#puddingmuffin

When Zarkon started to take over the universe, to gift everyone a leader who knew what he was doing, he never thought that he would remain a stone pillar of normality in a huge sea of change.

That wasn’t to say that he expected nothing to change from the day he sat on the throne to the day he was pushed off of it, the universe to remain forever stagnate while he ruled it with an iron fist, that was too naive of thinking and at this point in his very long, weary life, he would say he was, in fact, anything but naive.

No, it was to say that the change happened all before his eyes, but it was complete before he had the chance to do anything about it, and there never seemed to be a way back to what he considered ‘normal’ anymore.

Some of the changes were expected. The food that the Galra ate changed with the times, so did the fashion, the weapons and the values that were held. It was strange for Zarkon to watch history happen before his eyes. There was something forbidden about it, which made sense of course, because no other being in the universe that had ever lived a life as long as he had, and he doubted it would ever happen again, leaving only Zarkon with the curse of immortality.

Even the holidays that the Galra celebrated had change over the past millenniums, and while it was not unexpected of his people to change their customs to better fit their environment, as the holiday he was used to was better suited for people living on planets and not people living in space with no planet to call home.

But he couldn’t help but miss the older traditions. That’s what his holidays were now: old. To his people, now all young in his eyes and seemingly filled with a naivety that comes with fighting a war you don’t truly understand, the traditions that he once loved where out of date and even silly in come cases, but Zarkon knew that he now thought of their holidays in much the same way.

Where he used to celebrate the main holiday season with only his close family, his wife and his only child, and use that time to be with them and only them. That time of the cycle used to mean that barely anyone was working, as almost every Galra was given the time off by their superior to go back home and relax in the quietness of it all. While there was no season’s changing like they used to have during the Altean holidays that his wife used to make him partake in, there was no need to, as everyone was in their den, and enjoying the time that they could spend with their families.  

Of course, that’s all different now. Now instead of a quiet holiday that Zarkon remembered being treasured and quiet, filled with reflection of the previous years and their actions, followed with the promises for the new year, the holiday was loud with voice and song and laughter.

That was, of course, not to say that the holiday he remembered celebration was deprived of the smiles and the giggles and the loud music accompanied with awful singing, but the holiday was a private affair when he was growing up. Now though, instead of people going home to their dens and their family, people instead celebrated it where they were, on the spaceship that they were currently on, and most people now worked through the holiday. Of course, most families were on ships together, Zarkon made sure that separating families for the war was only done out of necessity, but instead of spending the time by themselves, they surround themselves with more people than Zarkon thought possible, and then they shared gifts, memories, wine and good times.

Zarkon does not celebrate with his people at this time of the year, despite what his commanders tell him of the holiday and the supposed greatness of it. He could never bring himself to do it. No, this holiday that they celebrate was not his, and would never be his. His holiday was buried in history, only for children to ask their mothers about when they’re older and for historian to ponder about because they’ve would never be brave enough just to come to him and ask.

During this time of the year, while his people celebrate, Zarkon hides. He would never admit it if anyone asked him, but the site of seeing his people surrounded by their families made him sick. No one seemed to remember that he used to have a wife, who was now gone to the universe in all ways except physically. They remembered that he had a son, but there were times that the son seemed to forget that he had a father and sometimes Zarkon thought it would be better if Lotor had not lived for so long either. The site of him and the reminder of what he had lost was almost painful on some days, and he thanked his lucky stars that the boy had decided to go off with a small crew of his own, even though Zarkon felt that some day soon, he would be regretting the freedom he granted the boy, even though to most it didn’t sound like the banishment was much freedom at all.

Zarkon leaned back in his chair has he stared longer into space, watching the stars twinkle in front of his eyes, and he thought about how long it would take for one of them to die right in front of him if he continued to stare at them, never moving his eyes away from them until one of them did so. He certainly had the time to wait before it happened, and maybe it would give him something to do while he waited for the cheer on the ship to settle down to something that was much more manageable, much more leadable.

“My Lord, we have had a breakthrough on the shinzui project,” the loud was booming in the otherwise quiet room, even though Haggar was standing next to him, now looking out in the same direction that he was.

“Good,” Zarkon replied, though he could not bring himself to care about the project itself at that time, still stuck in the past and the blasted memories that always came with it. Every time he closed his eyes, he would always thing back to the time he had spent with Honvera. It had been the only time of year that he was successful at dragging her out of her labs and into their rooms, not to do anything by lay in their bed and talk about nonsense while they ate good fruit and drank rich wine.

He studied Haggar’s face for a moment, despite knowing all of it, as it was the only face other than Lotor’s that never seemed to change over the centuries. It was as passive as ever, no emotions showing, though he doubted the animated corpse of his late wife could show any emotion except from the occasional fit of rage that came with constant failure.

“Why don’t you take some time from your projects? Enjoy the holiday without stress.” Zarkon suggested to her, but was not surprised when the corpse only scoffed at his suggestion and confirmed that she would not take the time off, as she had more important things to do than waste time on meaningless things, even though they both had all the time that the universe could ever offer a person.

“Why not invite your son back to your side during the high-spirited times?” She had asked of him before, back when the holiday started to evolve form something he was once familiar with to the foreign sensation he was now greeted with every cycle, and he found that his answer was the same as it was back then.

“I’d much rather have my wife back, even for one moment longer, than forever a son that hated my and his own existence,” Zarkon replied, and he was glad that his only response to that was a huff. But she made no effort to leave his side afterwards, while at any other time of the year his words would have been a clear dismissal, now he felt oddly reassured by her presence.