Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lance, for once, actually wasn’t in the mood to party.

The team had been on the planet Altix now for a couple of days. Before that, they’d just come off that weird collective fever dream (aka the Lance-bash extravaganza), so sue him if Lance was still feeling a little hurt and raw over some interdimensional jerkwad calling him the stupid one for an entire game show, and not one person on his team trying anything to defend him against it.

I don’t want to be stuck here for eternity with Lance.

Nope, no, we’re not going there, not tonight, Lance thought. Last thing he needed to be thinking about was stupid Keith, now bigger and cooler and older (hotter too—shut up) and apparently so totally zen and mature now that he couldn’t possibly be bothered with Lance in any way whatsoever anymore. Which decidedly did not make Lance’s heart give painful twists as it beat because he was decidedly not in love with the guy.

At least that’s what he had to tell himself.

Hoo boy, Lance did not need to start spiraling down that particular rabbit hole tonight, of all nights. He was supposed to be paying attention to all of the courtiers and senators and other important folks at this smchancy shindig; they all needed to charm the pants, socks, and also the right glove of everyone here off if they had any hope of convincing the Altixians to give them the crystals they needed.

When the team first caught sight of Altix on the lions’ radar, they'd all been ready to dismiss it; it was just a bit too out of their way to justify using it as a rest stop, especially not when there were planets already ahead on their route that could provide the same thing, and the planet itself wasn’t technologically advanced enough to provide any substantial aid to them beyond a restock of their supplies.

That had all changed when, on a whim, Coran checked the old planetary records left over in the lions’ databanks and discovered that the planet Altix was home to nirene crystals.

...Which (understandably, Pidge) had meant absolutely nothing to Lance at the time. But once Coran explained, Lance’s heart soared higher than it had since the start of the war.

As it turned out, the crystals stored a kind of energy closely related to quintessence. Close enough so that with a little bit of jiggery pokery from team Voltron’s own two resident tech engineering genius extraordinaires, they could rig up a charging station using the crystals as a power source and have the lions back to full power in practically no time. And with the lions at full power, it would cut their travel time back home by more than half. Less than six months, compared to the current year and a half.

The choice wasn't really much of a choice at all; the chance that they could be home so much sooner than they could have hoped was too good to pass up on.

But there was one teensy, little snag. Apparently, the nirene crystals were sacred to the Altixians. They had some kind of connection to their high goddess of life or something, and could only be found in one underground mountain spring that the planet’s capitol palace had been built around. Extracting the crystals from the pool would take time, effort, and careful handling to make sure that the holy site they resided in wasn’t disturbed or destroyed. Not to mention how many members of Altix’s ruling council were reluctant about giving away something so important to their planet’s culture and religion.

So now Lance was here, at this party that wasn’t really a party but a celebration of some kind of religious ceremony (he hadn’t been paying attention earlier, something about new members, rare occurrence, a high honor, yada yada yada). He had his most show-worthy smile on his face, the most pep-full bounce in his step, and Lance was ready to schmooze, charm, and smooth-talk like the lives of all his friends depended on it. He was ready to go home.

“Ugh,” Hunk said gloomily, slumping onto the buffet table beside Lance. “It’s somebody else’s turn to talk to Cleric Vumix. I swear Lance, I told him the story of when we got caught by the momma bird in that thuuva’s nest trying to grab enough feathers for the princess’s mattress, and he didn’t even laugh once!”

“I know buddy,” Lance said, grimacing as he sympathetically patted his friend’s back. Vumix was a high-ranking member of Altix’s religious order—the Clerics—and he made well sure everyone knew exactly how "prestigious" and "very important" he was.

Ugh. The guy couldn’t touch the stick up his butt with a 20-foot pole with how far that thing was shoved up there. It had taken all of Lance’s considerable conversational skills in his own talk with the man to keep the air from turning awkward as Vumix increasingly made veiled insults and digs towards the paladins and Voltron. He’d all but called them con artists, ones who made empty promises to take everything a planet held dear—deceitful ragabonds unworthy of Altix’s “sacred” crystals after pledging to save the universe from the Galra and then leaving them all prey to any warlords that came along.

One would think, what with saving the entire universe from another power hungry tyrant in the making and all, Lance and the team would be given a little leeway for their unwitting three-year hiatus, right? Right?

Yeah, no dice. But that was okay. Lance would just have to be extra charming and extra smooth. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

Lance gestured to the buffet in front of him, the small plate he held already filled with the various finger foods the table had to offer. “Lemme finish charging up, and I’ll see if I can find Shiro or maybe Allura and have another go at the guy later. Do you want a plate?”

“Yes please!” Hunk popped back up with an expression of relief on his face. “That’s what I came over here for. The food here is actually so good. Not that I should be surprised, the Altixian’s really went all out for the induction ceremony.”

Hunk was absolutely right. The ballroom was dressed to the nines and everywhere Lance looked screamed extravagance, from the opulent decorations to the room itself. The high ceiling sloped down in a steep incline, more glass than it was actual ceiling. Lance could even see the top half of a huge tree where the slope ended, the setting sun twinkling the leaves of it silver and gold in a breathtaking display as they rustled in the wind. All of those clear skylights bathed the ball in warm, golden tones as glass chandeliers reflected dancing pinpricks of light across the floor. Food was spilling over the edges of the banquet tables placed along the edges of the room, round tables decorated with lavish floral centerpieces marked popular places to mill around, and music from the palace orchestra cascaded down from the balcony overhead to fill up every nook and cranny of the ballroom with light, joyous sound.

Even as part of Lance wished to be anywhere else—in his room or back in Red with her comforting presence helping keep his dark thoughts at bay—he had to admit he was enjoying himself just the tiniest bit. He usually really liked parties; they were by far his favorite part of the whole hero-saving gig they had going. He liked meeting new people and getting to know their stories and their lives. He liked connecting with them, especially aliens who were so different to anyone he would find on Earth.

And the Altixians sure were different. For one thing, all of their skin seemed to come in varying darker shades of purples, blues, and pinks. And they didn’t have hair really; they had these kinds of skin-covered ridges that decorated their heads in a variety of lengths and intricate patterns, the thin skin on them fading to a different color at the top. Some of them had what looked like orange, geometric designs painted on the back of their hands. Their faces were humanoid, except they had no noses and their ears stretched up a few inches like long, thin, pointy goalposts on either side of their head. And one thing that seemed to never change with every Altixian Lance met—they went absolutely gaga for their religion.

Lance had been a little wary—the kind of reverence and devotion with which Altixian culture revolved around their high holy goddess (or whatever it was) was a bit of a mixed bag back on Earth, to say the least. But so far, the Altixian's overall behavior didn't seem to fall into a condescending, holier-than-thou attitude (save some Vumix-like exceptions), and their religion certainly didn't prevent them from letting loose and having fun. Things were shaping up to be a halfway decent time—if a little too pompous and “my twenty Halvarian vases are better than your twenty Halvarian vases” for Lance's usual tastes (Halvarian vases, he learned, were a whole thing among the circles of the Altixian elite).

“Hit it right on the nose, Hunk. What even is this for again?” Lance asked.

“Oh dude, weren’t you paying attention when the queen made her whole opening speech a couple hours ago?”

He hadn’t, actually. Lance might have been just a little preoccupied with the way the soft gold light pouring down from the skylights painted a certain black paladin in tones of warm yellow and orange, his black hair shining deeper with just a hint of a red highlight, matching the red of his armor and making it look as though he had fire dancing just under his skin.

Not that he had been staring.

…Again.

Pidge suddenly popped up right by Hunk’s elbow. “Quick, is anyone paying attention to us right now?” she asked.

Hunk peaked around. “Nah, I think you’re good. Everyone’s preoccupied by the dance right now.”

Tension left Pidge in a rush, a sigh of annoyance escaping from her mouth. “Hunk, quick, slap my face. Maybe you can unstick my muscles from this stupid smile I’ve been wearing all night. If I have to hear one more person say something like ‘Voltron isn’t worthy enough for our precious crystals’,” she imitated with a hoity-toity voice before returning to her usual cadence with a scowl, “I’m gonna give ‘em a plague.”

