Chapter Text
Galactic Coalition Base, Altea-Daibazaal Star System. Two deca-phoebs after Allura’s sacrifice.
After about half a varga Coran had tired of talking to foreign diplomats. He had fallen into the same pattern, allowing Merla to do the majority of the talking; she took naturally to matters of public speaking in a way that would have reminded him of Allura, were it not for the unsettling gleam in her eyes and tone. When the opportunity presented itself, he made a quick excuse about feeling a bit fatigued and excused himself to a corner of the room where he could watch the action comfortably. The crowd of people milling about before him were politicians, one and all; attired in their best, eating sort of delicately, and expressing false interest in others’ anecdotes. For some doboshes, he watched Merla talk to the newly-appointed king of the Olkari, thanking the Sages all the while that he had gotten away.
It wasn’t that he was unused to these sorts of functions; it was just that he had never been a leader at one of them. He had always stood some ways behind Alfor or Allura, making a comment here or there, and allowing them to do most of the work. It was a strange sort of a shift to be thrust into the spotlight—there was a depth of knowledge about how these proceeded, but a lack of feeling, a lack of heart. Perhaps that was because of what he associated diplomacy with—most likely it was that, mixed with the annoyance of his collar being just too stiff, and the expectation that he was to be the same. Being Altea’s first Prime Minister in these times was quite trying.
He was once again frustrated by the fact that Shiro and the others had been unable to come, but the Blades were busy helping planets on the fringes of the former Empire to rebuild and set up new governments, and the former Paladins, along with the others on the Atlas, had thought it an important task, and one that they could undertake easily. Of course, he had an entire planet to look after, and couldn’t go along. After a while, he became lost in thought, and eventually even lost sight of Merla among the diplomats. She was a capable second-in-command and had a natural talent for politics. If he’d had the energy for it, he would have been a bit jealous.
“Good evening.”
He was startled by a voice, and with it a presence, that he hadn’t noticed suddenly standing beside him. The voice belonged to a rather imposing Galran woman some inches taller than him, her head held high and her back rigid. She had appeared from nowhere, and now stood solid as though she were made of stone and anchored to the ground. Coran recognized her as Lotor’s governess—Dayak? But that was a title!—and remembered meeting her very fleetingly a terribly long time ago. Without meeting his eyes, she spoke. “I’m quite sorry for bothering you. I simply am vastly unacquainted with these people, and I was delighted to see a familiar face. Though you and I didn’t speak much then, did we?”
“Ah, no.” Coran shook his head. He was surprised she had remembered him, perhaps more so at the idea that she had so little knowledge or care for anyone else that she’d come straight at him. He scanned the crowd quickly, expecting to see Krolia or Kolivan nearby, but there was no sign of them. “Are you here with anyone else—Krolia, perchance?”
Dayak’s expression turned sour. “Oh, Brodar’s flame, no. They decided to go help the Blades at the last minute, told me I was ‘perfectly qualified’ for this sort of a task, and sent me on my way. I have since found out that I am not in the least qualified.”
Coran couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Well, that makes two of us.”
“Does it?” Dayak asked, an eyebrow raised, before changing the topic abruptly. “Your name is Coran, isn’t it?”
“Ah, yes, that’s me,” Coran answered, straightening his collar. It really was terribly stiff. “Prime Minister Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe of planet Altea, if we’re to be precise, but, ah, yes.”
Dayak’s face twisted into a sort of half-scowl, as though she was contemplating something. “Oh, that’s nice. Four names. I haven’t even got one, you know; I suppose I did at some point, but ten thousand years is a rather long time to keep track of little things like names, isn’t it?”
“I—” Coran didn’t quite know what to make of it. He swallowed hard, attempting to keep his confusion from seeping into his features. “—yes, I suppose it is.” What a disturbing prospect.
Dayak continued to look away from him; she seemed to refuse to meet his eyes. “Well, seeing as you have four names and I haven’t got even one, it’s only fair that I should take one of yours, don’t you think?”
“In what way?!” exclaimed Coran, taken aback. That was the last thing he had expected to hear at a political function of all things from a woman he barely knew—especially from someone like Dayak, who he remembered to have been very concerned with the Galran values of combat and honor. Perhaps she had meant it as a joke. From what little he knew of her, this seemed like an attempt at humor.
Clearly, his reaction had been the last thing Dayak had expected, and she seemed rather embarrassed. It was here that she made eye contact with him for the first time that evening. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she snapped, a slight flush on her cheeks. “I am not to be confused with those terrible people out there—” She inclined her head towards the crowd. “—who use all manner of subtext and implication to communicate. It’s rather tiresome.”
The initial shock having faded, Coran couldn’t help but agree. “Yes, it is. Everyone’s trying to manipulate everyone else. It’s an art, I suppose, and not exactly one I take well to. Merla—ah, she’s the one with the short red hair and the green and white tunic, over there—is much better at it than I am. It’s almost scary, you know.”
“Oh, it goes beyond that—all of them with their problems with everyone else that they just don’t want to settle. Rather than tearing each other apart like civilized people—” Coran almost choked on his drink. “—they resort to backstabbing, and gossip, and all of their dishonorable little tactics. I despise every bit of it.” Dayak scoffed, reaching for a glass of nunvill from a passing tray. “You would think that a coalition dedicated to keeping peace in the universe would be a bit more amiable amongst themselves.” She took a sip of the nunvill, twisted her face further, and peered down into the glass. “And this is almost as bad as the people.”
“Ah—that’s nunvill! It’s an ancient Altean drink—the ‘nectar of the gods’!” Coran pointed out eagerly. “I find it quite delightful, but in my experience, other people haven’t been very fond of it. Even Merla, can you imagine?” He shook his head. “She says they didn’t have it on the colony.”
Dayak had stiffened momentarily at the mention of the colony, but just as soon relaxed as much as the rigidity of her character would permit. She handed the cup of nunvill to Coran, shaking her head. “Well, I’m quite glad I never went to Altea, if this is the sort of thing you had. I don’t mean to offend you. But please, do enjoy it.” She nodded at him, as though expecting him to down the drink in one gulp.
