Okay, look, approximately two people are 100% happy with the way Lotor was handled in season six and I am not one of them. I don't mind a downfall arc, but I would have preferred that Lotor not be batshit insane, he was such a clever, intimidating villain and I would have absolutely loved it if he'd managed to hold onto a few of his marbles. So this is basically me pouting about that while also indulging one of my very favorite fanfic tropes. I have no idea if there is a proper name for it, but the whole "Villian chasing the hero with no real intention of harming them" thing is my jam so if anyone knows more fics in that flavor I beg of you to rec them for me. Because I am trash.
That being said, this fic was written in pretty much one day with zero planning and that probably shows. Lotor's internal monologue tends to wander a bit I think. We'll just write that off as him still missing a few marbles okay?
Enjoy!

He has frightened her, he realizes. He laughs in a self-deprecating manner, floating alone through the vast abyss he has nothing to do but think. Of course she was afraid, she has every reason to be.

The Paladins—his lip curls, how he hates them for what they have done—told her in the worst possible way. They had simply thrown the colony in her face, told her what he was doing and left it at that. They don't even know the whole of it. It wasn't as though he'd wanted to do it, and it wasn't as though the alteans had suffered. They were his people, he would not have let them linger in agony. It had been peaceful, they hadn't even known the moment they passed from life to death. They had simply fallen asleep and...not woken up.

They had thrown it in her face, and admittedly, he could have handled it better, but the fact of the matter was that she was scared. He could understand, she was slow to trust. Despite all the strides they had made in their work together, she was still uncertain sometimes. He himself was uncertain when he looked at her fragile hand cradled in his palm, for all that she was raised on battle and blood, she was a gentle soul. She had grown up at Zarkon's feet, played with him, and been betrayed by him just as her father had been. Such a thing would make any person slow to trust.

But she had been starting to trust him. It was addicting, intoxicating, the way this tiny, frail looking little creature, so damaged already, had leaned into him. Had allowed him to cradle her hand in his, even though he could have crushed it. He rubs his palm, feeling her phantom warmth, a fire so small, but so bright.

He had threatened to blow out that light. Shame floods him, unbearable, but oh so deserved.

He had scared her.

She was a powerful altean alchemist, or she would be, one day. And when she had learned how he was obtaining quintessence, she had jumped to a terrible, if understandable conclusion. She thought that he might try to drain her of quintessence as well. It makes his heart ache to think that after everything, she still trusted him so little.

He can understand though, the shock must have made her mind jump to the worst conclusion. He had hesitated in the beginning as well, it had seemed so horrible, but he'd come to see that it was necessary, and he was sure that she would as well.

If she will ever come near him again. He had reacted badly, he sees that now. They had both allowed their emotions to control them, it was a flaw he knew he could fall victim too, and her as well. He had tried to kill her, and for once he is glad of the paladins, of how they protected her from his rage. For that and that alone, he will allow them to live. And for her, he knows, she will beg for their lives and after this he will not deny her that.

He must find her. New purpose flows through him, he sits up and takes the controls once more. He will find her, to apologize, to explain, to try and repair the fragile thing he has broken. The engines sputter, then bloom into fire, a smile stretches across his face. Yes, he can do this. Take control of the empire, find her once again, present her with a galaxy at peace. A galaxy that will love her, perhaps not as much as he does, but it would be impossible for even the love of uncountable beings to measure up to even a fraction of his own.

I'm coming my love. He promises to the stars. I will make this right.

It takes months, years, to fulfill his promise. The many factions of his splintered empire must be fused back together, the inter-reality gate must be reconstructed, so many projects. Distractions, all of them, mere bumps in the road to his final goal. +

Voltron comes, of course, but they are still no match for him, even holding back so that he does not hurt any of them, Allura especially.

He tries to talk to her, to assure her that he means her no harm, but even he can admit that saying such things during pitched battle will make them hard to believe. As the empire comes together, Voltron becomes less confident. It begins when he nearly captures Allura (So close, almost close enough to touch her once more, to feel the warmth of her skin. He is so cold without her. He longs for her fire, he feels that he carries the void beneath his skin, she is the stars, without her he is empty and cold, incomplete.) Voltron runs, then, and they keep running. Even when he reconquers planets that they suffered and bled to free, they do not rise up. Even when he finds the home of the paladins and claims it for his own. He discovers that they were mere children in their culture when they were whisked away into space.

His anger with the paladins fades, it isn't entirely their fault. They had been told the truth of the colony by one of the citizens. A girl, half-mad with grief, he can understand that too, now that he has lost Allura.

