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*One Decaphoeb Ago*
The moment the ship lands in the courtyard, Keith and Shiro are accosted by an entire platoon of guards. Shiro stands tall, and Keith can feel the way he braces for a fight. He shrinks behind his littermate, fails to swallow a nervous chirp.
It's bright, every corner well-lit. Nowhere to hide, nowhere to go, and the artificial lighting makes his eyes ache. It is warm, however, the sun blazing overheat, bouncing off the white stone beneath his feet.
“Hand over your weapons.”
Keith ignores that, focusing on blinking the light from his eyes. His blade is hidden at his back, under his shirt. Shiro hands his sword over without protest; he doesn’t really need it. The Altean leading the platoon turns to Keith.
“Yours, too.”
“I don’t have any.”
“You do. We already know.”
Keith watches gloved hands reach for sheathed weapons, realizes he doesn’t have a choice.
“When will I get it back?”
“Undetermined.”
“Will- Will you destroy it?”
“Undetermined.”
Gulping, Keith pulls his mother’s blade from under his shirt, hands it over with shaking fingers. The lead Altean snatches it away.
“Please be careful. It- It’s all I have-”
Another Altean, dressed not in armor, but in finery comes forward with a swing of his hips and an inscrutable expression, poking at the datapad in the crook of his arm. All Keith registers as he ducks back behind behind Shiro’s enormous frame is bright green scales glittering with gold iridescence and a pair of hazel eyes sharp as razors.
“Welcome, Lord Yorak,” he says, looking up at Shiro. The passive expression falters briefly, and Keith doesn’t blame him. If Shiro had looked at him so coldly… Yikes.
“I am not Lord Yorak,” Shiro growls.
“I-” The facade falters. “I beg your pardon?”
A deep breath, and Keith steps out from behind his tower of a brother.
“I am.”
Silence in the square, and Keith faces his first ever Altean that wasn’t Allura or Honerva. He’s not warm and burning like Allura, or cold and unreachable like Honerva. He’s looking Keith up and down, and there’s something like alarm, or perhaps even fury flashing in his eyes as he calculates his quarry. All the while, his face is cool, every pore carefully arranged.
It's unsettling.
“Forgive me, My Lord.” When Keith doesn’t respond, the man goes on to say, “I am Adam, Attendant to Crown Prince Lancel of Altea. The Crown Prince has tasked me with escorting you around the castle. If you would accompany me, we will begin in the medical ward, where you and your companion will be screened for various parasites and diseases, and receive a number of vaccinations. From there you will be escorted to the Seamsmaster, where you will put on your wedding clothes, and any needed alterations will be made. After that, all you have to do is wait.”
The Attendant hesitates. “Do you have any questions?”
Keith stares at the Altean, shakes his head. He has too many questions and none all at once.
“Very well.” Adam turns to the platoon behind him. “You may go.”
“Sir, these G-”
“Piss off, please and thank you.”
Keith almost smiles at that. The attendant meets every sulky glare as the soldiers leave, waving a casual goodbye as they disappear into the castle. Once they’re gone, Adam turns back to Keith and Shiro, very carefully avoiding Shiro’s gaze.
“Follow me.”
And they do, working their way down into depths of the castle, beneath the ground. Adam is typing furiously away at his datapad, muttering something under his breath in Altean.
“-increase security around the eastern tower.”
Keith’s not sure what that’s about, given that he’s nowhere near the eastern tower, or any tower, as they finally reach the medical ward. There, he finds another Altean with very dark skin and hair, eyes warm and brown. His scales are a very pale blue, almost white, with a yellow sheen to them.
“Ah, welcome, honored guests. Please, sit!” The Altean medic -presumably- gesture to a pair of chairs. “Now-”
“Tavo, a word.”
Adam pulls the Altean to the side, whispers urgently. Keith strains to hear and comprehend the hushed words.
“-not appropriate.”
“I know, but I am not comfortable with this.”
