#shattering altea

[riverstolas]

Desperately need a new Klance fic to read. Preferably something completed. I've been surviving off one shots and I actually miss long fics but I feel like I've read all the good long ones. Send help

[youareinacomawakeup]

hey (hoping this is the right acc)

i read shattering of altea way back in ~2018 and read it again now (it took all of today) and. what the heck that was amazing and also holy HECK how do you write so many insanely high word count pieces. do you ever keep track of how many words you write per year? super impressed by how much work you put into your craft & it totally pays off

This is very much the correct account and I am supremely flattered.

Uhhh, I used to track how many words I wrote per, like, month? I lost track of it, like, two years ago, though.

As for how, uh, I just like to? Like, back when I read regularly, I'd always go for the longest books I could sink my teeth into. I love getting totally lost in a world for that long. Makes it feel more real. And if the space is used well, it really makes the payoff that much more satisfying. All that buildup. That's something I love to capture. And...I think I do it a lot better than my shorter works.

I'm glad you enjoyed my monster of a fic enough to read through it twice. That's dedication.

[bluemanticism]

saw your post about klassic fandom authors and was wondering who your fav klance writers are??

literally so glad u asked this because i love namedropping my fave creators,,,

my all time fave author is nikanaiko, their fics genuinely are some of the best writing i think i have seen PERIOD. my fave fic is by them— the shattering of altea— and that’s saying smth, because i have read over 500 fics

just masterful plot, worldbuilding, and style 😭💓 cannot recommend their content enough

i also love wittyy_name and iybms works !!

[ianthelordof]

I once again decided partway through rereading a fic online that I had to bind it into a book. A worrying trend for someone who is out of bookshelf space...

You ever read some fanfiction that just sorta sticks with you? For me one was definitely One Wheel Short by @youareinacomawakeup. I've accepted it as canon and it honestly un-ruined the last few seasons of Voltron for me.

Nika, if you're interested in a physical copy for your story let me know! (And I may or may not have some plans to bind a copy of The Shattering of Altea some time in the future too...)

[arcstral]

. [ ━━━ ACT I. grievances, ]

SUNLIGHT CONTINUED TO IDOLIZE ITS ADVANTAGE OVER HER, even now, with the sky resolute in its emptiness above the monastery, everything the day was not. the bishop worried away at her bottom lip, scratching restlessly at the reddened irritation spreading across sepia skin, stretching over her knuckles and retracing the invisible edges of old, burn scars. if not for her inability to cling to slumber, she would be tucked beneath a duvet, reciting the inked lines of her journal until fatigue took her. but this night was not kind to her.

this revelation was, thus, reiterated by the soft fall of footsteps behind her. eremiya huffed, still scratching at her hand, utterly stuck between returning to her chambers or turning to face the strange without the safety of a veil. Do not, came the utterance of His voice, but she had. turning on her heel, hands joined at her stomach, she mustered a monotone smile, thinly pulled to fit the gap of her countenance. though she opened her lips to speak━━━apathetic heather irises met a gentle cobalt━━━recognition stole the very breath from her throat. her nails dug into blemished skin, marking herself with crescents absent above them.

hero-king stood before the bishop, regal even in the wake of his restlessness; certainly, too, unable to sleep as she had. and the thought of him simply being able to wake and sleep and repeat the torturous process of rest that was once stolen from her, only a fortnight ago, upon death, nearly sent her forward in a lunge. her hands trembled against her stomach, a vulnerability untraceable in her countenance. how unfortunate, it was, that he seemed so at peace, far away from his home in altea; a king so selfish he could not be satisified with just one continent knowing of his fame.

but the marth that stood before her could not be the same marth that wielded against her, the magic of her daughter. the very marth gharnef confessed, to her, a hopeful, similar fate of hypocrisy. Apparations, He suggested, and she took any excuse over the bitter possibility of truth.

when words left her, they were hardly better than a growl, “you,” eremiya seethed, a twitch in her eye and once placid smile, now recognized only as a scowl. He had been your responsibility, and she knew it, forsaken by the memory of a violet-haired disgrace. thus, she clicked her tongue, “i refuse to be taunted by the hospitality of ghosts.”

a pause. eremiya could not bring her gaze from his; untrusting that her eyes would not be led astray by the weight of a weapon at his hip. she had not looked yet, and would not introduce the hostility when her mage hand refused to commit to the magic it once conjured. so, she turned her head and sharpened her inner turmoil into a shield, “join the faint memory of your knight-toy and let me be. archanea is... yours, boy. lord gharnef and i have sought elsewhere... somewhere far from you and your heroic guilt.”

and quieter, she spat, scratching restlessly once again at the burns on her hand, "unlike reese, i will not tame the urge to kill you if you appear before me again."

