Author's note: Thank you for taking the time to read my fanfic. As it is my first one, I would love to hear any constructive comments you might have.

Playlist: I wrote this chapter while listening to Neko Case's album "Middle Cyclone" and various tidbits like "Full Moon" by The Black Ghosts and "Honey Don't Think" by Grant Lee Buffalo.

Oh, and all standard disclaimers apply: I don't own Voltron, etc. etc….

Chapter One:

Dresses, Dresses Everywhere, and Not a Gun to Shoot

Princess Allura found herself running down the corridor, cursing herself silently as she went. Her soft but firmly tied slippers made almost no sound at all as she dodged large chunks of fallen wall and jumped over smaller chunks of debris. She knew how important silence was at the moment; she could hear the group of soldiers getting closer behind her, catcalling and taunting as they ducked in and out of the warren of ruined rooms that were all that was left of the castle's North Tower. Thank the gods she knew this part of the castle like the back of her hand. There was still a chance to reach the hidden passageway behind the false bookshelf in her father's private study…

"Come out, pretty Princess, come out and play," they taunted, closer now. They were still moving as a group, she realized. Their footsteps indicated a group of people moving together. They had not yet separated out, she realized, breathing a silent prayer of thanks. That improved her chances…

She came to a sudden, skidding halt as she approached the door to her father's study. She had learned from bitter experience not to go rushing blindly in to any room, no matter how safe she thought it might be…

No time, no time, part of her mind was whispering furiously, but she ignored it. She could not afford to panic and be caught now. The group hunting her was humanoid, probably mercenaries, and not a group of Zarkon's robot soldiers. Being caught by a group of armed men would be very bad indeed. She knew what could happen to her between the time they caught her and the time they decided to deliver her to Zarkon's forces. Robots would be better. Robots were devoid of emotion, of human impulses, and desire….

Allura dropped to her belly, lying flat against the floor to peek around the edge of the open study door, and cursed again, silently. This group of mercenaries was much cleverer than the last. They had separated already; the catcalling and taunting had been a distraction, an attempt to make her think they hadn't separated, when in reality, they had. She could see one of them now, wedged between a bookshelf and her father's fireplace, grasping a long black laser rifle. She recognized the basic model, but not the scope. He must have customized it, she thought. Handcuffs and night vision goggles hung from his belt. I wonder if they know about the passage, or are there more of them in every room? She wasn't sure which scenario was more disturbing. Heart pounding in her throat, she began to back slowly away, the entire length of her body still pressed to the floor, using only her elbows to propel her.

"Princess," the largest group called again. "Don't be afraid, pretty Princess. We don't bite. Much." Their raucous laughter ricocheted off the corridor walls.

Hide. I'm going to have to hide. Koran will know, he'll bring help….

She crawled across the corridor to what was once her mother's room. She kept her eyes low to ground, as much out of grief at the state of her beloved mother's former sanctuary as out of strategic movement. It was clear. No mercenary lurked in the shadows, but she stayed low, still, as she headed for the closet. She hated the thought of being trapped in there if she was discovered, but it was the best and closest cover she had available at the moment. She shut the closet door firmly behind her and blinked, amazed, as always, at the reminder of better days that surrounded her.

The Queen of Arus had loved beauty and luxury, and her husband had indulged her every whim. Allura could still picture her mother, surrounded by members of her court, laughing in her gardens, which had been famous for their beauty and variety of species throughout the entire galaxy. Allura remembered holding her mother's hand, playing one of the Queen's favorite games, in which everyone combed the garden for what they considered the prettiest flower, and then presented them to the Queen for judgment. The winner won the entire collection of flowers piled at the laughing Queen's feet, and he or she almost always gathered them into a bouquet to present to the Queen. A very few times, Allura herself had been the recipient of such a bouquet. Her mother would gather her into her lap, her long, blond, shining hair hanging down like a curtain separating the two of them from the rest of the world, while her mother whispered to her that she, Allura, was the prettiest and rarest flower in all the gardens of Arus. Allura felt the tears gathering, and blinked them back quickly. No time, no time, she told herself. There never was any time. She could not afford memories, not here, not now. They made her weak.

