Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mirage groaned and laid his aching forehelm on the desk, just to the left of the blistering hot datapad screen.

“Read it to me?” Windcharger suggested from across the table.

Mirage sighed and looked back at the datapad, field flickering toward his adopted sire in gratitude. He read slowly. “‘Our most pressing concern is that the number of mechs in our employ and under our care far exceeds the current pro- pro-ject-’”

“Projections.”

Mirage mouthed the word, sounding it out in his head. “Projections for energon pro-duc-tion coming out of what few mines remain under our control.”

“There’s not enough food,” Windcharger translated. “Not from sources that you own.”

Mirage cringed.

Windcharger’s field brushed up against his in apology.

“I haven’t owned a thing in my life,” Mirage groused.

“It’s not too late to accept their offer.”

Mirage shot him a glare for that. “I won’t be their puppet, I’m in a position to do real good and I’m going to take the opportunity.” He looked back down at the report and the pages and pages of large paragraphs he was expected to read and slumped. “No matter how hard they make it for me.”

“Shoulders up, back straight,” his Towers-assigned tutor snapped from three stacks down, not even bothering to make an appearance.

Mirage sighed but did as told. “Well,” he said, “we still have money, and the obvious solution to not making enough food on our own is to buy it from elsewhere.”

“They’ll see that as giving money to a competitor.” Windcharger stood and walked around to rub a hand on Mirage’s shoulders.

Mirage blew air out his vents in a decidedly un-Lordly way. “Well then, bartering for a resource we have that they don’t. Or, I don’t know, buying at a higher price from merchants like you were in exchange for them selling only to us?”

“Both of those sound like good options to me. They’ll probably lean more toward the second. How will you help the other, common people those merchants usually sell to?”

Mirage groaned and thought for a moment. “Charity. To… boost public opinion. Open free public dining halls in the areas most affected. Minimum guards. The council will want their investments protected but we don’t want to scare away people who have only ever known violence.”

Windcharger nodded. “Did you finish your assignments for today?”

“I still have a lesson on Primal Vernacular that’s been uploaded to my datapad and another two lessons on dance and fencing that are to take place in the palace garden three joor from now.”

“Three joor? I think you’ve earned a break. We’ve been going on the business administration side of things for a while now.”

“Does Scrivener agree?”

“Scrivener can kiss my aft,” Windcharger said cheerily. “I’m your creator-”

“Adopted,” Scrivener snarled, finally emerging from the stacks.

Mirage eyed his armful of datapads with something approaching horror.

Windcharger rolled his eyes. “I still know him better than you.” He nodded to his creation and shooed him toward the doors. “Go get some fresh air. Just be sure to show up to those lessons in the garden on time and finish your Primal Vernacular before you recharge.”

Mirage smiled gratefully and fled for the doors with one last uncertain glance at Scrivener.

Once he was outside, he leaned against a nearby pillar and breathed in deep. After a moment, he glanced around, engaged his sigma ability, and disappeared from sight. Finally breathing easy, he slipped behind a guard patrol and off the palace grounds entirely.

Mirage made for a little park near the northern gates of the city and plopped himself down cross-legged in an alcove between two crystal formations.

He glanced around once again, shimmered back into sight, and pulled out a book of sparkling tales to read - slumping as much as he liked, thank you very much. Cautiously, he let himself be pulled into the story.

“Excuse me?”

Mirage sighed and looked up to see a tall, stocky grounder of a not unpleasant dark green. “Can I help you?” he asked.

The stranger rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “I’m new to the city, and a bit lost.”

Mirage silently thanked Primus it was something relatively quick. “Where are you trying to go?” He would tell the mech how to get there, and then he would leave.

“The Viscount’s Palace? My people sent me to meet with the Lord of Iridium Tower.”

Mirage scowled and quickly consulted his schedule. “He won’t be available to meet until tomorrow after the seventh joor,” he rattled off, choosing the time he was most likely to be absolutely done with Scrivener and his condescending attitude for the day.

“Oh.” The mech seemed shocked. “He’s that busy?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Mirage blithely lied, turning his attention back to his datapad.

“Sorry. I’m being incredibly rude, aren’t I?”

“A bit.”

“I’m Hound.”

Mirage looked up to see the mech’s proffered hand and, silently cursing, stowed his novel back in subspace before shaking. “Mirage.”

“Thank you for being patient with me, Mirage. Everything’s so different here. I’ve never been in a city before.”

“Yes, well, it’s to be expec - Did you say you’ve never been in a city before?!” Mirage stared in shock as his audials processed Hound’s words.

Hound shrugged, still with that stupid sheepish grin.

“How?!”

“I’m from the mountains.” Hound pointed behind himself at the peaks of the Manganese Mountains rising over the city walls. “Mount Onyx, to be specific. I’m from House Onyx Southern River.”

