#narthrid

It was only a matter of seconds before Kova forgot his indignation and ventured forward once more, stubbornly ignoring the hand Zethrid shoved in his face and squeezing himself into the space between her hip and the back of the couch. He did this, sometimes. Found the warmest, softest body in the room to use as a bed. It was only luck that had spared Zethrid that fate so far—well, luck and the fact that she usually tried to keep herself moving. Sitting still never got anything done.

So it was usually Acxa who wound up with a sleeping Kova sprawled across her lap, or sometimes Lotor. The cat was a common fixture at their strategy meetings and Acxa’s research sprees, when he wasn’t curled up on Narti’s shoulders. But Zethrid’s core temperature ran higher than the other generals’, thanks to her father’s heritage. She supposed all this fur made her a softer bed than most, too.

Damn this cat.

Zethrid’s hand hovered over Kova’s back for a long moment, slitted eyes staring back at her beneath heavy lids. Kova didn’t blink, didn’t even stir at the irritated growl that built in Zethrid’s throat.

But she couldn’t keep her hand in the air forever, and there were only so many comfortable ways to lay on a sofa, so with no small degree of reluctance, she lowered her hand down onto Kova’s back. “You want to smother me?” she growled. “Then you can deal with me returning the favor.”

A long, taut silence followed, during which Zethrid was sure the cat was going to tear her hands to shreds.

Instead, he started purring.

It was a strange sound, gravelly and uneven. Sounded more like he was snoring than purring, but it vibrated in the ridges of his spine where they pressed against Zethrid’s fingertips, pulsing in time with his breathing. On the inhale, the sound faded, only to return in force when Kova huffed an exhale.

“You can’t possibly like this,” Zethrid muttered. Her fingers found the hollow where Kova’s ear met his skull, and the first scratch had the cat melting into her touch, purrs coming more insistently. Zethrid shook her head. “Well, shit. You’re as much of a surprise as--”

The door opened again, and Zethrid’s body went rigid as Narti stepped into the room. With her mask on, as always, it was impossible to read her expression, but the flick of her tail didn’t seem particularly pleased. Zethrid felt too hot, her mind grinding to a halt.

“Uh...”

Zethrid snatched her hand away from Kova, who stretched and lifted his head to peer toward Narti, still purring away. That was the thing about familiars—they weren’t just pets. Kova was Narti’s second pair of eyes, and though she didn’t need to look through him to get around, she could peer into their bond, no matter how far apart they were, and there was no way to tell from the outside whether or not Kova had someone else in his head.

Narti crossed her arms, cocking her head to the side in a question. She lifted one hand, running her fingers across her chest in the sign for, Really?

“It was his idea!” Zethrid cried, sitting up so fast she dislodged Kova, who dug his claws in in an attempt to hold on. It hurt like a xinthosian rivvu’s bite, and Zethrid bit down on her tongue to stifle a cry of pain. Like hell was she going to complain about it. She wouldn’t give Narti the satisfaction.

Kova resisted a moment longer, then hissed again and sprang up onto the arm of the couch. Narti lowered her hand, and Kova climbed nimbly to her shoulders, where he sat staring at Zethrid, tail lashing from side to side. Zethrid got the distinct impression Narti’s tail wanted to do the same.

The damn cat was still purring.

After another, painfully long silence, Narti finally turned and walked out, and Zethrid moaned into a pillow. She should have picked a fight with one of the soldiers.

2. Experimental

“You need to do something about that crush of yours,” Acxa said, not looking up from her display screen. “It’s going to get you into trouble one of these days.”

Zethrid squeezed her water pouch so tight it split at the seam, contents running down her arm in little rivulets of shame as she choked on her cry of, “What?!”

Acxa lifted her head, eyebrow arching. “Don’t play dumb with me, Zethrid. You can act the meathead in the field all you want, but you and I both know Lotor never would have promoted you if you didn’t show at least a modicum of situational awareness.”

A shiver of restless energy slithered up Zethrid’s spine, taking up residence in her ears. (Curse her ears. No one else on this team had to worry about body parts projecting every damn thought to cross her mind.) “Who told you?”

