Coming in a day late with my entry for @lotorspringexchange for @riddlerlance!! I did a take on (and forgive me, this was written before season five dropped) Lance and Lotor interacting after he came aboard the castle of lions. I hope you like it; it was a pleasure to create for this event!
Lotor did not like the castle of lions. Shortly after coming aboard, he’d been met with seven brooding faces, eight counting the Marmorian mess stumbling out a scorch marked fighter. He was unwelcome, despite the princess’ stiff,
“Welcome aboard, Lotor. We’re looking forward to negotiations with you.” Lotor lifted one frosty brow at that, the same color as her hair but lacking the curls and coarseness. He shifted his shoulders back, and though he did his best to be at ease and confident, he held his sword tightly in a clawed hand.
He harbored no doubt that should be commit an error, no matter how egregious, it would be swiftly punished. Lotor was not all that bothered by that thought, as he sat at a long table and began dishing out information about out posts and intel that scarcely a few quintants before he’d have died protecting. These paladins and their Voltron could treat him how they liked. It would not hurt like it had when he had turned to see Acxa with her gun readied for what he expected to be a killing blow.
He remembered being surprised to wake up again, having received a shot that was merely stunning. Now, he blinked at the founding members of the Voltron coalition–not counting the paladins of old, of course, the miserable lot–and did his best to pretend they needed him more then the other way around. The princess was speaking again, and Lotor did his best to listen despite how he despised having to play nice, because he did not feel he was truly a very nice person.
“Lotor, we’ll arrange for you to be given private quarters. Naturally, these will be located relatively close to the rest of the paladins, until we can be sure you are able to be trusted.” The princess raised her head, challenge smarting in her eyes as they locked with Lotor. She wanted to see if he’d challenge her, or even expected him to. The idea was enticing.
He did not want to be contained with the paladins, stuck around them like cubs having a social gathering. Part of him bristled–probably the Galra in him, Lotor thought disdainfully–but he dropped his chin in a jerky nod, only provided for the sake of defying the princess’ expectations.
“However I can serve to accommodate you, princess,” he acquiesced. He smiled, and felt the obstreperous spirit within him rise with the want to bite back, but firmly squashed it down. Perhaps later, when his father was good and dead in his grave and Lotor was in a position to turn against his hosts. The princess scowled, and turned to the paladin dressed in blue who stood to the side.
“Lance, if you would, assist Lotor in his walk to his quarters, and meet back here.” Her expression softened, scanning over him. Lotor was not exactly talented at winning people over, or at least the people he was normally around, but he did consider himself adept at reading between the lines. The princess liked the one in blue, Lance, for whatever reason, and he sensed something new there. Tender, though not necessarily romantic. Lotor did have to know specifics to decide that if Lance liked Allura, they were at odds. Lance groaned, but with his bayard in hand walked to Lotor.
“Come on,” he told him, biting back a sigh as he waved his hand in a motion for Lotor to follow. Lotor listened, however reluctantly, to that direction.
The halls of the castle were quiet enough to make Lotor uneasy, and though he did not think this paladin would attack him without prompting, he was concerned enough to let his fingers curl a short distance away from the handle of his blade. He was ready to grab it, but naturally sensed that it was a bad idea. He gritted his teeth, ignored how his fangs dug into the meat of his cheek, and matched pace with Lance. It didn’t take long, apparently, for Lance to grow equally uncomfortable in the silence, and he began to jabber away about all sorts of pointless things that made Lotor’s head spin anytime he tried to legitimately tune in.
“Anyways, your room is going to be down the hall from me–not my choice, pal, but I’m not arguing with Allura–and it’s closer to the showers so if you start taking all the hot water I’ll fight you. When Pidge sleeps though, and don’t tell her I told you, she snores so if you need ear plugs I can get you some. I know it’s really weird that we all kinda sleep together but hey it gets lonely and anyways-”
Lotor was utterly lost. Regardless, they reached his doorway soon enough, which Lance walked through so easily it was irritating. Lotor would have to note that he was to tell him that he was not to do the same while he occupied the space.
“Here we are!” Lance announced, throwing his arms open wide. Lotor ducked so one flying, gangly limb didn’t whack him. Lance was rattling on again, tossing an odd robe to him that Lotor liked a surprising amount. He didn’t have any casual clothes–he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d worn casual clothing–but Lance told him they’d probably have something floating around the ship. If not, Shiro would have to sacrifice a few pairs of sweats. Lance murmured under his breath about sewing a shirt, mingled with words in a language Lotor did not recognize, and the castle apparently wasn’t translating.
He was so overwhelmed, utterly bewildered with the maelstrom of a boy that by the time Lance and all his gestures and muttering was walking out the door, he realized he’d hardly said anything at all. Worse, he could see why the princess liked him, quirks and all. Lotor decided it was time to go to bed, and just to spite his guide, he would so take all the hot water.
Lotor did his best to settle in.
It was not easy. The true swordsman of the group went back to the Blade, and though Lance–infuriating as he was–was learning, he wasn’t a true challenge and there was only so many times he could flip him over his shoulder before the wheeze he made as the the air got knocked out of him got old. A travesty, but nonetheless, Lotor’s problems persisted. He took turns cycling to the other paladins, as instructed by Allura, for watch.
Despite the fact that he’d been in the castle for six movements, she had yet to decide he was trustworthy, whatever her definitions of that was.
