Chapter Text
Mid Winter Solstice, midday, 72nd Cycle of Optimus Prime
XXX
The freeze of winter fully claimed Iacon’s most coveted garden.
Snow and frost had woven a tapestry throughout the vast courtyard. Snowflakes drifted lazily through the open sides of the gazebo, settling upon the marble structure. Two untouched cups of fuel were set on the table. There, seated beside the table, Zeta Prime and Sentinel Prime watched the snow in silence. Sentinel’s gaze moved from the snow-covered scenery to Zeta.
Sentinel studied Zeta.
Dull sunlight reflected off Zeta’s white-silver plating, giving him a slight glow. His turquoise blue accents stood out against the snowy background. Normally, Zeta carried a quiet, regal air about him. However, today, there was something behind those simmering sharp optics, as if he were waiting—daring for the right bot to ask the wrong question. Perhaps it was irritation from the countless petitions written by greedy senators demanding Megatron’s execution or from the senate’s inability to find something substantial to pin on him? And if Sentinel learned anything from his time with Zeta, it was not to ask.
Once, a low-ranking senator asked to have his mentorship approved, right after Nova Prime (Zeta’s mentor) had passed away, leading to Zeta flying into a rage. Sentinel squirmed at the thought of the poor senator's punishment.
In Sentinel’s opinion, patience was never a virtue for Zeta because of his wrath.
It would be simpler if Zeta and the senate waited until Megatron or one of his close companions got sloppy—hopefully with tying up loose ends. Then, the senate and Zeta would finally stop salivating and order the execution they so desperately wanted, but no. No one ever listens to Sentinel about these things. Everyone knows he likes to focus on social events: galas, operas, entertainment—but never politics.
Yet, even he knew if they managed to find something, it probably wouldn’t warrant an execution.
“You seem displeased, Zeta.” Sentinel remarked, “You've been staring at the same spot for a while.”
Zeta turned his helm, his optics burned brightly, settling on the other Prime. “What an astute observation, Sentinel.”
“I thank you for your praise.” He smirked as he faced towards the snow-covered garden.
Zeta’s expression contorted into a nasty sneer, “Enough of the antics. Say what you wish to say.”
“You have quite the collection of petitions, Zeta. Even some senators from your court have sent me copies.”
Zeta scoffed, “Then you know what they pertain to."
Sentinel sighed, “If only finding evidence were as easy as writing a petition.”
“It isn’t.” Zeta’s tone hardened. “Any accusation has to make sense. This matter is hard enough, knowing Optimus has ties to—
Sentinel stopped him, holding up a servo, “All will be well. His distraction is coming into the palace soon, Zeta. The youth I picked doesn’t have anyone, not even a mentor. Optimus will be smitten to have another mentee.”
Zeta's optics narrowed as he tilted his helm in contemplation.
Sentinel continued. “While he’s too busy mentoring, you can have the Praxian find more evidence—if he still refuses to comply, you can gently inform Prowl that you know where his brother, Bluestreak, resides.”
“And if..”
“And if, what?”
“And if, for some reason, Prowl doesn’t find anything, I could simply have someone poison or vanish Megatron.” Zeta proposed.
“Hm, could it be traced to you?”
Zeta paused, his optics brightened with satisfaction as he spoke, “It worked for Nova.”
Sentinel’s frame froze.
Fear ran through him like a strike of lightning, taking over his frame completely. His intake felt dry.
“You—“ He fell silent as his words failed him. Knowing Zeta and his temper, he quietly settled back in his chair.
A few moments passed between the two of them, as Sentinel thought. His health was always strong, and so was his constitution. Though during his final years, he seemed to get weaker and often tired. The medics and examiners thought it was age-related, so everyone left it as that. However, Zeta insisted on taking care of Nova and had him move into his quarters. Days later, he passed away
Unless—
Frantically, Sentinel forced on a sympathetic smile, reaching out to grasp Zeta’s servo. “Nova’s spark gave out as he recharged, remember? I know you get quite sentimental around his anniversary.”