The stillness of a serene night passes unexpectedly to throes, a rasping and growling voice that shatters the peace with its violating presence. Light and feminine, yet harsh and unforgiving, wickedly hateful above all those things, the disturbing figure it belongs to is as much a force of reprehensibility as a beast in a nursery. Gloved fingers travel to the wrapped hilt of his sword on a quick-second judgment, but standing before the obstacle now elucidated on his path - before the dreg of Gharnef known as Eremiyah - his eyes only widen with surprise.

Uncertain what to think, but known more than certainly of what to say, "Eremiyah? It is I who should be speaking of ghosts. I did not know you survived, much less made your way here as well."

The memories she stirs are unwelcome, of course. The twisted mother Eremiyah who did not care of the fate of her 'children' so long as they served their uses. It is the phantom heat of her Meteor that compels his fingers to stay where they are though his thoughts wander elsewhere. Katarina; aware of Eremiyah's return and fixated on that tumult, or unaware and merely waiting to be caught in the difficult discovery. . .

His eyes narrow, not merely for that line of thought alone. "Lord Gharnef? You speak of him as if he is still. . ." He holds; his tongue, his sword hand, and the very thought that Gharnef yet lives with this woman's word alone as its intimation.

The pious servant before him scratching aimlessly at her own skin is not perfectly stable, he realizes. Or had she been ever? Marth could recall the wicked expulsion of spells and curses in the unlit dungeon thought to prove her sepulcher, the unholy names branding the orphans she'd purposed as assassins and soldiers, the hatred spilled onto Katarina who had yet to die for her. He remembers, too, that such a clash had felt less like a battle - and more like putting out the last piddling flames of Gharnef's servants so they would never catch again.

"Whether or not we cross paths, know I've no desire to disturb you. The time for our battles is far in the past. In fact, I hope you will reach the same conclusion. There is no meaning to conflict any longer. Even if Gharnef is alive there is no way for his ambitions to continue either, and if there is—

The Hero-King's gaze turns steady; unwavering lapis resolve without pollutants of fear or incertitude or even hatred. Every enemy of peace will not know merely his sword, but a hundred, a thousand, a million more, numbering as many as the faces at his side who stand with him for the same dream. That much is not promise but fact.

"—we will stop him again."

Hand slips away from blade and distances from the perceived threat of Eremiyah. The fangless mother without the bite of her children or the leash of her master. His boots tread forward and past with the crisp contact of heels and cobbles, a ghost only in the way his airy voice passes her. "There is always a chance for redemption. Katarina has seized it admirably. So may you. Have a good evening, sister."

[ohyangchon]

Morgan "Lite" Altea is someone with a weight resting on her shoulders that she really shouldn't have at her age.

Her fathers were good people, if not slightly eccentric - Chrom was sweet, patient and charismatic, a businessman who commanded the attention of so much that one would argue he was a prince. Robin was quiet and awkward, a military man who had worked closely with Chrom when they'd both served briefly during the second World War, and when they had finally gotten together, they had three wonderful children.

What was strange was that they were all named "Morgan", perhaps due to Robin's past and his need to escape his controlling prophet of a father - the ramblings of "truth" and "power" however followed the family despite this deliberate muddling, and Lite found herself leaving to serve in the Afghanistan War, applying her tactician wit to good use inheriting that from her father.

The war came and went. Lite would remain haunted by the lives she had marched to their deaths, and the lives she held in her hands throughout this, and when she had returned, her eyes damaged supposedly beyond repair, she had gotten news of the death of both her brothers, seemingly torn up by an unspeakably horrific beast that had whirlwinded through their family apartment.

By this time, Robin was no longer the father she remembered. He'd shattered from the death of both his sons, and Chrom, as much as he adored his remaining daughter, retired to devote all his time to ensuring Robin didn't run off attempting to seek whatever "truth" he'd glimpsed that fateful night.

Lite exited again, keeping her fathers out of her private life. Her hands, once skilled with a gun, now turned to working with flowers, and she became a florist instead with her pension, discreetly serving poisons to those she despised and those she determined were the root of her family's misery.