The Paladins have redeemed themselves, in his eyes, at least partially. No doubt Allura shared her fears with them, and now they work so very hard to keep her 'safe'. Like him, they have chosen Allura over the universe. He will acknowledge that their love for her is at least a fraction of his own.

In the end, though, not even the universe is large enough to hide her from him. It is quite ironic, really, the way he finally meets her again. With his empire finally brought to heel he can focus exclusively on searching for her. Hunting he will admit, she must be terribly frightened, but he cannot help but pursue her. She will understand, he knows she will.

He uses the paladin's own trick to catch her. A teleduv, much smaller than the one they had used to separate Zarkon from his fleet, but the same principal all the same. His version is small and maneuverable, for a lion is no so easy to catch in too large a net.

He himself executes the chase, separates her from the other lions, pursues her until she is in the right position. He tries to talk to her, yet again, explain that he means her no harm.

"Allura, my love, please, I know you are afraid, but you needn't be. I would never harm you, I swear it."

She does not hear him, the clever green paladin has found a way to block him from her com channel. As frustrating as it is, it is also touching. They would seek to protect her even from his words. He supposes that they assume he is spitting venom and vitriol at her.

He imagines the future, Allura ruling at his side. Warm and gentle to balance out his righteous anger, reminding him of mercy. He will be better with her beside him. The stars and the void. Together, always.

He chases her away from the other lions, away from the Paladins (perhaps they will serve as her personal guard, they may not trust him right now, but they will come if she calls for them.) She is quick and clever, has grown in their years apart, he will have to learn all of the new things about her. The hurts that he was not there to heal, the joys he wasn't the cause of. It will be good for both of them, to find the new ways that they fit together.

As quick and clever as she is, he has superior numbers, and the net tightens around her. His most trusted pilots (not his generals, they are long dead and turned to dust) sweep in and surround her. She tries to duck away, but they have been trained well and as formidable as the lions are, they are still ten thousand years out of date. They are no match for ships that can draw power directly from the rift.

The ships get into position and the teleduv activates directly in front of the blue lion. The other ships do not break off once they are through, they stay surrounding her even as his command station engages the tractor beam and pulls them in.

He will not risk her escaping now, and she could still escape any moment she isn't in his arms. She thinks that this is a fight for her life, she could easily do something rash. It would destroy him, he knows, if she were to be hurt, or worse, because she was afraid of him.

They float up into the belly of his command station, the blue lion twitches and strains, but does not escape. He feels like he has been breathing the stale oxygen of his suit ever since she left and now at last he can take off his helmet and take a breath of fresh air.

The lion is surrounded the moment it touches down. An ingenious invention from one of his scientists ensures that it will not rise and attack them. The great ship has suffered in it's self imposed exile. Without the castle to return to, the lions have been in the void near constantly, but now they will have a place to rest. He can have them repaired, repainted, he knows how much Allura loves her lion. He can take care of it for her, now.

It is tempting to hesitate, he hasn't seen her in so long, this almost feels like the countless dreams he has had. The ones that always end when he is about to see her, touch her, once more. But this is real. He tells himself, and unlike the dreams, she is still afraid of him, she hasn't forgiven him yet.

They pry open the jaws of the lion as gently as they can, and Lotor peers into the darkness. Everything is still and quiet, he thinks that he isn't the only one holding his breath in this moment, waiting for her to appear.

A blue star blooms into life, in it's light, he might be able to make out dull white of her armor. Then the star explodes into supernova and he realizes that he has done her a disservice. In his despair, he had remembered only the slow, gentle way of her trust, he had forgotten the bright fire of her rage.

He ponders this as he flies through the air, she is the star to his void, yes. And like the star that he had skimmed the surface of to escape his father so many years ago, she could just as easily render him to ash as keep him safe and warm. It is dangerous to get close to stars.

He crashes to a halt against the hull of his own ship and sits dazed for a moment. By the time he gathers his wits, the hanger is in open chaos. Allura is a warrior goddess, forgotten and enraged, made of wrath and starlight. A quarter of his soldiers are already down, a few brave souls have stood again, but they wobble like newborns and seem somewhat lost. He will commend them for their efforts later, he himself only rises once again because he has waited so long for this moment.

He shakes his head, like a comet caught in the gravity of a star, his gaze is drawn to her. She is in her paladin armor, it is no longer the clean lines of old. Now it is dented and stained, they have been running for so long that they haven't been able to repair it. Her bayard transforms, from the deadly whip into a light pistol, but the transition isn't smooth and fast as it used to be. It hesitates and sparks, reluctant to obey.