Lance snorted. While most of the politicians seemed to be just overly cautious of the risks in giving Voltron the crystals rather than openly hostile, there were a couple quite vocal advocates of turning the team away empty handed (*cough cough* Vumix *cough cough*). “I’ll help,” he said.

“We strike at dawn.” Pidge gave a solemn nod as the three of them moved to one of the nearby empty tables.

Hunk nodded his head to a spot across the room. “At least it looks like Allura is having more luck with the queen. That’s good, right? Isn’t she the one with the ultimate say so?”

Lance looked across the way, where it seemed like Allura was having better luck. The queen was taller than most of the Altixians here—just shy of Shiro’s height—though it seemed that most of the female Altixians were on the taller side; the males on the whole tended to be shorter and stockier, though they were still a good head taller than Pidge. The queen definitely painted an intimidating image with the way she stood taller than Allura, her deep orange robes contrasting the magenta of her skin. She wore a thoughtful, stern expression, but the neutrality of it at this point definitely felt like a rousing success in Voltron’s favor compared to downright, open disdain on some of the other courtiers' faces.

“She is?” Lance asked. “Why didn’t anyone say so? Old Lancey Lance could have been charming our way into some crystals in no time.”

Pidge looked at him with a smirk. “The amount of charm you have would send her running for the hills as soon as you got within ten feet. You’d be lucky to even get through saying hello.”

Ouch, Lance thought, as she and Hunk giggled.

Lance fought back his frown, letting the sting slide off his shoulders down into the ever increasing piles of slights in his mind labeled 'Not Good Enough’ and 'Barely Tolerated’.

Whatever—she didn’t mean it, it’s fine. Lance is just being a baby, like he always is.

He let his voice go high and his hands fling out, responding the way he should despite the fakeness of it. “Excuse you Pidgeon, I am so charming! Charming enough to knock the socks off of anyone here!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Pidge taunted. She gave a wicked grin and flashed her glasses. “Maybe you’d be better at it if you weren’t so obviously mooning over a certain someone.”

Lance’s heart stopped. “What?”

“Y’know? Long white hair, pretty blue eyes, calls you Loonce,” she teased, her voice turning up at the end to mimic Allura.

“Oh.” Lance’s breath came back. They didn’t know. Thank god. The last thing Lance needed was everyone else to be the peanut gallery of the rejection that would bash his heart to smithereens if Keith ever found out about his feelings. He already made enough of a disgrace and embarrassment of himself all through his own efforts, thanks.

“Yeah dude,” Pidge continued. “I’m assuming that’s why you missed Allura’s rundown about who’s most important to convince tonight. Too busy getting lost in her eyes,” she said, batting her eyelashes mockingly.

Lance sighed. “I wasn’t—”

“Oh, is that also why you weren’t paying attention during the queen’s speech?” Hunk slyly added in, him and Pidge giggling at Lance again.

He resisted the urge to yell daggers at them.

Maybe Lance should have seen this coming. He had flirted with and mooned over Allura. A lot. Especially at the beginning. He hadn’t exactly made it a secret that he liked her and was very eager to check off that girlfriend box when it came to the princess.

But things had changed after Shiro went missing. The team dynamics shifted, Lance became the Red Paladin, and Keith started relying on him in a way that he’d never had someone rely on him before.

That was the beginning of the end of his feelings for Allura, really. Lance and Keith started getting closer, leading Voltron together—a two-man team against it all. All the strategy sessions where Keith would ask for Lance’s opinion, and then actually listened to him and took his suggestions seriously; all the times in battle when they didn’t even have to say a word, the nights they spent talking and learning more about each other—it all made Lance feel like maybe, for once, he was enough just the way he was. Like he was needed and useful and important.

But then Keith left; said sayonara to being leader as well as Lance’s partner and it wasn’t until after he was gone that Lance realized the jerk took his heart right along with him.

He’d been left hurt, looking for something to comfort him. Something safe and familiar. He’d been suffering from a kind of broken heart made all the worse by maybes and coulda-beens and if-onlys, longing for something easy to make him forget his loneliness with Keith gone.

So maybe Lance latched back onto Allura—hard. He did everything he could to convince himself that Allura was always the one he’d wanted and it had never, at any point, been anyone else. It didn’t matter that Keith was gone because Lance would be happier with Allura than he ever would have been with Keith.

But seeing Allura look at Lotor the way Lance wished she would look at him was the downfall of all of his stubbornly-designed denials and delusions. Lance finally faced the fact he couldn’t keep hiding behind feelings for Allura when every part of him ached for intense, dark eyes that shined the most fascinating shade of purple in the right light, a smile so much better because it had to be earned, and a trust that left Lance feeling like he could lasso the moon.

So he could understand why Pidge and Hunk were teasing him. To them, it had been not so long ago he was still trying to date the princess. But Lance stopped pursuing Allura even before Keith came back, and he definitely hadn’t been pursuing her since.

Maybe it was a little bit Lance’s fault, for not clearing up that he didn’t like Allura like that anymore. But couldn’t he be a little upset with his friends, for not realizing exactly how much Lance was not into Allura right now?

“Guys, I mean it, I’m not into Allur—”

“What’s got you guys so giggly over here?” Shiro’s voice cut in, the man himself following just a moment later as he came to rest against the table beside Lance. He wore a tired smile on his face, but it turned into something more genuine when he looked at the three of them.

“Just our loverboy here,” Pidge snickered.

“Oh?” Shiro cast his eyes to Lance in curiosity.

“It’s nothing,” Lance rushed out with a tight smile, aiming to cut off whatever answer Pidge had opened her mouth to reply with.

Shiro raised an eyebrow, but Lance didn’t let him probe further. He swept his arm towards the table while letting his smile arrange into a playful smirk. “Are you here to join us in our much needed, all expenses paid retreat from all the doom and gloom?”

“We have complimentary snacks for all your recharging needs,” Hunk added, holding out a small doughy ball that vaguely reminded Lance of a cream puff, if not for the purple color. “Space meat puff?”

Shiro took the food with a grateful hum before letting out an exasperated sigh, keeping his voice low. “If I have to hear one more backhanded dig about our ‘abandonment of the universe’…”

Lance hummed commiseratingly around his own bite of food—something with a peach-like texture but a taste like a savory squash that melted warm and comforting on his tongue. He was determined to get seconds of before the night was over. “You should get in on me and Pidge’s plague plan,” he said.

Pidge nodded sagely. “All are welcome. Vumix is our first target.”

A half-aborted snort left Shiro’s nose as he tried to keep his face straight. “I don’t think I can condone you openly planning the downfall of one of Altix’s major religious figures, no matter how much I might secretly agree.”

“Killjoy,” Pidge accused.

Shiro let out a light laugh. “Sorry to keep you from committing mass murder, Pidge.”

“Don’t you know it’s my favorite pastime?” she whined.

Lance chuckled and shook his head, looking over to Hunk. His eyebrows furrowed in concern. “You alright there, buddy?”

“Yeah, it’s just…” Hunk said, wringing his hands and tapping his fingers, anxiety settled plainly on his face. “How are we going to convince the Altixians to help us?” He slumped, one hand propping his face as his forlorn gaze settled down on the table. “It just feels like we’re not making any progress, and home is feeling farther and farther away, y’know?”

A solemn pause filled the table, before Shiro reached out to pat Hunk’s hand reassuringly. “It’s not as bad as you think, Hunk. They’re just concerned about the crystals. The Galra stripped the planet of all of them when they first attacked thousands of years ago, and it’s taken the Altixians this long to regrow the small amount they have now. They’re worried that Voltron’s presence here will bring the Galra back to take all the crystals again, especially since we would be using them too.”

He shifted his eyes to look at all of them with determination. “But we’ve dealt with fears like this before. We just have to be patient. We’ll assure them that Voltron can protect the planet if any of the warlords try to attack and that it’s unlikely the Galra will still try to target Altix once we leave. The Galra have easier, more preferred energy sources than the nirene crystals now.” Shiro looked back to Hunk, softening his tone and his eyes. “And we have to remember, it’s not the end of the world if the Altixians don’t help us. We’re still going to get home—just longer than we'd like to take.”