She reached into the small bag she kept fastened to her belt and felt a reassuring chirping and warmth. She pulled the little mouse, her constant companion, out into her cupped palms. He was unusually still, staring raptly into her face. Cheddar, you have to help me. She spoke to him mind-to-mind, not wanting to risk detection by whispering. Bad men are hunting me. I'm going to hide in Mother's chambers. I need you to run to the stairs and make as mush noise as you can. Then find Koran. The little mouse wiggled his whiskers at her. Cheddar, do you understand? The little mouse nipped her palm, and she knew that he did. With a sigh, she placed him carefully on the ground and watched him go.

Her mother's dressing room was shaped like an octagon, with a door in the middle that led off to her bathing room. Every other side of the room was lined with racks of dresses of every imaginable hue and material. This room was one of the few that had not been touched by the bombings and had not been plundered by Zarkon's invading soldiers. Robots were interested only in death, not dresses. And no one else had bothered to remove them, not only out of respect for their beloved dead Queen, but because they had no practical value. You couldn't eat a dress, or use it as a weapon. The material was too flimsy to use for warmth. Allura bit her lip. How am I going to do this?

"Hide and seek, pretty Princess," the men called. "Princess hides, Zarkon seeks. But not before we find you first." They were getting closer.

She spied a rack of cloaks hanging to her right, and made up her mind in an instant. She chose one of the sturdiest, darkest cloaks hanging in the middle of the rack, and wriggled herself into it. Wrapping the cloak securely around herself, making sure no part of herself showed, she tried to make herself as flat and still as possible. They were in her mother's bedroom now; she could hear them muttering and joking. "Not under the bed," one of them said. "To bad she's not in it, eh?" another laughed. She knew they were headed for her hiding place next, and a sudden chilling thought occurred to her. They were being very thorough in their search; what if they saw her feet? She thought the cloak was long enough, but what if it wasn't? Or worse yet, what if they checked the clothing at ground level, or even poked through the clothes with their weapons? She had been hoping they wouldn't be so thorough, but now, she wasn't sure, and didn't want to take the chance.

She took a deep breath and jumped up lightly, catching the sturdy metal clothing rail in her hands. She wiggled her fingers a bit, pulling the hood of the midnight-blue velvet cloak forward so that it covered her hands. Hanging from the rail left at least a half a foot of space between her feet and the floor. She prayed it would be enough; it was all she had time to do before the door burst open and two men entered.

"Would you look at this?" one of them said to the other, wonder in his voice.

"It looks like a dress shop in here," the other one said. "My woman back home would have a fainting spell. Was always a sucker for a pretty dress." He sounded wistful at his last comment.

"Ryka doin' OK?" the other one asked. Allura tried to breathe as shallowly as possible, but a part of her mind was racing. These men had families. She didn't want to think of them that way. And then, her rage was back. They had wives, and probably mothers and fathers, too. Unlike her.

"Yeah," the other man mumbled. "Look, let's just do our job and get out of here. The money from this job will go a long way to making her even better."

The other man merely grunted in response, and then the worst happened. He dropped to his knees and began running his hand underneath the dresses. The other man did the same, starting in the opposite side of the room. She calculated he would reach her in less than two minutes. She hoped her trick would work. She closed her eyes and began to pray with every fiber of her soul, something she hadn't done since her parents died and Zarkon had laid waste to her planet, her home. On that day, the gods and goddesses of Arus had died to her. She had stopped praying to anyone but her father on the day they laid him in his tomb.