Coran was Coran. He had very few reservations, even at such an event as this. As such, he did precisely as Dayak had expected, and was quite glad that Merla had not been there to see it. She was not above using the aforesaid subtext and implication to reprimand him, Prime Minister though he may be. He had the feeling that Dayak would find Merla dreadful. “So you must be fairly important to be sent as a replacement for the Galactic Representative and the Prime Minister. What’ve you been doing on Daibazaal? I haven’t got much of a chance to keep up with the Galran side of things; Altea’s been incredibly busy.”
“Oh, Daibazaal is terrible,” Dayak answered with very little pause in between his sentence and hers. She seemed determine to articulate her thoughts as clearly and honestly as possible, considering the present situation. “Everything is so disorganized. Apparently, I’m to be the ambassador to Altea, which Krolia was supposed to tell you tonight. But she’s not here, and I have to tell you myself. It feels dreadfully improper.”
Coran laughed, strange as it seemed. A moment of dreadfully improper informality amidst all of this was a welcome reprieve. “Well, I’ll be glad to have you,” he said, and grinned. “Ambassador, eh? Why aren’t you staying on Daibazaal, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Dayak let out a long sigh. “Krolia has her hands full, and I can’t stand being on the planet. Nothing about it feels right. Everything’s so chaotic, and there are too many people coming in all at once, not to mention the remnants of that awful Fire of Purification group. There is a part of me that feels as though I ought to stay, but…” She closed her eyes, reopened them, cast a glance at the assembled crowd, and sighed again, launching into an explanation. “…I can’t help but feel an obligation, a duty, to help Altea and its people after what happened on the colony. I would like to extend a formal apology to you on the late Emperor’s behalf. Yet words are not enough; they are best supplemented by action.”
“Oh.” Coran was surprised; he hadn’t expected that, of all things. “I—I don’t really know what to say. Thank you, yes, thank you very much. It means a lot, more than you know. And…” He looked away from her, Allura’s face flitting across his mind for a moment. “…I’m sorry about what happened to him.” Perhaps it was a formality on Coran’s part; the memory of Romelle telling her story—so dreadful a one!—still stung. Yet the memory of Lotor’s pleading with Allura did too—and his madness, the same madness that had been Honerva and Zarkon’s.
Dayak was not given a chance to respond to this, for it was then that Merla appeared behind her—in a very similar way as the former governess had just some doboshes ago—perfectly poised, her tunic crisp, a glass of something that certainly wasn’t nunvill held delicately in her hand. “Ah, Prime Minister,” she indicated Coran with a nod of her head. “I meant to come check up on you. Are you feeling better?”
“Ah—a bit, yes,” Coran answered, bending over slightly so as to see her better. “Merla, this is—Dayak; she’s going to come to Altea as the Galran Ambassador.”
Merla seemed to finally take Dayak in fully; a falsely delicate smile spread across her face and she nodded at the Galran woman. “Charmed.”
“Dayak, this is Merla,” Coran said, popping over between the two of them to better facilitate introductions. “She’s the Altean representative to the Galactic Coalition. My second-in-command. We’ll all be working together quite a bit in the future, it seems.”
“Well, I look forward to it,” said Merla, the smile still plastered on her face; it was the tight rosebud simper of a porcelain doll. She took a single sip from her glass, and her expression was not diluted even as she did. “Have you been to Altea before, Ambassador?”
Dayak was not yet the ambassador to Altea, and as such the premature use of the title bothered her. Her mouth twisted slightly—an action she was sure Merla took notice of, from the look of the girl’s sharp eyes—but she answered anyway. “No, I have not. Prior to the war, on Daibazaal, there was no occasion in which it would have been permissible for me to go.”
“Permissible?” Merla raised an eyebrow, studying Dayak with interest. “I’ve heard of the way the Galra treated those of your clan before the war; I can only imagine it became worse with it.”
“Worse? It is simply a fact,” Dayak responded, visibly confused.
“Well, facts can be good and bad. Their truth doesn’t make them less subject to moral judgement.” Merla took another sip of her drink, holding Dayak’s gaze over the crystal rim of her glass.
Dayak would have argued if it weren’t for Coran eagerly pointing out a plate of olives on a table some paces away. “Ah, look at that! Come over here; I want to show you something,” he said, beckoning Dayak and Merla to follow. “Ah, yes, these’ll do nicely. The Paladins once showed me this Earth film where they did a funny trick with these things—ah, Merla, are you done with that glass?” She seemed a bit surprised, but seeing as she was practically done, she finished the rest and handed it to him. “Ah, thank you very much.” He set down both Merla’s glass and his cup of nunvill, took three of the olives, and took on a very businesslike manner about the whole proceeding that followed. “Now, watch carefully. You see, you take one and throw it in the glass—” He did so. “—and the other, and do the same in the other glass—” He repeated the action, this time in Merla’s glass. “—and then you—” He placed the remaining olive on the back of his hand, slapped his wrist, and ate the thing while it was in midair.
It was met with applause from Merla, who was still grinning ear to ear. “Oh, that’s just dandy! But—” She clasped her hands off to the side as she proceeded. “—isn’t it supposed to be much more discreet? You know, more of a trick.”
Coran paused and thought for a moment. “Actually, yes, now that I think of it, it is supposed to be. But you never know—those humans and their strange ways.” He turned to Dayak, his eyes sparkling. He certainly looked happier than he had since their conversation had begun. “And you? What did you think?”
“It is terribly amusing, though I’m afraid I can’t see the point.”
“Ah, well, that’s just it, you see. It’s just for amusement,” explained Coran, handing Merla her glass, olive still sitting in it. As he continued speaking, her expression faltered momentarily and she handed the thing off on one of the floating trays that crossed the room. “On Earth, apparently they have all sorts of funny little jokes and things that they do just for laughs. I’m more of a fan of clever comedy myself, but these are quite jolly too.”
“Well, in any case,” Dayak continued, hoping to divert the subject as she truly didn’t understand it, “it seemed like it required a bit of dexterity and coordination. That was quite impressive, how you caught it in midair.”
Coran grinned, evidently pleased with such a compliment from the former governess. “Well, thank you very much! Would you like to try? I’m sure you could pull it off better than I could.” He offered her the plate of olives, awaiting an answer.
