A/N: I do not own Voltron or Anastasia.
It was June
I was ten
I still think of that day
Now and then
A parade and a girl
And a crowd of thousands
She sat straight
As a queen
Only eight but so proud and serene
How they cheered
How I stared
In that crowd of thousands
It was fate, he would decide later. He would refuse to acknowledge it- toy around with it the darker corners of his mind- but he knew. He would know from that very moment as he sat with his mother, raised above the crowd on that cushy platform. It was the anniversary of the creation of Voltron- the only one of which he would clearly remember- when it happened. When Lotor met her.
"Here she comes," his nursemaid had whispered to him, running a gentle hand- something he had never experienced from anyone but her- through his silver locks. "Princess Allura."
Lotor had lazily looked down, his tired eyes fighting against the glare of the summer sun. Below him was a crowd of thousands from every corner of the galaxy… and in the middle, where the crowd split like parted sea, was Allura.
His father, when he was in one of his more enchanting moods, had told him there was a string that connected destined people together. The red string of fate, he had called it, as he looked lovingly toward his mother's laboratory. It was on this morning, as the glaring sun rolled into the sky, that Lotor finally believed him.
His legs moved without his permission as he stood from his chair, sweat beating on his forehead. His breath came suddenly fast and ragged. Something wild filled his veins as he broke into a run, his nursemaid's cries fading as he got closer to her.
Allura sat straight, her ocean-like eyes fixed ahead, her dainty hands folded in her silk-covered lap. A word appeared on his lips, but he choked it down in favor of her name.
"Allura..." he whispered. The syllables slipped off his tongue like a prayer.
"Allura!" he said louder. The crowd around me was going wild at the sight of their princess.
"ALLURA!"
The world stopped. Stopped, took a breath, and then started turning once more. The young princess, above the roaring crowd, inclined her graceful head to face him. Eyes locked- the golden sun meeting the endless ocean- and the string between them was created.
Feeling as though he had been stabbed through the heart, Lotor reached out his hand, his young legs tiring from trying to keep up with the girl. "Allura!" he called again.
And then, as if the heavens were opening up above her, the princess's eyes lit up as she curled her lips upward into a smile.
His limbs suddenly turning to rubber, Lotor stopped dead in his tracks. Beautiful, the word ghosted across his mind. Before he knew it, he was on his knees- something he had sworn never to do except in the presence of his father- as he bowed.
Allura, if she knew about his planet's customs, did not let her surprise show as she turned once again to face the horizon. Lotor remained there, stupefied, his nursemaid distantly calling to him.
With the sun in his eyes, Princess Allura was gone.
"Zarkon, old friend."
Alfor greeted his father as if their bitterness was but a memory. Perhaps at the moment, Lotor thought, it was. His mother had discovered a new metal, one which had been brought out of the alternate reality within the rift. Within the metal was the fossil of a plant- one which could potentially heal a plague spreading across Altea. Lotor, now twelve years old, swallowed thickly. This was his future- to have friends only when convenient.
He left his father's throne room then, knowing dismissal was imminent anyway. He would wander the halls, perhaps visit is nursemaid's grave-
"Who are you?"
Lotor stopped, breath hitching with annoyance. Who dared address the heir to the throne in such a disgraceful manner? The prince swung around, silvery hair slapping against the owner of the voice. Ready to unleash his anger, Lotor opened his mouth…. Only to halt, speechless.
There, in front of him, was an Altean girl no older than ten. Reaching only to his chest, she stood with her face pinched and fists clenched. A gown of blue velvet fit snugly around her shoulders, reaching just below her knees. He… he knew her.
The girl opened her mouth, her finger pointing at him in accusation. "You're that boy that ran after me in the parade!"
Oh. Oh.
Princess Allura.
To say they bonded on that diplomatic trip was a stretch. Allura was as determined as he was hot-headed. And yet Lotor could not seem to stay away. On the third night of the Altean's stay, his father held a ball in their honor. Allura was deemed too young to attend.