Meeting Kieran during mandatory grief counselling was really just the tip of their ill-fated iceberg. They grew closer, then tighter, and finally were irrevocably intertwined as Kieran offered her sight once more - on the account that she marry him to bury the scandal of his past resurfacing. With nothing left to lose, Lite agreed.

Even in her quiet time with Kieran, then Myron, Lite recognised the darkness pursuing all three of them. She understood Myron's unusual survival, and the way Kieran's arms would bleed ichor if he so much as thought of physically harming another with intent, were unusual occurrances. She keeps her sunglasses on, uncertain of what she might confront taking them off.

Lite escapes into the night. She needed answers - and it was time to stop avoiding her questions.

[daggryet]

kaisa only for you would i start talking abt klance fic again im here to tell you if you haven't read the shattering of altea and ignorance is bliss by youareinacomawakeup you NEED to their fics are fantastic and i (still) love them a lot.

zanna that is the nicest thing i've ever been told, thank you for ripping up the scars of the past for me

i have them open and loaded in chrome !

[fomalhaut89]

these designs are loosely based off nikanaiko's fic The Shattering of Altea. Check it out if you're in the mood for a good read ❤️💙

wedded bliss

[askingmarks]

He looked like a hero.

One of my favorite scenes from Nikanaiko’s incredible fic, The Shattering of Altea :)

[anawriteshorror]

#1: My all time favorite scene from The Shattering of Altea. It’s a really good Klance action/adventure fic (I wish I could write action scenes as good they can). Can be a bit of a tear jerker too, though.

#2: Blood Bath is probably somewhere in my top twenty Klance fics, I adore the way they write Lance. I tried hard to combine the exotic priestess angle they were gonna at with Keith, it was certainly fun drawing his outfit!

[totesunrepentant]

Shattering of Altea Ch.25

[the-jennnster]

Did I just spend ~the past week and a half obsessively reading The Shattering of Altea, only to finish the latest chapter by 5am, with no clue as to how to process everything and fully aware that I will now have to wait an indeterminate amount of time for the next chapter?

yes, yes i did

[youareinacomawakeup]

I play this old game, this old MMO, called Nexus. It was the first MMO I ever played, as well as the first one to ever exist, as far as I’m aware. (Those who read my fics might be interested in knowing that my love for this game was what inspired The Shattering of Altea. There are little nods to it here and there in that story, like the walls around Arus with its four gates resembling the walls around Buya and Kugnae.)

At some point, during the late ‘00s or the early ‘10s, Those On High decided to segregate registered players from unregistered players and made a new area in the game called Tangun. This was obviously a bad move and the rate of new players joining the game took a nosedive because...what’s the point of a free trial that’s basically an entirely different game?

That move has been backpedaled since, but now there’s this funny little...issue, with it.

See, there’s this bridge between the area where the game started you and the main village area of Tangun that used to be guarded by a short quest. A big man guarding the bridge would tell you that he would only allow you passage if you brought him the scalp of a bandit called Le Chipe.

Well, thing is, the village, with the inn where you’re transported to automatically if you come to Tangun from another part of the game, is on the other side of that bridge. And since that area, north of the bridge, would be where you entered the area from the first time now that the segregation is no longer there, as opposed to the kitchen in the southwestern most part of the map...that means that the cave where Le Chipe spawns is on the opposite side of the bridge, and passing the bridge guard would be impossible. It would be a key inside a locked box.

So they removed that quest, and the guard on the bridge.

But you can still go into the Bandit Cave, kill Le Chipe, and pick up his scalp. It’s just not used for anything anymore. A worthless solution to a problem already solved, like a boat left on the shore of a lake that’s long since dried up.

...Anyway, I still freeze every time I hear footsteps on the other side of a door, even though I no longer live with my abusive mother and the sound of footsteps on the other side of a door is no longer a sign of danger.

[autisticlancemcclain]

They all sort of… paired off, after the war. Not, like, exact pairs — maybe more like groups. Shiro reunited with Adam. The two of them bought a house far the fuck away from the Garrison and everything associated with it. Hunk and Pidge paired off, both pursuing their doctorates like the smartypants they were and are. Allura, Coran, and Romelle stayed on Earth for a bit, but all three of them ached for the comfort of home, and returned to New Altea eventually.

That left Lance and Keith.

Well, not really. Originally Lance assumed it meant he was left alone to try and reconnect with the family he’d grown away from — a family he loved and still loves with every fibre of his being, but the family that he couldn’t quite… click with, anymore. He’s changed, they’d changed, and he wasn’t sure where he fit. He’d been scared, although he wouldn’t admit it.