He’d had a stint with the yellow paladin, who, though Lance claimed was amiable and more then loving most of the time, he did not get on well with. The green paladin at least had a position that was interesting, and Lotor could communicate with her about the science and coding she was interested in. That proposition had once appeared promising, actually, with all the intel he had to offer. It might’ve been alright, but then Lotor got a little too watchful of Zarkon’s main ship, and Pidge made a comment about it to Allura. That ended his time with her quickly, despite the fact that when Lotor peered around the corner of her work space and saw her asleep, he moved in to check again.
As much as he hated the castle and the paladins, and they hated him, he’d take them over his father and his brutes any day.
The black paladin was out of the question, being the leader, and Allura was often with him, so that was out. This largely left him with Lance.
On the bright side, Lotor got to resume his skincare regimen, and it did feel nice while Lance slathered on the goop he created, muttering things like,
“God, your complexion is amazing. And your hair is great too. What shampoo were you using?” Lotor of course hummed his agreement, flexing manicured fingers.
“It’s my own creation, using a rare resource only found on a single planet located in the outer reaches of the Galra empire. I won’t say anything about if you tell Allura it should be a target to liberate.” Lance sighed. Theoretically, he knew he probably shouldn’t be conspiring with Lotor with Shiro on the fritz and Allura’s rampant distaste for him. On the other hand, Lotor’s hair really did look great. Lance grinned, and nodded, holding out his fist for a bump.
Lotor furrowed his brows. Lance sighed, and reached over to lift his hand and curl it into the same shape, then bringing them together.
“Like this,” he instructed. Lotor didn’t understand, but his hair was going to be returned to his former glory, so he wasn’t going to complain.
As it happened, they were on their way to the control room, when the power went out. Lotor had heard a bit of muttering between the green paladin, Pidge, he reminded himself, and her brother, that they were going to be working with Coran to upgrade the castle’s defenses. Matt had mentioned something about technical difficulties being a possibility, but the idea of a power outage had no occurred to Lotor when the hall went dark, interrupting Lance’s aimless yammering.
Lotor froze, his pupils going wide in the darkness.
He never did like the dark.
It had stemmed from his time as a child. He’d been sickly, weak. He spent a lot of time with the Druids, who though terrifying were technically the best doctors of the empire. He couldn’t count the times he’d woken up from one procedure or another, in complete blackness. Lotor had good eyes, granted from his Galran genetics, but even he could not get by in the ink and mystery of it.
The Druids liked black when they weren’t busy with operations. Lotor speculated it was to disarm any Galra that might want to barge in. Despite the fact that they were all clearly allied with the empire, the Druids scoffed upon the brawn and primate strength the empire valued so highly. They were all about details and finesse, a carefully calculated plan formulated to bring an unfortunate victim to ruin. Underneath their robes and long, bone masks were sinister creatures. Unable to see, he could not leave until a Druid came to collect him. When the first thing he felt after shots or operations or some sort of medication that made his head spin was one bony hand wrapping around his wrist, it always made him scream. When he was younger, anyways.
He grew strong in time, but the fear stuck.
His breathing rose a little bit, and he heard Lance shuffle around. As a child, alone in the dark, he had coaxed monsters forth from his imagination that were part of the reason a Druid’s touch scared him so. Lance began to speak.
“Well, this sucks. I think I can get us back to my room, though. Take my hand,” Lance instructed effortlessly. Lotor flinched at the idea, and was grateful for the fact that Lance couldn’t see.
“It’s fine, we can wait.” Lotor told him. He was pleased to hear that his voice came out steady and strong, hiding the fear that latched on and burrowed deep within him. Lance did what sounded like stamping his foot, and Lotor could imagine his eye roll.
“Quit being stubborn. I realize I’m not like, your girl gang or anything,” Lotor did his best to ignore how the words stung, “But really, I’m not going to hurt you. I think I have a flashlight stashed away somewhere. Coran gave us all one to keep on hand, just in case. We should get a light and go try to meet up with the others.” Lotor did have to admit, the prospect of light sounded good.
It pained him, to still have such a childish fear, but at the same time he couldn’t be bothered. He could remember with crystal clarity what it felt like for Haggar’s hand to wrap around his wrist, sharp nails digging into his skin with the force of it. Lotor might cry out softly, but she’d only tighten her hold as a result. This was not Haggar or her minions, though, Lotor did his best to keep in mind.
He was loud and more than a little obnoxious, but he took beating after beating when they sparred without complaint, and after they both showered offered to have what he called a “slumber party” in his room with face masks and “space cucumbers” over their eyes. Lance did not like him, not really, but he was willing to try simply out of the kindness of his heart. Lotor appreciated that, even as foreign as such kindness was to him.
“Fine,” he huffed at last, fumbling for his tan arm in the darkness. It was warm when he finally got a grip, which he had to adjust because he grabbed from the wrong direction, nothing like the cold, wiry bony and sinew of the Druids.
Lotor wasn’t aware that he’d tensed up until after his shoulders relaxed, dropping back down with an exhale of a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Despite how hard he tried to dislike him, resist him, Lance had pulled him in. Lotor felt safe with Lance, and that was something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Even with his generals, they had a certain coarseness and edge to them. Perhaps it was what made them strong, but it also was what kept Lotor holding them at arms length despite the fun they had together. Lotor missed feeling safe more then he cared to admit. Lotor was not yet at ease, but perhaps with time and Lance at his side, he could be.