She sat hunched over in his chambers, pouting. "I'm ten. You went to balls when you were ten, didn't you, Lotor?"
Lotor shrugged, as unenthused as she was as he got dressed for the event. "I don't really remember, princess."
Allura sighed, defeated. She flopped over the side of the velvet seat, legs up in a very unladylike position. Lotor averted his eyes.
This was how it had been for the past week: Allura had followed him around the grounds, her high-pitched voice in his ear. He would lead her everywhere to "entertain" her, as he had been directed by his father. He was rather looking forward to a night without her on his back.
"Wait a minute," The princess's voice was suddenly coated with a layer of rebelliousness. Lotor stiffened. From under the chair, she had pulled a golden slip of paper. An invitation. "It says right here," she pointed a painted nail at a certain place on the invitation, "That dates are welcomed."
Lotor raised an eyebrow, shrugged. "So?"
"Soooo do youuu have a date?" Allura asked wickedly. Lotor watched as she slid off her chair and onto the polished wooden floor. She was smiling as she had that day at the parade. He wondered if he would ever be able to resist that grin again.
Months passed. Lotor was sent to Alfor to be trained in Altean combat.
On one afternoon before training, they were standing in her room, guards watching their every move, when Allura handed him the helmet. "Your parents gave this to me when I was a baby," Allura told him confidently. "I wore it at the dinner table once and scared the ambassadors from Ghiate."
Allura extended the helmet to him. He took it, their calloused hands brushing against one another. Lotor ran his hand over the fine Galran craftsmanship. The helmet was not unlike the one he was given as an infant. He smirked.
Allura huffed, "I really did scare the Ghiatans."
Lotor raised his head to look at her. Still smirking, he slid the helmet over her thin skull. "I'm sure you did."
At fourteen and twelve, they shared their first official dance. He had danced with her two years ago at the ball, of course, as any prince with dignity would. However, his mother had found them and lectured him as she marched them back to their respective quarters. (He supposed he never had a decent relationship with his mother, but that is the first real quarrel he could remember them having. Somehow, he liked it better than the silence.)
He met Allura as she glided down the stairs. Beautiful, the world ghosted across his lips as it had four years prior.
The princess was adorned in a gown of crimson red, her hair pulled up into a lavish diamond hairpiece. He reached out with his hand and inclined his head- standard princely procedure- as the room suddenly became more crowded than he remembered.
They would dance until the music stopped. Later, he would escort her back to her quarters, trying to convince himself he didn't enjoy the feeling of her on his arm.
At sixteen, he realized he would follow her smile wherever it led. Despite the snarky, almost cruel persona he had put on for his father, Allura saw right through it. Perhaps it was because he could never win during a spar between them. He would always pull too many punches, hesitate for far too long, while Allura became death itself.
"You know, you're rather stubborn for a dainty little princess."
Allura had flashed him a grin before stabbing him in the stomach with her staff. "Careful, Prince."
Lotor felt his lips curl upward.
Despite her ability to give him hell, Allura was still very much a female. She enjoyed the classic female things- flowers, gowns, sparkles- and he took advantage of that. His only friend, Allura would receive boxes of assorted feminine items whenever he saw them at market. She would respond to her only friend by sending back a book, a knife, or (his personal favorite) a hologram of them sparring.
They were friends at that point, and he thought no more. The string connecting them had crueler plans.
They snuck out one night to look at the rift. They ran between the Daibazaan shadows, breath coming hard and fast as adrenaline coursed through their young veins.
When they finally reached the cliff, they peered over the side. The rift had grown over the years. Rumor stated the planet was slowly dying under the stress. Lotor held his breath. His eyes met Allura's. This time, when she smiled, he did not smile back.
At eighteen, he ran to her when his life fell apart.
The Voltron ceremony was held on Daibazaal that year. On the final day of festivities, Lotor brought a plate of food up to his mother's laboratory. When he had gotten there...