Dayak was quite taken aback. She had never taken such an action; it seemed incredibly foolish and sort of useless. “Well—I don’t know…” It wasn’t really for any sort of a productive reason, yet Coran’s kindness and praise were admittedly moving. She was going to be working with him once she went to Altea, wasn’t she—she had best start to be friendly now. And besides, it was a challenge; did she wish to back down? “Oh, fine. Victory or death!”
“Excellent!” Coran’s eyes lit up, and he turned to Merla, evidently going to ask her for the glass. When he didn’t see her holding it, he seemed more than a bit confused. “Ah—would you happen to know where you put that glass, Merla? We can’t get the full effect with just one, I’m afraid.” He laughed a bit, nodding towards the nunvill.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry; I put that on one of those trays—let me get a waiter.” She wove her way through the crowd towards Vrepit Sal, who seemed more than happy to provide her with a drink. Coran and Dayak watched her closely, noting how easily she carried herself and spoke in this environment—quite the natural.
“Well, she’s certainly interesting,” Dayak said after some moments, while Merla thanked Sal and began heading back. “I suppose she’s been quite handy as the Galactic Representative.”
“Yes, most of the time; not always, though. She and I do have our disagreements from time to time, and she’s very opinionated. Things stick with her. But she’s very good.” Merla reached them, raising the glass jubilantly as though in a toast. “Ah, excellent! Thank you.” Coran took the glass—thankfully empty, though he didn’t know how—and placed it on the table beside the cup of nunvill; then he stepped back beside Merla, watching expectantly as Dayak surveyed the olives.
This was an incredibly stupid thing that she was about to do, and she knew it. Yet on her honor, she had promised, and there was no going back. She braced herself against the surge of embarrassment that was to follow—oh, how glad she was that they were in a corner where no one would see them!—before taking up the three olives. In less time than Coran had done it, and with far more grace and discreetness, she had completed the task and stood there, breathless and flushing lightly, to the sound of Coran and Merla’s applause—the former’s far more vigorous than the latter’s.
“Oh, Brodar’s flame, please, let’s not get excited. This is ridiculous, all this fuss over one silly little—I don’t even have a word for that, do I?” She shook her head, noting the uncomfortably fast beating of her heart. “Is it going to constantly be like this on Altea?”
Coran laughed and shook his head. “Oh, no, definitely not; we’ve got all sorts of political things to be doing. Oh, but that was just excellent! Fantastic!” Dayak had half a mind to argue with him over it; yet something about his excitement was terribly endearing, so she bit her lip and said nothing.
***
As it turned out, Altea was like that. Not in the same sort of silly way—they weren’t constantly doing amusing tricks—but because they had all sorts of things built into their routine that made no sense to Dayak. Coran, for example, was very fond of taking tea at sometime in the afternoon, which he said was a thing they did in some places on Earth and he had found himself enjoying quite a bit. (Dayak herself was starting to believe that humans were at the root of all this frivolity.)
Dayak had stumbled across the tea routine by rather frustrating means. In attempting to ask Coran a simple question about the schedule during the week of the Vernal Equinox festival, she found she was unable to locate him in his office, and spent a thoroughly irritating half varga scouring the castle for him—whereupon she ran into Merla, who responded that the Prime Minster was taking tea in his study as he usually did at this time. Once Dayak ascertained the location of said study, she had gone and asked to enter, finding Coran sitting at a table, cup in hand, staring out the window. He looked up and met her eyes as she came in, hurriedly putting on a smile and asking her to sit, which she did with some awkwardness.
“So you just…sit here, and drink tea?” she asked, after having obtained the information she had sought after so desperately. This, like the funny trick with the olives, was just mind-boggling.
“Oh, yes,” responded Coran, setting down his cup—he had asked her if she wanted any, and she had declined quickly. “It’s rather calming, you know. Helps me sort out my thoughts.” His mood seemed heavy, despite his efforts to smile. Dayak related to it a bit too much, and it caused a strange interest to rise up within her.
She cast a glance out the window. Just beyond the walls of the capital, she could see rolling countryside and mountains—a stark contrast to Daibazaal’s already-cramped look. “I suppose it could be a pleasant experience,” she said, returning her eyes to his. “The area is lovely, so open and free. This is a very beautiful planet. It makes me miss the way Daibazaal used to look.”
“I suppose we both miss a lot of things,” mused Coran, taking up his teacup again. Dayak wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to that; it sank in her stomach, a heavy weight—one that she would rather not pay much attention to. As such, she was relieved when he returned the topic of conversation to the tea. “Are you sure you don’t want any? This is a really excellent one, too—from Puig.”
“Oh.” Dayak shook her head, smiling politely. “No, thank you; I ought to go back to work. Thank you very much for putting up with me barging in on you.” She rose from her chair, and was surprised when Coran looked almost sad to see her leave. Did he appreciate her company that much?
“Oh, it was no trouble,” he responded. “Really, not at all. It was quite nice to have some company. Merla doesn’t like tea, you see.” Dayak nodded and thanked him again, making her way towards the door, when he surprised her once more by starting up from his chair and saying, “If there’s ever any other questions you have, don’t hesitate to come and ask me.”
Dayak didn’t say anything for some moments, then mustered a smile through her surprise and said, “I won’t. Thank you again.”
Since that first occasion, she had taken him up on that offer several times. ‘Several’ meaning ‘many’, and ‘many’ meaning ‘so many that it was becoming almost a habit, and Merla referred to the tea hour as Coran and Dayak’s tea-time’. (Of course, that was Merla, and she was strange and had strange habits, but it was slightly unsettling for Dayak anyway.) Yet Dayak would admit—in private, to herself alone—that she quite enjoyed those hours spent over tea, hours that began to seem very fleeting. It got so that she would find obscure bits of Altean culture to ask him about so as to legitimize her visits—which greatly interested him, and caused his eyes to light up with that same energy as they had with that foolish trick. She even began to drink tea, as strange as it seemed; there were certain ones she had developed an intense distaste for and others she found perfectly lovely.
One particular afternoon they were discussing the upcoming Vernal Equinox festival, and Coran was telling her a most amusing story about Emperor Zarkon’s courtship of Honerva, when Merla entered without the two of them even noticing. Coran was in the middle of talking about how he and Alfor had followed Zarkon and Honerva to a dance performance, Dayak hanging on his every word and occasionally adding an “Ah!” or a “Do tell,” to supplement the conversation. Merla stood in the doorway for some moments, cleared her throat, stepped some ways in to the room and shut the door, cleared her throat again, moved so that she was hovering just above their table and then said, “Prime Minister,” which was what finally got their attention.
