#in first

***

You’ll have to excuse Lance for thinking this is a dream at first, the haze of sleep still a thick fog in his brain, leaving little room for cognitive thought. But here he is, snuggled up under the covers of what’s easily be the cosiest bed he’s ever slept on, face to sleeping face with a certain silver haired beauty he could only ever dream of being this close to, and well, you can understand the confusion. This is Allura he’s talking about here. A princess Lance would compare to Aphrodite had he not gone through a Percy Jackson phase at age twelve and learned all about the consequences of a statement like that. Gods get up to some pretty petty stuff. 

So Lance silently thanks his brain for not only giving him the opportunity to have a waking up in space-Vegas dream about Allura, but making it lucid to boot, and savours the moment, silently begging real life Allura not to choose today of all days to hold an early morning drill, for, as alluring of an alarm clock she is, Lance needs to catch his zzzs somehow. You don’t think he wakes up every morning looking as great as he does without some form of rest, do you? It’s called beauty sleep for a reason, and there’s plenty of beauty in this particular sleep.

There’s something so peaceful about dream Allura’s sleeping face, at ease in a way Lance has only seen once, back when she was suspended in time by that cryopod. She’s a busy woman, always putting every ounce of her time into winning them this war. As much as Lance would love for her to kick back and relax, even just for a bit with them, she simply doesn’t. Maybe, once the universe throws them a parade for karate kicking Zarkon out of business, she’ll finally get the chance. 

Man, even her sleep tousled hair looks ethereal. Lance doesn’t know how Allura does it. He’ll have to ask her what shampoo she uses. L’Oréal for aliens or something. It has to be something other than the ten thousand year old soap they have all been given. Princess privileges, is he right?

Though, if he pays attention, there’s something about her face, subtle as it is, which appears older somewhat? It’s in the cheekbones, the skin. Enough to suggest some sort of passage of time within this dream world, though as to how old she’s meant to be, Lance can’t say.

Allura’s eye twitches, and Lance watches as she stirs awake, looking drowsily around. As her eyes land on him, they widen, snapping into focus. 

“Morning, beautiful,” he says as she sits up, pulling out his flirtiest trump card. Hunk once said his smouldering look makes him look a mix of goofy and constipated, and that it really doesn’t do him any favours—thanks Hunk—but he’s sure dream Allura will appreciate it. 

She stares at him blankly. Guess this dream gets points for its realism. 

“Lance,” Allura says slowly, critically, “Is that you?”

“Well yeah. Expecting anyone else?”

“I wasn’t expecting—do you remember anything that happened?”

Lance feels his face flush. Calm down on the dream lore. “Uh, between you and me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, seemingly appalled at the thought. Ow. “We were with the Prismariums. Do you have any recollection of their festivities? Our fight against the robeast?”

“The prismari…” Lance trails off, blinking away the last of the sleepy haze. He scrambles backwards, almost tumbling off the bed as he does so. “Holy quiznack. This isn’t a dream.”

“No, more like a nightmare,” she says, and again. Ow. 

***

𝚂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎

You know how it goes. Kick robeast ass, save a planet, stay around for the victory celebration. Lance is kinda sorta a pro at this now. Sure, he hasn’t been doing this gig long, the whole Voltron defender of the universe thing, but he’s starting to get a good idea of what to expect. And apparently what to expect are a lot of super thankful, super cool looking aliens. 

All in a day’s work. Or quintant? Lance thinks that’s the word Allura and Coran have been using. Anyway, it’s just what they do. No need to thank them. 

Though, yeah, all that thanks is very much appreciated. 

(It’s still super weird. Because him? They really have all this unwavering faith in Lance, in all of them, to end a war that’s been going on for far longer than his family tree has been alive?

How could—)

The prismariums are a species that can best be described as what would happen if you squeezed toothpaste into a human-ish shaped mould. That clear stuff with all the microplastics in. Their skin shimmers at the touch, pulsing in colours specific to the individual, blues and greens, and yellows, and reds. There’s this particularly beautiful one at the front of the group with eyes vaguely reminiscent of Allura’s, and pink scales lining her neck and upper arms. Her hair descends just past her shoulders, and has an overall effect that reminds Lance of that one fibre optic lamp he had as a kid, always enthralled by its colours. Even her eyelashes pulse with colour.

