All characters of Voltron are owned by WEP. I based some of this on the Devil's Due comics. I liked the idea that Allura and Lotor knew each other as children and that a childhood romance had been hinted at. Never did this before. Review if you like. The story continues into his Academy years – but if everyone hates it – I shall burn the files.

An Arussian Education

Prologue

The tall Drule looked in the mirror and smiled. His people would barely recognize him anymore. He looked every bit the savage warlord. His hair was braided into a hundred strands tied in leather and carved bone beads. He had a long scar that followed his cheek. And his clothes were nothing more than a cloak, a snug fitting tunic, boots and a long immodest covering that was placed strategically around his waist. Five years had passed since his world had literally crumbled around him. Politics, being what they are, demanded he disappear. For all things there was a time and a place, and looking back, it was best to leave and go lick one's wounds in the chaos of the Western Territories. There, the true nature of his species could flourish. This primal, untamed region of space was both a nightmare and a paradise for an obligate carnivore with the need to slack his bloodlust. He pursued, hunted and killed until his soul could not bear the weight of another inequity. These years had been profitable ones, both in knowledge and in conquest. His father would be pleased with the fleet of treasure ships and star cruisers that accompanied the prince. He looked outside the port windows and sighed. There will never be enough to buy his affection, but at least it might earn me some admiration.

His own thoughts disturbed him. He had just entered the boundaries of his father's realms and he was already falling into old patterns. He would give and the king would take. He was in no mood to play the groveling child anymore. He needed nothing from the man. He no longer needed to beg for ships, approval, or his very life. Soon he would be a Great King in his own right, if not by name than in reality. His own palaces and court put his father's to shame. He was certain that he could easily defeat the old king in the Arena. He should be coming home as an equal, but instead the fearful child was still there.

Then there was also the matter of the woman. The Western Territories had been a soothing poultice for that particular wound. The years had been devoted to conquering and organizing his sphere of influence, and during the days the very image of her had been forced to the recesses of his mind. But at night, the dreams of her in danger and dying in his arms eternally haunted him. His bloodline contained many races of Drule, but the one that called to him the most was the feared Wyverns. They had the power of the Sight. A seer could help him untangle the threads of his vision but he feared the truth behind the images would be too much to bear.

He had kept sporadic tabs on her over the years. He had seen clips of her coronation. He had watched her rebuild the world that his father, and he to some extent, had destroyed. He had expected her to marry a certain pilot or at least another royal but she remained unattached. A part of him was frustrated by this fact as then he might have put her away. He could have spent his nights moving from one bed to another, taking what physical pleasure he wanted from a woman, and not concerning himself with that petty emotion called love. He imagined himself threatening her into submission. The very thought of her prostrate before him caused him to be aroused and he quickly doused that image. He could easily take her beloved planet now. He was no longer a bumbling youth infatuated with her beauty. He caught himself. This way had never worked before. He was different now. Gorlos, the jewel of his Empire, had taught him patience. The prince was truly ready to become a king, maybe even a Great King, he just needed to bide his time.

His intercom whistled breaking him out of his thoughts.

"My Lord, we are entering Doom air space. Command Ship Batak has been granted permission to land." The bridge officer barked out.

"Proceed." His finger let go off the console. He opened a flask and took a mouthful of an unpleasant tasting liquid. He considered the flask and took another, longer drink. He went into the bathroom and rummaged for some mouthwash to wash away the taste. He felt rage build in him. It was best to meet his father this way. His hand smashed into the mirror hurling shards like small projectiles onto the smooth floor. He wiped away the blood that covered the remaining reflection, disgusted with the visage looking back at him. A voice welled up in his head.

You cannot conquer what you fear.