Mirage shook his head. “No one lives in the mountains, they’ve been inhospitable to life since the beginning of the planet.”

“Oh good! We weren’t sure if that rumor had spread as well as we’d like it to. After the Senate destroyed the Mithric, we Mangani went into hiding.”

“The…,” Mirage struggled to catch up with the insanity coming out of Hound’s mouth. “The Mithric? The dangerous cult that violently sabotaged the building of the temple at Simfur? And the Mangani? The mythical beast-mechs of the mountains?”

Hound blinked slowly. “The Mithric were charged by Primus at the Beginning to care for the wound Unicron delivered through his plating to his spark. The Senate wanted to build on top of the wound and claim that only their Church of Primus was the correct religion. The Mithric peacefully occupied the construction site in protest. And I mean… we raise cyberwolves? And we did disappear long, long ago. So maybe that’s where the myth of beast-mechs comes from?”

Mirage just shook his head.

Hound groaned. “How likely is it that the Lord of Iridium Tower has heard these myths?”

Mirage laughed a little hysterically. “Very likely.”

“That doesn’t bode well for me. He looks like the kind of person to presume insanity and throw you in a cell for lying to him.”

Mirage flinched, then frowned in confusion. “You’ve seen him then?”

Hound nodded. “Our scouts gave me a description. Tall, white and gold plating, wears a long stole, constantly scowling and consulting a datapad with the seal of the house on the back?”

Mirage just stared at the description of his tutor.

Hound shifted side to side. “Is that him?”

“Yes,” Mirage said, too quickly. “Yes, that’s him.” He slowly relaxed, giving Hound a long, considering look.

“Yes,” Hound continued, somewhat uncomfortably, “well, we heard he relocated here because of the war. And it’s started to reach our borders as well. I’ve been sent to offer help and barter for protection. Helexi air guards already patrol this side of the mountains, why not the other?”

Mirage tilted his head. “That’s a good question.” He sat down slowly and patted the tingrass next to him. “What’s different about my Lord only seeing visitors at specific times?”

Hound sat down next to him, smiling gratefully. “Well, the Head of House sees anyone at any time. Even in the middle of the night, you can go knocking on his door asking for help. Though of course, if it’s something you well should’ve known you could handle yourself or gone to someone else, he’ll be a bit upset like any other mech.”

“How large is your House?” Mirage asked, eyes wide. “Just in this city alone, my Lord has tens of thousands of souls to look after.”

Hound nodded understandingly. “I think the last census put us at twenty-thousand? I know it’s in the hundred thousands for all of Mount Onyx, but there’s thirty different houses with more splitting off all the time.”

Mirage just blinked. “How have you managed to stay hidden?”

Hound grinned at him. “Very carefully,” he joked. “We mostly live underground these days, only venturing out into the crystal forests for food.”

Mirage nodded slowly. “Anyone?” he echoed. “At any time?”

Hound smiled and nodded. “Yep!”

Mirage frowned and stretched out on the grass. “And people are happier?”

“Well, I haven’t been around here long enough to make that kind of call, but they certainly know he cares. He commits each mech’s name and face to internal memory, too.”

Mirage hummed softly. “That’s the kind of Lord my Lord wishes to be,” he said quietly, almost wistfully.

“Huh.” Hound looked out at the garden. “He doesn’t seem like the type, but I guess appearances can be deceiving.” He looked back at Mirage. “How do you know him?”

Mirage flinched, cursing himself for his slip. “Not… everyone does,” he said carefully. “I was a servant in my Lord’s house, before the Towers fell. My carrier and I were indentured to a minor Baron. When my Lord moved here, we moved with him.”

“The Towers are gone?” Hound asked, eyes wide.

Mirage nodded.

Hound breathed out in terrified awe.

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, and then a thought occurred to Mirage. “Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”

Hound shook his head. “I’ll find somewhere.”

Mirage stood and commed his two teachers, cancelling his lessons for the rest of the evening. “Nonsense. Come, meet my carrier and brothers. You’ll stay with us.”

Hound looked up, wide-eyed. “I wouldn’t want to impose!” he protested. “It’s far too soon, we only just met.”

Mirage laughed. “Nonsense,” he repeated, offering a hand. “It’s no imposition, I insist. You’re a stranger here, and I want to care for you.”

Hound just stared for a long moment, but then reached up and grabbed the hand, letting the smaller mech pull him to his feet. “If you insist, then.”

Mirage smiled and squeezed his fingers before nodding his head in the direction of his carrier’s apartment. “This way.”

They walked a long time in companionable silence, until Mirage shouldered open a door to reveal utter chaos.

Jazz and Ricochet shouted at each other from opposite ends of the living room, little Bumblebee did cartwheels in the mess of shredded pillows between them, and Brawn stood leaning in the hallway to the berthrooms completely void of any expression.