She introduces herself as Princess Evuth, the third daughter of Queen Naex, and practically begs them all to follow her to the castle to speak with her mother so she can coordinate the proper ceremony required for saving her people.

“We’re just doing our job as paladins,” says Shiro, who much to Lance’s disappointment seems to have no intention of accepting any reward. “The safety of this quadrant will be reward enough.”

“But it is customary!” Princess Evuth protests, something in her tone triggering immediate action from Allura.

“Shiro,” she says, placing a hand on his shoulder. Lance does his best to suppress the slight pang of jealousy at their closeness. “I think it’s best we agree. We wouldn’t want to offend her people’s customs.” Lance recalls their time with the Arusians, all too ready to throw themselves into a sacrificial pyre. Perhaps Allura is currently doing the same. “And I would very much like to speak to the queen about joining the coalition.”

“Excellent,” says Princess Evuth, beaming with joy. “Please allow me to escort you to the castle.”

Lance hadn’t really had time to admire the sights earlier on, back in his lion, a little preoccupied at the time, but looking at this planet now, it’s easily a beautiful one, flush with greens, fields and hills as far as the eye can see, which it does pretty well, twenty twenty vision and all, rip Pidge (“What do you mean you don’t actually need glasses?”) Between triangular shaped crystal outcrops—their numerous windows suggesting that these are their homes rather than ornamental scenery—copious amounts of trees spring from the ground, leaves oddly translucent, a running theme on this planet. 

And if you think the prismariums are colourful, they have nothing on their castle, a giant glittering set of prisms protruding from the ground, reflecting beams of rainbow light every which way. They truly live up to their prismarium name, so it seems. 

“Ahh, it may be different, but it’s just as colourful as I remember,” says Coran, an achingly nostalgic glint to his eye, “I’ve only been the once. My old band, you see, we wanted to branch out to other music genres, find a wider audience outside of Altea. Those were the days. The Prismariums were famous for their Yarflemfloop, this long instrument that wobbles around like this, see?” He makes this wobbling motion with his whole body, his limbs suddenly jellyified. “Though I never could quite get any of the notes right. It does make for a nice hat. Though I wouldn’t recommend keeping it on unless you want it stuck there. Haha!”

Princess Evuth’s eyes widen, horrified. “Who in the stars would ever put a Yarflemfloop on their head?”

“Oh, you know.” Coran’s smile turns sheepish. “Just a fellow I once knew. Had one too many a pint of nunvil. Nothing worth dwelling on now, it’s all in the past.”

Allura rolls her eyes, shaking her head to herself. And yet, it’s an action that’s so incredibly fond. 

They make their way into the castle with significantly less anecdotes from Coran this time, giving Princess Evuth the opportunity to throw in some tourist trivia as they shuffle onto this large, circular platform to take them upwards into the castle. Stuff about the glamorous views in the Winter months—an approximately nine month long period in their twenty four month long year—and the planet’s musical history, such as how they managed to make their rocks ‘sing’ in a way, achieving notes through contact. 

The castle appears to have a hollowed out centre, though, which becomes obvious when the queen meets them in her throne room, large and spacious with a glass floor that has even Lance—a pilot with no history of having a fear of heights—feeling slightly queasy upon realising how far up they are. He has no idea how Hunk lives like this. 

“Esteemed paladins, Princess Allura, Advisor Coran,” begins the queen, red and purple where her daughter is pink. She rises from a triangular shaped chair to greet them. “I cannot thank you enough for protecting my planet’s safety, and by extension, the safety of my beloved daughters of whom are my greatest treasure of all. Please allow me to extend you my hospitality, and request that you attend our victory celebration later this evening.” She pauses. “I hope my invitation won’t delay you on your mission to recover peace across the universe.”