“Ah, Merla! I’m so sorry about not seeing you; I was, ah…” He gestured in an attempt to indicate what he meant, but soon shook his head and sighed. “So, what is it? Am I needed—oh, are we out of time already?”
Merla smiled a bit and nodded once. “Yes, sir, I’m afraid you are,” she responded. “You have a meeting with the king of Olkarion; it seems it’s rather urgent. He’s growing restless.”
Coran’s eyes widened. “You mean he’s already called?”
“I’ve had him on hold for five minutes, sir, while I was waiting for you.”
“Oh, ancients.” Coran bounded up from his seat, dashing across the room. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, just long enough to look back at Dayak and exclaim, “Remind me to tell you what happened after she left Kova with us!” and then disappeared, leaving Merla and Dayak staring blankly at the place he had just stood.
After a beat, Merla turned to Dayak with a smile. “The two of you have been spending a good deal of time together as of late,” she said. “It’s very good. You must truly enjoy each other’s company.”
That gleam in her eye was terribly unsettling, Dayak thought. “He makes excellent conversation,” came her response, with a tight smile and a nod. “I do enjoy his presence.” Seeing as there was no reason to keep sitting there, she rose, intending to go to her own office—only to be surprised when Merla followed her out into the corridor.
The young woman continued to speak, evidently trying to get at something. “You know, you’re the only person besides the Paladins I can recall him enjoying his time with so much. It’s very nice.” That smile had grown just as unsettling as the look in her eyes, which was all at once vacant and terribly strong.
“I’ll say it is,” Dayak said tightly. She breathed deeply, attempting to remain calm. She just had to stick this out until she got to her office, and then she could resume doing paperwork in peace. She hadn’t expected Merla to follow her, of all things—didn’t she have work to be doing, too? “Merla, aren't there things you ought to attend to?”
Merla laughed—a short, quick laugh, but it heightened that glimmer in her eyes for just a moment. “Oh, yes, you’re right. I’m so sorry. I just wanted to make sure you knew that I think it’s absolutely wonderful that the two of you enjoy each other’s company so greatly. I do hope you continue taking tea together. It’s very heartwarming.” She smiled wide; something in that suggested an ulterior motive to Dayak—what it was, she couldn’t be sure. She stood and watched as Merla turned and went down the corridor in the opposite direction, still carrying that effortless, natural air about her.
***
“—right, yes, but since it’s a hypothetical higher-ranking person—”
“No, you’d still use ikre, not ikrak. You’re the Prime Minister; to address someone as being above you is an insult to your own honor. If you demean yourself, no one will take you seriously.”
Coran looked up from the paper he was jotting this all down on—the colonial Alteans seemed very fond of paper, as their technology was limited, and it seemed to have spread to the Prime Minister—and raised an eyebrow at Dayak. “I’ll never understand why Ancient Galran has so many different ways to say you, and all for different reasons. It’s fascinating, sure, but ancients, there’s so many! And I still don’t understand ikrenov.”
“That one is for loved ones,” Dayak responded, taking a sip of her tea. “When I taught the language to the prince, he used that to address me. Isn’t that…” Her smile faltered for a moment. “…isn’t that so sweet?”
“Very,” responded Coran, that same distant thing in his eyes.
“In any case.” Dayak set her teacup down, pointing to what Coran was writing in an attempt to change the subject. “You ought to add that -nov is the honorific for endearment, just like -rak is for higher-ranking persons. It can be used for names and titles, too. Empress Vrig the Great was reported to have called the Altean Princess Ara by that honorific.”
Coran’s eyes twinkled at the mention of those names. “Ah, yes, I remember hearing rumors that they might have had some sort of a love affair going on.”
Dayak raised a single eyebrow, pouring herself more tea. “They were married.”
“Married?!” Coran’s jaw dropped open, and his knee collided with the underside of the table—which proved very unfortunate for his (thankfully empty) cup. “I never—no one said—how is that possible? Not a soul I’ve met ever said a word about that!”
Dayak decided against mentioning their adopted son and daughter, too. “Well, it was all done under Galra law, and was therefore much more discreet. During that time, what with all the nonsense on both their planets thanks to Queen Tedusia and Lady Vaktor, it would have been political suicide to publicize it, not like with Zarkon and Honerva.”
“Ah, good old Queen Tedusia—we’ve never forgotten about that one,” Coran joked. “Though I don’t know a thing about Lady Vaktor.”
“Vrig killed Vaktor’s son, so she wanted revenge, and they duelled to the death. Vrig won, Vaktor’s severed head became a famous Galra relic, and then it was ‘accidentally’ left behind on Daibazaal when all the citizens were evacuated.”
“…you kept her severed head.”
Dayak looked at him as though he were out of his mind. “Well, yes, of course. It was only proper, to legitimize Vrig’s rule. That’s why she’s referred to as Vrig the Great, among a multitude of many other much more complicated and nuanced reasons.” She cast a glance down to the shattered remains of the teacup on the floor, and—in a splendid display of changing her train of thought—asked, “Don’t you need a new cup? And you ought to be sure to get that cleaned up.”
“I’m all right without the tea; I can get someone to do that when I leave. Please keep telling me about the conjugations for the verbs; I’ve got the -er endings written down but not the -ar.” Coran read over the scribbles on his paper, lines of modern-day Galra script running across the page. Writing in Ancient Galran was a different matter altogether, seeing as the writing system was far more intricate than the present alphabet—which had emerged some twenty-five thousand years ago, when Galran and Altean languages had morphed into dialects of the same system-wide tongue.
“-Ar is the same as -er; one simply swaps out the e’s for a’s,” instructed Dayak, leaning forward on her elbows to check his work. Coran had discovered a great many things today, but one of the most interesting was that the former governess had a gift for being able to read upside down. “It’s very exciting that you have interest in learning Ancient Galran; it’s a dead language at this point, and I think I’m one of the last people who could teach anything about it to anyone else.”