Appalled, Mirage turned to apologize to his guest, but Hound just laughed and cartwheeled into the living room, coming to a stop in front of Bumblebee. “This looks fun!”

Brawn jerked up from the wall and then caught sight of Mirage behind Hound.

Jazz and Rico stopped yelling and closed ranks as only twins could.

Bumblebee beamed up at his new friend. “It is! I’m Bee!”

“Hound,” Hound introduced himself, nodding to Brawn and the twins as well. “You know what would make this even more fun?”

Bee leaned forward, wide-eyed. “No, what?”

“Cyberwolves,” Hound said, and with a strange shimmer, there were suddenly cyberwolf puppies bounding around the living room.

Jazz broke away from his twin, leaning forward just as in awe as his youngest brother. “You can make hardlight holograms.”

Hound beamed and nodded.

Jazz transformed the speakers out of his waist. “Can you give me a light show?” he asked, grinning slyly as music pumped out of the speakers.

With a laugh and a wave of his hand, Hound dismissed the cyberwolves and conjured up fireworks and waves and lines of color that moved with the music.

Rico tilted his head, absolutely fascinated.

Mirage cleared his throat. “Everyone, this is Hound. He’s meeting with our Lord of Iridium Tower tomorrow after the seventh joor.”

The four bots stared at him, and then Brawn nodded. “He’ll need to be well rested then, I’ll get the trundle set up.”

Mirage crossed the room to put a hand on Brawn’s shoulder. “It’s alright, Carrier, let me do it. You get some rest. I’ll watch these hooligans and get our evening meal made up by the time Sire gets home.”

Brawn nodded, exhausted, with one more wary look at Hound before he turned and headed for his own berth.

Mirage watched him go and then clapped his hands together. “Alright, hooligans!”

“Can I help?” Hound asked, standing awkwardly in the kitchen door.

Mirage looked up from dicing the aluminallium, furrowing his brow, and then nodded, gesturing to the sanitizer. “Sanitize your hands and then if you could pull out the large pot from under the dispenser? I haven’t quite figured out what I’m making yet, but this felt like a good start, and that should be large enough for about anything.”

Hound grinned and nodded, pulling out the pot Mirage indicated. He glanced at the aluminallium and the pot, then opened the cooler. “Ferrolobster?” he asked.

Mirage flinched at the discovery of the distinctly higher-class food. “My Lord supplies us well,” he lied.

Hound huffed. “Well, then he could at least give you something more nutritious. Porcineacon, for example.”

Mirage perked up. “There should be some of that in the back. Sire doesn’t eat it, but the rest will, eagerly, and I can make him something separate.”

Hound made a delighted noise. “I can teach you to make my House dish. I need liquid promethium, bismuth, and chrysotatoes.”

“Promethium in the cabinet above the cooler, bismuth and chrysotatoes in the growing drawer,” Mirage instructed, practically vibrating with anticipation. “Grab some extra chrysotatoes? I’ll roast them with tin and salvium for Sire.”

Hound nodded and pulled open the growing drawer, pulling ripe bismuth and chrysotatoes from the loose substrate before turning to gather the other ingredients.

They worked well in the kitchen together, orbiting as they each checked their dishes. When the porcineacon fell apart at the single poke of a fork, Hound pronounced it done and ready.

Mirage called for the twins to set the table, and they all settled around it, just as Windcharger opened the front door.

“Sa!” Bumblebee cried, throwing himself at his guardian.

Windcharger laughed, picked him up, and twirled him around. “Did you have fun today, bitlet?”

Bumblebee nodded and pointed to Hound, whispering in a tone he was sure was quiet. “Raj brought home a friend.”

Hound smiled and waved.

“Hound is visiting our Lord of Iridium Tower tomorrow,” Mirage said.

Windcharger frowned and tilted his head, nodding. “Well, he’s welcome to our home. Where are you from, Hound?”

“Onyx Mountain,” Hound answered honestly, standing to greet his friend’s sire. “I am Hound of House Onyx Southern River, come to represent my people, the Mangani.”

“Mangani ain’ real,” Rico said around his fork.

Windcharger made a disapproving sound, but Hound just laughed. “Beast-mechs roaming the wilds certainly are not. I’ve been all over the Manganese Mountains and not once have I seen one.”

“Bet you could make one with your holograms,” Jazz said.

Hound tilted his head, smiling. “Now there’s an idea.”

Windcharger laughed and sat, dropping a kiss between Jazz’ audial horns and gesturing for Hound to sit as well. “You’ll find our Jazz is full of them. Not always good ones.”

“Nah, they’re good,” Jazz protested. “Just cause Enforcers don’t like them doesn’t mean they’re not good.”

Hound shook his head and sat, digging back into his meal. “I’m still baffled by that.”