“Told me?” Acxa snorted. “Please. All anyone has to do is spend five minutes alone in a room with the two of you. All that unresolved tension in the air is enough to power a teludav.” She swiped at her screen with two slender fingers, seeming for all the world like she was telling Zethrid to add soap to their next requisition list. “It was one thing when we were stationed at the fringes of the Empire and Prince Lotor didn’t have anything better to keep him entertained. But we’re at war now, Zethrid. If you give the paladins an opening, they’re going to take it.”

Zethrid scoffed. “Were we watching the same battle? I could pulverize those wimps with one hand tied behind my back—even if I am distracted by whatever crush you think I have.”

Acxa sighed, switched off her screen, and stood. “If you’re afraid Narti doesn’t feel the same way, then why don’t you just ask her?”

“Uh, I don’t know, because I’m not generally in the habit of making an idiot out of myself?”

Holding up her hands, Acxa backed toward the door. “I’m not getting dragged into this, Zethrid, okay? Just… figure it out? For your own sake. It’s painful watching you pine over her.”

Zethrid scowled at her back as she left, abandoning Zethrid to her watch. It just figured. They finally got called back to the heart of the Empire, finally got to see some real action, and now suddenly Acxa got on her case about Narti. (So Zethrid had come to watch Narti train once or twice in the past few weeks. It wasn’t a crime to take an interest in a comrade’s progress.)

Anyway, it was entirely Acxa’s fault that, a varga later, when Lotor brought them all together to talk about the paladins and the fight and blah, blah, blah—Zethrid couldn’t concentrate on what Lotor was saying.

Now, obviously Zethrid couldn’t take Acxa’s first bit of advice, the part about “just” asking how Narti felt about her. But she could try to follow the second suggestion and “figure it out.” Experiment. It seemed like something Acxa would be proud of, in all honesty.

She had a piece of raw seppabeast meat wrapped in plastic in her pocket, and she spent the first five minutes of the briefing fiddling with the loose edge of the wrap. Narti stood beside her, fully focused on Lotor, as were Acxa and Ezor. Kova, though… Kova was staring right at Zethrid, watching . Which meant Narti was watching.

Fine then.

Shooting a look at Lotor to be sure he wasn’t paying attention (he wasn’t; he was too focused on whatever Acxa was saying to care about Zethrid), she pulled the meat out of her pocket and held it up in front of Kova’s nose. The cat perked up at once, following the meat as Zethrid waved it back and forth in front of his face.

Narti didn’t react.

Zethrid smiled, inching the meat closer so that Kova started to bat at it. There was always a question of whether or not Narti wanted you interacting with her familiar, and when he was on her shoulder, sprawled against the curve of her pauldron, which had been designed specifically to give Kova a perch, it was safest to keep away.

But Narti wasn’t telling Zethrid to back off, as she did when someone crossed a line, a certain sharpness to her signs that hit with the same force as a shout. She hadn’t yet moved to position one of the others between her and Zethrid, either, and neither her tail nor her hands were twitching with murderous intent. Which was a bit of a disappointment, really. Narti was damn hot when she was primed for a fight.

Narti turned her head a fraction—just far enough that their eyes would have met, if not for the smooth, opaque helmet in the way. Which was ridiculous, of course. If Narti wanted to keep an eye on Zethrid, she’d do it through the cat, and if she wanted to listen to what Zethrid was doing, her ear was already pointed in a perfectly useful direction.

No, she wanted Zethrid to know she’d taken note of the—was this flirting? Zethrid wasn’t sure if this could be called flirting, feeding raw meat to a cat.

But it was something , and the fact that Narti was watching her, was openly acknowledging the exchange, sent a thrill through Zethrid. She grinned wider, staring deliberately back at Narti. Not at the cat; at Narti. If Narti wanted Zethrid to know she’d noticed, then Zethrid wanted Narti to know she’d noticed she’d noticed.

You’re not stopping me, Zethrid thought. That knowledge brought with it the rush of battle, adrenaline and a primal hunger coursing through her blood. She wanted to push the limits of this contest, though she hadn’t yet figured out the rules.

She didn’t care. She always lived on the edge, and if the danger here wasn’t the bloody, fatal sort she was used to, it still made her feel alive.