The plate shattered when it hit the ground, food coating his shoes. He had broken into a run as his mother's angry screams filled his ears. He just ran, not knowing where he was going. Until he was at her door.
He didn't knock, as princes should. Instead, Lotor ripped the door off his hinges and collapsed on the threshold of his friend's quarters. Allura was out of bed and ready to kill within a second. He looked up. Moisture clouded his vision. Such a sorry sight, he would think later.
But Allura was in front of him in an instant, knees grazing his own. Gently, as if she was made of glass, Lotor gripped her shoulders and buried his face in her neck. "My own m-mother…mother."
He couldn't seem to spit it out.
Allura suddenly stiffened as she connected the dots in her mind. "Oh, Lotor," she whispered, taking his head in her hands and wiping his tears. She had not even flinched at the sudden change in her friend- in the switch between unbeatable and aloft to vulnerable. Would he ever be the same after this? Would he become a shell, as his mother had? More than anything in that moment, he wanted Allura to smile. Smile, because if she did it would mean nothing had happened-
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Pity adorned Allura's beautiful face. Rage flooded Lotor's chest.
His own mother… His own mother had forgotten he was her son.
That same night, he had taken her face in his hands and kissed her hard. He had kissed her until she was limp in his arms and the tears of anger had been replaced with those of love. She had been softer than he remembered, her scars so insignificant when it came to her ethereal beauty.
He pressed his forehead to hers the next morning. He left the princess sleeping in the early sunlight.
Beautiful, the word ghosted across his mind.
Lotor told her he loved her exactly a month later. He had stepped off his ship and dropped to his knees in a bow before her, his lips to her hand. She did not pull away. When he looked up, Princess Allura blotted out the sun...
When Lotor returned home to tell his parents, his father had nodded approvingly. His mother hadn't even looked up from her work. Lotor retired early that evening, the pain in his head insignificant to that in his soul.
It was their first celebration of Voltron as an official couple when he noticed the change. They were dancing in the customary ball, a smirk on his face. Beautiful, the word ghosted across his lips as her silk gown swirled about his feet. The music swelled into a fermata, bringing a smile to Allura's face. Lotor switched his grip to her waist, preparing to lift her.
But he couldn't. Before his eyes, the world was swimming. Allura fell from his grasp and down the few inches he had managed to get her airborne. He frantically shook his head, trying to clear it. She had never been heavy. His Galran strength should have supported her if nothing else did. He thought back on the past few weeks- how he had been unable to defeat several of his usual sparring partners, how the world had swum in and out of focus when he struggled to wake.
Something was terribly wrong.
Ka-thump, ka-thump...
The next morning- or perhaps several mornings later- he awoke to a swarm of people. He could vaguely make out the outline of his father's face speaking to… someone. A hand gripped his own tightly. He endeavored to move his head to find out who, but found he was frozen to the spot.
A rattling cough escaped his lungs. He was breathing too fast. The world around him blurred until…
"Lotor! Lotor- you are not going to die!"
What a soothing way to go, to the sound of her voice….
The next and last thing he remembered, before he stepped out of his own consciousness and into another entirely, was searing pain. It started in his arm, working its way through his bloodstream like wildfire. He would be told he screamed until his cries were nothing but gasps. His father, ever the perfect display of power, must have been ashamed.
But she wasn't.
Because when he awoke, his eyes beholding a cruel radiance and silvery hair turning white, she was beside him. Her soft locks spilled over the side of the bed where she slept at his bedside. Faintly, he reached a shaking hand up to wipe the dried tears from her cheeks. In her hand was a syringe. Inside it was a single drop of quintessence.
They never knew what caused his sudden illness, only that whatever it was came from the dimension linked to their world. His mother still refused to close it.
Allura was there through the recovery process, taking him for walks in the Altean halls. She supported most of his weight as he shuffled his feet. She grinned nonetheless. Lotor scowled. Weakness had never become him.