“Law enforcement?” Windcharger asked. “That’s a good thing, but also a dangerous one. This whole war is over breaking away from the old ways that divided mechs into Useful and Useless, but there are still a lot of people in power who cling to the past. We’re winning them over one at a time - one battle at a time.”

“What does your Lord think?” Hound asked, leaning forward curiously.

Windcharger glanced to Mirage. “You know him better than I do.”

Mirage nodded slowly, composing his thoughts as he ate. “He thinks some things - art and language, for example - should be preserved, but new things should be allowed to flourish as well. And more important than anything, that every mech should be free.”

Hound smiled. “He’s full of surprises.”

Windcharger shot Mirage a questioning look.

Mirage winced and shook his head. “Let me get your dinner, Sire. The meat is porcineacon and it was cooked with liquid promethium.”

“Thank you,” Windcharger said softly. “Let me help you.”

He and Mirage moved to the kitchen and Mirage immediately leaned against the cooler, burying his face in his hands.

Windcharger reached up and put a hand on his shoulder. “He’ll find out tomorrow.”

Mirage drew in a shuddering breath. “He’s the first one to treat me like a mech in so long. Let me have this?”

Windcharger nodded and pulled Mirage down a bit, just enough to press a kiss to his crest. “Your carrier?”

“Sleeping. The twins and Bee gave him quite a day today.” Mirage quirked his mouth in a smile. “There were several casualties. A pillow. Carrier’s sanity.”

Windcharger chuckled. “I’ll take him a plate when I’m done eating. You’ll do the work you missed today over the rest of the decacycle?”

Mirage nodded.

“Okay.”

The two moved back to the dining room and finished a meal filled with jokes and ribbing and laughter.

When the meal was over, they each took their dishes to the sanitizer and left it to run an overnight cycle, and then Mirage tucked in his little brothers and Windcharger took a plate to his mate.

“I’m going to say goodnight to my creators,” Mirage said, apologetically, “and then I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.”

Hound nodded, smiling. “I like that they’re important to you.”

Mirage tilted his head, confused, but shook it off as a Mangani thing and went to knock on his creators’ berthroom door.

Windcharger was already bowed in prayer, facing Altihex, but Brawn beckoned his creation in, setting aside his food and reaching for a hug.

Mirage bent down and wrapped his arms around his carrier. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Brawn said, squeezing him. “It’s good for you to have a friend, bitlet.”

“I hope I can keep him,” Mirage mumbled, “after tomorrow.”

“I think you will,” Brawn said.

Mirage smiled and pulled away, pressing his forehelm to his carrier’s. “Night, Ri.”

“Night.”

Mirage turned to Windcharger to see him already having put the Altihexian prayer rug away, arms spread for an embrace. He fell into it willingly.

“Love you, bit,” Windcharger said, squeezing gently.

“Love you, too,” Mirage said. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Mirage pulled away and walked back to Hound, gesturing for him to follow. “We don’t have a lot of room, but I set up the trundle in my room.”

“I’m sure it will more than work,” Hound said, smiling. He pulled up short at seeing the smaller, ricketier berth that swung out from Mirage’s to lie perpendicular at the foot of the bed.

“You can have my bed if you want,” Mirage offered, wincing. “I know it’s not much.”

Hound wavered in indecision, then smiled brightly. “It’s alright,” he said, walking over and lying down so that his head would be by Mirage’s feet.

Mirage sighed and turned off the light, bundling himself up in his covers. “I prefer this to the palace,” he said quietly, well aware Hound wouldn’t understand the full context of his words. “It’s too big and empty. Cold.”

Hound made a sympathetic noise and then fell silent.

Mirage rolled over, certain he’d already fallen into recharge.

“You know,” Hound said, “this wasn’t what I expected when I came to the city, but I wouldn’t change it.”

Mirage breathed out and smiled. “Me, neither. Recharge well, Hound.”

“You, too,” Hound said.

The next morning, Mirage was a bundle of nerves. He’d enlisted his brothers to show Hound around the city and gone off to his lessons with an apology.

Hound had seemed delighted and told him he would see him later and they could spend more time together then.

Mirage breathed out heavily over the current datapad he was reading out of Scrivener’s stack.

“It’s not that difficult,” Scrivener snapped.

“I apologize,” Mirage said, counting down the breem until the seventh joor. “I have other things on my mind.”

“Clearly.”

Mirage turned back to his studies, trying to at least pretend the glyphs weren’t swimming before his optics.

The ping came at the seventh joor exactly.

“My Lord?” a servant - Lillium, Mirage remembered - poked her head into the library. “There’s a representative here to see you. He says he’s Mangani.”

Scrivener snorted.

Mirage stood, slamming his datapad onto the table. “Yes, good, let’s see him. Let’s go see him now, get it all over with.”

Lillium blinked in shock.

Mirage winced, remembering his spark-sire having similar fits. “I apologize, I’m simply anxious to see the representative,” he said, bowing apologetically.