Kova’s next swat caught Zethrid’s fingers, claws sinking right through the fabric of her gloves and drawing blood. She yelped, cursing as she snatched her fingers back, and Acxa’s voice trailed off. She, Ezor, and Lotor were all staring at Zethrid now, exasperation plain on Acxa’s face, while Lotor looked merely surprised. Ezor glanced from Zethrid to Kova, who now had the chunk of meat trapped between his paws and was tearing into it with a bloothirsty sort of glee—probably because there was actual blood on his treat—to Narti.

Zethrid could have done without the delighted smile that suddenly lit Ezor’s face.

She growled, ready to tear into whoever made the first comment, but it was Narti who broke first, lifting one hand to her face as though to hide a smile. Zethrid’s anger and embarrassment faded to something softer around the edges, something that left her feeling like someone had bashed her on the head.

When they all finally split off to their various tasks, and Ezor hip-checked Zethrid a coo of, “You two are adorable,” Zethrid was still too flustered to defend herself.

3. Sentimental

Ezor wasn’t allowed to give romantic advice anymore.

Zethrid wasn’t honestly sure what had possessed her to take said advice, especially considering Ezor had given it entirely unpromtped, and Zethrid didn’t know what counted as a “cute romantic gesture” when you were dealing with a magical, psychic, nigh-immortal cat, but…

Yeah. She was regretting this already.

Narti wasn’t here, which was some small mercy. Not because it spared Zethrid the embarrassment of knowing the other woman had seen her bringing half a robeast’s worth of kitchy toys to the command ship for Kova—because Narti was most certainly watching this entire awkward display. But at least Zethrid didn’t have to face the laughter.

Kova, himself, was having a great time… with the wrappings. He ignored the hollow balls and stuffed mice and tassels and even the climbing tree (evidently Zethrid herself was far more fun to climb, and she had the scratch marks to prove it). The officer’s lounge was an explosion of cheap plastic, fuzz, and embarrassment.

And Kova?

Kova was curled up, asleep in an empty box with shreds of brown paper for a blanket.

4. Coincidental

Battle.

It was a nice change of pace, as far as Zethrid was concerned. Too much of the fight with the paladins was confined to space, where Lotor insisted on holding back and leaving Voltron in one piece if you can, girls.

Zethrid didn’t do restraint.

That was probably why Lotor kept her out of the new ship, the one he’d made from the meteoric ore. That ship was a beauty, faster than anything in the universe except the Red Lion itself, more powerful than a hundred ion cannons compacted into one. The havoc Zethrid could have wrought from behind the controls of that beauty…

But of course havoc was bad . Havoc was counter-productive . Havoc was off the table, Zethrid, and until you learn to keep your destructive impulses in check, you’re not allowed to touch the new ship.

Lotor and his frickin’ schemes.

It had been a few weeks since they’d last faced the paladins of Voltron, and things had been quiet. A few minor shows of force, a whole hell of a lot of parlaying with planetary leaders. That silver tongue of Lotor’s was getting quite a workout these days as he folded would-be dissidents back into the empire.

So it was a gigantic relief when they came across Hakkadia, a world that would not be enticed. The local leaders had outright refused to meet with Lotor, the people hid when Lotor tried to appeal to them directly, and then this morning, they’d actually dared to launch an attack on Lotor’s vessel with their cute little home-built ships.

The orders to put down the rebellion put Zethrid in a good enough mood that she could be generous and say the locals had spunk. They were kind of adorable, actually.

Especially when they screamed.

Blood seeped between Zethrid’s fingers as she impaled a rebel on a length of rebar, the heat a pleasant contrast to the chill Hakkadian wind. A trail of carnage traced her path across the city, rebels lying where they fell. They were all as good as dead, though many of them still breathed. Their moans made a nice score to accompany her fury.

Two more Hakkades charged her, polearms crackling with electricity. Zethrid smacked one away, leaped, and came down on the haft of the second weapon, crushing it beneath her. Its wielder dropped it at once, pulling out a knife as he backed away, while his companion stumbled, fumbling her weapon. The force of Zethrid’s backhand could have flung it two blocks away, and the rebel’s hands had to be smarting from holding on.