“Oh, it’s lovely. I’d show you a bit of Old Altean in exchange, but that had been out of use for millennia even when I was young, and was only used in religious ceremonies. I can still remember some of the prayers, but not terribly well.” Coran grinned, setting down his pen and attempting to recall pieces of them. “Ah, it’s been far too long. I can remember the feeling of them on my tongue, but I don’t think I remember actual words. That’s a shame.”
“Do you think there would be records—something you could use to learn it again? You mustn’t let it die. I would be quite interested in learning it, if ever you wished me to,” said Dayak, taking up her teacup. She had a very particular way of drinking tea, Coran had noticed; she kept her back perfectly rigid, her shoulders stiff, and maneuvered the teacup mostly using her wrists.
He nodded, watching as she set the teacup down once more. “Oh, yes, I should say there’d be something. I’m not terribly sure how useful it’d be, but we’ll see. The use of the language was limited even in Queen Tedusia’s time; she wouldn’t let anyone use the ‘sacred tongue’ outside of religion.”
“Your Queen Tedusia sounds like a piece of work.”
Dayak had said this so nonchalantly, with such a look on her face, that Coran couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, she was, by the ancients—and she’d have my head for that. Though I’m sure Vrig the Great had her faults—those called ‘the Great’ usually do.”
“Vrigrak was—” Dayak began, but was cut off by Merla swooping into the room—swooping was really the only way to describe the action she took, that smooth, continuous motion that made it seem as though the doorframe and her body were simply one long line. Dayak had the sneaking suspicion that she had lingered in the corridor for some doboshes, hand on the knob, waiting for her entrance. “Oh, is it time already, Merla?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it is,” she said, almost apologetically—an act, Dayak knew. “Prime Minister, you and I have Coalition paperwork to attend to, and Ambassador, you have a meeting with Krolia and Kolivan. Oh, and I’ll send someone down to clean up that poor broken cup.” Dayak and Coran had almost forgotten about the sad thing, and now seemed rather reluctant to leave it in Merla’s hands.
Even so, they rose and resigned themselves to parting. Before they went their separate ways in the corridor, Coran whirled around towards Dayak and said, “By the way—the Vernal Equinox festival is just around the corner, and I was wondering if you’d like to join us—ah, myself and the Paladins, that is. And Merla, too, if she’ll put her paperwork aside for a day.”
“Oh, well.” Dayak hadn’t expected an invitation to go with him; it was only proper that she should accept. “I would be honored. Thank you very much. I shall look forward to it.”
“Ah, excellent. I will, too. I’m so glad.” Coran smiled at her again, giving her a last wave good-by before she went off down the corridor towards her office. As he and Merla came towards the stair, he carried with him a strange kind of soft exuberance—the beginnings of something that Merla recognized immediately.
“Prime Minister, sir,” she began, as they ascended the staircase, “I was telling the Ambassador the other quintant that I’m so glad to see the two of you spending so much time together. It’s very nice to see you growing close to someone other than the Paladins, seeing as they’re so frequently attending to business elsewhere, though they do make sure to keep up correspondence. I think it’s very sweet.”
Coran blinked some times as though attempting to comprehend what Merla had said. “Oh, yes—she’s really lovely. How did she take you commenting on that?”
Merla had not anticipated this question, and as such her eyes went wide and she looked away. “Oh, she…” She shook her head, that terrible smile still on her lips. “…I think she was a little embarrassed. But she was very sincere when she said that you make excellent conversation. I think she’s quite fond of you.” She then seemed to recall something abruptly, and continued, “Oh, sir, I wanted to ask you—I was going through some of the Atlas’s archives from the old Castle of Lions, and I came across something referencing a ‘Forlongian brill hat’. That’s something from ancient Altea, correct? What precisely—”
Coran’s face had suddenly gone very rosy, much to Merla’s feigned surprise. “Well, Merla, it’s—ah, it’s part of traditional Altean courting vestments…” He cleared his throat and fixed his posture, attempting to drive away his initial shock. “And, ah, why, might I ask, are you bringing this up…?”
“Oh, sir, I didn’t mean to fluster you,” apologized Merla. “I merely was a bit confused. Oh, I’m terribly sorry, and I do hope you’ll accept my sincerest apologies.”
“Ah…” Coran shook his head, attempting a grin. “That’s…quite all right, Merla, no harm done there. Ah, well.” He absentmindedly fiddled with the collar of his jacket, attempting to give himself something to do. “What say you to forgetting about all of that now that you've got clarification? We've got piles of work to attend to.”
She nodded, the smile pulling back and revealing her pearly teeth. “Of course, sir,” she responded, and continued up the stairs.
***
The first day of the Vernal Equinox Festival was bright and cheery, as it ought to be. The hills around the capital had been painted over with a coat of juniberry pink, a testament to the season’s blossoms, and in the streets of the capital, the sounds of music and talk rose above the crowd, a great cloud of sound. Vendors, selling wares from roadside stands, called to potential patrons and gladly participated in the theatricality, while the crowd itself seemed to come alive like the chorus of a play. People were brightly attired, clothes crisp and fresh in preparation for the day, and looked around them in wonder, starry-eyed. On the colony, their festivities had never been on this scale, and it seemed terribly grand, too good to be true.
As they made their way through a particularly thick crowd, Dayak attempted to tell Coran over the din of the festivities, “It still seems terribly strange to me that, as Prime Minister, you should come down here and mingle with the rabble yourself!”
“What?!” he asked, some paces ahead, unable to hear her as a small marching band passed them.
Dayak grimaced and pushed past several people, who barely seemed to notice that she was there, and came up alongside Coran again as the crowd thinned out. “I was saying that it’s strange that you’re—you’re out here,” she said, gesturing to their surroundings. “You’re the Prime Minister; I would have expected something…different.”
Coran shrugged. “It’s not really too big a deal here,” he explained, “and anyhow, Alfor used to come down and mingle with the crowd too.”
That was more unusual, thought Dayak, though that was the point. “I know; you told me so in the story about Honerva,” she responded, half irritably—that wasn’t his fault, of course, it was simply this terrible crowd. She turned around and scanned it, hands on her hips, and furrowed her brow when she didn’t see the young Galactic Representative. “Well, look at that. I do believe we’ve lost Merla.”
