Author's Notes: I cannot apologize enough for this delay. This part of the story was a little bit harder for me to conjure, but as always I hope I continue to do justice to the show and characters. I will try to update again soon, but with the impending birth of my first child early in 2007, I doubt a new chapter will be posted right away. I thank everyone for their reviews, encouragement, and patience. I have a lot more I'd like to do in this story, and as long as I get some writing time during the baby's naps, I should be able to post again in a couple months.

As always, no flames please. However, I am grateful for constructive criticism that will help to develop my skills further as a writer.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I make no money. I only write about what I enjoy.

Summary: Continuation to my story, "The Dance Begins." Allura and Keith pursue their love in secret while forces around them start to converge. Rated T to be safe for a couple minor curses.

The Waltz Continues

Chapter 1 – Voices and Visions

The gentle hum of machinery was like the voice of an old friend. It echoed of excitement and a past that was shrouded in mystery. It was a language that was ancient. The deeper sounds were a baritone voice narrating a suspenseful tale. The higher pitched resonance that interspersed the low sounds was an angel's voice, singing in accompaniment to the story being told.

Keith closed his eyes and listened to the sounds more carefully. He had been trying to figure out the tale for months now. Hunk and Pidge, of course, would think he had taken one too many hits to the head. They would logically tell him that the noises were merely servos and motors. It was the hydraulics and fluids running through the mechanical beast of his Black Lion. Still, Keith liked the idea of trying to understand the magic within his Lion. The history of Voltron and its respective Lions was still shrouded in much mystery.

Instinctively, Keith felt his hands wrap around the controls. The narrative opera continued around him. It was the tranquility he enjoyed before the chaos of maneuvers and battles. Even in a practice exercise, his adrenaline rushed with the excitement.

He made the intention to pull back on the handle and perform the maneuver that would send the Black Lion into a leap of faith from the pillar on which it stood and launch him into the air.

You would die for her.

Keith's eyes slammed open, his ritual for taking off forgotten. His hands fell from the controls, and his breath got caught in his throat. It was the first time he ever made any sense of the sounds in the cockpit of the Lion. He looked around, trying to see if there was any ghost of any former pilot.

The humdrum of the engines returned. The usual noises filled the tiny space again.

His heart thudded. He knew what he heard. For so many months of only imagining, this time words truly materialized. They were in a voice he envisioned as belonging to a strong leader. It was definitely male and in an accent that was unlike any he had ever heard. He could only compare the voice to an accented brogue combined with the sharpness of a sophisticated race.

"Hey, daydreamer!" Lance shouted through the comm. "You plan to get off the ground anytime this week?"

Keith gritted his teeth in frustration. He suddenly wanted to cancel the exercise and sit in the Lion, with no other intent but to listen. His eyes focused on the Red Lion in his viewport. He needed an excuse. Lance would be the last person to believe him if he said he heard a ghostly voice. "I guess having a few moments for one last rehearsal of this exercise in my mind is too much to ask?"

"We've done this maneuver a number of times before, Keith," Lance replied as he tapped on the communications control creating the familiar click that changed his communications from public to private interface.

Keith could only imagine what the second-in-command planned to tease him about this time. Lance was one of the few people he actually allowed to jab at him continually for any reason. "Either you've developed a case of epilepsy, Keith, or you were daydreaming about the princess wearing that blue dress a couple weeks ago."

With a sigh, Keith closed his eyes and forced himself some extra patience. "I thought I heard something wrong with the engines. I ran a quick diagnostic. It turns out it was nothing."

"Of course, all business. Why didn't you just say that?"

"I didn't want Hunk and Pidge to go into a panic. They just spent the last week checking over the Lions."

"You sure you're not thinking about a certain princess in a blue dress?"

Keith grumbled in frustration. "Can't you just be grateful that we managed to get Nanny to back off? It won't be long before she sends another suitor."

Lance's anger flashed in his words. "Yeah, and we'll just do the same thing. Only, if the next guy isn't as respectful as Dirin was, we use force."