Keith had been the one to approach him, actually. Asked Lance if he’d want to move in with him.

“You’re not moving in with Shiro and Adam?”

Keith snorted. “Absolutely not. They have retired into a little home on the prairies, or whatever. I have some respect for my ears and so I will not be moving in to the constant background noise of my brother having regular honeymoon sex, or whatever.”

It was a joke. He’d meant for Lance to laugh. But the shock was still ringing through his head; laughter was the furthest thing from his mind.

“With the Alteans, then, to New Altea?”

“Nope.”

“The Blades, with your mother?”

“I’ve had enough of the Blade of Marmora, I think. I liked it there, but I don’t really want to do it for the rest of my life. Besides, I actually missed Earth. I didn’t realise how pretty it was here ‘til I left.”

“…Oh.”

And it has been fine, for the first few days. Awkward, but fine. It had been like having a roommate, really — not that Lance knew what that was like, but he could wager a guess. They made schedules, divvied up chores, occasionally hung out on the couch.

It came out of nowhere, Lance’s hurt. Well, not really nowhere. It had to come out sometime. But it had seemed so random, then. Lance had pushed the hurt down so far for so long it was almost unrecognisable, but then there it was: for the first time in as long as he could remember, Lance wanted everyone else to ache as badly as he did. To writhe, to suffer. He wanted Pidge to feel stupid. He wanted Hunk to feel abandoned. He wanted Shiro to feel small, for Allura to feel dismissed and second-rate. He wanted them to hurt for every pain they’d made him feel. He’d wanted Keith, especially, to feel hated. He’d wanted Keith to feel like he was lesser and a burden and unloved and forgotten.

Lance wanted to be cruel. But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words, so he went silent.

Keith noticed, because of course he did. They didn’t talk to many other people, the two of them. He’d left it, at first. Lance didn’t know what Keith assumed was going on, but he’d smiled at Lance more and left it at that. After a week of Lance’s silence, though, he’d started to get a little pushy.

“Hey, you okay? We haven’t talked in a while.”

Lance kept his eyes on the task in front of him, scrubbing the plate a little harder.

“Which is weird,” Keith continued, “because we literally live together. Super weird, actually. Unlikely, even.”

The plate cracked in Lance’s hand, porcelain shatters embedding themselves into his palm. The water turned pink.

“Jesus, Lance, what happened?” Keith rushed forward, grabbing a clean dishtowel and reaching for Lance’s arm.

Lance flinched.

Keith froze.

“…Lance?”

Lance swallowed. He drained the soiled water, carefully scooping out the broken pieces to discard, but a pale hand reached over again, slowly this time. Hesitantly. Lance forced himself to stay still, even as he felt bile rising up his throat. Forced himself to keep his fists from clenching, so the shards didn’t get any deeper. Forced himself to breath.

“Let me get it,” Keith said softly.

He didn’t want to. He didn’t want Keith’s help, Keith’s gentleness. He didn’t need it anymore. He had needed it, then, needed Keith’s gentleness and care and love and smile and embrace but he didn’t fucking get it, then, not when he needed it, not when he was gasping and drowning for it, so why the fuck would he take it now? Why would he take Keith’s offered hand, now, when his heart had moved on?

His jaw ached, strained with the need to yell the words. To spit them in Keith’s face.

Where were you? He wanted to yell. Where were you when I was suffering? When I was dying? When I was begging the sun to shine and it rained on me as I lay drowning? Where was your hand, then? Your saving grace?

But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. So he dried his hands, swallowed the lump in his throat, and walked away.

———

It would have been one thing if he was declining calls. But it really ached that his phone was drier than the desert. Now that he wasn’t calling, wasn’t reaching out to the people that were supposed to be one with him, they’d dropped him. Were they even thinking of him? Was he even on their radar? Did they talk to each other, and was Lance the odd one out?

He hoped they still thought about him, even occasionally. It was too painful to think otherwise. It was stupid to feel the pain, anyway, to wish they called even though Lance knows damn well he wouldn’t answer. He’s still furious with each and every one of them, although the hurt is starting to overcome to anger.

