Chapter Text
“So Kolivan, why’s it called the Blade of Marmora, anyway?” Lance asked, bored because he felt like there was nothing for him to do while everyone else tried to fix the castle.
“It is named for a great Galra warrior who betrayed Zarkon ten thousand years ago,” Kolivan answered without looking up from whatever Galra tech he was working on.
“Way back then? What’d he do?”
Kolivan looked up seriously, his eyes focusing on Lance.
“He was the Paladin of the Red Lion.”
“Woah wait seriously? The red paladin was Galra? How exactly did he betray Zarkon?”
“We do not know. The answer is lost to time, or Zarkon has purposely erased it from Galra memory. But Marmora died fighting Zarkon, and that is enough. We will finish what he started.”
~~~~~~
*Ten thousand years ago, on planet Altea*
“So Allura, d’you think there’s gonna be any cuties in the envoy?” Althos asked his cousin.
The princess, a young, spitfire thing only twelve sun-cycles old, rolled her eyes. “They’re sending their best and brightest pilots to become the Paladin of the Red Lion, and you’re worrying about whether they’re attractive?! You never change, Althos.”
“What can I say; I have my priorities straight.”
Allura groaned. “You don’t have anything straight. I can’t believe I’m related to you. Nor can I believe that somehow of all the finest Altean pilots, you were chosen by the Blue Lion.”
“Hey, I’m a great pilot!”
“You’d be a better one if you’d stop slacking and started training.”
They made faces at each other, until one of the king’s aides came to their place by the fountain and knelt solemnly. “Princess Allura. Duke Althos. The Galra envoy has arrived, and the king requests your presence.”
Althos and Allura exchanged glances, and then Allura sighed and got up. “We shall be there immediately. Come, cousin.”
“Don’t order me around! I’m older than you, y’know!”
“You don’t act like it.”
“I’m the one old enough to date,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows at her as they walked.
“I don’t have time for romance,” she sighed. “And neither do you.”
He stretched, grinning at her. “Oh Princess, there’s always time for romance.”
Althos and Allura took their places by King Alfor’s side as they waited for the envoy to make it to the throne room. Allura stood directly at her father’s right side, and Althos waited at a respectful distance.
The Galra had been the Alteans' primary allies in creating the Lions of Voltron, and their leader, Zarkon, piloted the Black Lion, the great robot’s head. Completing the project, finally forming Voltron, was the final step in cementing their partnership.
Althos had seen plenty of Galra before-- covered in fur of various shades of purple and gray, with adorable animal-like ears. He thought they looked cute, although his mother had chastised him for thinking so. That a race as advanced and strong as the Galra were not “cute”. It didn’t stop him from thinking it, though.
When the doors opened, he straightened himself up-- he was usually a slacker, but he would never make King Alfor look bad if he could help it.
In the front was Zarkon, the Galra leader and Black Paladin. He was tall, as most Galra were, but very serious. He was a good friend of King Alfor-- as such, he did not bow when he reached the throne.
“My friend, I trust you have only good news to bring me?” Alfor remarked jovially.
“Of course. Soon we will complete the project we have worked so hard together to create-- once the Red Lion chooses its Paladin from the pilots I have brought with me.”
He gestured, and the men behind him stepped out next to him, so that they stood in a line in front of Alfor. They were dressed in typical black Galra flightsuits, helmets covering their eyes and ears. Which was disappointing to Althos, who thought that those were the most charming points of the Galra.
“These are the finest pilots the Galra have to offer,” Zarkon explained. “They have proven their worth in both combat and diplomacy.”
“I am sure that they will impress the Red Lion,” Alfor answered with a smile. “But what is this? You said there would be five joining you. I see only four.”
Zarkon’s expression darkened. “The fifth pilot has a discipline problem. He was forbidden from tainting your halls with his influence until he can learn to control himself.”
Althos couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow curiously. Oh really? If he’s so badly-behaved, then why was he chosen in the first place?
Not that Althos could talk, since there was absolutely no one on Altea who understood why he’d been chosen by the Blue Lion.