"Can we save this for later? The others are waiting for us," Keith finally stated. They wasted enough time in this conversation he had with Lance more than once. He wanted to get the practice session done and make sure they were able to keep their skills honed. With weeks between Doom's forces attacking, Keith had started to fear that the Drule were planning something. He had no idea what, but he couldn't help feeling that when it came, it would be vicious.

Lance clicked the communicator back to a public conversation. "We're waiting for you. Get up here and stop stalling."

Keith pulled the control that got the Black Lion flying into the air. He gripped the controls tight and tried not to think about the voice that spoke earlier. He waited for so long to hear what he knew was the sixth spirit of Voltron. He always thought, though, that it would manifest after they were joined together. He never imagined it could interact without the other Lions interfaced.

She would die for you, too.

Allura kept the Blue Lion floating in position as Lance advised while he contacted Keith privately. She was wondering why it was taking Keith so long to catch up with them. Usually, he was the first one in the air, and it was one of the others who lagged behind. She watched through the cockpit viewport, trying to remain relaxed. Piloting was a skill she had gradually improved upon. Her techniques were still a bit coarse compared to the others. After so many months of flying, she now understood the tactics and when it was appropriate to use the techniques they did.

Often in battle, she had to fight her nerves. Lance once explained the impulsivity of the body's reaction to adrenalin. She had tried to calm that instinct many times, but it was just something that took time. The exercises they practiced were designed to help with fear and adrenalin control. The fighting instinct continued to come more naturally to the others. Allura knew she wasn't against killing if it was necessary, but she was not an aggressor. She attacked as a means to keep Arus safe.

Allura glanced her eyes around the cockpit of the Blue Lion, bringing her focus back to the moment. The machinery around her seemed unusually noisy, and she hoped there was nothing wrong with her Lion. Hunk and Pidge had been maintaining the Lions regularly. She couldn't imagine that there would be any mechanical problems. So far, everything in the Blue Lion was working in superb condition.

She shrugged off the idea of mechanical failure, thinking that maybe she was just becoming overly sensitive. Trying to maintain a relationship that was forbidden was probably causing stress she didn't even realize she was carrying.

Guard this love.

Allura felt herself jump in bewilderment. She quickly spun, looking within the interior of the cockpit. The voice was ancient Arusian. She could tell that much by the accent. It was not commonly spoken, but some of the elderly people of her planet still spoke with it, usually when telling a story about the past.

"Who's there?" the princess asked, fearing someone stowed away on her Lion.

The only answer she received in return was the continual humming of the mechanics.

"Hey, Princess, look sharp!" Lance suddenly cut in. The Red Lion flew over her, close enough to scrape its claws into the back of her Blue Lion's head.

"Sorry," she replied, shaking the voice out of her mind. She couldn't afford to be daydreaming during an exercise. She needed to learn all she could so she could be ready in their next battle.

Taking a deep breath and grasping the controls, she followed the others into formation.

--- --- --- --- ---

Lotor paced angrily back and forth. His long, white hair trailed behind him, bringing an increasing menace to his stature. His yellow eyes were shadowed in some dark emotion, anger at the surface. One fist ground into the palm of his other hand. His dull, heavy footsteps filled the hall as he turned and marched again in the other direction.

He ignored the concubines who smiled at him as they strode past. He had enjoyed their company many times before, but now, he just wanted to brood. As prince of Planet Doom, he had no right being condemned to the castle. His father, King Zarkon, had made no wishes to attack Arus. Lotor asked numerous times for permission to lead a raid, if nothing else just to keep face and let the Arusian people know that Doom wasn't cowering in fear.

His father explained that they needed to work on replenishing resources and ships. He guaranteed Lotor that when the time was right, Doom forces would attack Arus once again. However, Zarkon was also extremely displeased with Lotor's inability to provide a victory over the last few months. He wanted a solid strategy in place and a certainty from whatever robeast Hagar would conjure next. The king was willing to postpone an attack, preferring to make sure an adequate strategy was in place first.

Frustrated with nothing constructive to do, Lotor stopped pacing in the hall before Hagar's chamber. He was going to personally see why the witch was taking so long to develop a satisfactory robeast.