Part of the ache is that he doesn’t really… do much. They’re not allowed to accept jobs, not for another four months. They had psych evals, after that final battle, all of ‘em. Apparently they each had PTSD, and until they were ‘appropriately settled into a civilian life’, it was ‘unfair to both them and their employer to expect regular labour’. Why they weren’t allowed to do some freelance stuff or whatever, Lance didn’t know, but it meant a lot of time wasting away in his room. He’d tried helping the relief effort, and he’d done that for a while, but he’d had a couple… episodes. Maybe he was a little affected by the war, the Omega Shield in particular. Whatever. What he does know is that he’d become very well-acquainted with the insides of his eyelids. He can’t remember the last time he was awake for longer than six consecutive hours.

There’s a knock at the door. Lance doesn’t even bother taking the pillow off his head.

“Lance?” Keith calls.

Lance doesn’t acknowledge him. Even if he had the energy, he hasn’t talked to Keith in five months. He hasn’t talked to anyone in five months, not even his mamá. He doubts his voice even works, anymore.

Keith sighs heavily. “I’m going to see your mother,” he says. “She invited us both for dinner again. She’s worried about you. So am I. You coming? She’s making garlic knots.” The last sentence is coaxing, singsong. Lance wonders when Keith’s patience is going to give out. He’s surprised he’s even lasted this long. He wonders what he’s gonna do when Keith finally quits. Breaks the lease, packs his bags. Leaves Lance again.

Maybe it’s not fair for Lance to be angry at Keith for something he’s not even done, yet. But Lance is tired. Too tired for nuance.

Keith leaves without him.

———

The most action Lance gets, any day of the week, is timing when Keith is out of the house, because then he can go eat. (Does he eat every day? Probably. Maybe. Honestly, he’s not sure. Time kind of blurs. He eats when he’s so hungry he can’t sleep, and showers when he convinces himself he should.) He’s gotten pretty good at it, actually. He’s so tuned in to Keith’s footsteps that they actually wake him up, because his body knows that it’s the only time it’s moving.

(Lance does know, objectively, that he’s killing himself. He knows it. He feels it in the frailty of his bones, the bags under his eyes even though he does nothing but sleep. In the way his mouth always feels gross because he rarely makes himself brush his teeth. In the way he’s running out of things he cares about, reasons to stay alive.)

That’s probably why he perks up now, hearing the footsteps approach his door. He’s a little angry at himself for the perking up in question, but whatever. Who cares. Keith is going to talk to him vaguely through the door and give up, and then Lance can go back to sleep, and then Lance can stop thinking about it.

Keith’s not talking to him through the door. He’s also not leaving. In fact, the only sound Lance hears is the jiggling of the handle.

Lance blinks. He sits up. Every joint cracks, because he hasn’t moved in a very long time.

Oh no.

The door swings open, revealing Keith in all his glory, holding a pillow and a blanket and looking very, very determined. He walks over to Lance’s bed and shoves him a little, albeit gently. Lance bites back an incredulous ‘what the fuck do you think you’re doing’. Keith either does not notice or care, throwing his pillow beside Lance’s and crawling on the bed. He fluffs the blanket over both of them, and Lance tells himself that he does not care.

“We’re watching a movie,” Keith says firmly, “like we did when we first moved in. And we are perhaps going to even chat, but no pressure. Mostly you’re going to do something that isn’t being unconscious, and we’re going to do it together.”

Lance takes a moment to process that. Mostly he feels nothing. Whatever. Keith can do what he wants. Lance will just wait until Keith gets bored and then go back to sleep.

But another part of him reminds him of the pain Keith caused. The hurt he felt.

Not now, Lance.

I just don’t want to spend eternity with Lance.

The rage lights the fire back into his heart. The molten lava of his pain spreads throughout his veins, and he tenses. The words crawl up his throat. He shoves them down.

“We’re watching Barbie Pegasus, because you love that movie.”

Lance shoves the words down.

“And then you’re going to call your mother.”

He shoves them down.

“And then we’re going to do a face mask.”

Down.

“I was gonna bring snacks, but we don’t have any of that pink-coated popcorn you like and I haven’t gone grocery shopping in a while, actually, so the fridge is kind of barren.”

Down.

“Uh, that’s it for plans. I’ll be honest, I kind of stormed in here with very little forethought.”

“Why do you care now?”

The words burst out of him. He can do nothing to stop them, nor can he stop the tears.

Keith startles. “You talked,” he breathes. He sounds awed. “Like, really. With your mouth and vocal chords.”

Lance ignores him. “You said you didn’t want me,” he says. He tastes salt and acid. “You said you wanted to be away from me eternity. You think I am annoying. You only want to live with me because you have no other options. You don’t love me. The rest of the team stopped loving me months ago. My family mourned me, they don’t need me anymore. I don’t — I don’t know why you’re here. Why are you still here? Why — I don’t know. I don’t understand! I want to hate you! You hurt me, you hurt every part of me! You broke my fucking heart, Keith, and you don’t seem sorry and I don’t know what to do with the pieces, now.”