“Neither am I. but it is my job…” Tavo sighs. “I will do what I can, and determine whether a full exam is necessary. If it is necessary, I will have to proceed.”
“I understand.”
The two return. Tavo turns to Shiro. “Since you are not here for long, I am not concerned with your physical health. But I am concerned about the transfer of diseases between our planets. You will receive testing and several vaccines.”
“If I may, how is the testing conducted?” Shiro’s apprehensive.
“Bloods. Also a nasal swab.” Tavo smiles. “No fecals, this quintant. Though you may wish it, after the nasal.” The medic turns to Keith. “I will be running a physical on you. Typically, we have you strip naked and enter a chamber that analyzes your health and well-being.”
Oh, fuck no. Keith braces for a fight.
“However, I am going to see what I can do without so much invasion of your privacy.” Tavo’s smile goes just a little bit sad. “We’ll start with bloods and swabs, then vaccinations, and if you test positive for anything, treatment.”
And they do, sticking a swab so far up Keith’s nose he almost thinks it’ll get broken -that sucked- and then taking multiple vials of his blood. Shiro only gives one.
“Why do you need so much from me?” he asks, daring to speak.
“We need to run more tests on you,” Tavo explains, patient and kind. “You’re going to be here a fair bit longer than your friend, so I need to test you for more conditions. It will also serve to help check your health.”
Keith says nothing. He’s not about to offer this man anything he doesn’t find for himself.
“Right! Onto your vaccinations!” Tavo smiles. Adam hovers, eyes dark in the corner, an aura around him that makes Keith quite nervous. Like if murder was a temperature. “Now, you received some on Daibazaal three movements ago, yes?”
Keith doesn’t respond. Shiro nods.
"Excellent. These are booster vaccines, which will work as a short term extra-strength preventative of sorts. Lord Yorak, your cocktail will be slightly different, and will also enhance your immunity long-term."
Fun.
Shiro deactivates his currias and Keith removes his shirt so Tavo can stick them with a variety of syringes. It's painful, and some have the consistency of glue, but eventually they're both thoroughly inoculated. Keith can't imagine catching so much as a sniffle after some much vaccinating.
"Now, if your friend here would kindly leave-"
"Out of the question," Shiro growls.
"Please, sir. I will not do a physical examination except in absolute privacy."
"No fucking way-"
"Shiro it's fine." Keith sighs. "He has to do his job. Let's just get it over with." He levels the Altean medic with a hard stare. "After all, this man would not dare to damage me."
On the other side of the room, lurking in the shadows, Keith spies a green glimmer from Adam, the Crown Prince's pet. The Altean is staring at him, a keen glint in his eyes. When Shiro leaves, he makes no move to follow, remaining exactly where he is. Tavo makes no effort to remove him.
"Now." The Altean gestures to a platform in one corner of the room, a chair standing alone upon it. "Sit there for me, please."
Tavo slides his finger back across the top of his datapad, and the lights dim. Keith sighs in relief.
"Right, so an arm is going to come down from the ceiling and rotate your body a few times, to provide and internal scan of your body. I'm hoping that this, along with more comprehensive bloods, will work in lieu of having you undress and get in a pod."
Keith doesn't respond, shaking a little as he climbs into the chair. He's had many scans in his short time in civilization, but this feels like a violation. An invasion. He wants his privacy; he’ll never have that again. The medic manually reclines the chair back for him, the lack of warning making him jump, let out a started chirp.
“It’s all right. This won’t hurt. Just stay very still.” Tavo fiddles with his datapad, and a mechanical arm descends from the ceiling, making Keith jump again. It whirs as it circles his body, white metal, blue light flaring in his eyes. He does his best not to breathe, but the anxiety is getting to him, breaths coming quick and ragged.
“Steady now. We’re almost done.”
A few more rotations, and the arm returns into the ceiling. Keith forces himself to relax, stares expectantly at the Altean. The medic frowns, brows furrowed as he gazes down at his tablet.
“Lord, Yorak, how old are you?”
