Chapter Text
Optimus busied himself with reading a lot of these sols. There was the possibility he may never be able to read again. After all, soon to be brides did not read as much as they served their partners. While he'd prefer to be reading in the poetry section, light novels, or even fiction, he was told to read upon novels soon to be involving his role. It was so strange to wrap his helm around all the traditional aspects of being a bride.
The treaty between Iacon and Kaon was finally being put into place. Not an armistice, but an actual treaty. For Optimus, who was constructed in the war, it was so odd to be out of the war. Then again, it was also so shocking to be thrust into a conjunxing arrangement to the warlord of Kaon. Optimus, as he was told, was not expected to survive. He would be lucky if he was kept as a pleasurebot to appease the warlord. Or perhaps he'd end up dead. Being dead would end the peace treaty, though, so perhaps a concubine would be a better assumption.
Occasionally entertained as the warlord dawned his consort to berth most often. It didn't sound so bad when all the other faiths were taken into consideration. The few sols he had left before his switch to Kaon to probably live forever. (That seemed like the most likely probability.) Then he would bond his spark off and become forgotten. He wondered if he could plead to visit Iacon when the warlord was in a feasible mood. He was sure Sentinel would happily keep him around if it made him look better. And considering who Optimus was, Sentinel wouldn't mind.
Sounds echoed from the distance, and Optimus turned up from his current datapad, which was titled: A Whispy Bride's Guide To Pleasing Their Conjunx- Vol. 19. An old one. "Alpha Trion," Optimus greeted as the figure turned the corner. "Optimus, you're here awfully early. Or late if you've been here from last sol. Which I assume you have not, correct?" The mech was looking through an aisle. "I fear I have, apologies." Optimus answered. The mech sighed. "Go join your kin in training. He's quite busy doing at least something notable." Alpha Trion pointed loosely to where the door might have been past the bookshelves.
"Ultra Magnus instructed me to–"
"Is he your sire?" He was interrupted. Optimus shook his helm. "Glad that is understood. You may leave." Optimus bowed slightly as he left the room. He did not prefer training with Sentinel over droning in monotonus reading. He did not prefer training with Sentinel over anything, actually. However, his sire sounded absolute. He made his way over to the training rooms. Actually, he was in an interesting section section about what kind of gems could be baked into savoury treats. Something he hoped he would at least be allowed to do so.
Grunts came from the training room. Optimus rounded the corner to see Elita-One toppled over by Sentinel. They stayed there panting in sync before she threw Sentinel off her with a grin as he was flung into the wall. Cracks emanated from the wall. "Come on, I just touched up my polish!" Sentinel wailed as he brushed debris off him, but it lacked his usual bite. Elita shrugged. "So? You challenged a royal gaurd. My honour is my pride. Your princely aft ain't winning. Another round?" She told him with a difiant look that had something far more to it. Sentinel nodded. Optimus stood at the doorway for far longer than he would've liked.
"Optimus! Dear I say I thought you were occupied with your bridely duties!" Sentinel exclaimed, half shocked.
"Sire told me to train with you. You were going for another round, correct?" He asked. Sentinel and Elita shared a look. "Nope. Not at all. I think we're done here, actually. Come along, Elita." Sentinel waved him off. Elita gave an apologetic look as she gathered her bearings. "Sorry, Optimus. Maybe next time." She offered condolences. "I'll be quick. Just a touch-up for now. I've been quite hab bound since the last few solar cycles." He suggested. Sentinel sighed, exasperated, and now tired. "If I wanted to duel with a cold-construct, trust me, I'd train with the wall. Which I'm not doing. So cut it." Sentinel snapped.
Elita spared him apologetic glances as she trailed behind. Optimus did not buy it. She's been ignoring his comms, their usual meet-ups, hangouts, and him altogether. He had an inkling that it was due to him being conjunxed off as Elita had always wished to spark merge with her partner. It was a frequent fantasy she had shared. Not that Optimus found the appeal in exposing such a vulnerable organ, but nonetheless, it made her ecstatic when she thought about it. He supposed if his chosen partner were to leave and be with another, whether willingly or not, it would do some mental damage. Hmm. He supposed he had not been looking at it from that angle. Which was a mistake on his end.