Servants had been assigned to help him, but Allura had sent them away. An engagement ring he did not remember giving to her encircled her finger as she helped him into his bedclothes. She talked to him as she did so, vowing to him to never let illness take him from her again.
Somewhere, in his newly clouded head, his old self emerged to make a vow to her. He would not let the galaxy's wickedness overtake her, as it had him.
The glowing in his eyes dulled over time, but his newfound outlook did not.
The galaxy was wicked. He was wicked. And that's what gave him strength.
"It was the quintessence," Allura whispered from hunched over an ancient volume. "It affects the way you think, Lotor."
There was no reply.
He could not remember when he had begun manipulating those he cared about, only that by the time the year was up, Allura looked at him with fear.
They were standing in her Galran quarters- the memory of their first kiss swimming between them. Tears ran down her beautiful cheeks. Cheeks which had grown thinner with worry.
"Allura, my princess," He began. His voice had grown deeper with the quintessence, his movements more calculated. He raised a hand to her cheek. She pulled away. "Why do you run from me?"
Allura shook her head, taking a step back from her lover. Around her neck was a chain of rubies- the first piece he had ever sent her. Her hand unconsciously reached for it.
"You've changed, Lotor," her voice coated with all the authority of a queen.
Their last dance was as beautiful and as twisted as their first. The string between them pulled taut as they swirled around the ballroom, foreheads melded together. He dipped her, stroked her cheek as he had a million times before. And she smiled. The last true smile he would ever see directed at him.
"I love you," he told her, and he believed he still meant it.
Allura responded with a shaky kiss.
When he awoke the next morning, the space next to him was cold.
Their last kiss came soon after. As desperate as their first, they pulled on each other as the string did to their souls. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her-
"Lotor," her breathless voice pulled him from his haze.
Allura was crying. Perhaps love her he did no longer.
Honvera was dying. She had collapsed the day prior, after his father had fought with Alfor.
Lotor was numb. His mother, who had never loved him. His mother, who had forgotten he was hers…
He arrived on Altea an hour before he lost himself forever. He got on his knees, as he had all those years ago, before his former lover, pressed his forehead to her hand. She ripped it away.
Lotor stood. The sun slipped behind a cloud as he stared into Allura's ocean eyes. "Goodbye, my love," he ran a hand down her cheek, a twisted smile adorning his sharp face. "When we meet again, we shall be enemies."
Alfor fell within the year. Lotor stood on the battlefield miles away, but knew when he died nonetheless. He had stalked up to his father, his mask of arrogance covering his disdain.
"Father," the prince greeted.
The string that connected the king and his heir quivered. Zarkon looked his supposed son up and down, shook his head as if his newly quintessence-filled veins could see right through him.
"Half-breed," Zarkon seethed. "You are no son of mine."
The first weeks of his banishment went without a hitch. Until he heard the news.
His childhood friend, his first love, the woman who fate connected him, was dead. Through his perpetual haze, he felt… something.
Years passed. Perhaps he established himself as his own form of king. Perhaps he did not. He could not tell. His muffled mind had lost his true self long ago.
Wicked.
Wicked.
You are wicked.
10,000 Years Later...
Inside the blue lion was not the paladin he had grown up with. Rather, someone ancient and inexperienced piloted it. Someone… familiar.
It was not mercy but fascination that kept the new paladins alive. Lotor was a cat playing with his future meal.
Fate was a cruel thing. Lotor's fascination led him to his father's throne, and the throne lead him to her. The battle raged around them as former lovers stared into each other's eyes.
Beautiful, the word ghosted across his lips. Wicked, responded the voice in his head.
Explosion after explosion rocked the battlefield. Soldiers fell. Blood spilled. Allura blotted out it all.
Lotor smiled- a wicked, twisted smile, and the string between them pulled tant. Silvery tears ran down her perfect face as he took it in his hands.
"Hello, my love."
The parade traveled on
With the sun in my eyes you were gone
But I knew even then
In a crowd of thousands
I'd find you
Again