“Nineteen.”
“You are… quite small. I would venture so far as to say your development is delayed and in some ways abnormal.”
“I know.”
“Hm.” Tavo continues perusing his datapad. “Well, aside from that, you are healthy, according to the scans and bloods. I think we can risk not doing a full health examination today.” Tavo glances behind him, to where Adam still lurks. “If you’ll excuse me.”
And he’s gone, just like that. Keith sighs, flops back in the chair, waits to be shuttled off to the next point on someone’s checklist. Instead, Adam pulls up a chair.
“Do you have any questions, before we go to your fitting?” His voice is cool, quiet in the large, echoing room.
Keith says nothing, stares at some small point in the distance.
“Think carefully. You likely won’t get another chance.” Adam waits for Keith to speak. When he doesn’t, the Altean continues. “Alright.”
And they sit there in silence for a while, Keith staring at his hands in his lap, Adam watching him. After a long moment, the Altean turns to his own datapad, scrolling through some document or another.
“What are you doing?” Keith eventually asks, eyes narrowed into slits.
“Giving you a break. All we have after this is your fitting and a wedding. Everyone is waiting for you.” Adam tilts his datapad to stand up straight on his fingertips. Letting his hand fall, the device hovers in front of him, and he begins typing furiously. There’s that expression again: the one that’s passive and unmoving, the one Keith doesn’t quite believe but also doesn’t know what might hide beneath.
The young Galra takes in a huge breath into the stifling silence, hates how much in shudders in and out of his lungs, betraying the fear he’s trying to swallow, the fear that seems to be forming an increasing lump in the bottom of his throat, preventing his lungs from filling with air- There’s not enough room left in his chest.
Everyone is waiting for you. What an awful thought. Swallowing a chirp, Keith tips his head back, eyes closed.
“You are the son of Akira of House Diabazaal and Krolia of House Kogane.”
Keith’s eyes open. “Yes.”
Adam’s hazel eyes are unsettling, calculating, exacting. “Your father was considered a radical, excommunicated by the Emperor-”
“He defected,” Keith bites.
“Defected,” Adam echoes, watching him with something like interest. “... You and His Majesty will get along, I should think.”
I seriously doubt that.
“Well, we’d best get you to your fitting. The sooner this mess is over, the sooner His Majesty can enter the next phase of his plans.” Adam collapses his Datapad into a small, metal rod, gets to his feet. He offers a hand to Keith, which Keith glances at, then ignores, standing on his own.
All he gets is the edge of an appraising look before Adam leads him out of the room, passing Tavo on a chilly breeze, neither inviting nor rejecting Shiro’s choice to accompany them as he leads Keith on yet another walk through the many halls of the castle. Hall after hall, door after door. At one point, a pair of great double doors, beyond which Keith can hear the hum of voices, and briefly, on the other side of the hall, just a flicker of movement where he can see the beginnings of a corner, an oddly placed intersection. The figures, one heavy-set, one tiny running past, followed by-
A brown-skinned, white-haired boy dressed in nothing but a tight shirt and leggings, face made up and jewels in his ears. He’s laughing, lean frame poised, tips of his toes dancing over the blue, yellow, and white tiles. Cheerful, laughing, beautiful. Playing with his friends.
“Stop! Stop!” Crown Prince Lancel squeals, as a small creature starts leading him along by a chain hanging from one of his ears, teasing him about enjoying being on a leash. There’s something bright about him, something free, effortless. The larger person ruffles the prince’s hair, toppling the circlet and leaving him disheveled.
The prince laughs, and there’s a sharp shock of something bitter and dark, a hooked yank deep in Keith’s gut. It’s not envy exactly, or hatred, but it’s in that lane, some unknown hurt rising up against this oblivious, silly fiend. He’s suddenly hyperaware of how much this prince grew up with that he himself did not. Keith feels a certain ache twisting inside as he looks upon a monster -his monster, soon- for the first time and realizes that monsters are people too, with friends and personalities and possibly even their own secret monster dreams.
