Disclaimer: I do not own either Voltron or its original Japanese version Golion. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit entertainment.
Helm
Sincline sat despondent in his private quarters aboard his flagship. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his helmet held in his hands. A half empty and forgotten goblet of wine perched precariously on the vacant armrest. One of his slaves rushed forward to refill it for him before the Prince Imperial had the chance to shout for her to do so. Sincline continued to ignore the glass as he was ignoring the slaves dancing before him, the Prince intent on studying the helmet held in his hands.
Made of black carbon fiber, it was stronger than any metal yet made by human hands. Its smooth blackness had been adorned with silver fashioned to look like wings; dragon wings most likely, but Sincline had always felt they looked more like a bat's. It was said that an ancient master of occult-science had wrought it and that the helmet would guard whomever wore it from death. Any sword that hewed it would be broken; any lazer blast that smote it would be sprung to the side. The Prince Imperial had never put much stock in such superstitious lore, but then again he had never been sniped in the head before.
It had been a normal Saturday morning. Sincline had begun with a light breakfast in his private quarters aboard his flagship, he had watched Altea rise in into view of his stateroom's viewport and had thought what a beautiful blue it was, almost as lovely a color as Princess Fala's eyes. After breakfast he had set to work with his latest plan to defeat Golion, separating the five Lion pilots and preventing them from forming the formidable giant-robot. Once the Lions were handicapped by the inability to combine he would drop the death-black beastman enhanced by Honerva's own brand of occult-science and destroy Castle Garam. That had been the plan and the plan had gone well enough at first.
They had successfully divided the five Golion pilots, the Prince Imperial had personally seen to the apprehension of Princess Fala, the pilot of Blue Lion. He had her at his mercy, restrained so that she couldn't escape him, her hair falling louse from the split bun she wore it in, her eyes alight with passion and resolve as she vainly struggled to free herself. Sincline thought she looked every bit like a lioness caught in a hunter's trap and he was delighted at having captured so bewitching a prey as Fala was. When the Prince had approached her to caress his hand across her delicate cheek she had bitten his hand, her flat human teeth doing little more than tickling the skin under his glove, but he admired her warrior's spirit.
"You would make a fine Empress." He had told her while smiling with true pleasure. Within the Galra Empire only the strong survived and only the strongest ruled. Being human, Fala might have been weak of body but she more than made up for it in strength of will and a strong will was far more important in a leader of nations than was physical strength.
She had snarled disparagingly at him and offered a number of discourteous assessments of his character along with the promise that she would never marry him.
The Prince Imperial, never one to take rejection well, had barre his teeth in anger offering her an intimidating display of pointed teeth and sharp fangs and he swore that she would be his one way or another. Sincline had raised his hand as if to strike her in his anger but thought better of it in the last moment, thinking a more fitting punishment for his bride-to-be as well as a means of teaching her her place would be to make her watch as he destroyed not only her friends and fellow Golion pilots but also her precious fortress the Castle Garam. He had smiled to himself at that, pleased with this idea and stepped back from Fala. It was then, in the moment when he had stepped away from his beloved blond princess that he was shot.
BAM! Head-shot!
Sincline sat despondent in his private quarters aboard his flagship studying the helmet held in his hands. By all accounts he should be dead. The Prince Imperial ran his hand over the round dent that marred the otherwise perfect surface of the black and silver helmet. Dead center of the forehead, an instant kill in any other situation but this one. He had never before believed the legends of the helmet's almost supernatural ability to guard the wearer from death, the Prince had always thought them to be nothing more than propaganda meant to increase the fear and awe that the Imperial Royal Family was already held in. Now Sincline wondered if it hadn't indeed been imbued with some sort of magical property or properties that would guard the wearer. The shooter had certainly been shocked that he was still alive.
Kogane, the Earth-born space pilot, former slave of the Galra Empire, current pilot of Black Lion and leader of the Golion team had leapt from the cover of the lush Altean foliage his lazer-pistol still in his hand. "You bastard!" He had said, his ebony eyes flashing with abject loathing. "How are you still alive? Are you really so much of a devil that you cannot die?"
The Prince Imperial had laughed low in the back of his throat, a deep mirthless laugh that sent chills through most people. He climbed back to his feet, glaring daggers at the insolent human wretch who dared interrupt him when he was with his ladylove. "Perhaps." He replied with a smirk. "You can fight me and find out now or you could try and get to your Lion in time to save your precious Castle Garam from my beastman."