Hunk gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks Shiro, I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime, Hunk,” Shiro said. “Besides, we don’t have to convince everyone, just the queen and enough council members that they can’t force a majority vote to revoke her decision.”

Hunk hummed thoughtfully while Pidge groaned. “I still say the plague plan is better,” she grumbled.

“What’s this about a plague?”

Lance jumped, whirling around to find Allura staring them down with narrowed eyes. Her white hair was pulled up in her customary battle bun (which had made Keith snicker the first time he heard Lance call it that) and coupled with her paladin armor, Lance could almost imagine her about to charge at them, whip blazing.

Lance shifted nervously, resisting the urge to also rub at his neck. “Uh, nothing Princess! We were just joking around.”

Allura didn’t let up her hard stare on him as she came around to join them at the table, filled to capacity now with the five of them surrounding it. “Tell me, Lance, is joking about death and illness a better use of your time than convincing the Altixian people to ally with us?”

Ouch. Lance did rub his neck then, averting his gaze. “Ah, right. Sorry Princess.”

Her hard demeanor softened, a tired sigh falling from her mouth. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so harsh. I know all of you are doing your best. I know it’s not easy, but I’m proud of all you four are doing.”

“Thanks Princess,” Shiro said. “It seems like things were going well with the queen earlier.”

“We’ll see,” she sighed. “Queen Rethe is hard to read. She seems amenable enough to our cause, but I cannot tell if that means she will move to ally with us.”

“If anyone can convince her, it’s you princess,” Hunk told her with a comforting smile.

Allura returned his smile with a grateful one of her own. “Thank you Hunk. But enough about my efforts tonight. Have any of you made any more progress?”

They all gave her their updates—Shiro reiterating the same observations he’d made when reassuring Hunk earlier.

“Great work, Shiro. Hunk, Pidge, if you could talk to the two senators over there,” she said, pointing to a couple tables over. “They’re scientists that are interested in your proposed idea to upgrade their food distribution system.”

“Oh yes! Finally, some intelligent conversation.” Pidge grinned.

“Lance, I want you with me for a bit while we do the rounds.” Lance nodded, pushing back the feeling like he was being babysat like a child at an adult’s-only meeting. He ignored the pointed stares he felt coming from Pidge and Hunk, not wanting a repeat of their teasing. “Shiro, you should find Keith and Krolia and work on reassuring the Altixian’s fears about the Galra. Keith has proven himself surprisingly patient about that, given how many of the courtiers are wary of his heritage. He’s grown into the role of leader remarkably well.”

Lance let his eyes drift to the front of the room, already knowing what he would find. His eyes focused first on the large wall fountain: an impressive mass of dark gray, intricately-detailed stone that depicted the image of two Altixians kneeling underneath a large tree, contrasted by light, smooth marble walls on either side of it. The fountain spanned all the way to the roof, the image of the tree merging with the end of the sloping ceiling to be capped by the crown of dancing gold and silver leaves from the real tree outside.

And beneath all of that grand spectacle—perfectly framed by the stated beauty of his backdrop—was Keith, actually smiling as he talked to a couple members of the palace guard.

Even if his posture still had some of that awkward, out-of-placeness Keith always had when he had to play nice in front of strangers, Lance couldn’t ignore the way Keith looked a great deal more comfortable in his skin. Two years gone on the back of a space whale, and now Keith was more level-headed, more sure of himself and who he was than Lance ever knew him to be. Lance couldn’t help his smile, but it was bittersweet.

Don’t get him wrong, Lance was beyond happy for Keith—the guy had even found his mom, how awesome was that? But Lance…well. He couldn’t help but be a little sad, too.

Even if he hadn’t realized it—and more than once even outright denied it—Lance had always been waiting for when Keith would come back. He’d been waiting for a Keith who was just the same as when he’d left to show back up and fall right back into place at Lance’s side. He’d been counting on a Keith that relied on him the same way as before to show him he still had a place on this team.

But this wasn’t 19 year-old Keith, with a mile-wide chip on his shoulder and a bone to pick with the universe. The older, cooler, more grizzled Keith didn’t need Lance to help him be the leader at all.

Which, again, Lance was totally happy for! He’d seen firsthand how much Keith struggled to accept his role after Shiro’s disappearance, and how hard it had been for Keith to believe he actually could live up to the universe’s expectations. He was so proud of Keith for all he’d grown, for becoming who he was always meant to be.

Lance just didn’t know how to handle a Keith that kept him at arm’s length when he’d been waiting for the Keith that had become his best friend.

He was trying so desperately to get back what he and Keith had been before he left. He tried falling into old routines, but Keith wasn’t responding to any of it. Every time he tried to connect with him, it was like Keith just pushed him away even more—.

“Lance, are you coming?”

He dragged his eyes away from Keith. Allura was waiting for him expectantly just a few steps away. “Uh, you bet princess! These aliens won’t be able to resist my roguish charm,” he said, throwing a dazzling show smile her way.

Allura rolled her eyes and shook her head with a tired, exasperated smile. “Come on Lance.”

He followed Allura—the smirking grins and waggled eyebrows of his two friends painstakingly ignored as he left—ready to put on a show-stopping performance for everyone here.

But Lance couldn’t help one last look in Keith’s direction as he walked away. As it happened, Keith turned at just that moment too.

Their eyes met, and time stopped. Lance was held suspended in a moment as dark eyes stayed fixed on his own. The connection lasted for only a moment before the moving bodies of the ball broke Lance’s line of sight.

Lance snapped back to the present, quickening his steps to catch up with Allura before she could realize he’d lagged behind.

“—so there she is, banging on her podium of buckets and boxes, preaching to the room like she’s rallying us all to fight in the very battle of our lives—so, so serious and extremely concerned—and none of us can understand a single word she’s saying!”

Lance burst out laughing as the Altixian he was talking to, Orthas, imitated the petulant pout of a 4 year old child not getting her way. He caught his breath enough to say, “No! That poor girl!”

Talking with Orthas was shaping up to be the highlight of Lance’s otherwise very dull, very taxing evening.

After Allura led him around the room, meeting more overly cautious Altixians that he did his best to persuade and assuage, she finally left him to mingle on his own. Lance had grabbed a glass of some kind of (alcoholic, if he was lucky enough) drink when Orthas had come up—Lance vaguely recognizing the middle-aged, blue-skinned man with painted hands from the opening ceremony—and introduced himself as Altix’s High Cleric, the head of the Cleric Order.

At first, Lance was filled with dread. A repeat of Cleric Vumix—complete with barely disguised hostility and more “Voltron is not worthy” digs? Let the ground swallow him up now.

But luckily, the man was nothing like Vumix! Orthas was more than willing to listen to Voltron’s proposal; he was already talking of how sharing the holy crystals of Altix to help bring about the end of Galran tyranny would be an honor worthy of their holy goddess. He was cheery and friendly, open and talkative, and so loud and boisterous Lance half suspected Orthas already got ahold of several alcoholic drinks (unlike Lance, as it turned out).

Conversation flowed between them with natural ease, quickly moving to topics other than the alliance. Finding out that the teal-ridged man had been chosen over Vumix (who had been very put out according to Orthas) to become High Cleric sealed the deal; Orthas was officially Lance’s new favorite person.

“I know!” Orthas broke into his own chuckles as the wide smile on his face grew bigger. “My cousin’s daughter was so distraught that none of the adults were understanding her! We never even managed to calm her down enough to figure out what was so important! And of course, she gets distracted by the next plaything and forgets about it within the hour and so we still don’t know!”

Lance clapped his hand on Orthas’ shoulder, shaking his head fondly. “Oh man, you gotta love kids.”

“To some of the best wonders in life,” Orthas said, raising his glass in a toast that Lance gladly matched.

“I’m glad that you have so much time for your family, given how much you must be doing with all of your cleric duties.”

“Yes. That’s actually something I’ve explicitly changed from some of my past predecessors. Just because we serve our goddess does not mean that we cannot also make time to cherish the bonds with those most important to us,” Orthas said, hastily continuing on and exuberantly waving his hand in emphasis. “Though that’s not to say we neglect our duties as clerics! Oh no! We in the order take our oaths very seriously. Our lives are dedicated to the care of the Goddess, Novessa. In fact, all clerics can only consume food and drink made from the crops watered by the crystal pools where Novessa’s power lives.” Orthas indicated to his glass filled with a swirling shimmery pink liquid inside.