Throwing caution aside, Lotor pushed open the doors and stormed forward. To his surprise, he found the chamber eerily silent. Black shrouds hid the bed in a corner of the room. Shelves were lined with jars of powders, herbs, body parts, and items the witch deemed worthy of her ancient magic.

Darkness filled the room, with the exception of three lit candles placed on the black, stone altar. The altar sat in the center of the chamber. It was the focal point for her private rituals. The altar was lined with dark streaks that Lotor could only imagine were from sacrifices to her underworld gods. He briefly wondered how many of those sacrifices were willing. His yellow eyes traced the tendril of gray smoke rising from an incense stick that was burning in the center of the altar.

The sacrificial table contained five different bowls, each with a different herb or powder. A concoction of musk and explosives wafted through the room. The musk he assumed was from the incense burning. The explosive powder he could only assume was residue from Hagar's latest experiments on robeast technology.

His eyes shifted from the smoke to the brown-robed creature that stood behind the altar. Her glowing blue eyes were closed. Her dark, weathered skin was barely visible beneath the hooded cloak she wore. A voice that was normally gravelly was mumbling softly in languages long dead. Hagar's crooked, wrinkled fingers hovered inches above the altar and her long nails arched into claws.

With grotesque and amused curiosity, Lotor watched the helpless Fang-Spider pinned to the counter. The insect was approximately the size of Lotor's two fists, and its screeching cries suddenly filled the chamber. The prince silently admired Hagar's handiwork as her fingertips delved in swiftly and pulled out the still-beating heart of the spider. The insect suddenly twitched in throes of agony, legs moving until the last neural pulse reached the ends of the exoskeleton. Then, the spider fell still and silent.

Taking a breath, Lotor found himself invigorated with the power of death. He had the desire to find a useless prisoner in the deep dungeons and inflict torment, ultimately taking the life with his bare hands. He sometimes wondered how long a humanoid would survive without its heart, and now he wanted to find out.

"Seductive, is it not, my prince?" Hagar rasped as she placed the heart into one of her jars. The tiny heart continued to beat, despite its lack of blood.

"How does it survive?" he wondered out-loud.

"The incantation," she smiled. "You mock the ancients, but their secrets are powerful indeed."

Lotor stepped closer to the altar and pondered the spider. "What do you do with the carcass?"

Hagar's blue cat suddenly jumped onto the altar. It's tiny tongue reached into the hole in the body and began pulling out the entrails for its meal.

"Forget I asked," the prince grumbled.

"You didn't come here to watch the sacrifice of a Fang-Spider," Hagar explained. "You're angry and you blame me for not being able to attack Arus."

"Damn you, Witch," Lotor growled. "I hate it when you do that."

Her muffled cackle echoed in the chamber. "Patience, my lord."

The prince stepped forward, his fists clenching. "Do you realize that I haven't laid an attack on Arus in nearly a month now?"

"I am working on a way to bring forth all that you desire."

"I grow tired of your empty promises, Hagar."

"My latest robeast, Your Highness, must be devoid of all flaws, and it will bring the greatest defeat on Voltron."

"Watch your guarantees, Witch!" he accused as he forced himself not to slam his fists on the altar with the hungry cat and the dead Fang-Spider. "I cannot accept another defeat."

"And every failure was a lesson learned," she replied.

"I'm not here to discuss philosophy!" he shouted.

"Do you want your dear princess?" Hagar asked, her voice betraying a slight touch of concern.

"What are you talking about?"

"As soon as I am certain without any doubt that this robeast will do the bidding I program, you will have not only your princess, but the vengeance you have dreamed about."

"How do you know this?" Lotor asked, careful to not get hopeful again.

"I had a vision, My Prince," Hagar explained gently. "I've seen the princess on her knees before you, tears upon her face. You were in the midst of destroying her world and everything she holds dear within it."

The prince smiled suddenly. "Will it be the end of Voltron?"

"In that same vision, the robot was on its knees, the soul within it fading."

Lotor accepted the prediction happily. "I will leave you to your work then, Hagar. Contact me the instant you are certain this robeast is complete and able to do all that you have envisioned."

The witch bowed her head formally. "With absolute certainty, My Prince."