A flicker of movement on the rooftop beside her caught Zethrid’s eye. Kova sat there, tail curled around himself, eyes unblinking as he watched her fight. Zethrid looked around, but Narti was deep in her own fight, a stolen polearm glinting as she twirled it. Her tail tripped up her enemies, and their own blade cut them down, and when she was done she stopped, her back toward Zethrid.

Kova meowed, a question and a challenge, and Zethrid grinned. Her blood already sang in her ears, but this—this was even better. She charged in, roaring as she went, and though the looks of terror on the rebels’ faces were no less satisfying than normal, her mind remained transfixed by the cat on the roof, looking quietly on.

And, well, if Zethrid fought with just a touch more… flair… than usual, no one ever had to know.

5. Temperamental

Things finally came to a head as they left another newly-loyal world behind. All five of them were in the cockpit, waiting for Lotor to step in with the usual debriefing and handing out of assignments for the long vargas before they reached their next target—not a planet, this time, Zethrid suspected. It had been too long since they’d made progress on their real goal.

Not that she particularly cared at the moment. Narti was sitting at her station, Kova curled up on her shoulders and watching Zethrid—always watching. He hadn’t approached her once since that first day, before the summons from Haggar arrived, and Narti seemed to be going out of her way to avoid being caught alone with Zethrid.

She’d seen it as a challenge. Of all the generals, Narti was the most reserved—not because she couldn’t speak, but simply because she preferred the company of her familiar to any other. Even Acxa was reasonably social. She spent a lot of time with Lotor, and she let Ezor tempt her into having a drink every now and again. She was always there whenever Ezor or Lotor decided it was time to have a “girl’s night”--be that drunken duels, holovids, a spa day, or some good old-fashioned hunting of massive, ancient beasts. Narti was more of a toss-up. Sometimes she showed, sometimes she didn’t.

But it was different now. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t show up to group activities as that she didn’t show up other places she could normally be found. That, and Kova sometimes seemed to be patrolling the halls. He vanished as soon as he caught sight of Zethrid—off to warn Narti, no doubt. The only place Zethrid could talk to her anymore was in company.

Fine, then.

She waited until Ezor went to grab something from the cargo hold. Something to boost the scanners, maybe? Zethrid hadn’t been listening. All she cared was that the seat next to Narti was open now, and Zethrid wasted no time in claiming it. She reached out as she passed and gave Kova a quick scratch behind the ears.

The cat’s eyes snapped open, pupils dilating as he focused on her, and his tail gave a single, violent lash. That gave Zethrid pause, but she didn’t back down. She sat, kicking her legs up onto the seat back and leaning backwards over the armrest, her ear quivering as it brushed against Narti’s arm.

Narti stilled.

“You’ve got some blood in your whiskers,” Zethrid observed, reaching up to scratch Kova under the chin. His ears went back, but he didn’t resist the touch, which she figured was good. There was blood in his whiskers—all over his snout, really. He’d gotten deep into it during the last battle, latching onto the face of a much larger beast while Acxa lined up her shot. Kova wasn’t hurt—he, like Narti, was much too slippery for that—but he seemed to have missed a spot in his grooming. Maybe he was just too tired.

He let her scratch him for a few more seconds, but when she traded scritches for pets, he let out a low, unhappy growl and retreated to Narti’s other shoulder. She reached up and laid a hand on his back. Neither of them looked at Zethrid.

Stunned, she sat upright, her feet dropping to the floor. “What’s your problem?” she hissed, keenly aware of the others in the room. “You’re giving me the cold shoulder now? What gives?”

“Aw, come on you two. Don’t fight.” Ezor leaned suddenly over the back of Zethrid’s chair—Ezor’s chair, technically. Her eyes, bright with interest, darted from Zethrid to Narti and back. “Did… something happen?”

Zethrid looked at Narti, waiting for an explanation. She said nothing, though, just continued to scroll through scan data and pet Kova, whose tail was flicking harder than the Altean princess’s whip.

Pressing her lips together, Zethrid stood, feeling an uncomfortable tightness gathering in her chest. “Nothing happened,” she growled. “Apparently, nothing has been happening for the last few weeks, and I’m just too dense to get the memo.”

Still she waited, just a few seconds longer, silently begging Narti to contradict her. A gesture, a single sign, a glance from Kova—anything.

