Chapter Text
“In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place: and in the sky
The larks still bravely singing fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.”
They buried the remnants of his memories on a cold moon, light years from Altea’s graveyard. The air was thin. Coran couldn’t catch his breath, although Allura seemed to have no troubles. Her eyes were fixed on the barren ground, dust and rocks.
“Princess…”
She ignored him, and lifted the spade, thrusting it into the ground. She didn’t move her gaze from the hole that began to appear. Coran wondered if she’d forgotten he was there.
Beside her, the broken glass and twisted metal sat, beyond all repair, beyond any magic that Coran knew of. And even if not - he had almost killed them all.
My king.
He lifted his shovel, but Allura turned on him, eyes like chips of ice in her stone face. “No.”
“Allura -”
“He was my father.”
Coran could have argued. Coran could have replied a thousand ways, and reminded her that he’d been there before she was born, that he’d buried her mother, that his children and grandchildren were gone as well, stardust and ashes in the endless sky.
But he kept his own counsel.
The skies of Altea were purple, and the first sun was rising in the north when Coran took Allura outside for the first time. “Look at that,” he sighed. “Isn’t that beautiful?”
The baby in his arms gurgled, and he tickled her chin. “Know what that is?”
She shook her head. Coran laughed. “That’s Zanis, the oldest sun. His brothers and sisters rise after he does, but he’s the king of the sky. We bow to him first.”
He looked down at her. Her eyes were fixed on Zanis, irises sparkling with gold and purple. “Zah?”
“That’s right!”
Behind him, far away from where Allura’s six-month-old eyes could see, the priestesses came in and closed her mother’s eyes. Coran fought the urge to turn and look. The queen had been sick for a long time. She wasn’t in pain anymore.
“Gah!” Allura’s teeth found his finger, chewing on it. He let her, then lifted her until she could see the sky and the royal city laid out underneath it.
“Isn’t it beautiful, princess? And guess what! When you’re grown up, it’s all going to be yours.”
Over the horizon, the second sun began to rise.
Coran had thought the paladins were all asleep, but as he moved back towards the castle, he saw a figure standing in the grand doorway.
“Coran? Is everything alright?” Lance asked, voice uncharacteristically quiet.
Coran wondered how he was supposed to answer that. The anger rose in his chest for a beat - but then he exhaled. “In a manner of speaking. Nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure?” Lance glanced past Coran. “It’s awfully cold out here.”
“We don’t feel it as badly as you do. It’s alright.”
Lance didn’t look convinced. “Should I -”
“No, no. Go back to sleep. You’ll need it if we run into any Galra tomorrow.”
“Well, alright.” But Lance kept taking nervous glances behind him as he disappeared back into the castle. Coran supposed he wouldn’t have admired the boy nearly as much if he hadn’t. But the paladins had families back on Earth. Living, breathing families. Theirs were gone.
She still has you. You still have her.
Coran just hoped that would be enough.
It was another hour before Allura was done. She limped back to the castle, exhaustion writ large on her face, and behind her, a twist of metal marked the grave. It was a symbolic gesture, Coran knew - they had no true monuments to erect to the last memories of their king, but they could try.
He refused to acknowledge the truth in his mind - that the monument would stand for a year, perhaps two, before the bitter air ate it away or the solar winds pulled away whatever was left of the atmosphere. It was easier to pretend - to believe in some semblance of permanence. That things didn’t fade, or wither, or die.
He didn’t trust his voice, so he just nodded to her. She attempted to smile back, and then like a dam had been breached, the tears began to fall. “C-Coran…” she whimpered, then anything else was lost in her sobs.
He ran forward and caught her as she collapsed. “It’s okay, Princess. We’ll be okay.”
“What do we do now?” she asked, burying her head in his shirt. “I don’t - I don’t know what to do!”
“It will come.”
“I’m not -” She fell silent again, shoulders shaking. Then - “Why me, Coran? Why did Father save me? Why not somebody who knows what they’re doing?” She was refusing to use past tense. Coran couldn’t bear to correct her. “I can’t do this, Coran...please…”
He exhaled, trying to keep his cool. The two of them would have plenty of time to grieve, later. “You don’t have to do it alone.”
“I can’t ask so much of them…”
“Then ask them if they want to leave.”
She shook her head, the muscles in her back tensing. “But then they will leave. And we’ll be alone again.”
Coran didn’t have an answer to that. Instead, he bent down and looped his arm under her legs, pulling her into his arms. “It’s going to be okay, Princess. I promise.”
Allura didn’t believe him. He knew that much. But she shrank into him anyway, exhaling slowly and closing her eyes.
He carried her into the castle. Lance was standing there again, and Coran ignored him, and his worried gaze. Coran had told him to leave.
All the same, staring down the massive, empty hallway of the place that had been home, he didn’t really mind.
“Coran! Coran, wake up!”
He opened his eyes blearily. There was a very excited face above him. Excited, brown and very, very close.
“Princess… what are you doing in my room?”
“Cosim let me in! You said you were gonna take us to the festival! ”
He snorted, and sat up, gently moving Allura off of his chest. She was maybe ten years old, still just a baby, and certainly not a princess yet. “Allura, you’re going with your father, aren’t you?”
Her face fell at that. “Oh. Well, I…”
“Her papa isn’t going,” interrupted Cosim from the door. His hair hadn’t been brushed yet, spiking up from his head in red clumps. “He sez its a...what was it, Lura?”
“A distraction,” she said quietly.
Coran rubbed at his eyes. “He doesn’t want to go at all?” Then a moment later, his mind caught up. Of course. Alfor had always gone with Feara. “Does your father know you’re here?”
“Mostly!”
“Mostly?”
Allura flushed. “He said I can always go to you! And you said too! So. Mostly.”
Coran supposed he couldn’t argue with that. “Well, alright. Cosim, go tell your father we’ve got an extra mouth to worry about.”
Cosim nodded, then barrelled over. “Papaaaa!” Coran shook his head with a laugh. His grandnephew was just like his father, all exuberance and energy and recklessness. He had no idea where they’d gotten it from, really.
He scratched at his mustache. “What are you most excited for at the festival, Princess?” he asked. Her face was still fallen and sad. Best not to let her dwell on it.
Her eyes glittered. “The dance of the first sun.”
The festival was bigger than it had ever been, and Coran watched Allura rush through the crowd with a warm grin. She and Cosim were up to mischief, he was sure, but they were good kids.
Although, perhaps since the last incident had ended in some drenched nobles and a slightly disastrous wedding, he shouldn’t be letting them run around quite so freely…
“Coran,” came a voice at his shoulder. He turned, and smiled as he realized it was Alfor.
“You’re late. Allura was rather upset.”
Alfor had the decency to look a little sheepish. “Thank you for taking care of her. I couldn’t bear to come.”
“You’re here now, aren’t you?”
Alfor glanced away. “I don’t… I missed so much of Feara’s last years. I can’t lose my daughter. Especially not to my own distractions.”
There was that word again. Distraction.
The music started to play, and Alfor watched with a wistful expression as the festival-goers began to form the pattern of the Zanis Dance. They would spiral around the courtyard, the old-timers knowing the steps by heart, the newcomers following along as best as they could.
Coran put a hand on his shoulder. “Go dance with your daughter.”
“I’ve already disappointed her -”
“I said, go dance with your daughter,” Coran said a little more firmly, and gave Alfor a push. “Or I’ll tell my wife -”
“You wouldn’t, ” Alfor replied with mock horror - then with a deep breath, ran forward to join the dance.
“Papa!” Allura clung to his hand, and Coran watched them with a sigh. Alfor was grieving still, but he’d get there. They all would.