Scrivener stood sharply and yanked him up by the elbow. “You do not bow to the servants. Come.” He marched out of the room, dragging Mirage behind him.

Mirage yanked his arm away and quickly outpaced him, leading the way into the receiving hall and stepping out onto the small dais as was expected of him.

Hound looked up and smiled at him.

Mirage smiled back, pained, and then Scrivener stormed into the room, folding his hands behind his back.

Hound immediately bowed low to the scribe. “My Lord.” He turned to Mirage and smiled, beaming. “Mirage.”

Scrivener stiffened. “How dare you address our Lord of Iridium Tower so familiarly!”

Mirage grabbed Scrivener by the stole and dragged him back. “I gave him permission,” he snapped. “You don’t get to treat people like that, especially not in my name.”

Hound blinked, staring in shock and confusion. “Mirage?” he asked.

Mirage sighed and stepped down. “I’m sorry. I… Brawn and Windcharger really are my carrier and sire-”

“Adopted sire,” Scrivener corrected.

“- and Bumblebee and the twins really are my brothers-”

“Adopted brothers.”

“- and I really did enjoy spending time with you. Ever since the Towers fell and the council told me I was the only living bastard of my Lord’s family line, let alone heir, no one’s treated me like a person, simply a decoration or a puppet or a- I really do like you. Please say something?”

Hound just kept staring.

Mirage fidgeted. “Anything. You can yell if you like. If Scrivener objects, I’ll have him beheaded. … That was a joke. I’ll tell him off, nothing more. Just… say something. Please.” He braced himself for the worst.

Hound opened his mouth. “I’m betrothed to the Lord of Iridium Tower?”

Mirage stared.

Scrivener glitched and fainted dead away.

Chapter Text

The Council was in an uproar. 

“We can’t marry him off to the first commoner to come knocking on our door!” Wavecrest shouted.

Mirage sighed and slumped in his seat.

Scrivener cleared his throat and jerked his head upward.

With a huff and a glare, Mirage straightened his posture.

“He’s a diplomatic ambassador,” Steel argued. “We can’t brush him off like this.”

“It’s our city!”

Heliostat - who Mirage had privately nicknamed Helium for how much he squeaked - turned and glared at his Lord. “And just why were you inviting him into your home, anyway?”

Mirage carefully steepled his fingers, perching one ankle on his knee. He looked exactly like his spark-sire when he did, and he was counting on that image, no matter how much he hated it. “I was being gracious,” he said simply, the implication that the Councilmembers were incapable of it clear despite being unsaid.
“If Hound wants this, I’m going to go through with it. Councilmember Steel is correct. Hound is a diplomatic ambassador, he clearly holds no small amount of influence among his people. A people, need I remind you, that has lived on our very doorstep since the Mithric Uprising, and not one city-born mech on the entire planet had a clue. We cannot afford to either ignore him or force him. I’m going to ask what he wants and if he wants to bond, we will bond. An alliance will serve us both.”

The Council stared at him in confusion.

“With all due respect,” Wavecrest snarled, “are you at all qualified to make that decision?”

Mirage tilted his head. “You’re questioning Scrivener’s ability?”

The scribe stiffened and glared at the offending Councilmember.

“Of course not,” Wavecrest demurred, suddenly all soft words. “I’m simply concerned that he hasn’t yet reached that portion of your studies.”

“I know enough,” Mirage said firmly. “And I am still your Lord, regardless of how my education is progressing.” He stood and the Councilmembers all rushed to bow as deep as their frames would allow.

Gentility, Mirage silently snarled. “Is that all for today?” he asked.

Everyone looked to Heliostat, who nodded, swallowing.

“Good. I’m going to seek out my betrothed. I’ll tell you his decision as soon as I have it.”

Mirage found Hound sitting in the garden and immediately flopped down on his back beside him. “Primus save me from stubborn old fools.”

Hound smiled softly. “They protest?”

“Loudly and insistently. I told them I’m leaving the decision to you. The political ramifications are good, and you seem a decent mech so far.”

Hound hummed and hesitantly reached over to stroke Mirage’s crest.

Mirage melted and purred at the touch.

Hound chuckled, then sobered. “It is very soon. I’ve only known you for a cycle, and you did lie to me for nearly all of it. But, like you said, the political ramifications are good, and you also seem a decent mech so far.”

Mirage nodded slowly. “I would have told you the truth,” he blurted out, “but I was so - so tired of being everyone’s Lord all the time.”

“I understand.”

Mirage took a deep breath and stared up at the sky. “What -” he cut himself off, and then tried again. “How did I propose again?”