“Oh, is that what the new clerics drank earlier this afternoon?” Lance thought back to the ceremony at the start of the party, where the two initiates had drunk that same liquid from an ornate golden cup before pledging their service to Novessa and clerichood.

“Indeed! Our most sacred duty as the Goddess’ disciples is to care and nurture the Ovessa tree that grows from the crystal pools. You can actually see the top of it from this very room!” He pointed to the same huge silver-gold leafed tree Lance had been noticing all night.

Lance hummed. “Yeah, I can only imagine what it looks like up close. Why’s taking care of it your most important duty?”

“Because the Ovessa tree is what gives us the fruit needed to make ovessil!” Orthas lifts his glass again, indicating to it. “Ovessil is what we use to form a bond with Novessa, as it allows us the higher state of being needed to commune with Her Divinity.”

Lance resisted the urge to smirk or giggle. Higher state of being huh? He was suddenly hit with the image of Orthas and the other clerics sitting in a room, high out of their minds with blurry eyes, speaking to the ‘goddess’ inside their heads. Looks like he hadn’t been too far off in his suspicion that Orthas was under the influence, as it were.

“Aha! Paladin Keith, I haven’t seen you since the opening ceremony!” Orthas gleefully shouted. “Please, please! Come join us! How are you finding the festivities?”

Lance’s humor stuttered, his head snapping to the side to find Keith standing a few feet away, frozen mid-step like a deer caught in headlights.

Cuuute, his too-Keith-obsessed brain uselessly pointed out.

His heartbeat pounded in his chest as Keith made his way over, giving one last forlorn look off to the side (where a side entrance was located) before settling his attention on Orthas and Lance. “The party is beautiful, Lord Orthas. You should really be proud.”

“Well, we Altixians aren’t all doom and gloom as Lance here was saying.”

Keith blinked, flicking his eyes to Lance in a quick, discreet glare (that Lance just smirked at) before flicking back to Orthas. He cleared his throat nervously, words hesitant. “Ah, well, I’m sure that Lance meant no offense—”

“Oh I meant full offense,” Lance interjected, just to see Keith squirm. He thrived on the open glare Keith sent him in reply, his grin widening.

…Lance might have been still a little (*cough cough* a lot) salty about the whole game show business.

“And I’m sure that you didn’t,” Keith grit out.

Orthas laughed, full bellied and loud. “I assure you, no offense was taken.” He shared a sly look with Lance. “I quite agree with young Lance here that many of my fellow courtiers' concerns about Voltron are unfounded and unneeded. And they’re all a great deal too ready to lay unwarranted accusations at your feet that do nothing but depreciate the Altixian people towards you.”

Keith blinked again. “Oh.” The tension released from his posture. He looked to Lance again, who made a point of looking innocently off to the side. “Well, that’s, um, good to hear.” Keith shifted awkwardly.

Okay. He’s suffered enough for now.

Lance came to Keith’s metaphorical rescue and clapped Orthas on the back. “Oh that’s not even the best part. My main man Orthas and I have been having the absolute best time tonight, team leader.” He moved closer to Keith, a sly smile thrown in Orthas’ direction and a tilted head like he was letting Keith in on a secret. “This guy? Hands down, has the best stories, Keith. Most interesting guy I’ve ever talked to,” he said with a playful wink at Orthas, fully playing up the charm.

The cleric smiled and waved his hand. “You flatter me too much. My stories are only as good as my audience, and you are certainly one of the best.”

“Now who’s the flatterer, Orthas?” Lance said, both of them laughing. Lance looked over to find Keith looking at him with a small, pleased smile on his face. He quickly looked away, before his traitorous heart even got the chance to do something stupid—like stop and stare and bask in all the giddiness a simple freaking smile from Keith Kogane set off in him.

“I take it you two are really getting along,” Keith said.

“Oh, understatement of the century, mullet!”

Orthas made an attention-grabbing hum as he finished a sip of his drink. “It’s a shame that my duties for the ceremony have kept me from your company, Paladin Keith. Lance here has been telling me all about your team, and I must admit I’ve been most excited to formally meet you. Anyone Lance speaks that highly of must be someone worth meeting.”

Quiznack. Curse Lance’s inability to filter his mouth and curse Orthas for making him feel so comfortable in his presence Lance blabbed on and on when the man asked to hear about the other members of Voltron.

Keith looked surprised. “Oh, he—well.” His thick brows furrowed in confusion, glancing at Lance—who was hiding from this moment by taking a long sip of his (non-alcoholic, dammit!) drink—before settling that curious, dark indigo gaze once more on Orthas. “What did he say about me?”

…Miercoles.

Orthas—Lance’s absolutely least favorite person right now—forged on with no care for the hell he was about to throw Lance into.

“Oh, there was a lot, but the thing that really stood out to me was—oh quiznack!” Both Keith and Lance startled at the abrupt cut off as Orthas’ gaze became alarmed and locked on something across the room. “By Lintes and Phea, not again. Excuse me, paladins, but I see one of my initiates is having some trouble from the effects of drinking ovessil for the first time.”

Orthas hastily set his drink down on the table, quickly gathering his long, dark teal ceremonial robes to rush off. “We’ll continue this conversation later!” he threw over his shoulder as he disappeared into the mass of partygoers. Seconds later, a faint cry of ‘Kixuk, put that down!’ was the last thing they heard from him.

…Well, quiznack. Again.

Lance may have been spared the embarrassment that was his word vomit on all of Keith’s virtues to Orthas, but now he had the new, separate, and perhaps exorbitantly worse problem of a Keith who was left to come up with his own version of the numerous praises Lance sang about him in his absence.

This problem was, of course, immediately realized when Keith gave him a sidelong look, face too innocent for whatever he was going to say.

Oh no.

“So…” Keith said, “you think highly of me, Lance?”

“Ugh,” he groaned, face in his hand. “Screw off, mullet.”

“That’s not a denial.”

Lance didn’t even need to look to see the smug half-grin playing over Keith’s features. “Shut up. I said nice stuff about everybody, okay? Kind of the whole point here, right?”

Keith smiled down at the table, fingers drumming against its surface, silently laughing. “If you say so.”

Lance bristled. “If I say—Oh it is so on samurai!” He slapped his hands down and leaned forward in challenge.

Keith matched Lance’s posture; only the diameter of the small table kept them from being right in each other’s faces. He leveled his gaze on Lance, eyes intense and filled with a fire that warmed Lance to his core. And then this jerk smirked. He. Smirked.

Lance’s mouth went dry. That smirk, on that face—Lance was definitely in danger.

“Bring it, sharpshooter. I can take you.”

Yes, you certainly can.

Dang it. Not now horny thoughts.

Still, Lance’s lips couldn’t help but twitch upward. He missed this; Keith rising to every challenge Lance set forth, all of their playful banter and competition that made Lance feel more alive than anything ever had.

Lance relaxed back from his aggressive posture, hands on his hips as he stared Keith down, playing it cool and calm and unaffected. He kept his voice light and teasing, falling into the role he could play in his sleep. “You’re lucky I care too much about endangering this alliance,” Lance said, flashing his smuggest grin. “Otherwise I’d lay you out, mullet. Right here, right now.”

Keith scoffed. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Oh I wouldn’t just try, I’d win. You’d be begging by the time I’m done with you.”

Keith’s smirk didn’t fall from his face at Lance’s boasting. “Please, you couldn’t beat me even if I had both hands tied behind my back.”

Lance’s nerves were tingling, anticipating the thrill that was already starting to shoot down his spine. Keith wasn’t pulling away, he wasn’t blowing Lance off—he was actually responding back! He had to dig his toes against the giddy smile wanting to break through that would give away exactly how excited Lance felt.

Instead, he leaned back over the table, his voice taunting and low as he stared Keith in his eyes. “I don’t know, mullet. You were gone for a while. Maybe I’ve picked up a few things that’ll surprise you,” he said, flashing the cocky smirk he knew Keith couldn’t resist snapping back to just so he could wipe it from Lance’s face.