Kogane had glanced in the direction of the castle before directing his loathsome gaze back at Sincline. "You evil bastard." He had growled.
"Subjective assessments are meaningless." The Prince Imperial continued to smirk at the Golion captain.
Kogane had snarled wordlessly then and fired his lazer-pistol. Sincline had leapt away, not trusting his luck to save him from death a second time. But the Black Lion pilot had not been aiming for him but rather the restraints that bound his beloved Princess. The now freed Fala had rushed to her hero's side, much to the rage and frustration of her Imperial capture. She clung to Kogane's arm and glared over his shoulder at the Galran Prince, her affection for the Earth-born wretch pushing Sincline's fury to new heights.
In the end Fala had escaped his clutches as she always did. She and Kogane had managed to get to their respective Lions in time as they always did. Sincline's beastman had lost to the combined Golion as it always seemed to and the Prince Imperial had been forced to flee in his bat-winged fighter-jet like he always did. Overall, it had really be a normal Saturday for everyone involved, normal in all respects except for the fact that he really should be dead right now. His brains should be spattered all over the Altean countryside and they were not. And all because he had been wearing a helmet that was said to be imbued with magical properties. Any sword that hewed it would be broken; any lazer blast that smote it would be sprung to the side.
The Prince leaned back in his chair, draping his arms over the armrest, knocking over his goblet filled with blood-wine and spilling it all over his pants as well as the floor.
"F-forgive me, Your Highness." The same slave-girl whom had filled the glass rushed forward to clean the mess and hopefully placate his anger. She had little success.
"Bitch." Sincline muttered and, taking his sword, sliced the girl across the breast from shoulder the hip. She fell at his feet, dead. He sagged back into his chair and resumed his pensive scrutiny of his helmet.
It had been given to him by his father shortly after graduating from the Imperial Military Academy. Daibazaal, never one to mince words or waste time on emotional pronouncements had simply handed Sincline the helmet and said, "This helm is an heirloom of our family. Wear it well." He hadn't even placed it on his own son's head, leaving that for the Prince himself to do.
Daibazaal had inherited it from his father but to the best of Sincline's knowledge had never actually worn it into battle. Knowing his father, the Prince Imperial figured that Daibazaal would think himself weak to have to rely on the supernatural protection of a piece of headgear to guard his life in battle. He probably considered it a credit to his own personal strength that he had managed to expand the Empire so much without it and Sincline now wondered if his father had given him the helmet because he feared him to be weak. 'Wear it well' coming from Daibazaal could easily be translated as 'Don't embarrass me or the Empire.' And what an embarrassment he was shaping up to be, unable to defeat five pathetic human pilots and their kitty-cat mechs.
However, a more optimistic interpretation could be that Daibazaal had gifted him with the helmet because he actually cared for his son and feared for his safety in battle as he fought to expand their great empire.
That idea was laughable.
Daibazaal's father's father, Sincline's great-grandfather had not worn the helmet either, but not by choice. He had not been of royal blood but was rather the consort to the Empress, Sincline's great-grandmother. She had worn the helmet for a short time but for her it had been more of a symbol of the Empire's great military power, she did not participate in many battles preferring to give orders from the safety of the Imperial Capitol on the Galra home-world rather than throw herself into the thick of battle.
The Prince Imperial could trace the helmet in his family history back to the First Age of Galran space exploration, back when the Empire was little more than the few planets within their own solar system, before they pushed their expansion to the galaxy beyond. Through that history there is always the story of the helmet's magical properties, but never any examples of them. Often the heir to the thrown would wear it into their wars and the moral and resolve of the hosts of Galra were uplifted sure of their victory when they saw it towering high in the midst of battle. But Sincline, it seemed, did not wear the helmet with ease to spite the fact that he was the Heir Apparent and leader of the Empire's Altean-Front Fleet. It had always sat just a little to heavily on his head, the weight of all the generations of Galran kings bearing down on him, reminding the Prince that he was half-human, a lesser son of greater sires.
Still, to spite the pollution of his weaker human blood, the helmet had deigned to spare his life. The question now remained: What shall he do with that life? Should he rise into greatness higher than all his fathers before him, or fall into darkness and obscurity with all that was left of his human kin?
END
(A/N: There really should be a separate category for Golion fictions. I don't much like throwing them in with Voltron because Voltron deviated from the original Golion so much that at this point, they really are two separate and different series. Sadly, there is no Golion category in either the Anime division or the Cartoon division and so in with Voltron Golion fictions will go.)