Allura unleashes a bright wall of death and destruction on his men. Half of them are fallen now, most do not get up. Some, he can see, are actually still alive, and though they are wounded, they could get up. He does not blame them for staying down.

Power crackles around her, the air hums with danger. Some base instinct from the deepest, oldest parts of his mind whispers: Run. You have angered something beyond yourself and if you provoke her any more, she will destroy you. He ignores this warning. He is prepared for this.

He raises his hand and the druid appears beside him. Haggar is long dead, by now, and he had wanted to send the rest of her order to the grave with her, but he had spared them for practicality's sake. "My emperor." The druid rasps, bowing.

He hesitates for a split second, he knows that doing this will not put Allura at ease. If anything, it will only serve to make her even more frightened, but needs must. He closes his eyes. "Do it."

He cannot bring himself to watch as she is brought low, but he hears it. The crackle of the druid's power, sparking against hers. She cries out and there is a thump that makes him wince. Then all is quiet but for the groans of the wounded. He opens his eyes.

She is beautiful even in defeat. She lays upon the deck on her side in a gentle curve. He almost cannot bring himself to approach her, knowing that she will still be afraid. He doesn't think he can bear to see the fear in her eyes, but it would be worth it to look into them once more.

She groans as his shadow falls over her, tries to get up, fails, falls back to the plating with a quiet hiss. Her hand rises to the center of her chest, feeling for damage, injury. As though he would allow any harm to come to her.

But she doesn't know that. He reminds himself.

He kneels a small distance from her side, as far away as he can make himself be. He knows that an injured foe is not a defeated one. She may yet rise if and hurt herself more if she believes it will save her life. He opens his mouth, tries to say something and despite the many, many ways he has imagined this moment, the things he might say, the ways she might respond, he cannot think of anything to say. His hands hover over her shoulders, but he dares not touch.

It is like the old earth legend, of the man punished by the gods who could not touch food or drink no matter how close it was. He takes a deep breath, makes his heart slow, forces himself to simply look at her.

He cannot see her face, for she is still wearing her helmet, but her armor is even more dented and damaged than he first thought. The only part that looks to be in recent repair is the oxygen pack and tubing. A priority when you are living in the void, he is sure.

She groans again and tries to rise. Again she falls, but this time his hands catch her. For one shining moment she is limp and trusting beneath his palms, the way she was so very long ago. The addictive, intoxicating rush of her trust, of her willing vulnerability flows through him. Then her breath hitches and her muscles tense, she recognizes his touch.

"Shh." he murmurs, he feels as though his heart will leap from his throat. "I know you are afraid, but you needn't be, I swear it."

Her voice, rough and hoarse but still so very beautiful rises to his ears. "I am not afraid of you."

She is trembling in his hold, though, and her breathing is coming fast and hard. By all accounts but her own, she is terrified. That is alright though, she will learn.

"Very well." He can allow her this bravado, this shield from her fear. Two medics enter the hanger, a stretcher is laid on the ground beside them. One of them makes a motion as though he will put Allura on it himself, but Lotor shifts to block him. He cannot bring himself to allow another to touch her just yet, though he knows it will be necessary.

He pulls her close to his chest and she resists, even thought the druids spell is supposed to be draining her energy. "Hush now, all will be well."

She must be restrained upon the stretcher, for she will not stay there of her own accord. She growls at the medics and despite the state of her, they hesitate. Allura has a reputation for her ferocity, for her sheer, bloody minded determination to win that somehow has seen her through hopeless battle after hopeless battle.

He is dragged along in the medic's wake, as though she has chained his very soul to her own and they can no longer be separated. He watches from an unobtrusive corner of the room as they strip her of her armor.

She has cut her hair, he realizes. It no longer floats about her in a great white cloud, now it is cut close to her skull. It is likely more practical, he acknowledges, after all, hers has not been a life of luxury. It will be now though, and if she desires to grow it back out, he certainly will not complain.

There is a scar that comes down from her temple to follow the curve of her cheek. It is long healed, but it makes rage burn in his chest. He will find whoever dared mark her and throw them into the heart of a star.

The medics work quickly and efficiently. Her wounds are few, bruises for the most part. It is not long before Lotor is able to stand by her side once again. She is looking up at him with her fierce blue eyes and he can't look away, even if he wanted to.

"I love you." He says, without really meaning to, but he will never regret those words.

"I hate you." She hisses back.

"For now."