Except Keith didn’t react that way at all.

The fire in Keith’s eyes dimmed, the playful cockiness snapped out of his posture, leaving only a stiffness and tension behind. Keith’s gaze broke from his, looking away as his face closed off from Lance. “Yeah, maybe,” he mumbled out.

Lance was left floundering, suddenly holding nothing more than a snapped string as the kite he’d been flying sailed far out of reach. “Keith, wha—”

“I need to go,” Keith said abruptly, nodding to the rest of the party still going on around them. “Secure the alliance and everything. I’ll see you later.”

“Wait, Keith!”

Keith didn’t stop, didn’t slow his pace, didn’t turn back, and Lance was left staring at Keith’s back as he left, again. One moment, there, and in the next, just gone.

His chest felt hollow and echoey. The high he’d been riding turned bitter and heavy in his stomach. The whiplash of it all left him feeling desperate and alone, confused and ungrounded in Keith’s wake.

Had he said something wrong? He had to have, right? He thought everything was fine, that they were bantering like they did before, but apparently Keith had had enough. He’d gotten fed up with Lance so bad that he’d had to leave—right then, right there.

His eyes burned, and he hated that he felt so much shame. Hated Keith a little too, maybe. Because for all that Keith could make him soar—make him feel worthy and valued and so, so alive in the best way—he could also hurt Lance; make him plummet and fall and leave him feeling so, so alive in the worst way too.

Lance sniffed, forced the wetness stinging his lash line away. He allowed himself one more moment of wallowing before taking a deep breath. He was Lance McClain, the Red Paladin of Voltron, laughing and carefree and cool—dastardly charming and ready to wine and dine all the aliens here into the alliance his team needed.

He lifted his head, ready to leave the table and go back to mingling with the Altixians when his eye caught on Orthas’ left-behind glass. He stared.

Heightened state of being, huh?

Before he could tell himself how stupid of an idea it was, Lance swiped the glass up and downed the remaining liquid inside. With any luck, the over half-full glass would be enough to drown out all of the demons inside his head as well as the persistent, throbbing ache behind his ribcage.

Lance finished with a smack of his lips, set the glass down, then set his shoulders back—walking off to go find the next courtier he was supposed to convince to their side.

Lance was not lucky.

Yeah, the ovessil? Absolutely did not grant a higher state of being, Orthas you liar.

Maybe for the Altixians it worked to get them inebriated, but for Lance, it was doing jack-all. If anything, the stuff just made him feel nauseous and light-headed. Not to mention there was a small but persistent ache accumulating behind his eyes.

Guess he really shouldn’t have expected anything different from weird space alcohol, what with how all the things in his life had been going for him lately. A pleasant buzz to forget all his sorrows in for one night was just too much to ask for, huh?

He forcibly jabbed one of the peach-squash things in his mouth, angrily chomping and chewing on his food, just glad to have a moment to himself at the secluded table he stopped at. Maybe by the time he was done, the food at least would get rid of the queasy feeling in his stomach.

His only saving grace was the knowledge that the party would be ending soon anyway. He could see the sky starting to turn to a darker orange color. Faint hints of pink streaked across its expanse signaled the coming sunset, and with it the last ceremony Voltron was required to attend for the evening.

God, Lance couldn’t wait for this night to be over.

“Lance!”

He started, almost inhaling the bite of squash-peach (Squeach? Pea-quash? Puash? To be determined) that had been in his mouth as he turned to find one white haired, one-armed paladin looking at him with a mix of amusement and concern as he choked.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you okay?” Shiro asked.

Lance waved his hand, coughing to clear his throat. “Fine,” he croaked, clearing out the last of the inhaled food. “I’m fine. All good, no worries here,” he said with a slightly hoarse voice.

Shiro gave a light chuckle. “You had me worried for a second there. What’s got you so distracted you couldn’t hear me calling your name the first few times?”

Lance almost felt like laughing. Easier question was what wasn’t distracting him right now? Between Keith, Pidge and Hunk’s teasing, everyone and their mother at this party questioning his worth, and the everything else hidden behind those things, Lance was lucky to keep any kind of smile on his face at all.

“Oh, nothing much important. Just, y’know, alliance stuff.”

Shiro heaved a deep sigh. “Tell me about it. I know we’ve already convinced a lot of the courtiers, but it’s hard to see past the ones who seem determined to advocate against us. But…” Shiro moved to lean against the table, smiling slyly at Lance. “That’s not what I came over here to talk about.”

Lance furrowed his brows. “It’s not?” he asked, surprised.

“No?” Shiro looked at him, bemused.

“But…why else would you want to talk to me, if not for alliance stuff?”

Shiro furrowed his brow. “Because you’re my friend? I like talking to you, Lance.”

Lance stared at him. “You do?” he asked, feeling blindsided.

“Yeah. Is that so hard to believe?” Shiro said, his face now starting to look more concerned than confused.

“No, no, of course not,” Lance rushed out, hiding away his surprise in favor of the heady rush of excitement that swept through him. His heart beat double-time in elation and his stomach jumped. His smile felt more real than almost any other he’d worn all night. “I just…didn’t think you’d want to take time away to catch up! Allura would have a fit.”

Shiro leaned in and gave him a mischievous grin. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Lance’s own lips turned up to match. “Well if you want to risk Allura’s wrath, I better make the story worth it. Just wait until I tell you about Lord Orthas’ little cousin…”

As he jumped into the story Orthas told him earlier, Lance couldn’t stop the joy that leaked into his every action (though his grumpy toddler impression sure suffered for it). The dark mood that had been shadowing his every step for so long shuddered in the face of Shiro’s positive attention; he didn’t tease Lance, or make jokes, or call him dumb. Shiro listened and laughed right along with him at all the right moments.

He was so caught up in the relief of not feeling like the burden in the room he didn’t notice Shiro watching him with an intense and thoughtful gaze. He didn’t notice Shiro’s worried eyes paying much more attention to him than was warranted given the unimportant nature of the story Lance was telling.

He didn’t notice Shiro’s features settle in determination as he opened his mouth.

“—and then this poor little girl, she—”

“Lance, are you okay?”

Lance’s body froze mid-gesture, mouth mid-gape, taken aback by the abrupt interruption and the now very serious expression on Shiro’s face.

Where did that come from? Lance thought, a brief flash of white hot panic sprinting through his veins. Why is he asking me that?

He wasn’t happy to hear that his chuckle sound a little forced as he cast Shiro a teasing smile. “What, from earlier? Yeah man, it was just a bit of food down the wrong pipe. Not exactly life-threaten—”

“That’s not what I mean,” Shiro said, his tone gentle, yet firm. The panic came back, a peal of alarm bells clanging in Lance’s head. His palms got clammier, and his stomach rolled uneasily.

He tried to play it off, even as he felt like the walls were closing in on him. “Well I don’t know what you mean—”

“Lance,” was said so gently and so softly, Shiro’s eyes watching him like he was some kind of wounded animal backed into a corner, snarling and hissing at anything that came too close.

Lance’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click, his muscles tensing and adrenaline coursing through his system and telling him to run, to get out of there before Shiro could really see—

“Lance, it’s okay.” Shiro’s gaze felt like it was pinning him, like a butterfly under glass. “You don’t have to be afraid. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, I’m not going to force you to talk if you’re not ready. Feel free to tell me off if I’m prying into something that’s not my business. But I think that there’s something weighing on you. And I don’t want you to think that I won’t listen to whatever it is you have to say, even if it’s nothing at all. You don’t have to suffer in silence,” Shiro said, leaning an elbow on the table, body language open and inviting as he faced Lance. “So, is there anything you want to talk about?”

Snarl! something inside Lance screamed. Hiss! Run away! He can’t know!

He couldn’t let anyone see how broken he really was, couldn’t possibly give the team any more excuses to kick him to the curb than they already had.

But Lance was so tired. He was tired of this constant act, always watching his every move every second of the day to make sure he didn’t let anything slip. He hated acting like Keith’s distance didn’t hurt down to his bones, like he didn’t want to kiss every inch of that beautiful face and go on dates and woo that mullet-head’s fingerless gloves right off his strong, dexterous hands.