Coran shrugged, as though this was not an unusual occurrence. “I’m not too worried about her. She’ll find her way back to us.”
“Of course, we’re trying to find our way to your friends the Paladins,” responded Dayak, exasperation deepening. “It is most irritating that the crowds should be this impassable, and that the docks should be inconveniently positioned in relation to the castle. Who designed this city?” She gave a loud huff and crossed her arms, looking entirely displeased. The festival seemed as haphazard and frivolous as everything else she’d experienced on this planet.
“My grandfather,” said Coran, and Dayak inwardly cringed at herself. Right. What an excellent coincidence—she would have been killed for a coincidence like that among the Galra. Had she forgotten, in this short time, how to hold her tongue? “You see it’s actually a replica of a city he designed on the old Altea, that was commissioned by Queen Tedusia. So it’s not really my grandfather’s fault that it’s so poorly laid out.”
Dayak released a breath she’d been holding and allowed herself to relax as much as she could. “Oh, of course. There’s the artist, and then there’s the artist’s boss who takes no greater enjoyment than in cutting things out and making a patchwork of their vision.” She wasn’t at all surprised that it had been Queen Tedusia, and was rather thankful too. To remedy her earlier statement, she quipped, “Well, it’s rather charming, I should say. Very…” Searching for an adjective should not have been this hard. “…artsy. Yes, it’s quite artsy.”
She and Coran continued on through the crowds—which were much thinner now, as most people were heading into the center of the city where the festivities were loudest and most extravagant. Coran did not seem in the slightest ruffled by her comment; he seemed to understand that she hadn’t known and didn’t mean it personally. That bothered her more than anything else; it was a grave sin among her own people. “I don’t like the city as much as I like the castle, though,” said Coran, continuing right on as if nothing had happened. “It’s my grandfather’s greatest achievement, and he had considerably more freedom in its design. After all, you technically need only one Sage-shrine in a castle, you know?” He chuckled. “Queen Tedusia was known for going a bit overboard.” Dayak could tell. “Did I tell you that her wedding went on for an entire phoeb?”
“What?! How did she manage that?” asked Dayak, genuinely confused. “On Daibazaal, we just swore eternal loyalty in front of a shrine to S’tèr-amanrak—the sun goddess I told you about. Or any kind of flame, in the case of my clan, because we weren’t allowed near most of the shrines.” Coran’s eyes had widened greatly. Right; Dayak had forgotten that her clan’s treatment was considered awful by most other cultures. “In—in any case, it was a very quick and easy process once you got to it. A quick prayer and then you were married."
“Oh, discussing marriage, are we? How wonderful! My congratulations!”
Dayak and Coran turned around to find Merla standing there and grinning ear to ear, in one hand holding a cup of some kind of fried, tentacled treat, and in the other a candle shaped like Zarkon’s head. “Many apologies for getting lost,” she said, bowing as much as she could without spilling the tentacle things, “but I was intrigued by some of the things they were selling. Look at this!” She raised the candle. “It’s shaped like Zarkon’s head so that when you light it, his face melts. It’s a terribly jovial little thing, if I do say so myself.” She paused just long enough for Dayak to consider scraping together some kind of a statement about the significance of candles and their flames in Galra culture and how this was a rather offensive thing, and then continued. “I couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying! Many congratulations on your upcoming marriage, then.”
“Oh—” Coran waved a hand in the air, his face beet red. “—ah, no, Merla, I think—ha, I think you might have misunderstood—”
“I am not engaged to the Prime Minister,” said Dayak tightly, attempting to ignore the flush tingling her cheekbones. “Nor are we currently occupied in the business of courtship.” Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she found Coran still looking utterly mortified by Merla's comment, fumbling for his composure. That was a terrible way for the Altean Prime Minister to act in public.
Merla looked almost disappointed, though it still had that edge of being falsified. “Oh, that’s too bad. You two would make a most attractive couple.”
It took Dayak a moment to realize that she was actually biting her lip to keep herself from saying anything. Merla was incredibly irritating. “For your information,” said Dayak, “as the late Emperor’s governess I would have been put to death if any word of my romantic involvement with someone was leaked, truth or not. As such I’d rather you didn’t joke about these things, Merla.”
“…put to death?!” Coran’s expression had changed rather quickly from one of the utmost embarrassment to one of utter horror. Dayak supposed it wasn’t worth explaining all of the history and context behind that particular custom. Though some of the things that people on Altea had been put to death for in the past certainly made her head spin in a similar way.
Merla’s eyebrows had gone so high they almost met her hairline. “Oh. Well, that’s certainly something,” she replied—and though Dayak didn’t know what precisely was the proper way to respond to a statement like the one she had made, Merla’s definitely wasn’t it. “I’m terribly sorry for assuming, Madam Ambassador. Now, it’s getting towards noon, and we’re going to be late for the Paladins if we don’t hurry.” She took the lead with a spring in her step, leaving Coran and Dayak walking side-by-side a few paces behind.
Dayak glanced at the Prime Minister out of the corner of her eye and raised a single eyebrow. “She is truly beginning to get on my nerves,” she muttered, hoping that Merla hadn’t heard her. (Though, knowing Merla, the odds of that were very slim.)
“She’s, ah…” Even Coran couldn’t seem to come up with a proper defense of his second-in-command this time, and therefore quickly changed the subject. “Was that really the case—what you said about being put to death and all?”
“You say that as though you haven’t fought the Empire itself,” said Dayak. “You saw how they all were. Is it truly that surprising to you?"
"I mean, when you put it that way, sort of,” Coran said, a sheepish look forming on his face. “That’s sort of a shame, though. I mean, you’re rather likeable.”
“Well, I ought to return the compliment,” said Dayak. All of those vargas spent over tea had given her an impression of the Prime Minister that was more than just rather likeable, even for all of his frivolity. “I thank you, too, for being so welcoming to me when I arrived. I hadn’t expected to enjoy my time here so much.”
There was a true, sincere smile spreading across his face. “I’m glad,” he responded. “There’s still a lot to see during the festival! I’ve actually made a list of all the big things I want to show the Paladins and Merla, and you, of course.” He pulled up a holographic screen and scrolled through lines of tidy Altean characters marching across the page. It was a full inventory—Dayak hadn’t expected that of him, and was most approving. Oh, that was an excellent and terribly refreshing thing to see!