Lance doesn’t look at Keith. He can’t. He clenches the blanket Keith brought in his fists, watching the grey of the fabric get blurrier and blurrier as the tears build and drop from his eyes.

“Lance.”

Lance swallows.

“Lance, look at me.”

Keith sounds like he’s begging. Lance sobs.

“I’m so lost, Keith. I’m so — lost.”

“Oh, Lance.” Keith reaches out for him. Lance doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t reach back. He sits there. Keith doesn’t seem to mind. He wraps a solid arm around Lance’s waist, dragging him closer. He turns Lance around once he’s close enough, pressing his face into his neck. This time, Lance goes willingly.

He’s still mad. He’s still hurt. His heart still aches and he doesn’t know how to feel.

But it’s been so long since he’s been held. Weeks. Months. (Years, really. It stopped in space, the affection. Everyone got busy, and then got tired. He doesn’t even remember if he hugged his sisters, when they got back, or if there was too much to worry about.)

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Keith whispers. His hands run gently through Lance’s probably gross hair. “I didn’t realize. I didn’t think about how much I was hurting you, how much you were already hurt. I was scared. Everything was changing for me, I was stressed, I was supposed to lead people I didn’t know had to lead.” He sighs. He presses a kiss to Lance’s head. “I failed you, Lance. I’m sorry.”

Lance sobs again. It’s been… so long, since someone apologized. Since someone cared about his pain. It’s — soothing. Cold water running over his skin, cooling the burns. He clutches Keith tighter.

Maybe things will be okay.

[vee-is-a-clown]

My first post received a pretty good response so I'm here with part two. Link to part one is below:

I'm screwing around with formatting so it looks better (hopefully)

These take place in the same universe as the others.

Anyways, to the head canons!

Ok so first of all, I want to add that Keith has anxiety and a touch of ADHD. Like specifically the kind that makes you fidget.

Keith's ADHD causes him to fidget with his fingers and bounces his leg a bit. Sometimes he can be heard snapping his fingers (a way he fidgets, he does it without thinking) while walking down the halls. Everyone has mainly gotten used to it but Lance starts snapping as well and this can cause a chain reaction that leaves everyone in the castle snapping their fingers.

Keith's anxiety makes it so he has a hard time around the whole crew and often isolates himself from conversation during meal times and such. This is why he has the reputation of the lone wolf. Allura is trying to make a habit of asking Keith questions as a way to include him in the conversation and the paladins learn something new about Keith.

Keith usually doesn't have anything to do at meal times but eat so he's started making mental note of things the others say in hopes he can use it to get closer to them at some point. Things like how Hunk is really proud when he learns a new recipe or some of Coran's old stories. He especially likes hearing the crew talk about the things dearest to them.

The crew are suprised when Keith approaches them (individually) to talk about things that they like. Keith has sat through many a demonstration of Pidge's programs and quite a few mechanical explanations from Hunk. Coran is always eager to talk about old Altea or some weird space animal. Keith has even tried to use this on Lance but it doesn't work as well. Keith can't seem to find something Lance will talk about with him.

Keith treats Allura like a sister and is really close to her. He would sooner die than see Allura hurt and knows things about her that not even Coran knows. When she was kidnapped, he advised that they don't rescue her right away because he knew she could handle herself and wanted to be more prepared against the Galra so further damage didn't come to their team. He'd rather Allura not come back to a shattered crew.

Keith had a crush on Lance back at Garrison but could never get close enough to Lance to get to know him better. Lance was always abrasive but Keith couldn't understand why. All his offers to "hang out" were met with rejection or competition. Keith tried to forget Lance but nothing could dull his feelings. Lance's cheery disposition, beautiful smile, and bad comedy that left everyone laughing made Keith admire him from afar.

Keith ended up trying to bury his feelings on the ship as well but they only grew stronger as Keith got closer to him. Lance was daring and flirtatious and not afraid to be stupid. He openly showed emotional weakness regardless of how vulnerable it made him to the crew.

Allura is the only one on the ship that knows how deep Keith's crush for Lance goes. Shiro only knows of the crush. Keith never would've told Allura but one night she kept asking about Keith's love life because he knew so much about her and she wanted to learn something about him. Keith ended up going on a tangent about Lance and his feelings until he realized that he had been talking for an Earth hour. Allura has now made it her side mission to see if she can get Keith and Lance together.