Alfor, though, seemed unperturbed. “I see. Well, in a few day’s time we shall hold the ceremony to join one of your pilots with the Red Lion, my friend. I hope to see him then.” Alfor stood, reaching out a hand. “In the meantime, I do hope you and your people can make themselves comfortable on Altea.”
“We will.”
The greeting officially over, the Galra pilots turned and filed out of the throne room, and Alfor turned back to his advisors-- Althos’ signal that he was dismissed.
He yawned, heading back out into the Altean sunshine. He wondered what he should do. Maybe he would go take a nap. Or maybe he’d go fly with Blue for a while. Ever since he’d been chosen as her Paladin, flying the Blue Lion was his favorite pastime-- she could go faster, more flexibly, than anything he’d been allowed to fly previously-- and as her Paladin, there were fewer restrictions on him than there had been before. He was free to do as he wished, so long as it did not embarrass the King.
But King Alfor had commanded him to remain on Altea until the Red Lion chose its paladin, so that he may befriend whoever was selected-- since they would soon be teammates.
So a nap it was, then. His favorite spot: a bench out in the garden, surrounded by sweet juniberries.
He was already feeling drowsy, plenty ready for his “well-deserved” rest, when he noticed that there was someone sitting in his usual spot, polishing a blade.
“Hey, this is my spot, you!” Althos called out to the invader, trying to look as impressive and official as he could. He was a duke, after all. Not that it gave him any real authority, but whoever this was probably didn’t know that.
The invader looked up upon hearing Althos’ voice, and as Althos got closer he knew without a doubt that this person was Galra-- the same black flightsuit the others had been wearing. This one, however, wasn’t wearing his helmet, and his purple hair seemed longer and more ruffled than the other Galra Althos had seen. His ears twitched at Althos’s voice, and his yellow eyes narrowed.
He’s cute , Althos thought, feeling his face heat up. But he was not about to admit that to the person who had stolen his favorite place to nap.
“Who are you?” the invader asked.
“I should ask you the same question!” Althos remarked, placing his hands on his hips dramatically. “Are you supposed to be one of the envoy for the Red Lion? You look a little small for a Galra.”
“I’m a pilot,” he answered, as if that explained everything.
“And?”
“My name’s Marmora.”
“And?”
“ And what? What else do you need to know?”
Are you single? Althos thought, but pushed it aside, instead asking, “why weren’t you at the formal greeting?”
“Didn’t Zarkon tell you? I wasn’t allowed to go, since I would shame Galra.”
Althos sat down on the bench next to Marmora, looking at him critically. Marmora pulled away, somehow made uncomfortable.
“I don’t get it. Aren’t the members of the envoy supposed to be ‘the best and brightest the Galra have to offer’? How’d you even get this far if you can’t follow orders?”
“I’m the best in my class,” Marmora answered matter-of-factly.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. The Galra value skill over almost all else, except maybe loyalty.” He paused, finally meeting Althos’ eyes. “And what about you? I’ve told you who I am. Now it’s your turn.”
Althos got to his feet, posing proudly and gesturing to himself with a thumb. “I’m Althos, Duke of Altea, and chosen Paladin of the Blue Lion! Pretty cool, huh?”
Marmora raised an eyebrow. “You’re a paladin?”
Althos deflated. “Why is that everyone’s reaction?” he muttered to himself. “I am!” he replied out loud, again leaning toward Marmora with his hands on his hips. “And that means I’ve been a paladin longer than you, so you better respect me!”
“Um, okay, if you say so… Althos.”
Althos stared him down before finally announcing, “you’re sitting in my spot.”
“I thought this castle belonged to King Alfor,” Marmora answered.
“Well yes , but everyone knows that this is the place I nap!”
“Oh, how dare I,” Marmora replied sarcastically.
“Oh yes. How dare you. Now move over!”
Althos plopped onto the bench, pushing Marmora sideways with his hip. He crossed his arms, feeling triumphant. After a long silence, he peeked at Marmora with one eye. “So why are you just sitting out here? There’s supposed to be lots of fun stuff going on to celebrate your guys’ arrival.”