He wished she would end their relationship formally, though. As a precaution for future events. His processor told him it would be quite awkward to end it himself as he was the one getting bonded off. On another note, Sentinel was rude for stating that. He simply got the majority of social cues much slower. He was great at analysing and putting data into action. He pondered where he should go. Alpha Trion had told him to do something notable with his time. He was reading before, but that wasn't notable.
He had an entire sol off to himself, he assumed. He could attend the garden. According to AWBGTPTC, gardening was a notable skill for brides to have. It made them look more dainty and closer to nature. It was also a trait that could be transformative in care to bots from an outside perspective. Yes, he'd read ample on all the types of plants he could grow. He made his way to gardens. They were tended to once a solar cycle, but some weeds—plants that proved harmful to others in their environment—grew quicker. It was also much fascinating that in that way, one could technically classify plants into prey and predator category. Not in a literal sense, as that would not compute to reality. But metaphorically according to his reading.
Fascinating.
The gardens were housed on the lower decks. Optimus assumed to bring appeal, yet they never got many visitors. Weeds stemmed from the base of the matter in the ground. Some wrapped around the beautiful blossoming ones while others poked from the ground. Plant life was simply fascinating. Without putting much thought to his status, he crouched and dug his servos into the muck. Pulling weeds gently, as technically, they were plants too. They simply damaged other plants when they had unfortunate growth spots. The roots writhed and wiggled before they stilled. He spent the rest of his sol like that. Preening the petals and branches, adjusting the muck. The sun dipped to unforseen as the moons slowly emerged.
An appalled sound brought him from his makeshift biology of studying one plant. "Optimus! This is a servants job. How dare you ruin your polish by playing in the gardens akin to a sparkling‽" The question was asked with such a tone that Optimus neglected to call out he'd never been a sparkling. "Sire, the garden was long overdue." He said. Alpha Trion pinched his nasal ridge as he held the datapad in his other servo with unnecessary force. "Your job at the moment does not concern this. I sent you to do one thing! I sent you to train with Sentinel, and when I commed him to ask how it went, he told me you hadn't even shown! Optimus, what will I do with you?" He sounded exasperated.
Optimus furrowed his brow ridges. He had gone to Sentinel. Actually, Elita-One was also there. "I had gone, but he said -"
"He said, you said, at this point, you're becoming one dishonest mecha. How could you accuse Sentinel of lying to me? Don't even answer that, up with you." Optimus felt the need to justify himself, though he predicted it would not go with the simulation results his processor ran. "You leave in less than solar cycle to Kaon. A completely foreign place, and here you lay. Playing housemaid to the plants. You dare not go to Kaon to disgrace Iacon." He was warned.
For some reason, Optimus felt his servos fall further with each sentence. He was fairly interested in the plants before. He still was. He simply felt no want to continue his fascination. "I will not, sire." He assured. Alpha Trion did not take his glyphs to spark. "Please, Optimus, out my sight at once. Have the handmaids clean you, fuel in your hab, and off to recharge. I wish not to see or hear from you at present." He was dismissed. Alpha Trion stared at him as though that would make Optimus move. Optimus felt as though he should actually leave, though, so he bowed and left.
The handmaids seemed very fascinated in what a royal could be doing to end this filthy. Optimus was sure if he did tell them, they would not pay attention. They scrubbed his seams. Especially his servos. His digits joints had gotten the matter between them, which was not great for the long-term as they explained. They dried him off with new fibre cloths, careful to ensure he was dried completely. Polished him with his evening polish. Allowed it to settle. Then, they added one more for a safety measure.
