I make no claims to Voltron. I just like fleshing out the story a bit.
Moonspell -Chapter One
Strange how one's perception of comfort changes, especially under the shadow of war.
The wretched occupants cowering in the decrepit tomb up until a few months ago knew the radiant comforts of Arusian court life. Arus- a planet home to a thriving culture of art, science and prosperity -had the Court of the Castle of Lions at its epicenter. Though archaic in its architecture, the Castle of Lions was on the forefront of Arus' glory. The Court upheld many traditions, such as festivals, elaborate balls and other such pageantry.
Now broken debris and fallen defenders fill the ruined ballroom. The Castle stands dark and silent.
The King, as well as other noblemen, had been trained in military academies. However, they received well-rounded educations-not just in politics, but in technology and engineering. The Crown had sponsored highly advanced defense systems-although Voltron, the colossal technological marvel infused with ancient magic, had been a part of that defense for many generations. King Alfor was loved by his people who enjoyed prosperous lives with advanced medical facilities, universities, festivals and so much more. As he was loved in life, he would be legendary in death-a death that just recently occurred.
The Court fostered music and great philosophical discourse in its gilded salons. Musicians from around the Denubian Galaxy performed for the court. The queen was fervent patron of the performing arts. She and many ladies of the court particularly enjoyed music. The queen's coloratura soprano voice would dance above the din of the chatter in lively gatherings of the fine arts community of Arus.
Now, that voice was silenced by death.
All that remained of that former brilliance sat cross-legged on a pile of blankets with a large book open on her lap. Up until a few months ago, the golden-haired child had been surrounded by a fleet maids, butlers, guards, hairdressers, tutors. Most of those adoring courtiers were dead. Their lifeless forms were thrown about the castle as if they were the macabre dolls thrown back into a dollhouse by an angry child. Unaware of the ruin and death above, the princess had been sequestered in one of the tombs of her ancestors deep beneath the castle. A small lantern served as her only attendant now in the dismal tomb. The eerie green light brought her sweet face out from the darkness that hid the remnants of the beleaguered palace staff. Coran, the Chief Minister to the Crown, glanced over at the young princess who had saved her favorite book from the Royal Library.
The princess and the book shared a sad link-they were both the last of their kind.
The Royal Library had been an ongoing passion of King Alfor. He thought it would be fitting to have a depository of knowledge in the heart of Arus, the castle. Amidst the ornately carved shelves, the young princess sat with her tutors. He knew the Council of Elders disproved the princess receiving an education usually reserved for princes , however Alfor felt the time was right for such education.
Arus was a contradiction: modern in development of science and great technologies, yet deeply rooted to archaic traditions. Laser canons and a mighty robot defended an ancient stone castle in which ladies wore elaborate dresses , embroidered tapestries and never questioned their lords.
Alfor knew that would change with Allura. Visiting his daughter Allura had been a daily event for the king. He welcomed the young princess' lively updates on her studies. Smiling and laughing softly as Allura taught him how to write his name in ancient Arusian and how to multiply. The visits had been a reprieve for him. Tensions had been mounting under the threat of war.
That threat was now manifesting itself in the skies above the castle.
Most of Coran's encounters with the princess had been in the course of retrieving the King from his daily 'lessons' for urgent business. Coran would politely smile at the blue-eyed, angelic child as he ushered the king away. Allura quickly made the connection. No matter where or when he saw the princess, she would scowl at him. It seemed to Coran that he had become the 'big bad daddy-stealer' in Allura's mind.
Coran winced at his the thought. The girl's father had indeed been stolen-not by the Chief Minister, but by the Drule King Zarkon. Zarkon sought to make the jewel of the Denubian Galaxy the centerpiece of his crown of tyranny. Now the former jewel was a crater-ridden shadow of its former self, and the very man who was the focus of little pink scowls would be responsible for raising a future monarch.
'I hardly know the child. Now I have to raise her? And I've lost my home, my family, my friend...' Coran began to weigh the heavy burden that would fall upon his shoulders once they left this tomb.
If they ever left the tomb...
The one comfort the occupants of the tomb had was the princess' voice. Allura had decided that a story was in order. Whenever she was in bed with an illness or scared of the dark, there had been an adult nearby-though seldom her mother or father-to read her a story. For a princess who had every need or want ever met, she was remarkably giving and caring of others, Coran thought to himself. He recognized the intent behind her gesture-she was doing what she could to help.