“Well,” said Merla, tossing a look over her shoulder from some paces ahead, “I’m sure they’ll be very interesting to explore, provided we actually do get to the Paladins. I suppose you ought to pick up the pace. Come! It seems it’s close to noon; let’s not be late!”
Dayak grated her teeth at yet another fantastic display of insubordination on Merla’s end, but ultimately decided to ignore it as they neared the docks, Coran eagerly pointing out attractions he wanted to show off. He had put a lot of work into this festival as the Prime Minister, she knew, and no doubt it was bringing back memories of the old Altea and of Allura. In a very tragic way his manner then appeared sort of impressive, though she did believe that pushing one’s feelings aside was a most cowardly route to take. She sighed. This was going to be an excellent festival, and she wanted to make sure of it.
They reached the docks, and found all five former Paladins already assembled there, talking amongst themselves. When Coran took sight of them, he let out a whoop and dashed off towards them, leaving Dayak and Merla walking awkwardly side-by-side behind him. There was a very loud and spectacular group hug that ensued, which—thankfully—the two of them were not privy to. If there was one thing about humans that Dayak would absolutely never understand, it was the group hugs.
When that was over, Coran cleared his throat and gestured to Merla and Dayak. “Ah, Paladins, I think you’ve all met Merla and Dayak already—ah, except you, Keith; you haven’t met Dayak.”
“I’ve heard of her,” said Keith, raising an eyebrow. Dayak had heard that he was half-Galra, but he certainly didn’t look it. “Lotor’s na—governess, right? And now you’re the Galra ambassador to Altea.”
She nodded. “Yes. It’s very good to see you all again,” she said, turning her attention to the rest of them, “especially you, Yellow Paladin.” Upon being addressed, he gave her a look, as though he was still wary of her. She recalled that he had run out of the room after abruptly leaving his training—which was a terrible insult to her honor as a governess—and had then proceeded to put it to good use. She raised an eyebrow at him, keeping her expression borderline disdainful. “I’m not going to hold you to that fight to the death. I heard about what happened at the shielding station, and how you put my teachings to good use,” she continued, allowing a note of approval to enter her tone. Hunk, of course, looked much relieved. “I’m quite happy.”
Lance, standing next to Hunk, burst out into laughter. “Oh, yeah, that’s right—I remember all that, and how Lotor was so embarrassed when I said you were his nanny—”
“—governess. Palen-bol.”
“—ow, right, yeah, governess.” Lance rubbed the side of his head, half out of a sheepish embarrassment and half because, even without that fearsome-looking instrument, Dayak could really pack a punch. “How the heck did you know about the shielding station, though? We, like, never saw you again.”
Merla opened her mouth to speak, but thankfully, Coran hurriedly swooped in before any rumors about engagements that had no basis in reality could leave her mouth. “Oh, ah, Dayak and I like to sort of…ah, hang out, and swap stories together. We’ve developed a bit of a routine, actually.”
“Quite a routine,” said Merla, finding an opportunity to butt in with that terrible, charming smile.
“I have heard much about your exploits as Paladins,” said Dayak, hoping to draw attention back to the topic at hand and deny Merla any kind of spotlight for her nonsense. “The flattering, the not-so-flattering. You are certainly…characters.”
They all looked around at each other, and then burst out into laughter. Dayak was quite taken aback; they were a rather perplexing bunch of people! (They were humans, of course, she reminded herself. Humans liked perplexing things like tricks with olives and teatime.) Coran joined in their buoyant laughter, which at once caught her eye; it was a rather surprising thing, and quite nice to see, when previously she had noted the sadness about him, or the way he seemed to put it off. She smiled—just a bit.
The laughter was eventually broken by Merla’s own tinkling, metallic resonance rising above the others. She looked around at them and flashed that smile again, the kind full of teeth that she was wont to give to diplomats, and said, “Well, now that introductions are all taken care of, I suppose we’ll be off? The Prime Minister has many things that he wishes to show us. This festival has been a great effort on his part, and one, might I say, not at all in vain.”
There was a long moment where Dayak realized that her smile had turned downwards and morphed into a terrible expression of distaste—and that Merla, with those sharp eyes, had definitely noticed. She stiffened, making an attempt to snatch at her composure. Thankfully, any attention Merla may have been focusing on her was turned away when Coran pulled up his inventory and said, “Ah yes, here we go! I’ve got a great list of things to do—the performance by the Wizblerian dancers is soon and not too far off, if you’d like to see that. I went to a rehearsal last movement, and they did excellent things with their costuming, if I may be frank.”
Lance shrugged. “Sure. That sounds cool.” The rest of the former Paladins all made similar indications of their agreement, and so the party set off. The theatre proved to be rather close to the docks in a way that Dayak cursed Queen Tedusia yet again for, and was rather a sight to behold in and of itself.
It was cut into a hill, with the stage itself at the base and lines of stairs descending downwards towards it. Stone seats lined the hillside, and could be discerned as not being stairs by their long, unbroken uniformity. People filled them already, but even so, Coran could find some seats near the top where he had the group file in and sit down. Dayak pointedly allowed Merla to go before her, thinking to herself that it would be a most unpleasant experience to be crowded next to her the entire performance. Somehow, she found herself seated on the aisle next to Coran, who was eagerly pointing out aspects of the architecture that he said were taken from the way all ancient theatres had been built.
He was in the middle of talking about the ornamentation on the domed back wall when Dayak’s eyes lit up with recognition. “Oh, I see. That actually seems to have taken inspiration from the way the Galran gladiator rings were built very long ago. Fascinating how such things turn out.”
“Ah, yes, I remember Honerva saying something about that at some point after going to Daibazaal,” said Coran in response, “and also talking about how aspects of their interior decoration reflected Altean tastes of the time. It was quite a conversation. A long time ago, before all this…” He looked at her, something bright and sincere shining in his eyes. “...there was so much we shared, so much that passed between us. I wonder…”
The words fell from her mouth like dew from leaves, quiet beneath the swirls of music that had begun to rise from the orchestral pit. “...if in this new era, our peoples will be similarly united,” she finished for him, “even for all of our differences. I believe…”
Something tightened in her chest as she looked at him–for a moment he felt like someone she had known for all her many lifetimes, and yet someone completely new. As though she saw him for the first and the last time simultaneously, she held his gaze and he held hers. “...I believe we can.”
