Chapter Text
Optimus knew what they called him, The Sparkless One.
It wasn’t true, at least not in a literal sense. He knew why they called him that.
And he wasn’t about to oppose it.
—-
It started when he reached his third upgrade. His sire had called him to his office one day after breakfast.
“Sire,” Optimus greeted.
“Optimus,” Ultra Magnus replied. His sire had never really taken to calling him anything other than his designation. It was one of the effects after being in so many wars.
“It seems that you have caught the eye of a particular noble mech in Polyhex,” Ultra Magnus held out a datapad. “He wishes to court you.”
Optimus took the datapad from his sire and looked at its contents. Glyphs scrolled past the screen as the Prime read through it in record time; a habit he picked up while studying within the walls of the Iacon Hall of Records. The letter contained nothing more than the request itself and a few points pertaining to why such a connection should be formed. Usual reasons aside, - strengthening the relationship between nations, guaranteed alliance, etc. - there was no particular point in accepting this courtship.
Optimus passed the datapad back to Ultra Magnus, his faceplates blank. His answer was clear.
His sire chuckled. “I knew I raised you well, Optimus.”
Optimus nodded respectfully. “Yes you did, sire.”
—-
Optimus hadn’t accepted any courting requests since then.
He remembered all the letters he received from all the northern kingdoms, and remembered rejecting every single one of them until he reached his fourth upgrade. That’s when the Magnus started getting impatient.
“OPTIMUS! Get your sorry aft up here!”, his sire called.
The prince dragged his pedes up the steps to the office. Swears were almost never used in the palace; the fact that Magnus himself was saying it, made the growing lump in his chassis a lot heavier.
“Sire?” Optimus asked.
Ultra Magnus was seated at his desk with a stern look on his faceplates. His eyes narrowed when his sparkling walked in.
“Prime, it is your fourth upgrade celebration next deca-cycle, isn’t it?”
Prime.
This wasn’t good.
Optimus nodded. “It is, sire.”
Magnus rested his helm on his servos. “You have been rejecting suitors left and right for solar-cycles now. Mech, femme, everyone. You are aware of what they call you, right?”
Optimus shook his head. “I’m afraid not, sire.”
His tone was grave when the words came out. “The Spark-less One.”
Although he was aware of the name, the words still stung as they registered in his processor.
“As Crown Prince of Iacon, you should have selected a courting mate vorns ago. Yet when hundreds of nobles came knocking at your door asking for your servo, you rejected them all. I only ask, why?”, Ultra Magnus asked, raising both optical ridges.
Optimus didn’t know. The thought of being consort to any one of those mechs wasn’t at all revolting, and some of them were high-ranking royals, making for a desirable conjunx as it would give Iacon a considerable advantage. Yet he sent away each and every emissary nad messenger that arrived at his palace’s steps.
His spark just told him no .
But he couldn’t say that to the Magnus himself.
“I was worried that my future conjunx might use my inexperience in the fields of tactical and combat knowledge against my kingdom. After all, I was barely pass my third upgrade.”
A simple lie. Optimus had trained himself to fight and plan mega-cycles after only his second upgrade –- carefully evading the watchful eye of his carrier to sneak into the medical suite where he knew a war medic named Ratchet worked to listen to his stories about his experience since Optimus and his family were hidden away in some bunker beneath the palace for most of his first and all of his second upgrade.
Only after Optimus wouldn’t stop bothering him.
“Listen kid, I don’t know why you keep asking. War is terrible. For everyone. It’s best that you don’t concern yourself with these kinds of things,” Ratchet told him.
Optimus wanted to.
Eventually the medic had given in and described everything to the prince, who hung onto each and every word. Even if those words talked about a soldier who had her glossa chopped clean off when she refused to give away any information.
Magnus tilted his helm slightly. “Alright then. But you have to promise me this.”
Optimus felt his spark lighten a little. “What is it, sire?”
“You have to select a courting mate at your fourth upgrade ceremony.”
His spark sank instantly. “What?”
Ultra Magnus frowned. “You heard me. A courting mate by the next mega-cycle. Or I’ll marry you off myself.”
Optimus did his best to not physically tremble at that. “I understand, sire.”
He waved a servo. “Now leave. And get ready for your ceremony. I’ll make sure there are plenty to choose from.”
-
Ultra Magnus hated the words he had to say to his sparkling, but it had taken too long now. Delaying the courting rituals any further would undoubtedly raise some unwanted chatter among the people. The southern kingdoms may catch onto the precarious situation Iacon is in and declare war on them again.
A war that killed so many mecha he cared about.
He knew what to do to ensure that the truce stayed its ground, even if it took everything in him.
-
The Prime pushed open the massive double doors and nodded before exiting the room. His sire’s words rattled in his processor. Ultra Magnus wasn’t a mech who’d lie.
And Optimus was positive he wouldn’t start now.