Hound’s hand stilled and then tucked in his lap. He rocked forward and back for a bit. “You invited me to meet your family, you expressed a desire to care for me, we made a meal together, and I slept at the foot of your berth for a night. You brought me into your life and proved you both enjoy my company and respect my boundaries. This usually comes after vorn of courting, but I don’t want you to think I accepted lightly.”

“I believe you,” Mirage said softly. “What do you want to do?”

Hound looked down at him, head tilted, considering. “I want to solidify this alliance,” he finally said, “and then I want to court you. And if we don’t work out, I want to be free to return to my House without losing any protection gained for my people.”

Mirage nodded. “I’ll have Scrivener draw up the contract and my sire read through it for me.”

“You can’t read?” Hound asked, surprised.

Mirage flinched. “Fourteenth bastards of minor barons don’t get to read, they get to scrub washracks. Sometimes I miss it, but I won’t leave people to suffer under the Council if I can help it.”

Hound’s face turned soft and he laid down beside Mirage. “That.”

Mirage squinted in confusion.

Hound simply smiled at him. “That right there is why I agreed. You want to ease suffering wherever you go.”

Mirage brought a hand up to rub away the cleanser suddenly welling up in his optics. “The Council sees that as a fault. But they haven’t suffered under their own rule. They don’t get to make the decisions that affect the common folk when they can’t see how they affect us.” He sniffed sharply and turned to Hound. “Thank you.”

Hound nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Mirage reached for his hand and Hound let their fingers tangle together.

They laid like that in the shade of the garden, passing time in companionable silence as long as they could.

“They put me up in an ambassador suite,” Hound finally said, joor later.

Mirage lazily stirred from his doze, making a questioning noise. “Is it to your liking?”

“It’s big,” Hound said neutrally. “Empty and cold.”

“Impersonal,” Mirage agreed. “You could return home with me, stay with my family.”

Hound smiled. “I’d like that.”

“You’ll have to tell me what not to do. I don’t want to accidentally declare war or something like that.”

Hound huffed out a laugh, mouth quirking up at the corners. “A declaration of war would take a bit more intent.” He looked down at their linked hands, surprised to see them still touching, then rolled on his side and faced Mirage, not letting go. “Don’t put me at the foot of your bed again now that I’ve accepted your suit.”

Mirage nodded, running over potential sleeping arrangements in his head. “We’ll put the twins in my room and take over their beds.”

“Do they know?”

Mirage groaned and rolled over on his stomach, mashing his faceplates into the substrate.

Hound laughed and gently stroked his back. “Do you think they’ll approve of me?”

“I do,” Mirage murmured, pillowing his arms underneath his head. He stared at Hound’s optics for a long moment, watching their internal mechanisms click and whirl as they crinkled at the corners. “Primus help me, I really do.”

“You’re what?!” Jazz screeched, in that tone only mechlings could manage that so clearly conveyed ‘are you out of your fragging mind?’

“Engaged to be bonded,” Mirage said patiently. “And trading rooms with you and Rico.”

Jazz looked over at Hound, the picture of betrayal. “I thought you were cool.”

Hound tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Jazz hopped down from the couch and took his brother’s hand, patting it gently. “Nevermind. You can have my bed, I’ll sleep in Raj’s room.”

“Neither of you will sleep if you’re that far apart,” Mirage countered.

“You don’t know that! It’s been ages since we last recharged in different rooms!”

“Yes, and for a reason.”

Hound watched as the two bickered back and forth, plating flaring up and down with their emotions, fields chaotic. “Jazz,” he said softly.

Jazz whirled around, glaring at him with murderous intent in every molecule of his frame. It wasn’t very many molecules.

Hound simply knelt down to his level. “I’m not taking Mirage away from you.”

Jazz rolled his eyes. “I know that. I’m not a sparkling.” He turned to Mirage. “You can’t bond to a mech you just met.”

“It’s a political arrangement at the moment,” Mirage explained, crossing his arms. “There will be courting afterwards, and we’ll be able to break it off if it doesn’t work without either of us losing face.”

Jazz crossed his arms back, a miniature of his elder brother in black and white. “You’re sure?”

“I am. It was initially an accident, and then the Council spent joor yelling at me about it, and then Hound and I discussed it. This is what we want to do. Sire will look over the contract to make sure no one’s being sneaky.”

Jazz uncrossed his arms, frowning. “Will Rico and Bee and me have to have contracts when we bond?”

Mirage sighed and leaned down, scooping his brother up into a hug. “I hope not, but it will depend on who you fall for.”

“Are you falling for Hound?”

Mirage turned and stared at the Mangani mech, considering. “I think I could,” he said, far more genuine and sincere than he’d ever been before. He turned his attention back to Jazz. “He doesn’t treat me like the Lord of Iridium Tower. He just treats me like Mirage.”

“That’s why he couldn’t find out?”

“That’s right.”