A long moment passed while Lance was having his inner war. But Shiro was still there, still patient, still waiting for whatever answer Lance would give him. Willing to be there if Lance was only willing to let him.

Lance forced his muscles to untense. He let his shoulders fall, leaning onto his elbows on the table’s surface, glad that Shiro had angled so they weren’t facing the rest of the party—he’s sure his expression at the moment wouldn’t be inspiring a lot of goodwill towards Voltron.

He tilted his head slightly towards Shiro. “What gave me away?”

Shiro looked almost surprised, but then his brows knit together in thought. “The way you told that story…I don’t know. You seemed so…you. And it wasn’t until I saw it that I realized how…not you, you’ve been. You looked happier than I’ve seen you look in a while.”

Lance just stared. “You could tell I was sad…because of how happy I was?”

Shiro gave him a smile that was halfway a mix between sheepish and bittersweet. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Lance groaned. “How is that even fair?” he humphed. “You know, I usually am happy most of the time,” he grumbled, popping another peaquash into his mouth.

Shiro’s smile was small, soft, and understanding. “But you haven’t been lately.”

Lance swallowed, the food hitting his stomach like lead, the lights too bright around him. He didn’t answer, letting Shiro fill in the blanks from his silence.

“Why are you pretending to be happy, Lance?”

Lance fiddled with his fingers, squeezing and rubbing his thumb over his palm, feeling how clammy they were getting under his suit. “I dunno. I guess because I don’t want anyone knowing.”

“Knowing what?”

His eyes burned but he kept them open, refusing to blink, to let any water spill out. His mouth overcompensated instead, truth spilling out of his lips.

“Everything. I don’t know. Shiro, I just…I'm constantly putting on this show, acting like I’m happy and confident when I’m not. I have to keep so many secrets—not like, bad secrets—but just, y’know. Secrets. About myself. Who I am, what I’m feeling, how the team makes me feel sometimes.” Lance curled his arms into himself, biting his lip, his fingers digging into his biceps. His voice wavered. “And I hate it. I hate pretending that everyone’s teasing isn't hitting right on the head of all my biggest insecurities, I hate hiding how in love I am, and I hate feeling like I'm just—always so wrong, in literally everything."

Lance took a shaky breath, his head dropping under all this weight. “I'm just so tired, Shiro. So tired, all the time.”

Relief. And fear too, some panic. Part of Lance was screaming at himself that he’d just made a huge mistake. He'd just exposed his vulnerable underbelly, and now Shiro could gut him bloody. But if he couldn’t trust Shiro, of all people, who could he trust?

His stomach twisted and turned even more anxiously as he waited for Shiro’s response, sweat beading along his hairline.

He didn’t have to wait long.

He felt a hand rest against his back, heard Shiro say, “Lance,” and then he was pulled into a warm and firm one-armed hug.

Lance froze for just a moment, his surprise at the sudden contact lasting not even a second before his arms were coming around Shiro and crushing himself to the larger man’s chest. He squeezed his eyes against the tears in them and felt like he could pass out from the relief and gratitude and love he felt towards his friend.

Shiro responded by hugging him even harder for a long moment. When he pulled back, he kept a gentle, reassuring hand on Lance’s shoulder.

Lance gave a watery laugh. “Thanks Shiro, I think I really needed that.”

Shiro’s grip tightened. Lance was surprised to see the man’s eyes look glassy, though it in no way diminished the determination, affection, and sorrow they held.

“Lance, I’m so sorry that I haven’t been there for you,” Shiro began, holding up a hand to cut off the startings of Lance’s protestations. “Ah, nope, you said your piece, now let me say mine,” he said. His eyes held Lance’s, making sure that Lance heard everything he had to say. “There’s a lot I want to say and a lot I want to ask about that I can’t right now, because we’re still at this party—”

Lance suddenly could hear the music and background murmur of other conversations, eyes quickly darting from side to side as he subtly checked to see if anyone had been watching them. It looked like no one had, and a tension released from his body.

“—and I would prefer us to be somewhere private for the kind of conversation I think we should have,” Shiro continued. “But I want to tell you now that you don’t have to be alone in this anymore. I don’t want you to feel like you have to act in front of me, okay? Even if you’re feeling negative emotions you don’t think you should be feeling. You’re allowed to feel whatever you feel, and I won’t ever judge you for those feelings, alright?”

Lance wanted to cry. Actually, scratch that, he kinda felt like he was going to throw up—his emotions tonight were on a rollercoaster with record highs and lows and unexpected twists.

Shiro marked the weight of his statement with another firm squeeze. “You don’t have to hide who you are from me, Lance. Not ever.”

Lance couldn’t help but throw his arms around Shiro again, their armor clacking together from the force of it. How had Lance ever gotten so lucky as to have someone like Shiro in his life? He would spend the rest of forever thanking every deity in this universe and more that Shiro came back to them.

“Thank you,” he whispered into the man’s shoulder, pulling back to send him a grateful smile. His voice carried a weight to it that he knew wasn’t lost on either of them. “I really missed you, Shiro.”

Shiro gave a half smile back, his eyes warm. “I’m glad I’m back,” he said. Then his grin turned sly, eyes gleaming with mischief. "So...you’re in love, are you?”

Lance groaned, dropping his madly blushing face into his hands. “Of course that’s what you’re going to focus on.”

Shiro laughed, obviously taking great pleasure in Lance’s embarrassment. Trust Shiro to never give up his Space Dad Shenanigans™. Lance made sure to hide his own curling lips behind his hands.

“But seriously, I am quite familiar with the experience of being in love, you know," Shiro said, shooting him a commiserating look. "And everything that comes with it.”

Lance huffed a suffering groan. “It's torture, Shiro.”

Shiro laughed, looking down. "Yeah, it is. And yet you still can't help but want to shout about it from the rooftops, can you?"

Lance lifted his head. "Yeah," he sighed, bittersweet smile on his face.

After a moment, Shiro lightheartedly nudged at his shoulder. "I'd be interested in hearing about it, if you want to tell me."

Lance looked away and bit his lip. Maybe…maybe he could. Even though he knew he would have to get over it soon, Lance couldn’t deny how badly he wanted to share how loving Keith was shaping him, and bettering him, and changing everything he thought he knew.

“I think…I want to.” He looked back to Shiro, finding the man giving him a proud, pleased smile. “But I should warn you, it’s not exactly a happy story. My feelings aren’t reciprocated.”

“Well, have you actually told her how you feel?”

Lance froze. Oh, right. He…hadn’t told anyone he was over Allura. Of course Shiro would assume…Dios, he hadn’t even told anyone he was bi yet, had he?

…Probably a good place to start.

He felt the heat in his cheeks as he shuffled his feet, his words stuttering as he got more flustered. Anxiety came flooding back, tossing his stomach. “Haha, um, well, you see—it’s actually a funny story—kinda. I mean—not really, but, um, I’m actually in love with—”

“Paladins.”

Surprised, Lance and Shiro both turned around from their table to find none other than the queen of Altix addressing them.

“Queen Rethe,” Shiro said. They both bowed, with the queen inclining her head towards them in return. The presence she carried was just as intimidating as Lance remembered it being from the team’s first introduction, but at least her eyes were welcoming as she stepped closer.

“My apologies for interrupting the two of you. Paladin Lance, are you alright? Your face seems more red than is natural for your species,” she said, a genuine concern coloring her tone. A snort, quickly covered by a cough came from Lance’s side, and he glared at Shiro from the corner of his eye as the man looked away innocently. “I can have someone escort you back to your chambers if you aren’t feeling well,” Queen Rethe offered graciously.

This warmth was sure taking its time leaving his face. With one last side-look at Shiro, Lance turned fully to the queen, the charming smile back on his face. “Oh that’s not necessary at all, Your Majesty. I’m fine, I just ate something spicier than I was expecting and it got to me.” He leaned one arm against the table and said, “Though I’m no stranger to a little spice. My mama isn’t afraid to add some heat to her cooking. Call me biased, but her food is the best in the whole universe.” He leaned in a little and gave the queen a conspiratorial wink, setting up the pitch for his next line. “But I have to say, the exquisite cooking here on Altix is so good it almost compares.”