Lance's feelings for Keith get triggered every time Keith does anything really. Keith smiles and Lance is out. He zones out at the dinner table and stares into nothingness? Oh dear god Lance adores that. Every little thing that Keith does deepens Lance's feelings for him. It's like Lance's personal corner of hell. He's slowly falling in love with the boy that he's designated to be his rival. It doesn't help that Keith keeps approaching Lance and trying to befriend him.

Keith has a collection of string that he uses to make bracelets. They're usually pride themed and he has one that he usually wears (Masc gay pride flag). He's afraid of how feminine the bracelet thing makes him seem so he hides it from others. He even wears the bracelet in a way that isn't visible with the outfit he's wearing with it. He views it as a weakness.

The truth is revealed about Keith's craftiness after he makes a bracelet for Allura with the lesbian pride flag on it. Lance goes up to Allura thinking she made it but is understandably surprised to learn that Keith made it. You better believe that Keith was surprised to see Lance come up to him later to ask if Keith could make one for him. Funnily enough, Lance asked if he could make a pride flag themed one (specifically bi), not realizing that Allura's was a pride flag (Cut him a break, he hasn't seen it in months).

Lance asking for Keith to make something for him was the highlight of the week. He got to work on it, making sure it was perfect. He even put seed beads on the ends of the string to make tiny pride flags. He wanted to make it the best for Lance even if he wouldn't notice or appreciate the smaller details. Lance totally noticed and appreciated the small details.

Lance: "So Allura told me that you made the bracelet for her"

Keith: "Oh uhhhh"

Lance: "The fact that you can do that is really cool and I was wondering if you could make one for me."

Keith: "You want me... to make something... for you?"

Lance: (Now worried he overstepped a boundary) "Yes?"

Keith: (With stars in his eyes) "I'll do it."

[corvus--rex]

This prologue is going on longer than I thought, but it will be over soon, probably one more short chapter. But until then, I'm so sorry, have some baby Keith angst.

one more for the Galra cat glossary: tehrl - a miniature feline (smaller than a housecat) that are kept as pets and pest control

~*~*~*~

They had been traveling for over a day, stopping only when necessary. It was night again, and Krolia sat in the carriage, watching the landscape pass by, the sleeping form of her kit curled against her side. She tucked the soft blanket around him more snugly, a tender smile on her lips as he let out a soft, contented purr and snuggled harder against his mother. One hand kept him close while the other reached under the neckline of her traveling dress to pull out the depiction of Marmora she always wore.

Marmora was the Galra central goddess. A queen of legend, she was deified after her death for having managed to unify the disparate Galra kingdoms against a common enemy. Before then, the Unilu hadn’t been thought of as a threat by anyone, the race of small, four-armed goblins more of an annoyance than anything. But they were clever, and made up for their size with numbers. They knew that to attack a place like Altea was suicide, but the constantly-warring Galra kingdoms would be far easier. Marmora called for the separate kingdoms to unify under her banner to go to war against the threat. While they tacitly agreed at first, soon the other kingdoms realized that they never would have survived without her leadership. The Unilu were soundly defeated and Marmora led the Galra to a new age for their race, one that had continued for generations.

Krolia ran her thumb across the relief set into her medallion. The ancient Galra queen stood proudly, her sword-bearing arm held high, the other holding a ball of violet flame. She stared at it, drawing some comfort from her ancestor before letting the pendant drop. She turned back to the carriage’s small window and watched the land change from the deep, dark woods of Daibazaal to the green forests of Altea. It would take at least another two days of travel to reach the capitol. They would arrive exhausted from their journey and she could only hope that she would reach it before any messenger from Zarkon and that King Alfor would welcome them.

The little prince had no trouble keeping himself occupied during his waking hours, something Krolia was infinitely grateful for. He still believed that they were on a surprise vacation and that they would be meeting his father somewhere along the way. She kept it to herself, but she had felt their bond snap when they were not far from the castle. She knew what the stretch of distance felt like, the pain of longing for her mate when they were separated by royal duty. This was not that. This was a ship’s line breaking, the thick rope hitting her like a whip’s crack. This was glass shattering on a stone floor, glittering shards spread wide. It left her raw and bleeding, with a deep ache for a mate she would never see again. Krolia let herself feel it only in the dark of night, where she would wrap herself in her voluminous cloak tighter, hold her kit closer, and let the tears fall silently.

