Chapter Text
Megatron, the great and mighty Warlord of Kaon, was a very, very lonely mech and something needed to be done, he decided. He had searched his home city-state for a suitable mate all throughout his extensive existence; he held countless galas and feasts and walked the streets of settlements large and small, always seeking but never finding one who could be his equal in all ways. Expanding his search to the allied city-states of Vos and Simfur gave him no quarter either, much to his dismay. Even with full permission to search the ranks of the Helixian monks (who were neutral and thusly open to any who would seek them), he was still left wanting! And of course the Oracle of Praxus turned him away every time he made pilgrimage to her, with no word as to why, or any hint of when he might have an answer to his question.
There was nowhere left open to him to search anymore – the rest of Cybertron’s many city-states held fast their doors against him thanks to wars of ages past. That the wars were not of his doing proved to be of little consequence. He was at a loss. The realization of his dwindling chances threw everything in stark relief and Megatron knew that there was only one course of action left: he had to return to the Oracle. It had come to the point that even his sternest advisors finally agreed that he would be best off just sitting there until the prophet had no choice but to give him an answer, even if said answer was that he was destined to be alone. It would be better than more of the tortuous and uncertain wait he had already endured!
The whole journey - first by skimmer to the bottom-most edge of Vos, and then by pede through five orns worth of wilderness between Cybertropolis and Tarn - with his four-mech squad of chassisguards and his oldest friend was so routine by that point that he didn’t even feel relief when they were met with a formal escort just inside of the Praxian border that overlapped the Rust Sea. They were taken in hospitably enough, however, and that soothed some of his agitation; in short order, they were bathed and refueled by frail looking servants with pure white optics to match their glossy paint schemes. Once they were clean, they were ushered into a shallow boat that took them of its own accord to the pale palace built atop the largest island in the archipelago that Praxus had claimed before recorded times for itself.
By that time, the first of their two moons has just begun to rise. The water reflected it beautifully and lit the way for them to see their destination within only a few breems. It was enough of a distraction that the trip was quiet, for which the Kaonite warlord was grateful. It helped him settle his nerves so that he could (hopefully) make it through this without just losing his processor.
They landed and docked the boat in hardly any time at all, but once the group reached the bottom stair of the moonlit structure, Megatron had to leave his companions behind - only the inquirer was permitted to enter. He always hated that part because sometimes it was an orn or more before the Oracle would see him and the nerves were that much worse for not having anyone to speak to in the meantime… Still, his resolve was unwavering and he mounted the steps with self-assurance after one last prayer to Unicron (and any other god who might have mercy on his weary spark, for that matter). He would have his answer this time!
It was almost anti-climatic that he barely entered the main hall of the palace before an acolyte appeared to divest him of his cape and weapons and then guide him into the Oracle’s water room.
The aging, veiled femme was already waiting, waist deep in the gently rolling waters from the ocean outside and with her back to him, as it had always been in the hundreds of times he had come before. Megatron’s spark clenched painfully. He felt acutely the sting of her silent refusal when she did not acknowledge him. Was she rejecting him again? If he could just know where his mate-to-be was…! That was all he needed! Surely it wasn’t too much to ask of one who saw all?
He forced himself to utter the same request he always came with regardless of her attentions, knowing full well that she could hear him. His voice rough with desperation as warm waters swelled up around his pedes and then receded in gentle waves, as if coaxing the words from him.
“Please, Oracle… Please tell me where I can find the mech I’ll spend my vorns with. A name, a face, a location… Anything. Gods, just tell me he exists…”
Silent and motionless the femme remained as he shifted from pede to pede after issuing his request, but he refused to walk away. He would wait as long as it took. Until the end of the world and beyond if that was what the gods wished of him!
It felt like ages passed before the Oracle turned, her veil swirling unnaturally around her with the movement, and Megatron felt struck by the piercing optics that glowed brightly despite the obstructive fabric that covered them. Wordless still, she strode from the pool and passed him, but something told him to follow even as his instinct told him that she was only going to do what she had always done. He had grown accustomed to it, after all…
As they left the water room, the Kaonite ruler spared a thought to be bemused by the fact that the Oracle left no water trail, yet he left slippery pede prints for some ways as they walked. They went down one hall, then another, then one more, leading further and further into the palace than he had thought outsiders were allowed. At the end of the third hall, they came upon a winding staircase, which they climbed all the way up to where it opened up into a broad, wall-less platform with a single raised dais at the center.
The moons were both in the sky, he noted, and a small, hopelessly optimistic part of Megatron wondered if that was what the Oracle had been waiting for. He had never gotten this far with her before, but surely she would give him an answer if she was willing to guide him this far…
She never spoke, but took her place beside the pedestal after gesturing for him to wait where he was. She raised her slender arms with their timeworn hands and sharp, spindly fingers in graceful gesticulation that seemed to cut a shape from the very atmosphere, and Megatron watched, transfixed as shimmering lines of power followed her limbs, raising a viewing portal such as he had never before seen from the surface between them. Through it, the visage of a young mech of red and blue came into focus, bright optics of a very telling shade shining with mirth at something only he could see. Almost like an epiphany, a name came to mind: Optronix. His mate-to-be’s name was Optronix. He looked so real and so… so right there that Megatron thought he could simply call out to him and be heard. His hand shook as he raised it to touch the image, only for it to flicker and fade as he disrupted it.