“We would be honoured to attend,” says Allura, and before they know it, they’re getting a tour of the castle as the chefs prepare. 

The rest of the castle lacks the transparent flooring that distinguishes the throne room, going for all of the colours instead of none. They get led down passageways completely orange, or blue, or whatever shirmple is (“I see. It appears your eyes cannot pick up the varied range of colours as we can.”) to just as vibrant rooms, some of the highlights being the music room (none of the instruments in there remotely resembling anything you’d find on Earth, though Lance does get to find out what a Yarflemfloop is as well as firsthand experience that Coran cannot play it), the golf course (which none of the prismariums refer to as golf), and the swimming pool (Lance does not know what that liquid is but it is not water. Looks rather rejuvenating though. He’d be open to trying it out). Lance supposes that, on whatever planet you’re on, rich people will be rich people.

“The legend goes that our people were cut out of the very rocks that form our land,” Princess Evuth says as they pass through an art gallery showcasing the works of various artists hanging from the walls. One in particular is of a prismarium emerging from a glittering crystal, all geometric shapes and angular lines. “Whilst I’m not sure that it is true, we have always had a deep connection with our land. Not quite in the way the Balmerans do, but enough to rely on the rocks for navigation. They tell stories in a way, echoes of history, and we listen. We are never lost among our stone.”

“Well, princess, if you were a rock, you’d surely be a diamond,” Lance says, adding in a wink for good measure. He ignores the groans, especially Keith’s. That guy wishes he had lines as good as his. 

Princess Evuth blinks. Then giggles. “I have no idea what that is.”

“Oh.”

“But I believe it was a compliment?” the princess adds hopefully.

Lance clears his throat. “Um. Yeah.”

“Then I consider you all diamonds too,” she says with such open earnesty as she leads them down the next hallway.   

“Smooth going there, Lance,” says Pidge, nudging him in the arm. Hunk rolls his eyes beside them.

“Oh shut up.”

***

The last stop in their tour can be summarised as the funhouse mirror room. Just. So many mirrors. Hunk and Pidge are already posing in front of one that makes Pidge look like Goliath rather than three apples tall in comparison to Hunk who looks like he has been shrunk in the wash. 

“Not bad,” says Pidge, raising her hand above her head to compare heights. “You know, I used to love these as a kid.”

“Uh, Pidge, you’re still a kid,” Hunk observes, “We’re still kids. Technically. I mean, my birthday’s coming up… uh… sometime soon. I think. Space time throws my head through a loop. But until then…”

“Well, this was years ago. Back when Mum and Matt would…” Pidge trails off, a nostalgia exchanged for the grim reality of the present. She deflates. 

Hunk squeezes her shoulder, a gentle encouragement. “Let’s look in the other mirrors.”

“Hey, Hunk,” says Lance, waving the pair over. He points at a mirror next to him, one that seems to have an in-built Instagram filter, making his skin glitter as if dusted in stars. “Do you think it captured my good side?”

“You have no good side,” comes a voice that is distinctly not Hunk. Thanks Keith.

“Yeah? Well, who was talking to you, huh?” Lance counters, glaring daggers far sharper than Keith’s ever touched. “‘You have no good side’, puh-lease. I’ll have you know that that was a trick question! Every side is my good side.”

“… Uhuh,” is all Keith says. Lance will take this as a win. 

“Oh man, that is a cool mirror. My skin’s all spacey,” says Hunk, now standing next to him. After waving at himself a few times, his attention is distracted by another mirror nearby. “Oh hey! Look at this one. Everything’s all red. Keith, you should check this one out. That colour’s, like, your thing, right?”

“Yeah, Keith, you should check it out,” says Pidge, a rising smirk that suggests some sort of jab is coming. Hah! Take that Keith. “You wouldn’t want to come between Lance and his reflection after all. Just leave them to it.”

“Hey!” protests Lance, feeling the sting of betrayal, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Allura sighs, shaking her head. “Paladins, please. We’re in company.”