***
It was late at night, after all the food had been eaten, and the alchemic lamps that hung in the sky were burning low, indicating the hour. Even for this, the Paladins’ boisterous laughter went on undaunted, if made a little drunken by the festivities.
Coran had shared dinner with them many a time. From the first quintants on the old Castle of Lions–with that absolutely unforgettable food fight–to their memorials for Allura, and their increasingly more frequent postwar get-togethers, he had laughed with them and partaken in that conversation until he had memorized the steps of the dance to perfection. Of course, knowing the Paladins, someone was always like to throw a wrench into the usual progression of things, and more often than not it was Coran himself. He enjoyed the variety.
Variety, this evening, had been personified in their two guests. Merla had readily joined in the conversation, proving herself to be as witty when informal as she was when charming diplomats. She had quickly begun a discussion of current events with Shiro, who continued it animatedly. Some seats away from her, Dayak had proved to be her uptight, sober opposite; she deflected Lance’s joking comments and Pidge’s questions with the air of someone very experienced indeed. She ate little, and as the evening wore on seemed to carry a heavy tiredness about her. Coran found himself engaged in conversation with her, or otherwise extending their long-debated topics to the rest of the group, receiving a chorus of passionate inputs in response.
It was now nearing the second varga of the quintant, past midnight, and the Paladins had one by one trickled off to bed. Shiro was, to Coran’s surprise, the last to go, thanking Merla for an engaging conversation and bidding the rest of them good night. This left Merla, Dayak, and Coran seated around the table, watching globules of wax drip off the Zarkon-head candle and obscure its features. The flame flickered softly, in great contrast to the blue-toned lamps above them, and cast a glow across their faces, painting each with an almost searing warmth.
“So,” Coran said lightheartedly, looking around at the two women, “did you enjoy the festival?”
Merla grinned again, that same pearly smile as always. “Oh, ever so much,” she responded. “It was so exciting. To think that you had such grand celebrations every year on the old Altea…I can’t imagine how invigorating that must have been. Why, I could have watched those dancers for movements. And the food–oh, everything was so lovely. We must do this again next year.”
Coran smiled deeply. It warmed his heart to know that Merla had enjoyed the festival so much, when it had been the highlight of the deca-phoeb for him when he was young. He had known so many of those festivals, all different superficially but the same at the core of it all, and being able to have them enjoyed once again…it was as though a great wish had been granted. “I’m so glad! And you know, you’re right, those dancers were even better than I remember them being, or at rehearsal. It was quite the show.” He turned to Dayak, who was running a finger over the rim of her glass with a frown, looking absentminded. “And you, Dayak? What did you think?”
She looked up, surprised. It was unusual, he thought, for her to be unaware of her surroundings. Concern flared in the back of his mind, but he told himself to ignore it until he was given some other reason to be worried. Perhaps, after all, she was simply tired. “Oh,” she said, and met his eyes. There was a strange softness in them, one he had not seen before. “It was…well, it was…” Fumbling for words; that couldn’t be good. “Well,” she resumed, leaning forward on her elbows, “to be frank, it made me think. I couldn’t help but look at all of it and be reminded of the days before the war…and of all the things we took from you.” Across the table, Merla’s expression darkened momentarily, but Coran barely noticed it. Dayak was speaking with great sincerity, and he couldn’t turn from her. “When one is surrounded by war, by the aftermath of hatred, for so long…it can be hard to remember that there were times of great beauty before. Times that…” She trailed off, but all present understood.
And then, with that same earnest, blunt energy, she resumed again. “I think it was beautiful. What you lost–what we took from you–you’ve reclaimed and rebuilt. I think it is very beautiful indeed. I only wish that the circumstances weren’t as they are.”
In an action that surprised even himself, he took her hand. She seemed almost shocked by the action, to the point that he was afraid he’d made a mistake, but she did not pull away. She remained there, steady and strong as he had learned she could be. “Thank you,” he told her, a bit more emotionally than he would have liked. “And–you know–just as there were times of great beauty before, I do believe there will be times of great beauty after. That’s what this festival is all about, after all.” He looked over at the vase of juniberries on the table, and she followed his gaze. The flowers glowed a soft, deep pink in the dimness, untouched by the evening dark. “Every spring, the juniberries come back. No matter how hard or long the winter is, they bloom again, every year as vibrant and beautiful as they were. Maybe more so. Once again, through death…” He swallowed thickly to repress the sob building in his chest, as he thought of Allura, of the old Altea, of all that had been turned to ash in those ten thousand years. “...we reach life anew.”
There was a beat of nothingness, and then he felt her squeeze his hand. He turned to look at her, but she was staring at the juniberries in the vase, absorbed in her own thoughts. Something about her was strongly melancholy, heavy with the knowledge of all that had been lost. “I have never seen a juniberry before this,” she said. “After all was restored, they grew across Daibazaal, but I didn’t have the chance to see them before they were razed to make room for my people. They are more beautiful than I could have imagined. And I think…” She met his eyes then, a subtle light reflected in them from the candle and the lamps. And he held her gaze as surely as he held her hand, almost fearing to let go. “...you’re right. It comes again. Light out of the darkness, spring out of the winter. Hope out of despair.”
Merla butted in with a chuckle. “You’re starting to sound like a regular ancient Altean philosopher.”
Coran found it so true that he couldn’t help letting out a laugh in response, as wholly inappropriate as it seemed for the conversation. Dayak’s face twisted as though she had tasted something sour. “Oh, I can’t help it,” said Coran, “Merla’s right. That’s one of the things about Altean philosophy; they always talk about how the juniberries bloom again. As a metaphor, of course; you’ve certainly touched on the mainstay of it.”
He watched Dayak’s expressions change, as though he could feel the thoughts pulsing behind her eyes. And in the end the corners of her mouth turned up in the slightest of smiles, so thin and little that it could barely be discerned in the candlelight. But it was there. It was there, and something about it put a heat in Coran’s cheeks that had nothing to do with the flame that flickered merrily beside him.
“Well then,” she said. “I suppose we’re all juniberries.”