And he’s terrified.
Then, the prince is gone, out of sight with his friends, and Keith is left to scurry and catch up to Adam, Shiro at his heels.
Adam stops outside another door. “Your companion will wait outside. Come.”
Inside, there are curtains of fabric in all sorts of colors hanging from enormous spools high up on the walls and ceiling. Racks of thread in various weights and colors, some vibrant shades, some metallic stand like candelabras down the center of what might be a room or just a very wide, modified hallway. Sewing machines and looms up against the walls, vanities between, daises in front of each for a person to stand on for alterations.
From behind a sheet of sheer, aubergine fabric emerges another Altean with turquoise hair and scales, a chalk pen behind their ear, a two-fingered leather glove on their hand. As the Altean approaches, Keith realizes that it’s a thimble apparatus, to protect their fingers.
They look him up and down, frowning. “I’ll be honest, when I received your measurements, I thought they were having me on.”
“I’m afraid not.” Keith stuffs his hands in his pants pockets.
“Good thing I followed the measurements then.” And the Altean smiles. “I am Vetroneius, the greatest Seamsmaster Altea has ever seen. I have designed a wardrobe for you, including your wedding clothes.”
Keith sighs. “I suppose I should thank you.”
“Indeed.” Vetroneius takes him by the arm with a surprisingly gentle grip, leads him deeper into the forest of fabrics. “There’s a dressing room right through there.” They gesture to a small alcove. “Go ahead and get changed.”
Keith does as he’s told, taking the time to explore the fabrics, heavy with gold threads, red and black and white floral embroidery. The black shirt and pants are tight, his fur sent the wrong way as he drags the sleeves along his arms. Then there’s the brocade vest, with short tails in the front, long tails in the back, skin tight all the way to his hips. A gold belt. It takes him ages to do up the all the buttons, his nerves making his claws extend. Gods forbid he ruins this ridiculous outfit.
Looking in the mirror, braid drawn over his shoulder, all Keith can think is how out of place he looks, a scared Galra kit in Altean royal finery.
But today is not about him.
Vetroneius snatches him ticks later, drags him over to a dais to being making alterations, making the sleeves and pants a bit shorter and tighter at the ankles. They’re the one who shows him how to put the loops at the ends of his sleeves around his fingers so fabric covers the backs of his hands. The brocade adorning his sleeves from wrist to finger shimmers in the light with unfamiliar vegetation, and a small creature with a tail and four short legs on the right cuff catching his eye.
“Hey, what’s this thing?”
“Oh, it’s a salamander,” Vetroneuis explains. “A small, amphibious creature. Different varieties are found on different planets. Those found here are rare, and any species may have as few as two hundred specimens. They freeze over during winter, and then thaw in the spring, carrying on like nothing happened. Crown Prince Lancel requested it, saying that they were resilient and beautiful.”
Keith’s ears flutter, and he deliberately chooses not to think about it.
“And on this sleeve,” Vetroneius murmurs, "is the face of a lion, a creature only spoken of in legend, the only great predator Altea has ever known, extinct for tens of thousands of decaphoebs, still revered, immortalized by history and religion. Legend says they were loyal, honorable, unconquerable except by time. His Majesty the Crown Prince thought you might appreciate the personal touch.”
Keith stares at the beast on his left sleeve, the tiny outline stitched in such exquisite detail it looks like it might bite him.
“Why would he do that?”
“I imagine he thought you might like it.”
“Oh.” Frowning confused, Keith stares at the two tiny animals included in the fabric. Resilient. Beautiful. Loyal. Honorable… Unconquerable. He smiles for the first time since he arrived. “Hm.”
"Are you sure you wouldn't like something prettier?" Vetroneius asks, quickly rebraiding Keith's hair.
"No. It's meant to be like this."
"Altean men wear their hair short. It is our custom." Vetroneius' hand inches toward a pair of scissors.
"And it's my father's custom to never cut your hair!" Keith snarls.