“It’s alright, Princess, no one’s destroyed anything. Yet,” says Shiro, giving off the aura of an amused parent watching his kids scramble around on the play equipment. And he calls himself too young to be ‘space Dad.’

“Agreed,” says Princess Evuth, “You should see me with my siblings.” 

“Uh, Princess. I think your mirror is broken,” says Keith, peering at his complete lack of a reflection in the largest mirror here, with a grand, ornate swirling frame, encrusted with many a priceless jewel. True to his word, its surface remains distorted, a haze of colour and nothing much else. Poor excuse for a mirror if you ask him. Can’t even mirror right.

Or—

“Or maybe you’re just a vampire,” suggests Lance, “Would explain the fangs.” He points to his own teeth. Lance swears up and down, left right and centre that Keith’s canines were a tad on the pointy side when he caught him munching on that space goo. Does he spend all that time in the bathroom sharpening his teeth?

“They’re not—” Keith whirls around to face him. “I have very normal teeth, thank you.”

“You’re joking, right? Have you looked in the mirror lat—oh. Wait.”

“Lance,” chides Shiro, and come on mr. favouritism. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.

“Oh! I see you’ve found the oldest mirror in our collection,” says Princess Evuth, making her way over. “It’s remarkable, really. It predates even this castle. It’s over hundreds of thousands of deca-phoebs old.”

“So it needs a clean, then?” says Lance. He finds it strange how dust manages to land on objects vertically. What’s even keeping it there?

“No, it simply doesn’t reflect. The legend goes that a meteorite fell from the sky unlike any our people have ever seen before. There wasn’t much of it, but my ancestor, Queen Oleeria, had it crafted into this very mirror you see before you by her own hand, wanting a metal so precious to be displayed in her room. It was strange. Despite it not being of our world, she found a way to connect with it in a way that defies words.” 

Lance casts the Princess and Coran a curious look, noticing how they both suck in a breath. Huh.

“They say that it’s a window,” Princess Evuth finishes, “A window to other realities.”

“Other realities?” repeats the echo in the room, Pidge, “Huh. I’ve read many theories about them from plenty of respected researchers, but that’s only speculation. And if it were possible, it would require a device much larger than a pane of glass.”

“Like I said, it’s just a legend. What matters is that my mother holds it dear. Please go careful near it as I… Princess Allura, are you quite alright?” 

Allura seems to snap out of some sort of dazed expression, pulling her hand back from where she was unconsciously reaching for the meteorite mirror. Double huh of the day. It’s not like her to space out like this. Coran similarly regards her with concern.

“Forgive me for interrupting. You were saying?”

Whatever Princess Evuth was saying, they’ll never know, as her eyes seem to fall on someone behind Lance. Turning around, he sees a prismarium with orange scales, dressed in a simplistic attire, signifying them as one of the castle staff. “Ah. Yes?”

“They’re ready for you, Princess.”

Princess Evuth glances at them all. “Perfect. Shall we?” 

***

The dining hall is utterly extravagant, maybe something reminiscent of Altea’s in its heyday, crystal chandeliers and a table so long the only way to communicate with the other side is via messenger pigeon. Atop the table boasts a bountiful feast fit for kings. Which makes sense. There’s a lot of royalty present. 

Princess Evuth ushers them past nervous castle staff and guests to the head of the table where the Queen currently sits, accompanied by two others Lance surmises are the Princess’ siblings, one red, and the other a darker shade of pink. Hot pink. And yet, just as equally hot as her sister. 

“Now this is what I call a feast,” says Hunk as they sit down, Lance opting to take the seat next to him and Allura (heck yeah). Hunk’s gaze lands inquisitively on a dish in front of them, and whilst Lance isn’t exactly chomping at the bit to eat food so fluorescent his insides could be glowing for decades, it’s a step above food goo. And at least it doesn’t move of its own accord. 

“It’s a special occasion,” says the Queen, and then a little louder, projecting her voice so at least half of the table can hear her. “Another quintant of our planet being free of the Galra. Let us pray that they do not find us here. Or if they do, we will have Voltron to keep them at bay.”