Zeta firmly cupped his servo over Sentinel’s, his optics burning at the other’s. “Ah, yes, Spark failure. His anniversary is around this time of the year.”
Zeta’s grip tightened before proceeding to let go with a laugh.
“As much as I'd love to tell you everything about Nova, we have more important things to discuss.”
“Such as?”
Zeta expression settled onto something thoughtful.
“A certain Prime”
“Optimus?”
“Optimus.”
Finally, the conversation—the topic Sentinel wanted was beginning. He was getting bored with dancing around words; everyone in the Senate loved the dance. Zeta Prime slowly sipped on the energon before starting:
“I feel as if I bet too much on Optimus.”
“Optimus is well-behaved, open-minded, and intelligent. Additionally, he has wonderful morals:” Sentinel defeated, “A model bot for Primehood.”
“He is. He’s more well-behaved than you,” an amused expression filled Zeta’s face.
“You know why—and that’s because you still punish me for no reason.”
“Be grateful—,” Zeta sternly pointed at Sentinel, "if I didn’t save you from that slum, how would you be able to step a pede in the palace?”
“You—“
Sentinel huffed as he continued with the conversation, “Unlike me, he and his brother, Ultra Magnus, were raised by Codexa and Alpha Trion. Optimus took after Codexa’s temperament and ideals.”
“Oh, I remember her; she would’ve seen the best qualities of a drone.” Zeta tilted his helm, “Such a shame, she was exceptionally pleasant to look at.”
Sentinel choked.
His back strut straightened as his helm whipped around to stare directly at the Prime next to him, “Don’t let Optimus hear you say that, Zeta,” he chastised.
“And why not?” Zeta challenged.
“Is he aware of your complex history with one of his mentors?” Sentinel countered.
Zeta’s tastes for those lower than him were kept under wraps to the public, yet well- known in the upper echelons of society. If Sentinel remembered correctly, Codexa worked for an incredibly short time in the palace as a scribe and recorder. Last he heard, she moved into the archives with Alpha Trion.
Zeta adjusted his position in his seat before his voice sharpened, “He knows better not to intrude on things of the past without reason, and I know you’ll stay quiet. Your servos aren’t the cleanest, either, Sentinel.”
“I’ve learned from the best. Compared to you, Zeta, I’m innocent, just like sweet Optimus.” Sentinel answered back.
“Sweet? Innocent?” Zeta softly patronized, “I don’t recall Optimus having a servant put to death over something he did.”
“The hierarchy must be—“
“Oh, yes of course, the hierarchy always must be maintained,” Zeta changed the topic with a wave of his servo. “Speaking of hierarchies, have you spoken to Optimus about his coronation date?”
Sentinel relented; he responded in a neutral tone.
“I believe he settled for it to happen in the spring. Originally, he’d hoped for it in the summer, but I convinced him to delay it for his peace of mind. I do believe Optimus will be over him by then.”
Zeta gave an irritated groan, ”Don’t get me started. As much as I would love to see that gladiator receive the punishment and be done with it—regrettably, we cannot storm into Kaon and arrest him lest we break Optimus’s spark and risk a civil war.”
Sentinel hesitated, then gave Zeta a saccharine smile, “Why not have him come to us?”
Zeta’s optics glowed with predatory satisfaction.
“Oh? Do tell me, I’m open to new methods.”
Sentinel gave a gentle nod. There was no need to speak; everything was all but said. The seed had been planted out, and Zeta had watered it; it was only a matter of time before it branched out and bore fruit.
Mid Winter Solstice, evening, 72nd Cycle of Optimus Prime
XXX
“Optimus!“ Bumblebee cried as he made his way to the Prime’s private box. “I’m so happy you invited me!”
“Oh, Bee.” Optimus gave a gentle smile behind his mask, “I’m glad you were able to accept my invitation.”
Bumblebee giggled as it overlooked the balcony, before skipping over to take a seat next to Optimus.