He was pleased to see the comment land, sparking amusement in the queen’s dark brown eyes. “I imagine few things can live up to the quality of something made with the love and care of someone who treasures us dearly.” Her lips twitched upwards. “But I shall relay to the kitchens that their food is almost as good as that made by the Red Paladin’s mother,” she joked.

All three of them lightly laughed together. Lance took it as a very good sign that the queen was willing to banter with them. A heady combination of relief, hope, and anticipation buoyed up in him at the notion that the team may be closer than they thought to securing the Altixians’ help. His head was practically dizzy with it.

Woah—he stood up straighter, concerned to feel his legs wobble a little, locking them to prevent any kind of stumble—yeah, really dizzy with it, weird. He forced his attention back to the queen.

“The ‘inadequacy’"—she smiled slyly—"of our food aside, I am glad that you are partaking in our festivities tonight. It is an honor to have the Paladins of Voltron attending our initiate’s Induction Ritual. I am sorry I haven't had the chance to speak with the two of you beyond our formal introduction.”

Lance squinted his eyes. Man, did the ovessil just take a really long time to kick in? Why was it hitting now, and coming on so quickly too? It wasn’t even making Lance feel good. Worst ‘higher-state of being’ he’d ever experienced—0/10, would not recommend.

“There’s no apologies necessary, Your Highness. We entirely understand your duty is to your people first and foremost,” Shiro said.

Thank god for Shiro; Lance was currently trying to figure out how to act normal with the way his head was trying to kill him. Of course drinking the space alcohol would give him the bad kind of high. His stomach felt like there was a lead weight in it, his armor was stifling for how warm he was, and the lights around the ballroom were all too glaringly bright. His pulse hammered in his chest and all his thoughts were racing by too fast. It was taking all his focus to keep himself from face planting. God, he felt like he was going to throw up. How had his queasy stomach come back so fast and so bad? Had it ever really gone away in the first place?

“—ance?”

“Paladin Lance?”

He jerked his head up, unaware of when it had started drifting downwards. Oof, bad idea. Now the room was spinning.

“—right?”

“Huh?” Lance asked.

Shiro was looking at him in concern. “Lance, you’re not looking too good. You’re sweating bullets. Are you alright?”

He tried to smile, but it was probably more of a grimace. “I’m okay. I just think something I drank is catching up with me.” He tried to lean back against the table for support.

Oof, badder idea.

As soon as his legs unlocked they buckled like a baby bird’s. Shiro’s quick catch was the only thing that kept him from eating dirt, the queen coming to his other side to help support him.

“Woah! Hey, it’s okay. Just how much did you drink?”

“Uhh, not that much,” Lance said, head splitting from the effort it took to concentrate enough to get his words out. “Orthas's been drinking it all night, and he’s fine.”

The queen stiffened beside him. “You drank ovessil?” she asked sharply.

“Umm, yes?” He felt caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Was—was I not supposed to?”

Queen Rethe’s eyes were wide, an alarm there that did not have him feeling confident in past him’s wanting-to-get-drunk decisions. Oh god, was he going to die? Of course that would be just his luck.

“You don’t know what the ovessil is used for?”

“Umm,” he said, his breathing labored. “Orthas said something about a—hah—‘higher state of being’?” He winced. The queen cursed under her breath.

Shiro was not impressed. “Lance,” he chided, shaking his head.

“What?” Lance started to slip, prompting the queen and Shiro to tighten their grip on him. “I’ll—hah—have you know—”

“This is not good.” The queen’s voice was grave, her eyes darting to the front of the ballroom where the windows showed sunset fast approaching, only the very top of the great tree still glittering in the waning sunlight. She looked back at Lance, who was red-faced and panting with a sheen on his skin. “Quiznack,” she cursed lowly.

“What? What’s wrong? Is Lance going to be okay?” Shiro asked.

“If we’re lucky.”

“What does that mean?”

“There’s no time to explain, we must act quickly. Follow me.”

The queen started pulling them along, her grip tight on Lance’s arm, making sure that he didn’t fall even as his feet caught and dragged on smooth, polished floors. She led them along the edge of the room, avoiding most of the partygoers who, thankfully, did not seem to look over or realize that something was amiss.

She stopped and grabbed the arm of one of the passing servants. “Find High Cleric Orthas and tell him to come to the west chamber immediately. Tell him there is a case of ovessil sickness. Spread the word to all the other staff that their priority right now is to find the members of Voltron and bring them to the west chamber immediately as well, as discreetly as it can be done. Now go! Hurry!”

“Queen Rethe, what’s going on? What’s ovessil sickness?” Shiro asked again.

She looked at him with a grave expression. “It’s not fatal, but there is a complication. It will be easier to explain once your entire team is here. Now come, we must hurry.”

Shiro grabbed onto Lance tighter, the fast pace they’re moved at only making Lance more dizzy. It felt like forever until they shuffled through a side door, the music from the party cutting off with the closing of it behind them.

The queen led them over to a bench along the wall off to the side, sitting Lance down on it and leaning him against the wall. Shiro sat with him and kept his hand locked on Lance’s shoulder.

“Hey, Lance, you still with me? How are you feeling?”

Lance groaned, his stomach churning. “I think—think m’okay. Being here helps. Sitting helps.” He turned his face to rest against the smooth stone of the wall. “Izcool here.”

The queen stared anxiously. “I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do for the moment, but Orthas will be able to alleviate his condition easily.”

Like he’d been summoned, Orthas burst through the door. His eyes landed on Lance and he paled. “Oh my.”

Lance tried to lift his hand to wave, but he couldn’t manage more than a weak waggle of his fingers. “Hey there, Orthas. Long time no see, huh?”

Orthas wasted no time rushing over, but the door suddenly bursting open again startled them all. Keith appeared, his posture tense. He took one look at Lance before his face set in that scary steel expression that makes Lance wonder how the Galra ever stood their ground once they saw it. Dark eyes filled stared head on at the queen as Keith advanced on her.

“What happened?” he said, clipped and sharp, a barely concealed accusation beneath the words.

Lance couldn't help but chuckle, his heart tha-thumping a pounding rhythm at being the object of Keith’s fiercely protective tendencies. “Easy there tiger, don’ go starting fights now.”

Keith curled his fists and clenched his jaw, that fiery, frenzied gaze now fixed on Lance. Send help.

Queen Rethe raised her hands placatingly. “I understand your concern. Lance will be fine, physically—Orthas is more than capable of healing his ailments with magic. But there is more to the situation and it will be best to wait until your entire team is here for things to be explained.”

Orthas’ cool hands came up on either side of Lance’s head. “How are you feeling, Lance? Probably like you’ve been tossed around inside a Balfloozian bumblesphere, eh?”

“About sums it, yeah,” Lance laughed lightly, panting out his breaths, no idea what a gaflooza-whatsits-sphere was, but thinking it sounded right.

“Not to worry, we’ll have that fixed up in no time,” Orthas said with a strained smile. “I’m not the High Cleric for nothing you know.” He placed his hands on either side of Lance’s head and closed his eyes.

An orange glow emanated from the backs of Orthas’ hands, the geometric designs drawn on them lighting up. Lance distantly heard the door open again, before his own eyes closed as the first wave of soothing relief washed through him.

That orange glow dimmed and brightened in a slow, repetitive pattern. With each glow cycle, a wave would start at Lance’s head and work its way down his body, taking more and more of the nausea and pain away with it. His stomach settled, his mind cleared, his breathing evened out, and he felt his body fill with a kind of energy like he’d just gotten the best night’s sleep of his life. He was vaguely aware of voices going on in the background, half registered 'is he okay’ and 'what happened’ and 'mild case of ovessil sickness’ filtering out of his mind as Orthas worked his magic.

One last wave passed through, and Lance let out one last deep breath with it. The glow faded, Orthas’ hands left his face, and Lance opened his eyes.

The cleric was still kneeling in front of him, a relieved smile filling his face. “How are you feeling now?”