“I do not want to shame the Galra,” Marmora replied, still polishing his blade.
“What? That’s a stupid answer.”
“It is not stupid !” Marmora growled.
Althos got to his feet again, and then grinned down at him. “Hey, you’re missing out, buddy. Come on, let me show you!”
“Huh?” Marmora blinked up at him.
“Come on!” Althos demanded, grabbing Marmora by the wrist and pulling him to his feet, through the gardens.
Marmora’s sword fell out of his hand, clattering to the ground next to the bench, forgotten as Althos pulled him away, toward the city.
~~~~~
*Marmora’s POV*
It was humiliating to have been denied entrance to the castle, but he could not defy Zarkon, who he respected greatly. He supposed he should be grateful he had even come this far.
His family had not had high hopes for him, ever since he was young-- he was a “runt”, too small to enter the main army, and because his family was not affluent, they could not afford to raise his station by sending him through school. Constantly picked on as a child, Marmora had quickly learned to fight off enemies much bigger and stronger than himself. He had earned a reputation in his hometown by the time he was old enough to even attend school.
It was by luck that Zarkon had found him-- not that the leader remembered it. He had been on his way to supervise a training mission at the nearby flight school when he had seen Marmora win a scuffle. Apparently impressed, he had commanded his aide to have Marmora attend the military academy.
His parents had been elated. He was not a disappointment, after all.
His first time flying, he felt like every barrier he had ever faced suddenly melted away. When you were a pilot, size and strength didn’t matter. He proved himself through skill, even if he was constantly in detention for getting in fights with other students, dressing out of uniform (he disliked wearing his helmet), and acting recklessly in combat.
When he had been chosen to attend to the envoy to Altea, his parents had cried tears of joy. Their problem child Marmora was now one of Galra’s “best and brightest”. He only hoped that they never found out that he wasn’t even allowed to go greet the king.
Frustrated, Marmora did the only thing he knew to do when he was not flying-- he polished his blade. It was unusual, for the Galra army-- curved, and made of luxite, a rare metal. It was given to him by his mother, a proud soldier. In its handle was a rune-- apparently his family’s crest.
He focused entirely on the task of polishing the blade, doing his best to forget about his shame. He was so enraptured that he did not hear the Altean boy approach until he spoke.
“Hey, this is my spot, you!”
Marmora looked up in annoyance, his concentration broken.
The Altean boy was taller than him-- an irritating fact, since Galra are typically taller than the Alteans-- with the same white hair, dark skin, and blue eyes he had seen in many Alteans, especially nobles.
Marmora always felt uncomfortable around Alteans-- they all looked the same to him. At least Galra had different fur patterns and colors, but often the Alteans had to change their skin color or size just so that they could be distinguishable to the Galra. Their way of changing shape or color also made him a bit uncomfortable. If he could make himself taller at will, he would.
That was why, when this Altean boy-- Althos-- sat down on the bench next to him, he pulled away, not used to this kind of contact from strangers, and especially not Alteans, who he had always seen from a distance.
As their conversation-- if you could call it that-- went on, however, Marmora did notice one thing about Althos that stuck out to him: his smile.
It was sideways, one side of his mouth higher than the other, his teeth flashing behind the curve of his lips as he proudly announced himself the Paladin of the Blue Lion. Even as Althos talked, Marmora was internally hoping he would smile again, so he could look at it more closely.
He didn’t know what to do when Althos grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his feet. He’d been too distracted trying to understand the Altean’s loose, relaxed body language-- so different from the Galra AND the formality he’d come to expect from Alteans-- so much so that he’d been completely off-balance when Althos had taken his wrist.
Such bad form for a soldier. If any of his supervisors had been watching, he would have gotten a tongue-lashing… or an actual lashing.
But they weren’t there. He was so startled, so enraptured by this strangely cocky, self-absorbed boy that he forgot he was holding his sword, letting it fall to the ground as he let himself get pulled away, into Althos’ world.