“I decided to stop being afraid of being an embarrassment to you and…myself. I’m not used to all these things.”
Optimus placed a servo on his mentee’s shoulder.
“You will never be an embarrassment to me, Bumblebee. Even I find myself not comfortable with the splendor of the capital.”
Bumblebee relaxed slightly.
Optimus found comfort in Bumblebee, since they were so similar. They only moved up a caste because others believed in them. Sometimes, the thought of someone taking it all away still frightened them both.
Optimus understood the fear the most. As a young mech, he could feel the divide between the wealthy and the impoverished. Being able to attend an institution was a blessing, only because of who his mentors were and his function.
To have a function is to have a duty to keep the planet alive. Primus, himself, gave up his form to function as the planet’s core. When a bot first emerges from the core or a hot spot, they are presented to the council. Then the council would evaluate their usefulness to society, and finally assign a role and an alt-mode.
Rarely, a blessed few would be chosen to serve in the senate as chancellors, judges, senators, and advisors. It would be uncommon to be assigned to academics, fine arts, entertainment, merchants, architecture, or warriors. Most likely, new constructs would be sent to become servants, laborers, and miners. However, there was a selection of bots who were casteless, nameless, and disposable. They did the functions no one else wanted to: mining and burials.
The fortunate were celebrated. The unfortunate were expected to be grateful for existing.
The religious zealots believed that if a bot performed their function perfectly to Primus’ liking, he would bless them with a higher caste when they reformatted in the future. Others believed a bot’s actions caused their caste; those of the casteless were seen as evil sinners who deserved being casteless.
If Primus was truly merciful, why would he allow innocent bots to suffer if all would be one in the end? Wasn’t freedom the right of all sentient beings?
Optimus sat there quietly, enjoying Bumblebee’s presence. Bumblebee turned to him asking,” Who all are coming?”
“I sent out invitations to the other Primes. I think it would be best for you to know them better in my presence and for them to know you under comfortable circumstances.”
Bee softly gasped, “I get to meet Sentinel and Zeta Prime?! Awesome—I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise!”
“I know you will be, Bumblebee,” Optimus chuckled before suddenly remembering, “Ah, I have something to tell you.”
The young gasped, optics wide with anticipation,”Really? Tell me!”
“In a few cycles—“
“Is that little Bumblebee I see?”
Both mechs turned toward the entrance of the private box.
“H-hello, sir!” Bumblebee’s face reddened as he rose from his seat.
“Sentinel.” Optimus greeted.
“Aw, aren’t you so well behaved?” Sentinel cooed, then he faced Optimus, giving him an approving smile as he lounged on a plush sofa.
“You taught him so well—oh, where are my manners!” He gestured to the youth,” You may be seated, Bumblebee.”
Bumblebee sat down with a small, “Yes, sir!”
“Which opera do you favor, Bumblebee?”
“O-oh, this my first one! It’s an honor to meet you.” The young bot beamed with pride. His optics glowed bright and cheerful, as a smile filled his face. Optimus chuckled at the sight. Bumblebee was always happy to make new friends; he’d make a scraplet go gentle.
Sentinel gasped delighted. “That’s cute—too cute. I’ve been dying to meet you.”
“Y-you have?”
“Of course! Optimus tells me everything about you. Tell me, how do you like the capital?"
“It’s nice. There’s so much to do here! During my freetime, I like to help out in a clinic. Me and a friend entertain the patients there.”
“I don’t think Ratchet would agree with your entertainment.” Optimus clarified.
“Optimus!”
“Oh—that’s interesting, do tell me more.”
“Optimus haven’t you chosen an opera?” Bumblebee immediately interjected.
“Oh?” Sentinel turned his attention onto the younger Prime, “Which opera have you chosen, Optimus? I heard this Crystal City trope is well adapted.”
Optimus replied, "I haven’t chosen yet, I’ve realized I don’t know everyone’s taste. Perhaps, I’ll have Zeta Prime choose.”