“Then can I assume you’re accepting our proposal to join the coalition?” Allura asks, hopeful. 

“Of course. It would be my pleasure. We are long due an era of peace.”

As Lance starts searching around for food he’ll be able to digest with minimal consequences (“Paladin, are you eating garnish?” Princess Evuth asks, clearly amused), and Hunk’s talking to Pidge about seasoning and five star reviews or something, Lance notices Allura’s got that weirdly glazed look in her eyes again. She hasn’t even touched her plate. Or added anything to it.

“Allura?” Lance prompts, his worry growing. “Are you okay?”

“Hm?” She seems to come to. “Oh, yes.”

Lance doesn’t believe it for a second. The worry stays.

“Lance,” she says, “I’m fine. Truly. I—” She grunts, cradling her head. 

Coran jumps to attention. “Princess?”

“I’m okay,” she says through clenched teeth. “It’s just a headache.”

“Perhaps you would like to take one of our guest rooms to rest in?” suggests the queen, “I can have one of my staff escort you there.”

“I’ll come too!” says Coran, never one to waver when it comes to Allura’s wellbeing. 

“Please, there is no need to cause a fuss. I should be here to…” Allura winces. 

“It’s no fuss at all,” assures Queen Naex with a sympathetic smile. And before Allura has any more time to insist that she’s okay, she’s being led out of the room with Coran, the latter of the two returning about five-ish minutes later. 

After the feast, there’s a period of time where they mix and mingle, giving the chance for many of the other prismariums to ask them about Voltron, and what it’s like to fly the lions. Lance, of course, isn’t one to keep a crowd waiting. 

Allura’s still gone. 

“Do you think she’s hungry?” asks Hunk, a second conductor on the Allura train of thought, “I mean, there’s all this nice food, and she didn’t take anything. It seems like a shame that she has to miss out.“

“Ooor I could take some to her,” offers Lance, seeing an opportunity to check up on Allura. He’s worried, okay. And can you blame him? She always looks so strong, it’s easy to forget that she’s only human. Or, rather, altean. Guess they aren’t exempt from headaches. 

“Is this really the best time to try and make a move on Allura?” says Hunk, giving him an unimpressed look. 

“That’s not what—just help me find something she might like.” 

Considering they’re guessing here, they pile a plate up, the more the merrier, the greater chance at least one of the snacks will be a hit, and Lance starts making his way to the general vicinity of the guest rooms after getting one of the staff to repeat the direction to him about five times. Hey. He’s just being careful. You could get lost in a place like this. 

He’s about halfway there when he spots Allura, having apparently decided a walk would clear her head. 

“Allura!” he says, rushing up to greet her. “Is your head feeling better? I’ve brought you some food from the feast and… uh. Allura?”

Not for the first time today, her eyes are glazed over. She’s also continuing on her walk, oblivious to Lance’s presence. 

“Allura?” he says again, hoping it’ll snap her out as it did before. When it doesn’t, he starts waving his hand in front of her face, accidentally bonking her on the nose as she walks into it. Still no response. “Yoohoo? Princess? Are you still in there?”

Again. No response.

“Allura? Wakey wakey?”

Nothing.

“Uuuhhh. Are you sleeping beauty, because girl, you’re stuck in a trance.”

Well. Pick up lining her awake doesn’t work. But this does get Lance thinking. It does appear to be some sort of trance, one that started in the funhouse mirror room.

She had been trying to touch that mirror.

And now—

Lance remembers this hallway, remembers the door at the end.

“Nu-uh, Princess,” says Lance, attempting to hold Allura back. “I can’t allow you to do that. I know it’s a pretty cool mirror and all, but it’s super old and grimy. You don’t want to put your hands all over it.”

Allura pays him no mind. No anything. His cheap attempt at restraining her simply doesn’t go noticed when a) she’s under some sort of sleeping beauty curse that’s gonna get her to prick her finger or something on a mirror (?) and b) Allura’s an altean with unthinkable level of raw strength. Lance wouldn’t last two seconds against her in an arm wrestling contest. 