“That is my mate?” he asked the Oracle, only getting another Look for his efforts. He was aware of the volatile mix of emotions (anger, excitement, distress, relief, frustration) that played out across his tone and features, but he couldn’t help it any more than he had been able to help not getting an answer before now. It was useless to try and berate the Oracle, anyway… He had no jurisdiction here on Praxus and it would bar him from what help the techno-magi could and would give in the future if he tried. Even he would not have the gall to attempt it.
He had more pressing concerns though, for the mech he had been shown was very clearly Iaconian. He was a fine young mech, too, tall and lithe – still gangly but obviously well on his way to a fully developed warrior build. But he was just that: a mechling barely out of his younglinghood and not yet adorned with the red cape of a fully fledged warrior or even the deep blue of the scholar that Iacon was so well known for.
And lest he try to forget, the mech was an Iaconian; a native of his most bitterly fought adversary. If he had been anything but that, this would not be nearly so daunting a task!
The gears in his mind were turning, nevertheless. He was fool enough to think he could possibly have any hope of getting his mate without shedding energon and coolants for him and desperate enough to try. A peace treaty such as he had been contemplating for a while now with many of the city-states was an option, but something told him that convincing Iacon of his sudden desire for one (not to mention the price he would ask for it – a mate of one’s choosing was not often used as currency anymore) would be just as hard as convincing his own stubborn nobles that it would be good for them all.
Megatron bowed his helm in equal parts respect and gratitude to the Oracle and thanked her for what she had been able to give him before retreating down the stairs and once more through the hallowed halls to where the same acolyte from before waited with his belongings. He donned his dark violet mantle with ease and took his weapons back from yet another set of strangely pale hands before taking his leave of the place.
Even once he had convinced Iacon of his sincerity, he thought as he descended the stairs to where his companions waited, he would still have to convince the mech himself. After all, it would all be for naught if theirs was a loveless bond… A proper courting once he had him, maybe, since just telling him they were meant for one another would amount to nothing at all.
Or wooing, perhaps? Hmm. Yeesss… He could woo the lithe mech. Optronix was old enough that a secret admirer would be thrilling, but young enough that gifts and attention still held sway over his feelings, surely? Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all. The rush he felt made him think himself more alive than he had been in decavorns. For that alone, this could be worth it. At last he had an answer, a goal, maybe even a happy ending…
His guards were upon him before he even reached the bottom of the stairs, cutting into his thoughts with questions and gentle but insistent hands on his arms and shoulders and chest. There was the familiar tingle of a routine scan from the medic of his chassisguards, Breakdown, and it was a comfort to his frazzled nerves to hear Wildrider’s relieved chuckle that he was just as whole as when he parted from them. At the same time, Starscream, dear, obnoxious winged menace that he was, got right up in his face, golden optics searching his own ruby ones with a desperation that made him ache. If anything might have made him want to drag out giving them the answer they were all waiting for, that look slew it on the spot. Starscream had been waiting just as long as he, after all. His wait had been filled with more frustration than sadness though, for the Oracle had long ago told him he would only find his mate after the Warlord of Kaon came into his own and the constant failures and rejections had worn him down after so long in limbo.
“He is from Iacon,” he said softly, the words enough explanation all on their own. “We’ll begin preparations once we return to Kaon.” He touched Starscream’s shoulder when the mech stepped back from him, a whirlwind of emotions flickering across his features ranging from abject terror to fierce elation. “It won’t be long now, Starscream. Come; let’s be away from here…”
The next few orns flew by as Starscream, always quick to bounce back from surprises, blabbered on and on as they trekked back to Vos, talking about how wonderful his mate would be and he couldn’t wait to meet him; he hoped he was a scientist and liked flying (maybe he was a flyer, even?) but whatever he was or whatever he did, he would love him with all his spark. The Vosian spoke at length about how they would sire many creations together, as well, which Megatron had to laugh at because Starscream didn’t even know the mech and he was already picking out designations for an entire fleet of their theoretical littles. Amusement aside, it was something of a relief when they made it back to their skimmer and started a course for Kaon. At least then he had an excuse to step away so that he could make a call to the captain of his palace guard while Starscream and his trinemates (freshly reunited and sharing in his excitement over the prospect of a mate for one of them) flew alongside the vessel.
A sharp grin stole over the Warlord’s features when the mech he sought answered almost immediately, and he leaned back in his chair with an air of dark delight.
“Steelspark, we’ll be returning shortly. Summon Barricade and Soundwave to meet me in my chambers as soon as we land. I have a very special mission for them…” he all but purred, and a predatory sort of satisfaction settled low in his fuel pump as he cut the line after Steelspark’s acquiescing bow and waited for Starscream to return from his flight with his trine in tow.
They had much to plot, after all.