“Oh, Zeta won’t be here until later. He told me; he had some business to attend to.”
“Aww man, I was hoping to see him.” Bumblebee whined.
“Such a shame, I was hoping to hear his opinion.”
“Perhaps allow me to have a peek at the list?” Sentinel offered his servo, gesturing to the list.
“Of course.” He handed over the list of operas, “There’s a nice range of genres.”
Sentinel scanned the list, his optics slowly raking over each title.
With a little laugh, he tapped on a title. “How about ‘Morrowlight’s lamentation?’ It’s about the two ancient Primes, Megatronus and Solus.”
Optimus’s frame tensed.
His gaze stayed on Sentinel for a moment. All the past memories of him and Megatron came running back to him. His spark felt heavy as he settled himself. After a beat he finally spoke, his voice measured and controlled, “Sentinel,” he paused composing himself, “I don’t think that’ll be appropriate to my mentee.”
“What’s wrong with it, Optimus? It sounds romantic—“
“I’ve seen it before.” Optimus interrupted, then he finished,” With a friend in Vos. The ending may be confusing to Bumblebee.”
Sentinel gave a nervous smile, chuckling. “Oh, all right,” he glanced at Bumblebee, his voice softening, “Bumblebee, would you go see what’s taking my servant so long? I’m dying of thirst.”
“Of course, sir!” Bumblebee stood up from his seat and skipped out of the box. His footsteps got quieter as he got further down the corridor.
A tense, uncomfortable silence settled between them. Optimus stared out into space, lost in his mind. Sentinel waited a few moments until the sound was gone.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you, Optimus.”
“I understand, Sentinel.”
The sapphire bot opened his intake as if to speak, yet he closed it.
“All is forgiven, Sentinel.”
“I….thank you. You’re always so forgiving of me and my antics. You do know I care about you, right?”
Optimus nodded at his fellow Prime, “I know you mean well.”
Sentinel’s gaze was fixed on the carpet for some odd reason.
“Optimus.”
“Hm?”
“I heard some information about Megatron.”
“Really?”
Optimus' spark leaped in his chest. His servo quickly cupped his spark. The hitch in his breath made his voice hoarse and quiet as he asked, “Are you positive?”
He hadn’t heard anything about Megatron since that day. Megatron had ignored all his letters and comms. He tried everything—begging, crying, threats, gifts—to get his attention. Any piece of information would do, even a minute detail.
Sentinel nodded once, “It’s not confirmed, but there are reports of Tarn, Kaon, and Vos moving gears to consolidate into a single governing bloc.”
Optimus’s optics widened.
He lowered his gaze, hoping Senintel wouldn’t notice the relief and dread flooding his spark.
Vos. Tarn. Kaon.
Three city-states merging together would be difficult for the Senate to challenge openly. The city of Vos was more than capable of proving for itself. Tarn and Kaon were mining and factories based. At least thirty-five percent of energon came from those two places combined, along with the gladiatorial system, in only Kaon, contributing an additional six percent. If both power houses decided to pull away from the economy, the result would be catastrophic.
If Megatron truly wanted this, he would be a Warlord. Then the senate would have no other option than respecting him—then he’ll have a plausible excuse to see him. Most importantly, he had a higher chance of living.
“He wishes to become a Warlord?” His voice trembled as he asked, pleading for it to come to fruition.
“I hope he does. Then maybe those savages can live over there, away from civilization.”
”Sentinel—“
“Is this the box, little one?”
The deep voice came from the entrance of the private box.
Both helms whipped around to see the towering figure of Zeta Prime, grasping Bumblebee’s arm.
“Hey, guys!” Bumblebee looked absolutely smitten and thrilled.
“Well, Zeta, you’re early.” Sentinel commented.
“I was preoccupied. This little bot helped me pick an opera when I was in the lobby.”
“Oh! Me and Optimus were just discussing what opera to pick. Which one did you choose?”
“Morrowlight’s lamentation.”
Sentinel and Optimus looked at each other, then nodded at Zeta.