All she got was frosty silence and the sense that somehow, Zethrid had crossed a line.

“Well,” Lotor said, leaning his cheek on his hand. “If we’re done with the drama for today, could we move on to actual business?”

Zethrid balled her hands into fists. Shame and hurt were battering at her—neither one an emotion she had much experience with. She felt like an idiot. She’d let herself be strung along like a lovesick Altean, tripping at Narti’s heels—and for what? For a laugh? Was Narti just bored ? Was this all a game to her?

With a roar, Zethrid slammed her fist down on the console beside Narti, who flinched, snatching her hands back from the sparking remains of her station. Kova arched his back, hissing at Zethrid. She bared her teeth in return and then, ignoring Lotor’s budding lecture, she stalked out of the room.

(+1: Transcendental)

Kova dropped a dead rat in Zethrid’s lap.

She jerked back, staring at the mess of blood and sinew in disgust as Kova tucked his paws underneath himself and stared.

Zethrid stared back, baring her teeth. “What are you expecting me to do with this, eat it? ” She picked it up by the tail— she normally wasn’t bothered by a messy kill, but it was different when she was trying to relax and someone came along and dropped it in her lap. “For fuck’s sake, Kova, where did you even find this?”

Narti sat quietly beside Zethrid, their knees brushing together. He went hunting, she signed, gesturing toward the forest visible beyond the ruins they’d claimed as their base on this gods-forsaken planet. There were no people here, no rebel outposts, not even any dangerous predators. Just a weird energy signature Lotor and Acxa wanted to check out.

Zethrid craned her head to search for Ezor, who was supposed to be helping her watch the ship, but of course she was nowhere to be found. Probably planned it that way.

After a moment, Narti started signing again, and however mad Zethrid was, she couldn’t keep herself from turning to catch the words. It’s a gift. To apologize.

Zethrid turned to the cat, who arched his back, rubbing up against her leg. He was… honestly, he was irresistibly cute when he did that, and his warmth made Zethrid keenly aware of the relative coolness of Narti’s body. They’d never been close enough for Zethrid to notice that before.

“Apologize for what?” Zethrid asked, ignoring the painful bubble of hope building in her chest. “I’m the one who was too stupid to realize I was making you uncomfortable.”

Kova meowed once, mournfully, and butted his head against Zethrid’s hand. Seeing that she wasn’t resisting, he climbed onto her lap, curled up, and started purring. Zethrid stared at him, utterly baffled.

You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Narti signed. Not… Her hands stalled, and her shoulder rose and fell with a sigh. Not like you’re thinking. Can I? She peeled off her glove and held her hand out, fingers ghosting over Zethrid’s bracer.

Zethrid knew a few things about Narti. Not a lot, mind. She didn’t talk much, and very rarely about herself. This conversation was already the longest they’d had. But Narti had served under Lotor for a long time—almost as long as Acxa herself. What Lotor hadn’t deemed relevant knowledge for the rest of them, Acxa had passed along at Narti’s request, and Ezor had pried most of the rest of it out of Acxa before sharing it with Zethrid late at night in hushed tones.

So Zethrid did know the basics. Narti’s father was Galra, and her mother had belonged to a race that shared a distant ancestor with Balmerans. They were a subterranean species, used to living in darkness. Narti had eyes, and she could see, poorly, but she didn’t depend on sight to navigate. She wore her mask to filter out the bright lights her eyes weren’t equipped to handle.

They were also a psychic species—but where Balmerans’ minds were linked to the Balmera on which they were born in a symbiotic relationship, Narti and her mother’s people were psychic parasites. They took hosts and controlled them.

It was this ability, presumably, that had drawn Narti’s father to her mother, though Zethrid wasn’t clear on which had been the hunter and which the prey. And it was this ability that had made Narti so valuable, first to her father and then, later, to Lotor.

Zethrid didn’t know how all that psychic shit worked, but she knew it involved physical contact, ideally skin-on-skin.

She hesitated only a moment before yanking off her gauntlet and holding out her hand, palm up, for Narti to take. She felt the instant Narti slid into her mind with a brief chill, followed by an unfocused moment, and then a peculiar calm settled over her.