Another full day of traveling through Altea, and Keith was beginning to become bored of the endless carriage ride. Leaving his coloring on the floor, he climbed onto the seat and into his mother’s lap, immediately finding the soft fur of his tail and running his tiny claws through it.

“Where are we going, Mama?” he asked. “When are we gonna get there? Where’s Papa?”

Krolia sighed. She knew her kit’s inquisitive nature wouldn’t stay quiet for long and that she would have to tell him sooner rather than later. She decided that answering his questions in order would be best.

“We’re going to Altea, little one. We should be there around this time tomorrow.” She paused, knowing that there were parts of their last night in their home that weren’t for little ears. “Your Papa – he’s – I’m so sorry, kit. Your Papa won’t be coming with us.”

Keith was too young to understand what his mother wasn’t saying. “Why?” he asked innocently, “Did Papa hafta go on a trip again?” He was familiar with his father’s diplomatic meetings, sometimes in places far from the Daibazaal capitol and their home.

Krolia sighed again, willing her tears back. “No, kit. There are bad people in our home now, and I don’t know when we’ll be able to go back. We’re going to Altea to ask for their help. Your Papa sacrificed himself so we could get away safely.”

The kit’s face screwed up in confusion. “What bad people? And what’s sa…sack-if-iced?”

“People your Papa and I thought we trusted. One of the generals of our army, Zarkon. He wants to rule Daibazaal himself instead of your Papa. He decided to take what he wanted, and your Papa died so we can be safe.”

Keith only had a vague understanding of death. His only encounter with it had been when his pet tehrl died after being poisoned by an angry former member of castle staff. Their dismissal, to no one’s surprise, had been due to behavioral problems and killing the small prince’s beloved pet had earned them a stay in the city jail for a few months. Keith at first couldn’t understand why the miniature feline wouldn’t play with him like it always did. But his guard sent for the queen, and Krolia explained that the tiny cat had died and what that meant. She allowed her small kit to hold something of a funeral for the animal, but his child’s attention span moved on to something else not long after, even though she knew he still missed his companion. It seemed that the meaning of death hadn’t progressed in his mind beyond his lost pet, and it was a concept he couldn’t quite apply to his father.

“You remember Rrahr?”

Keith nodded, thinking back to finding his tehrl motionless on the floor by its food dish. Something clicked, and he looked up at his mother, eyes wide. “Is that what happened to Papa?” he asked, his voice trembling, “Did the bad people hurt my Papa so he can’t come back?” His ears flattened and his tail dropped, suddenly afraid of his mother’s answer.

“They did. I am so sorry, little one. Your Papa’s not coming back.”

Violet eyes quickly filled with tears that spilled over, leaving dark stains running down the fine, soft fur, and he scrambled in his mother’s lap, throwing his arms around her neck, sobs racking his small body. Krolia held him, running her claws through his hair, trying to hold it together for him. But she couldn’t, not in the face of her son’s innocence, and held him tightly while her own tears fell, privately mourning the loss of King Davvik in the roles he cherished most; those of beloved Alpha and mate to Krolia, and the devoted and loving father to his young son. She held Keith until his sobs subsided into hiccupped tears and finally into the even breath of sleep. When she was sure she wouldn’t wake him, Krolia tucked herself against the back of the deep velvet cushion and wrapped her thick cloak around her sleeping kit, and let sleep take her as well.

Keith was withdrawn and quiet for their last day of travel. His toys and pencils couldn’t hold his attention, and he sat beside Krolia, arms wrapped around his stuffed rakhai and stared out the window. He only perked up the smallest amount when they entered Altea’s capitol. He saw the glowing white spires of the castle and turned to his mother, tugging on her sleeve.

“Is that where we’re going, Mama?” he asked quietly.

Krolia nodded. “Yes, it is, kit. We haven’t been stopped by the city guard, so it looks like we’re safe for now. I’ll need to talk to King Alfor and then I’ll know what’s going to happen, alright?”

Keith sniffled, burying his face in his favorite stuffed animal. “I want Papa,” he said through a new round of tears.

Krolia picked him up, hugging him in her lap. “I know, kit. I do too. We’ll just have to take our home back for him.” The combination of finally arriving in Altea’s capitol city and her son’s grief gave her new determination. Queen Krolia of Daibazaal would reclaim her throne, restore Marmora’s line, and ensure that no one would ever forget what happened that night.

~*~*~*~

Intro | Prologue pt 1 | Prologue pt 2