#galraweek

My fic for @lonkeronaama for the Galra Mini Exchange over at @galraweek! :)

Haggar/Zarkon, 1.1K, G, a bit of angst, no archive warnings:

He opens his eyes, no thought comes to his mind other than her. Rising from the cold table he rested upon, he turns his head with a falling away of funeral sheets. 

Empty operation table meeting his luminescent gaze. She is there, shivering… cold…scared… but alive. 

That is all that matters. 

The second thought that occurs to him is home—he must take her back— praying she will be safe again.

A brief venture beyond their guarded room reveals there is no home. She is still shivering when he returns.

Kneeling with only the soft scuff of ceremonial armor, he caresses her face (so small in his great hands) and eases her ever so gently to face him. Her golden eyes are afraid, confused. 

“Where am I?” she asks, her voice hushed—so weak, unlike her confident and gentle tone from the dim memories that glittered in his mind like broken glass. Cracked was more like it, the full picture still within his sight.

“We are aboard my ship,” he growls—not that he intends the harshness—but the loss of his home is turning his stomach, and he has never been one to restrain when pushed too far.

She pulls her face away from his hand slowly, and wraps her arms around herself further, her eyes turning cold, narrowing at him.  Zarkon says nothing once again, his only offering an open palm.

“Come.” My love… The words crumble upon reaching his tongue, leaving a taste like ash in his dry mouth. “Let us leave this place… There is revenge to be exacted.”

Violet-rimmed eyes narrow beneath her cowl, her frame finally ceasing its feverish shake.

“…. Against whom?”

She is still the same then—just a bit. Even seemingly lost as she was, Zarkon knew he could always anticipate questions, his offer still held.

“The man who did this to us, Honerva… Our ire is kindled against the armies of Altea, and their traitorous king…”

The witch says nothing, answer given in the slight rise of her shoulders. Hands pulling from where they clenched into soft fabric, she slowly reaches out to the open palm. 

“I know not this Honerva… But I will serve you, my emperor.”

The words are jagged—though he knows she does not realize it—and Zarkon dips his head, taking comfort in their linked hands. 

“Let us go. Work is to be done.” ~~~

“This sight is truly one to behold, sire.” Standing hunched, yet with an odd aura of pride in her stance, the witch’s words are coarse and rasping. Not by any particular intent, but a permanent change wrought by the harsh grace of quintessence.

“… Yes.. That it is.” Looming beside the frail woman, Zarkon’s eyes are not fixed upon the source of light that wreaths them in the collapsing light of Altea. 

He feels nothing for that world, why waste the memory on such a thing when his own world hovered beside him, just out of reach? Eyes resting only on her illuminated features, a low and rattling series of clicks gathers in his throat with old emotion.

“Is something the matter, Sire?” Attention brought from the dying planet to her emperor, the witch Haggar regards him with flat eyes of simmering yellow, their rim of violet faded away since their initial awakening.

For a moment—just a single, fleeting moment—confession pushes at his pursed lips, yanking and vying for breath to be heard with tangling roots that cause his lungs to seize, hearts freezing in their beat for what should have killed him, where they not already dead.

“It is nothing…” His massive hand resting upon her shoulder is the only action he allows himself otherwise. “I merely contemplate how far we have come. All from the cradle of that miraculous mind you harbor.” He watches her for any reaction, any sign of familiarity glimmering there, though pupiless eyes hide his watching well.

“We still have much further to go, Sire.”

Sire.

The title from her lips is still something sharp… Unsettling even, as the blankness in her eyes. In their shared state of undeath, he questions if either of them will truly taste joy again, or if it is merely best to settle for dull echoes of the feeling.

“That we do.” ~~~

Work is easy to lose themselves in.

Ticks become dobashes and dobashes dribble into vargas and vargas into quintants. Soon even decafebes feel no longer than a blink.

Galaxy after galaxy fall before Imperial might, and with every planet and star that falls into their grasp, Zarkon watches. Waits for anything to spark in those void and clever eyes of hers.

He does not remember when the name Haggar stopped feeling like lead coating his tongue.