Divine Lyssa, warrior maiden and protector of the innocent, I, Allura, need your help. Protect me in my time of need, of helplessness, and I will swear my life to your service. Help me drive this scourge of evil from your planet, and I will fight in your name with every fiber of my being…

A sudden crash followed by a shout interrupted her prayer. "Hey! Guys! Over here! I think she made it past us, towards the stairs!" The two mercenaries were up in an instant, racing towards the stairs. They left the dressing room door gaping open. Cheddar, she thought, but a part of her mind strayed back to her prayer, and the oath she had just taken. She was surprised at herself, but could not bring herself to regret it. She wasn't sure if she believed in the gods or goddesses anymore, but she knew that she would fight for her home. She heard shouts and the sound of fighting, of laser shots being exchanges and the screams of pain and death. She knew them all too well now.

Koran. Cheddar must have gotten through. She did not let go of the rail, though. Her arm muscles were screaming at her, and she cursed herself for her weakness, but she still hung on. She had learned long ago not to take chances.

She didn't let go until she heard Koran himself calling for her. "Allura? Princess?" She recognized his light step followed closely by the thump of his cane. "Princess, it's alright to come out. We… took care of them."

She rushed to the North Tower's main corridor, tears streaming down her face. She flung her arms around the castle diplomat and her surrogate father while what was left of the Royal Guard stood around them, weapons at the ready.

"Oh, Koran. I was so scared. Those weren't robots."

Koran's eyes looked suspiciously watery as he held her equally tightly. "I know, Princess. Robots don't bleed."

He held her while she cried and the Royal Guard formed a tight, protective circle around the two of them. "I can't even be angry with you, Allura. I understand why you come here." He tilted her head upward, wiping the tears from her face. "I miss them too. But it would do them no good, and do no honor to their memories, if you squandered the life they died to protect so carelessly."

"But I get so tired of the caves," she murmured, her face buried in his shirt.

"I know, Princess. We all do."

"When will it end, Koran? What will it take? Sometimes I don't even remember what we're fighting for."

"I wish I could answer you, princess, but I can't. It will take as long as it takes, and the gods only know how long that will be." He smiled while he held her. "But I do have a piece of good news for you."

She backed away from him, realizing how filthy she was by the mess she had made of his usually impeccable shirt. She had been crawling around on the floor, after all. "What? Did Nanny make a chocolate cake?"

He laughed, more excited than she had seen him in months. "Oh no, something much better. Galaxy Garrison finally responded to our calls. It seems they'll be sending help, after all."

Allura's eyes grew wide with excitement. "What kind? How many?" she demanded. "When? When will they be here?"

Koran placed an arm around her shoulder, leading her to the secret passageway in her father's library. He thought of the mangled bodies tangled up and down the main staircase, and decided to take the princess down the alternate route instead. "They are sending some of their best pilots and specialists here, princess. Five of them, to be exact. It doesn't sound like much, but I was assured that in addition to being excellent fighters and pilots, they all have areas of specialization that could be critical to building a decent defense."

Allura's face fell. "So they still aren't taking us seriously."

"Five is better than nothing," Koran gently chided her. "The communications liaison, a Lieutenant Lyssa, assured me they were, mmm, how did she put it? 'Not your average Garrison team.' I took that as a good sign…." Koran trailed off at the look on Allura's face. She had become alarmingly pale, a sheen of sweat breaking out across her forehead. "Princess? Are you alright?" Inwardly, he was cursing himself. She must be going into shock. Who knew how close those mercenaries gotten, what they had said, how frightened she must have been. He motioned to one of the guards, indicating that he should pick her up and carry her. She looked close to fainting, but Allura shook him off.

"What did you say about a communications officer?" she asked him urgently.

"Lieutenant Lyssa, she assured me this group of young men would be… useful, if not exactly 'by the book'. All in all, it was quite reassuring," Koran rambled on, relieved the Princess hadn't suddenly fallen over.

"That's what I thought you said," Allura replied, to no one in particular, making her way down the dark, winding staircase in a daze.