean forward, and then the blade grew, more than doubled in size until it matched the blades Lotor had seen before.
The droid fell backwards, slipping out from Keith’s blade, but it was too late, it had already been immobilised, and the floor opened and swallowing the droid and its own weapon away, hiding the evidence of the fight.
Except that Keith was panting, sweaty, his hair sticking to the nape of his neck as he leant over, trying to catch his breath.
It was truly a thing of beauty.
Lotor clapped.
The sound of his hands slapping against each other rung out in the training room, echoing in the large space. Keith startled, looking up for the sound of the noise.
It was obvious that he hadn’t been expecting to have company by the way he reacted at the noise. When his eyes found Lotor, the confusion on his face shifted rapidly into a frown, the expression showing how displeased Keith was with who he saw in front of him.
Lotor felt a small thrill at the thought that he elicited any response at all.
Any reaction is a good reaction in his opinion.
“What are you doing here?” Keith asked as stood up. He lifted his shirt up to his face, using the inside of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, brushing at his face and the hair on his forehead. It also provided Lotor with confirmation that, as he had suspected, Keith was muscled, the lifted shirt giving him a view of the rippling and toned muscles of his abdomen, the muscles moving with each of Keith’s still laboured breaths.
The shirt dropped down, its use apparently fulfilled, and Lotor looked back up to Keith’s face, only to find him still frowning, except this time he wasn’t looking at Lotor, eyes instead looking at the blade still in his hands.
Lotor following his gaze to look at the blade, watching as the blade transformed back to its smaller size in front of him, although Keith didn’t move to resheath the weapon.
“Well?” Keith asks again, dragging his attention back from the blade to Keith’s face, the frown still present.
“I am allowed in here.” He replies with a smirk, “As long as someone else is present. And it was fortuitous that you were here, and treated me to such a display.”
Keith’s frown intensified. “That wasn’t… I wasn’t doing that for you.”
“Were you not?” Lotor asks, sounding confused at the words.
“No. Why would I do that for you?”
“Ahhh.” Lotor sighs, “Many a Galran would fight just for the attention of the Prince Lotor.”
“I’m not Galra.” Keith refutes, sliding the blade – the proof of the lie in his statement – away into its sheath, before saying more truthfully, “And you’re not much of a Prince anymore.”
The words hit close to home. Despite the fact that Lotor had never cared much for his prince status, they still stung; it was a reminder of his own fall from the Galra monarchy.
So Lotor hits back with his own words. “Your blade and your fighting say otherwise. You fight like a Galra.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from Keith, and he stalks up to Lotor, standing within his personal space, something that usually no one would have dared to do.
But he wasn’t in the realms of usual now.
“What does that even mean?” He demands, Keith’s eyes searching Lotor’s, just as demanding with their gaze as his voice, and oh – Lotor had never noticed before that Keith had purple in his eyes.
Both the colour and colouration were something Lotor had never seen before. Nothing like any other alien he had seen before. He felt on edge at Keith’s proximity, at his tone, at the wildness he felt from Keith just below the surface.
Feigning nonchalance despite that, he shrugs his shoulders.
“It’s a feeling more than anything. A recognition that pulls within. But also the way you throw yourself into the fight. You gamble with your life, throwing all in, without hesitating to consider how it may go wrong, or if the actions could result in harm to yourself.”
It was something he looked for in his generals. Something he’d seen in all of them which had led him to recruit them to his inner guard, his own personal army. There were many Galra, but less of them who embodied what it meant to be a Galra fighter.
Keith’s eyes continued to flick between Lotor’s own, still searching for something. He didn’t show whether this explanation was satisfying to him.
He broke eye contact finally, walking off to the door, and he hit his hand into the panel, causing the door to slide open.
“I’m leaving now, so you need to get out too.” Keith hesitates, turning his head back to look at Lotor over his shoulder. “Your father said that once too... those words…'You fight like a Galra'.”
The words make his blood run cold.
Zarkon had told Keith he fought like Galra
Zarkon had fought Keith.
Keith had fought Zarkon.
And survived.
The door beeps at him, drawing him from his thoughts and warning him that he had less than a minute to vacate the room, or an alarm would sound, and undoubtedly the rest of the paladins would come charging.
He swiftly exits the room, thoughts still running round his head.
You fight like a Galra .
Of course Zarkon had told Keith that.
Afterall, it was his father who had taught Lotor what the words meant.