Sorry, said a voice in her head. It sounded like wind through trees, like water dripping in a cave, echoing and indistinct. It shifted, and Zethrid settled back into her own skin. Narti’s mind no longer hovered over her, but rested beside her, in the space between them. I never learned how to do this without overshadowing someone first.

“This?” The word echoed oddly, rebounding off Narti’s psychic presence a split second before the sound reached Zethrid’s ears.

Communication, she said. My mother used to speak to me in this way. My father… did not approve. This was not useful to him. I had to rediscover how to do this after Lotor and Acxa gave me a place on their ship. It is still not perfect.

“Huh.” Zethrid’s fingers traced the ridges on Kova’s back, and his purrs burrowed into her. They didn’t quite attain the level of words, as Narti’s touch did, but there was more to it than what Zethrid could sense without Narti inside her. “So… You’re really okay with… you know...” Zethrid barely had to think about her mediocre attempts at flirting before they appeared before her, layering over the view of the ruined city like a holodisplay. She flushed, trying to force the memories down.

Amusement radiated up her arm—a strange sensation, but not unpleasant. Like someone running a feather against the grain of her fur. I am more than okay with it. I am… sorry. Your advances made me uncomfortable, but not because they were unwelcome. I’m just not used to… that. To receiving that sort of attention. To being desired as anything other than a weapon.

Zethrid couldn’t help but snort. “A weapon? Please, Narti, at least give yourself enough credit. If anything, you’re an entire armada.”

The link stilled for a moment, Narti shifting in surprise and confusion. Zethrid sensed she’d said something wrong. Vague impressions drifted toward her, filling in the pieces she’d missed.

“Oh. I thought—” Zethrid fell silent for a long moment, absorbing the nebulous communication drifting through her. “When you said weapon, you didn’t mean soldier, did you?”

No, said Narti. I was a tool, nothing more.

“Aw, hells, Narti. I’m sorry. I didn’t--”

You do not think of me that way. I know. Kova purred, the sound swelling along with Narti’s affection. You prefer to fight with your own two hands.

“And I prefer not to treat people like things,” Zethrid growled. “I mean, shit! Who are these people? Do I need to go bash some heads in, or would you like to--”

They are dead. A single image crystallized in Zethrid’s mind: a Galra in an officer’s uniform, dead in a puddle of his own blood. A younger Galra, diamond-patterned scales punctuating her thin fur in a line from the crown of her head down to the base of her long, reptilian tail, stood over him, her face unreadable for the familiar, expressionless mask.

Zethrid grunted. “Good for you,” she said, hoping Narti felt the full weight of the words.

From the way she squeezed Zethrid’s hand, the meaning came through all right.

I’m sorry for ignoring you, Narti said. I’m afraid Kova may have rubbed off on me.

Zethrid barked out a laugh that startled both Kova and Narti, and she winced as the cat sank his claws into her leg. Gods, I want to kiss her.

She didn’t realize Narti would be able to hear the thought until the cool hand on hers flushed hot with the same embarrassment that turned the psychic link to jittering fuzz.

Oh, Narti said.

“Shit.” Zethrid leaned her head back, groaning frustration at the sky. “Sorry. Again.”

No, it’s all right. It’s just—the sun--

“Yeah. Right. Listen, we can just pretend this never--”

We could go inside.

Zethrid froze. “Inside? Like--?”

There’s too much light out here for me to take off my mask, but if we go inside, turn down the lights…

“Make out in the dark, huh?” Zethrid smiled her best, most predatory smile. “I could be into that.”

Laughter rang in Zethrid’s head for a moment before Narti withdrew, the absence of her hand leaving a cavity in Zethrid’s mind. She stood, backing away, and even without the mental link, Zethrid could read her intent in the sway of her hips. She was way better at this than she gave herself credit for.

Come, she signed.

Zethrid stood without thinking, completely forgetting the cat in her lap. Kova yowled, sinking in claws as he scrambled upward, and before Zethrid could decide whether to throw him off or shield her face, he’d reached her shoulders, where he caught his balance, flicked his tail once against her nose, and settled in, curled up atop her pauldron.

He likes you. Narti’s hands hesitated for a moment, then flashed through one last, hasty sentence. So do I.