Hound stood, expression softening. He walked over and put a hand on Mirage’s back and his other hand on Jazz’. “I will always treat him as Mirage, even when Scrivener yells at me for it. And I will care for him with all my spark, even if he’s mad at me or I’m mad at him.” He looked over Jazz’ head at Mirage, taking him in. “I think I could fall for him, too.”

Mirage smiled at him, face turning soft.

“Ew,” Jazz said. “Mush.” He wormed out of Mirage’s arms and headed for the berthrooms. “I’m going to move all my stuff into Raj’s room.”

Mirage laughed and let his brother go.

Ricochet poked his head out of the hallway, but let Jazz drag him back to their room.

“Are they sparksplit?” Hound asked, taking a step back from Mirage so he was no longer holding him.

Mirage leaned into the touch as it receded, and then nodded. “They are. Sire found them in a gutter back in Iacon and brought them home. They’ve been my little brothers since I first laid eyes on them.”

“And Bumblebee?”

Mirage shook his head, sighing. “That’s a mystery. Carrier and Sire still won’t tell us who asked them to take him, only that they were asked and that whoever they were wanted him but couldn’t have him.”

Hounded nodded slowly. “It speaks well of your family, to have taken in so many.”

“We didn’t do it for that,” Mirage said softly. “We could barely feed ourselves at the time, despite being in the employ of our Lord Baron Baroq.” He flinched at the name, then shook his head. “How can anyone not want to make things better for those who come next? For those who are here?”

Hound tilted his head at the flinch. “Mirage,” he said, hesitantly, as if he didn’t want to cause offense but just had to know, “is Baron Baroq your sire?”

Mirage turned away and busied himself taking his younger brothers’ used plates and cups to the kitchen.

Hound followed, and when Mirage dumped them in the sanitizer and turned on the manual sprayer, he grabbed a nearby towel and stood ready to dry.

Mirage slowly, methodically, wiped every crumb and stain from the dishes, then rinsed them and passed them to his betrothed.

Hound was drying the very last dish when Mirage leaned against the counter, took a deep breath, and simply said “He was.”

The Mangani mech reached out to offer comfort, simply putting a hand on Mirage’s shoulder.

Mirage took another deep breath and leaned into the touch. “Carrier was in love with him. And he thought he loved him back. He promised to free him. Then I was conceived. If it weren’t for me….” He trailed off with the air of someone who had long practice abandoning that specific thought.

Hound shook his head. “If it weren’t for you, who would be Lord of Iridium Tower now? Would your carrier have become Consort and have died when the Towers fell? The options are so many, contemplating them all would turn the sanest of mechs mad. You’re here. Your carrier loves you. He certainly had the option to dissipate you and he chose you over the Baron - over freedom. And that was his choice to make.”

Mirage laughed softly, desperately. He shook his head and stared down into the sanitizer, finally turning off the faucet of cleanser. “Thank you. It helps. Hearing it from outside my head.”

Hound smiled softly and nodded.

Mirage took a deep breath and scrubbed his hands down his face, leading Hound back out to the living room. “What of you and your family?”

“Well,” Hound drawled, sitting down on a low sofa as Mirage did the same, “our family structure is a bit different than what I’ve seen here. I have my carrier and my auncle and my cousin. My sire and my cousin’s sire aren’t really involved in our lives? They come to teach and to help and pitch in, but it’s more like how you interact with your little brothers. And that’s just how it is for all Mangani, not just my House. My auncle does the same for the children he’s sired and their carrier, while looking after my cousin and working in the home. I do also have my carrier’s Friend, who is a spark-bound life partner but it’s a purely platonic relationship.”

Mirage made a soft noise of curiosity, leaning forward with one hand on his knee and the other perched beneath his chin. “Interesting.”

Hound nodded. “I was surprised the noble in your lineage was your sire.”

“And you? Do you have any nobility in your lineage? I apologize, the Council will ask for reasons of genteel stupidity, I am simply curious.”

Hound smiled at Mirage and put a hand over his one on his knee. “Of a sort. There’s the Head of House, and then there’s our own Council, comprised of warriors, diplomats, and both. My grandcarrier is a respected Councilmember who is both. They’re almost, but not quite, revered.”

“Fascinating,” Mirage breathed out, leaning even closer, so that their shoulders were almost brushing.

The door opened and Hound leaned back slowly, while Mirage immediately turned still and invisible.

Brawn shook his head, smiling, and walked over, brushing his hand over his creation’s crest. “I always know when you’re there, bitlet.”

“I apologize,” Mirage said, slowly fading back into the correct plane of existence. “We were talking about my sparker.”

Brawn frowned and sat down on top of the conversation table in front of them both. “He’s not worth your time,” he said simply before turning to Hound. “Sorry, didn’t introduce myself properly yesterday.”

“Understandable,” Hound said. “You did look about dead on your feet.”

Brawn nodded once, sharply, then turned to Mirage. “You love him?”