Lance rolled his neck and shoulders, wiggled his toes and fingers. He felt energized, like he could run a hundred miles without getting tired. “Right as rain, doc,” he said with a smile. “Your skills are top notch.”

Suddenly he was bowled into, picked up off the floor and flung about in the very snug grip of one yellow paladin.

“Lance! You scared me so much! I was so worried!”

“Hunk!” he wheezed. “Can’t...breathe.”

“Oops, sorry buddy,” Hunk sheepishly said as he gently put Lance back down.

“Hey man, it’s fine,” he said with a small smile. “I’m sorry I made you worry.”

Pidge appeared, lightly punching Lance in the arm. “You had us all worried, idiot.” Despite the less-than-desired delivery, Lance could see in her expression just how concerned she really was. “What happened?”

“Yeah,” Hunk said, “all that they told us was that we had to get here like, immediately immediately and that we all had to be here before anything could be explained.”

“I, too, am curious about the very rushed time constraint we were given, and why we all had to be here,” Krolia interjected.

Lance looked up, to find the rest of the team as well as Coran, Krolia, and Romelle staring at him expectantly with varying degrees of relief on all of their faces. Part of him loved the attention, loved that they all cared about him enough to be this worried, but the bigger part of himself was ashamed. God, how could he ever admit how stupid and reckless he’d been all because he was selfish and wanted to forget his problems? He’d put the team in danger by making himself compromised. What if something had happened?

“It’s fine,” he rushed to say, avoiding Shiro’s concerned gaze. “It was just a bad reaction to something I drank, no biggie.”

The queen’s voice cut through the air, serious and worried, “I’m afraid it’s more than that.”

Lance’s heart rate spiked. Allura stepped forward, her sharp voice full of concern. “What do you mean? Why did Lance get sick?”

Queen Rethe shared a quick look with Orthas, both of them looking anxious. It was the first time all night that Lance had seen Orthas without some kind of smile on his face or playful glint in his eye. His palms grew sweaty and dread dropped like a stone in his stomach. Uh oh.

“Somebody start explaining, now,” Keith growled sharply.

Orthas took a deep breath. “The simple answer is that Lance here was sick because he drank ovessil, and then ate food that didn’t come from our crystal crops or the Ovessa tree.”

Lance could hear Coran suck in a sharp breath, but Lance was just even more confused. The others obviously were too, if their faces were anything to go by.

Everyone started trying to talk at once.

“Why would that make him sick?”

“What does it matter where the food he eats comes from?”

“What even is ovessil?”

“Guys!” Shiro said loudly, cutting through all the sudden noise. He turned to Queen Rethe and Orthas. “I think it’s best to start with what ovessil actually is.”

The queen nodded. “Of course. Ovessil is a beverage that is strictly drunk by the Cleric Order because of its magical properties.”

“Yes,” Orthas continued, “we use it to enhance the connection we have with our goddess, Novessa. It makes it easier for us to channel her power, like when I used the healing arts to fix Lance’s ovessil sickness.”

“So why would a drink that makes you more magic make Lance sick?” Pidge said.

Orthas grimaced. “Well, see, that’s where it gets complicated. The ovessil carries magical properties because it’s made from the fruit that grows on the Ovessa tree, which in turn grows from the crystal pools. The tree, and all its fruit along with it, is infused with the power of the crystals and through the crystals, it is thereby also infused with Novessa’s power. We bind ourselves to her, which is how we are able to use magic in the first place—”

“Orthas, time grows short, we only have so long until the sun sets.”

Until the sun sets? Lance furrowed his brows. What did that have to do with anything?

“Ah, right. Long story short, the ovessil is used in the induction of new initiates to the order because drinking it for the first time will serve as a catalyst to begin a soul bond between them and the goddess. The ovessil itself carries with it some of her…quintessence, I believe you call it? It is instilled with her essence, which allows for the development of a permanent joining of spirits that will bind you to Novessa for the rest of your life.”

Silence followed Orthas’ statement. Lance laughed nervously to try and break the sudden tension. “Well, um, hey, on the bright side, I’m no longer in danger of dying, right?”

Queen Rethe took a step closer. “Paladin Lance—”

“I mean, it’s not ideal and everything, but I guess there are worse things than having my soul bound to—”

“Paladin Lance,” Queen Rethe cut him off, her voice grave as she peered seriously at him. “You misunderstand. In joining your life force to that of the goddess’, you make a pact with her to care for the Ovessa tree, because it is the physical embodiment of her spirit in this world.”

Lance shifted his feet, trying to hide his sudden panic at the queen’s foreboding tone. “Oh ok, well, I’m sure I can find a way to work around—”

“The pact means that you cannot leave the planet. Your life force would diminish as you travel further away from the source of Novessa’s power.”

His breath froze. What was she saying?

Orthas came to stand by Lance, laying his hand gently on his shoulder, his face full of regret. “And as you’ve just experienced, I’m afraid you already know what happens when you eat food not imbued with her quintessence,” he said.

The queen also looked regretful, her voice apologetic. “Simply put, once the ovessil bond becomes permanent, you cannot live without the resources provided by the tree or the crystal pools. You would have to stay on Altix for the rest of your life.”

No. Please, no.

Lance felt everything come crashing down around him. He saw Earth slipping away, felt it rushing far, far—too far—out of his reach.

He realized he wasn’t ever going to get to go home.

How could the universe be this cruel? All this time in space, flung into a war he was never prepared for, the constant fear of death and the weight of all those lives in his hands; he did it all because one day he was going to get to go home. He was going to come back to the best blue and green planet the universe ever had to offer and he wasn’t ever going to take it for granted ever again.

But now, he wasn’t ever going to be able to leave this planet. He was never going to see his family—not unless they came here for him. And even then, that could take years because they still had so much left to do before it was safe to travel in a Galra-free universe.

Oh god, the universe. Voltron. Lance wasn’t going to be able to be a paladin anymore. His breath hitched.

The silence had only lasted a second, but it was enough for the rest of Lance’s life to flash before his eyes.

And then suddenly, everyone was talking again.

Keith with rigid voice and fight-me posture saying, “No way—”

Pidge and Hunk. “There has to be some way to reverse—”

Coran, his voice close, “Lance, my boy—”

Allura, body drawn to her full height and determination in every molecule, “Lance cannot stay—”

Shiro, once again stopping the frenzy. “Everyone QUIET!”

All of their mouths snapped shut. Shiro looked at the queen. “You said ‘once the bond becomes permanent’. Does that mean it’s not permanent now?”

Lance’s eyes widened, a furious, desperate hope filling him that he couldn’t keep himself from grasping with both hands and holding on tight.

The queen—wonderfully, oh thank God—nodded. “That is correct—”

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

“—but it will not be for much longer. The bond becomes permanent once the last rays from the setting sun vanish from the Ovessa tree.”

“Which will be happening in a little less than half a varga,” Orthas pointed out.

Keith stepped forward. “So how do we stop it? What do we have to do to break the bond?”

The queen and Orthas shared another look of matching stress. “I’m afraid it isn’t that simple. Only Paladin Lance has the power to dissolve the bond, but even then—”

Lance stepped forward. “How?” Everyone’s eyes snapped to him. “I'll do anything. How do I break the bond?”

Orthas replied, both his eyes and voice carrying a weight that settled on Lance like lead. “Traditionally, those who drink the ovessil are people who are already sure of their decision to pledge their lives to the goddess. But Novessa is kind. She accounts for the mistakes and regrets we all may have and so gifted us with a way to break a preliminary soul bond. To do so, you must use an act of love to prove to her that there is something your soul is bound to more.”

Inside, Lance’s nerves were shot to hell. He just wanted to hear what it was he had to do to get rid of this bond, ready to do anything it took for his chance to go home. But on the outside, Lance let it seem like he was rolling with the punches—like he was completely, totally cool and collected and confident.

“Great! This will be easy-peasy.” He waggled his eyebrows to the benefit (and non-amusement) of his traveling companions. “Ol’ Lancey here is all about the love. So, how do I do that?”

This time, the queen answered.

Maybe Lance should have been more specific when he said he'd do anything. Because now...

“You must bestow a kiss on the one you most desire.”

...Fuck.