He could really do with backup right now. But he doesn’t have his helmet comms, and there’s no time to run for help. He’ll have to play this smart. 

A barricade. That’s it. He needs a barricade. That should slow her down, long enough for him to get the others. 

Lance runs ahead, and drags some fancy cabinets from the hallway over to the door, mentally apologising to the prismariums for any damages that might occur. It’s very much not a one person job, but he makes do, pulling together a makeshift barricade out of what he has.

“Now, if this can stop you long enough—” Lance is interrupted by the sound of splintering wood as Allura breaks through. 

Oh cheese. Even those barricades you see in movies hold longer than that. 

Lance is desperate now, holding her arm and refusing to let go as she gets closer and closer to it. Lance can power of love this, right? That’s usually the hero’s last trump card, and it always works at the last possible moment. 

“Don’t do this!” Lance says, then starts wracking his brain for other quotes, noticing how the mirror’s surface starts to swirl like rolling smoke. “You have to fight it, Allura. We need you, here, with us, to save the universe. We can’t do that if you get possessed by an evil mirror. Or—Or—Whatever it’s doing to you! Don’t listen to it!”

***

𝙽𝚘𝚠

“But, uh, long story short: you listened to it. So I guess we’re here now?” Lance says, finishing up his own abridged version of the story. There really wasn’t much for him to tell. “Wherever here might be. Hey, does this mean we’re inside of the mirror? Is this some freaky mirror world?”   

Lance has played some horror games like this before. Very brain trippy. The reverse controls were a pain. 

“I can’t be sure. Wherever we are, it’s certainly not Queen Naex’s castle.” Her eyes scan the room, taking in the blue walls, and high ceiling, all incredibly familiar. “The Castle of Lions I believe? Though I can’t say I recall this room. Or this… photo?”

From a nightstand, Allura picks up a photograph, looking at it for no longer than a second before her face is flushing. She immediately presses it down, frame first, back where she found it. 

Now, that’s curious. “Uh…”

“It’s nothing important,” says Allura, not looking him in the eye. Weird. She clears her throat. “Remember what the Princess said? About the mirror being a window to other realities?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s as if it… called to me, wanting to show me something. It felt warm, and familiar, and I at first mistook it for my bond I share with the lions. It felt like coming home.” She takes a steady breath. “There could be truth to her tale. Though instead of a window, it is a door.”

Lance blinks. “Well huh. Aliens and now the multiverse. Sci-fi’s starting to feel like a documentary.”

“You’re remarkably calm.”

“You kind of just learn to roll with it. Takes a lot to phase me, you know.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep,” says Lance, sliding himself off the bed. Huh. Something feels off. “Is it me, or am I taller?”

“It’s not just you. We seem to be occupying the bodies of our variants. They’re a little older than we’re used to.”

Lance splutters. “Older?! Don’t tell me I have wrinkles!? Do I have wrinkles?”

“… Well.”

Her pause is telling. “My skincare routine! How could you future me? What about our future?” Lance laments, a great tragedy indeed. All his hard work and age is failing him. He’s too young to be this old!

“Were you not just telling me about how it takes a lot to phase you?”

“And this is a lot! I mean, we wake up who knows where, in a bed… together. Um.” Backtrack, backtrack. He gulps, feeling his face warm once more. “So in this universe—”

“Reality.”

“—Uh. In this reality. Are you and me—?”

“Yes.”

He tries not to squeak. It doesn’t work. “So this means we—?”

“I don’t want to think about it,” she says, curt, to the point. It betrays no emotion.

“Oh. Okay,” says Lance, that buoyant feeling in his chest sinking into a wreckage of scraps. Cool, cool, cool. No thinking about this very real reality where he and Allura may be in a committed relationship. No prob. 

“We need to focus on finding our way back.”

“You’re right.”

Something in Allura’s eyes softens slightly. “Look, Lance. We can talk later. But for now, we must find our entry point into this reality. Voltron needs its blue paladin.”