“I could,” Mirage answered.

Brawn turned to Hound. “You’ll take care of him?”

Hound dipped his head. “As best as I can.”

“Then you have my blessing.” Brawn stood and stretched. “Take it from an old mech, young ones, one that’s made a lot of mistakes: Love isn’t the same as passion. Even if there’s never any romance or merging, as long as you choose to stick by each other through thick and through thin, you’ll do just fine.”

Mirage blinked, thinking of Hound’s carrier’s Friend.

Hound himself simply nodded, not smiling for once, completely and utterly somber. “I understand,” he said.

Brawn stared at him a moment, then nodded back. “I do believe you do.”

Despite his promise, Mirage waited until the next cycle to tell the Council Hound’s decision. And then he quitted to the garden for the dancing lessons he’d missed while they were still arguing over invitations.

Hound walked with him, and Mirage matched his steps as they journeyed in companionable silence.

Sarabande greeted them with her usual bland criticism of Mirage’s posture, poise, and derriere. She looked Hound up and down and said, simply and in a tone that brooked no argument, “You’ll learn this as well.”

Hound ducked his head and murmured “Yes, madame.”

Sarabande nodded approvingly and gestured for the two of them and one of her many assistants to form a circle with her. “The gavotte is a less formal dance, suitable for garden parties and casual affairs. Do as I do, as I tell you to do it.”

Hound and Mirage nodded in unison.

For several joor, Sarabande gruelled them through short, leaping steps, twirls, and proper hand position. Finally, she nodded, satisfied. “You’ve improved.”
She then turned to Hound. “Do your people waltz?”

“Waltz?” Hound asked, puzzled.

“She means slow dances,” Mirage explained, “often where you are holding your partner close and stepping in the pattern of a square. The kind we’ll be expected to perform at the bonding reception.”

Hound’s brows furrowed. “Yes, we waltz, but that’s not the kind of dance we would do at a bonding ceremony.”

Sarabande waved a hand imperiously. “Teach us how you would do it then.”

Hound scowled. “It’s not for outsiders, and the bondeds wouldn’t be dancing it anyway.”

Sarabande scowled back, staring him down.

Mirage tugged on Hound’s arm. “Come, let’s waltz. I believe our lesson time is over, Lady Sarabande, thank you for your time and teaching.”

Sarabande nodded sternly and whipped around, gesturing for her assistants to pack up her equipment and cart it back into the palace. She herself stormed out of the gardens toward the town square.

Mirage breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re taller,” he said, quietly, “so you lead.”

Hound turned and put both hands on Mirage’s hips, leaning down to press their foreheads together. “This is how my people waltz.”

Mirage breathed in quickly and pressed into the touch, shaking out his plating. “I like this. Where do my hands go?”

“On my chest.”

Mirage nodded and tangled his fingers in Hound’s grille.

Hound gave a little gasp of laughter as he started slowly swaying and turning. “Tickles.”

“My apologies.” Mirage pulled his fingers away, smoothing his hands over Hound’s bumper before curling them in loose fists on the flat planes of his chestplate. “She really is terrible, I apologize for dragging you into this.”

Hound squeezed his hips gently. “It’s not your fault,” he murmured. “There will, unfortunately, be ignorant and entitled mechs wherever I go. I thank you for stepping in when you did.”

Mirage shuttered his optics and nuzzled Hound’s nose. “I’ll be quicker and firmer next time. Treating anyone like that is abhorrent, much less the fact that you’re my betrothed and their future Lord Consort.”

Hound gave a subtle nuzzle back. “They treat you the same. I have wondered….” He trailed off.

Mirage opened his optics and pulled away a bit so he could comfortably look his betrothed in the face. “Speak freely. Please,” he said earnestly.

Hound nodded. “Why don’t you fire them and ask for new tutors? You are their Lord.”

Mirage stopped and stared over Hound’s shoulder, contemplating the idea - and the revulsion that had run through him at it. He belatedly realized his field was buffeting Hound with his every emotion and pulled away completely.

Hound let him go, waiting patiently for him to compose his thoughts.

Mirage took his time, examining himself and his reaction. “When... my carrier and I worked for Baron Baroq,” he said slowly, “being fired would have meant homelessness, starvation, and death. Sarabande and Scrivener don’t face that same difficulty, they’re both members of the gentility.” He frowned and looked up at Hound. “But I don’t know if I can do it, regardless.”

Hound nodded. “Something to return to another day. It will impact your ability to be an effective leader. But for now,” he held out his hand with a flourish and a grin, “may I have this dance?”

Mirage beamed and placed his hand in Hound’s with an equal amount of dramatics. “But, of course, you may, good sir.”

Hound laughed and pulled him close, cradling Mirage’s hips and pressing their foreheads together once again.

I really could love him, Mirage found himself thinking. And then, I already might.