"A braid it is, then," the Altean murmurs, trying their best for a smile. Keith looks away, already drained, knowing the worst is still yet to come.
Which is when Vetroneius grabs him by the wrist and slips gloves onto his hands.
“Woah, hey wait a second!” Keith snatches his hand away. “What are you doing?!”
“These are part of the ceremony. You-”
“Absolutely fucking not! They already took my sword,” Keith snarls. “Who the fuck do you think you are, making me-”
“Now listen here,” Vetroneius hisses. “My job is to make sure you’re dressed appropriately for an Altean wedding, not to make you comfortable. This is an important part of the ceremony and you will wear them.”
Keith narrows his eyes, spite rising to the surface. He’s had e-fucking-nough, patience snapping like stale bread. He silently holds out his hands, lets the Altean put them on for him.
“There. See? It’s not so-”
Keith extends his claws, tearing through the fine fabric like it’s paper, holding eye contact with the Seamsmaster.
“I. Said. No. Gloves.” He removes the torn fabric. “And that’s why.”
“How could you just-” Vetroneius turns helplessly to Adam, who’s apparently been lurking behind another sheet of fabric. “He just-”
The Attendant smirks. "Nothing you can do about it now."
"But-!"
“We’ll make do,” Adam murmurs, eyeing the scraps of fabric the other Altean is cradling in their hands. He still looks amused. “It's not like you can fix them.”
Vetroneius draws themselves up straight and tall, throws down the ruined gloves, storms out. Keith folds his arms, glares at the remaining Altean. "Seems I struck a nerve."
“They're very proud of their work." Adam rubs his forehead right where tension headaches form. "They've gone to complain to the kings.”
“Hm. Sucks.”
“Indeed.” Adam sighs, picks up a gossamer sheet of sheer, black fabric, attaches it to two clasps on Keith’s shoulders. “But you are ready, like it or not. Come with me.”
Adam leads the boy from the room, through another series of hallways, to a great room with columns decorated with floral garlands and glittering fabrics. Shiro is leaning against one of the columns, the picture of cooperation, a subtle readiness in his posture. Adam pauses a very respectful distance from the large Galra.
“You two can wait here for a bit,” he murmurs. “I understand that it is not comfortable, but it is quiet, and you will remain undisturbed for a time.” The attendant hesitates, knowing he is already toeing a line. “His Majesty the Crown Prince is quite eager to meet you, Lord Yorak. He sends his kind regards.”
The small future prince’s violet eyes glare at him even as they shine with fear. Adam observes the kit with new regard: pinned ears, sharp teeth just slightly bared, fingers flexing with protracted claws, a tail tense and swishing over the floor. Frightened, but ferocious. Willing and able to fight his way out of here at a moment’s notice.
Adam cocks his head to the side, reconsiders his original, less-than-impressed opinion. He takes a deep breath, takes a tiny step over that line.
“You will be just fine.”
And he believes it.
*Present Quintant*
Adam stares, awaits his orders, watching a young Galra prince dressed armor lean over the table in the situation room, sending directions to Altea’s limited planetside military. The familiar ferocity is blazing in his eyes, the same as on his first day here. He stands strong and unyielding. Everything Adam knew he could be and more, finally coming into his own, and he couldn't be more pleased about it.
He feels proud.
“We must assume that no help is coming,” Keith declares, taking a box from a servant. Inside is an ornate comb, which he slides into his coiled hair along with a pin to hold it in place at the back of his head. His blade is not in the scabbard at his back, but hanging from a loop on his belt, fully in sword form. There’s a salamander and a lion engraved into the pommel, circling one another.
"Make sure the towers are evacuated, and that everyone within the grounds is either organized to fight, of concentrated in these sections of the castle. They are most stable." Keith highlights several hallways on a schematic. Keen, collected, confident in his abilities.
“Adam, arm yourself and return quickly. I want you by my side.” The prince does not look up from his work.
Adam bows, honored and willing. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
He still believes it.