Fueling in his hab was no different from the dining hall. Well, there were differences, but they were minor. One, for example: was the difference in place. Also, he did not need to listen to Sentinel bickering for a new flight arena or quarters extension, neither the latest political matters that did not concern him. But they were minor, in the end, whether it was his hab or the dining hall, he was still fueling. He supposed then, in that logic, it didn't make much sense to fuel in the dining hall except for specific requirements as there were far fewer nuisances in his hab.
He checked his schedule after he finished fueling. He had little to do the next sol. He had his usual practice classes after early sol fueling, followed by more monotonus activities. He could check the library afterwards. AWBGTPTC had 11 more installations in the series, and one of them were dedicated to the care of beautiful and exotic plants. Yes, he would do that.
Optimus spent the rest of his free but soon to be limited time finishing the datapad series. For how dated it was, it seemed to possess guides for everything. Everything. The last issue was the one on plants and the other four before it was about cooking and most of the others were about interface. As unlikely as that part was, Optimus simply read through it. His time in Iacon was coming to a dwindle. And so was probably his freedom. But in his remaining time, he has seen the mecha of the country much happier now that the war has finally ended. Normally, they were throwing profanities. The still did so at Optimus. But far less.
Thus, when it came his final sol (he was leaving on this sol, not the sol after), though he'd already packed the few trinkets he had in his subspace and a small luggage. The palace was somehow still in an inexplicable frenzy. The servants were absolutely panicked about having the Warlord of Kaon in their halls. Going over customs and so forth. Optimus sat almost peacefully in the main room, reading up a datapad that detailed mildly noxious plants. Most of them were actually weeds. Though some weeds actaully bloomed like regular plants.
The servants' chatter had become dull noise to his audials. The new heel clicking wasn't helping his concentration, so he looked up to be met with Elita-One. It was a surprise. The femme who had all seemingly avoided him was fiddling on her pedes before him. A sign of nervousness. "Optimus, I... Primus, how do I say this? You're leaving, and I thought it was time I finally tell you that I don't want an 'us' anymore." She stated. Optimus felt confusion at that. Weren't they already not an 'us'? "I understand." He replied, turning back to his datapad. She stood there frozen for a moments notice as if waiting for more.
"That's it? Nothing more? You have nothing more to say about your nearly lifelong relationship ending?" She sounded stunned. "No. But I believe anything I have to say has been rendered irrelevant by you ending this. Besides, you were seeing Sentinel far longer than you thought about ending us. What more do I have to say?" He questioned. Mildly intrigued to what her answer might have been. "You–I—I don't know. Certainly not this apathy? I just thought you'd feel more." She said. "And you are aware that anything I might have felt dwindled slowly when you thought to avoid me instead to speaking it out?"
"It was quite difficult when the mech you loved was being bonded off to a fragging terror, and they're silent about! You didn't fight for us the way you should've. You... you just didn't love me the same way I did."
"Perhaps not."
"Perhaps not‽" She asked incredulously. "Perhaps not‽ Does you being a cold construct make you impermeable to actual emotions?" She scoffed. "Frag you. Frag this. I hope your time being bonded off is fragging delightful, Optimus." She said bitterly as she stormed off. Optimus wondered where in that conversation he said something wrong. He certainly didn't mean it like that. Then again, the present was a wave, and the future was an unstoppable current. It didn't matter what he apparently did or did not. She had made up her processor, and it was probably about time he did, too. He was most certainly carrying this datapad with him, even if he had to hide it.
"Prince Optimus, Lord Megatron is awaiting your arrival at the main gate."
"I thought we'd meet here. Is there a reason we're not?"
The servant chuckled nervously. "If I told you what he said, I'd be fired. Probably executed, too." They sheepishly said. Optimus did not find the humour in their glyphs as he followed them silently. They attended to make small talk, but after seeing Optimus' gaze far more interested in his datapad, their chatter died down. Optimus could see the commotion before he heard it. His sire, as well as Ultra Magnus, stood out at the gates surrounded by gaurds as a tall silver mech (he assumed to be Megatron), argued animatedly about something.