The treasured book was a volume of Arusian myths. Despite the fact that Arus had long been a monotheistic planet, the stories of the old ways- gods and goddesses and mythical beasts-remained. Technology may have built impressive Arusian hospitals and wondrous ships, but magic flowed in the veins of the planet. No better example of this was their guardian Voltron himself-a hybrid of Arusian technology and ancient power. Voltron was a guardian who had fallen from the skies like a mythic doomed hero. He now lay broken and sequestered around Arus. But that would be another myth to be revived in a later time. The princess had selected a new story from the book.
There once of a fair maiden of the mountains. Her eyes were as green as the forests that covered the mountain she called home. Her mountain was in the Wind Kingdom. The Wind Kingdom was fighting a war against the Fire Kingdom...
The princess paused from the story. How did my mother talk to this man?, Allura thought to herself as she regarded the Advisor. I can't remember. I'm the last royal left, so I must I must be brave, and I must remember how I'm supposed to talk. She rolled her shoulders back, lifted her chin and peered into the darkness where she remembered Coran had been sitting.
"Chief Minister Coran, have there always been wars? Even in my story, there's a war. I know these are very old stories. I learned about these with Sir Reginald."
The first thought that crossed the minister's mind was that Sir Reginald was dead.
Pull yourself together. Don't say that. She is just a child. Coran thought for a moment and then answered, "Sadly, yes, your Highness. There have always been wars."
"I remember when there wasn't a war, Chief Minister. "
"Yes, those are the good times, " he answered, "now, why don't you finish the story?"
The princess continued.
"...her true love was a great warrior. He was summoned by the king to fight in the war. After he left, the young maiden tried very hard to be brave. She would work very hard in her father's vineyard and farm during the day, hoping that she would be too busy to be sad. But she would cry herself to sleep every night. One day while she was at the market selling her father's wine and fruit, a perclu-yar, no pec..."
Allura's brow wrinkled as she wrestled with the peculiar. The word won this battle. The princess huffed and continued the myth.
"One day a...an old woman stopped by the maiden's table at the market. 'why are so sad, child?' she asked. My true love has gone off to war, and I miss him very much. The old woman smiled at the maiden and said, 'Only someone who has felt your pain can truly understand you, maybe even help. The moon goddess is in love with the sun. Their duties keep them apart. The sun must grow our crops and warm our world. The moon helps guide our sailors and light the night. Climb to the highest mountain and weave the moon goddess a crown of flowers. Place them upon her that she may wear them for her love as they pass in the heavens. Tell her your troubles, she will understand. '
So the maiden climbed the highest mountain in the East. Even at the top of the high mountain, she could not reach the moon. But the maiden was clever. She saw the moon's reflection in the middle of a pool of water. She gathered flowers quickly and made the crown. The maiden waded out into the water and laid the crown up on the moon's reflection. She told the moon of how much she loved her handsome warrior, and she wanted nothing more that to see him again. ' "
Allura paused. 'I miss someone too...' she thought to herself.
"Suddenly, the maiden heard something fall into the pool. It was her true love. The goddess, moved by the maiden's plea, brought him back from the war. She rushed across the pool into his arms, and ..."
"That's enough, young lady", a plump woman in a matronly dress stepped out of the darkness and into the light of the lantern. "It is time for you to get some sleep!" Coran recognized the woman as Allura's nanny. He had limited exposure to the domestic staff of the castle. Since their confinement down in the tombs to wait out the latest bombardment by Zarkon, he had simply referred to her by her official duty title- 'Nanny'. The woman had never corrected him.
Perhaps imminent danger tempered royal protocol in situations like these.
"Oh, Nanny! How can you tell it's night? It's always dark in here. And, I want to tell you want happens next."
"We all know what happens next. It's a very old story. Now, let's brush your hair and get you tucked in."
An hour later, it seemed the opposite had happened. The handful of adults in the room had fallen asleep, and Allura was the only one awake. She kept thinking about the story.
Was it that easy?
She turned her head slightly, expecting to hear the explosions and rumblings that had become the norm over the past few days.
Perhaps the fighting was over?
She gazed back up at the low ceiling of the confining room, and then, the best idea that her innocent mind her innocent mind ever hatched came to her. She sat bolt upright, excited by the prospect of what her idea could bring. She silently fumbled for her small pink slippers in the dark.