But it did, nonetheless.

When he lost his hands, that same, hopeful part of him yearned to see it as an opportunity for truth.

Title: Repetition

Fandom: Voltron Pairing: Antok/Keith/Kolivan/Shiro Rating: Teen & Up Audiences Words: 625 Chapters: 1/1 Additional Tags:  blade of marmora, Training, Galra Mini Exchange, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Suggestive Themes 

Fic Summary: Antok... Keith... Both are dedicated fighters, both are fighters that Shiro and Kolivan hold dear. And both have a tendency to never know when to quit. Retreat isn't in their vocabulary. Which makes it all the more vital that their companions know when to step in, to be the impulse-control they lack.

My gift for @flufflyneko​ for the @galraweek​ Mini Exchange! Hope you like it!

"Again," Keith grunted, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth and pushing himself up to his feet.

Antok nodded silently, waiting for Keith to get back into a ready stance before launching into another attack.

Block, parry, swipe, dodge, slash, retreat, swipe.

The movements were quick, nearly too much so to track as Keith and Antok danced their combat across the training floor.

A solid kick from Keith sent Antok clattering backwards and crashing to the floor.

With a nod, Keith waited for Antok to get back to his feet. "Again?"

Antok nodded and immediately Keith was circling again, looking for an opening to attack.

"Their fighting styles really are remarkably similar, those two…" Shiro commented, stepping up at Kolivan's side and making him jolt slightly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you…"

"It is alright," Kolivan replied, gesturing with a dismissive wave. "They are both remarkably fast fighters… And determined. They know what they want and they'll do nearly anything to get it…"

Shiro huffed out a laugh. "Well that's certainly true of Keith. I don't think the word 'impossible' is in his vocabulary."

"Hm…" Kolivan nodded slightly, a motion Shiro barely caught out of the corner of his eye as he was drawn into watching the combat continue. "And what about us?" Kolivan asked after a few long moments, settling a broad hand against Shiro's back.

"Us?" Shiro queried, jolting for a moment but relaxing easily into the now-familiar touch.

"If they are the determined ones… What does that make us?" Kolivan explained.

"Oh…" Shiro hummed, leaning against Kolivan as he watched Keith's sword go flying out of his grasp again. He frowned as Keith insisted on yet another round. "...Their impulse-control?" he offered after a moment. "To make sure they don't take on more than they can handle? Or overwork themselves out of stubborn determination?"

Another blow saw Antok's blade flying out of his hand with enough speed and force to wedge itself in the wall beside the viewing window.

"You are right," Kolivan nodded before leaning forward to press at the com system. "That's enough for today. You're both doing impressively well. But for now it is time for rest and recovery."

There was a pause as both Keith and Antok looked at one another, both clearly not wanting to stop their battle. But then Antok was removing his mask and Keith was unzipping the very top of his suit and fluffing up his hair and it was over.

"You're getting faster with those counter-attacks, Antok," Keith commented, heading with him towards the showers.

Antok hesitated but nodded, gracing Keith with a few rare words in the form of a simple "Same to you."

Kolivan and Shiro were already waiting for them there, prepared to clean, patch, and bandage every wound the two had inflicted on one another during their battle. The injuries weren't numerous, but the few slashes and cuts were enough to have Kolivan and Shiro taking their time to tend to the wounds.

"I am very proud… to have the three of you. Both in battle and as… my companions…" Kolivan commented, brushing a hand softly across Keith's shoulder.

"Speaking of that… It's been some time since we were able to take time together, just the four of us…" Shiro noted, taping down a last bandage against Antok's side before letting his hand rest just below it, thumb brushing against his body softly. "Maybe we can do something about that?"

"I think we can squeeze in some time…" Keith agreed.

It wasn't long before the four of them had retreated to Kolivan's quarters, reassuring touches, praising words, and soft kisses marking the remainder of their evening until each was claimed by an exhausted yet contented sleep.

Galra Week Day 3: Knowledge // Death 

Victory, but at what cost?

i completely missed day one of galra week but