As Optimus got closer, he could only make out bits and pieces. For example: Megatron said something along the lines of 'I don't want the dark blue one, it seems far too chatty, and if it's what you're offering, I'll end the treaty right here.' To which Ultra Magnus said something like: 'Cease your glyphs. Do not speak of the crown Prince Sentinel like that. You will have the other one. It serves no purpose either way.' Then Alpha Trion added: 'As long as this treaty stands, use him however you please. Unless you kill him of course, then the treaty comes to an end.' Megatron made a non-committal sound that neither confirmed if he would or wouldn't.
Alpha Trion's helm snapped as Optimus made his way over. "Optimus, yes. Hasten your pace. Your future conjunx is not a patient mech." His sire rushed. Optimus frowned. It wasn't as though he could walk faster, so he arrived at the same pace he started with. "Megatron, this is Optimus. He may be a little slow at times due to his creation—"
"Is he defected?" Megatron immediately interrupted, optics apraising Optimus as best as possible to see if it was physical. If Optimus heard right, the mech almost seemed offended. "No. Not at all. Optimus is merely a cold-construct." Ultra Magnus cut in sharply. Optimus felt as though all his traits and uses were being put onto grill. He hoped being a cold-construct wasn't a deal breaker. It seemed his 'condition' wasn't discussed beforehand. "Now, as said, he's a little off at moments. But he is in perfect health, capable of carrying a large batch of sparklings and other household tasks. Quite obedient, too." Alpha Trion finished.
Optimus stood there as the mech's optics raked him. Harsh and cruel. Seemingly not finding anything wrong externally, Megatron brought his Optics back to the other two. "I suppose it is a good offer." Megatron mumbled. "Follow." The warlord commanded without sparing another glance at him for Optimus to follow. The ride was silent. Optimus kept to himself. The warlord certainly wasn't interested in communicating with him. That was fine. Optimus preferred to keep to himself either way. He was sure he had less importance to the warlord now that he had been told Optimus was a cold-construct.
He thought back to his datapsd tucked in his subspace. He'll have to bust himself when they arrive. Megatron steped out before him, and Optimus did his best to follow wordlessly. Kaon isn't as filthy as he read or was told. Yet it lacked the cleanliness that accompanied Iacon or the grace. Optimus could feel the fights happening in the air. It was also warm. The palace here was more like a fortress. An impenetrable wall that will separate his freedom from the world. As he stepped a pede past the large automatic gates, he wondered if he'd ever leave. He'd heard the terror tales of Megatron. Sentinel used to attempt to scare him with them.
A snap before his face had him flinching from une unpredictability of it. Megatron was staring down directly at him. They seemed to have long past the entrance and were, well, wherever they were. Had Optimus zoned out? There was the probability. He should most definitely apologise for that. In the AWBGTPTC, not paying attention to one's soon to be conjunx was an atrocious crime. He opened his intake to speak but was beat to it. "Your quarters are there. Mine are down the hall to your left. Though I would remind you, I would rather you not come to me unless you are on death's berth. I'm sure the servants will have a field sol with you next sol. You will take this one to familiarise yourself with your space. Common areas are fairly noticeable. However, you will ask me for permission before entering anywhere else. Especially where you know you aren't supposed to be, understood?" Megatron told him, admittedly, he sounded bored of him already.
Optimus nodded. Then gave a verbal answer too. "Yes, sir." Megatron inspected him a bit longer. Optics lingering. "Anything detrimental that was neglected I should know?" He asked. Optimus thought for a moment. What counted as detrimental in this case? He found himself painfully unable to know. "No, sir. There's nothing I can think of, sir." The answer appeared Megatron enough for him to divert his attention from Optimus to focus on something else in the hall further before turning back to Optimus. "Your quarters, everything you need is in there. Do not leave it until the next sol." He ordered. Optimus nodded. Megatron tilted his helm expectantly, optics narrowed. "I expect an answer."
"Apologies. Yes, sir. I understand." Optimus replied. Megatron left him there. Optimus went to his hab. Truly, Megatron didn't seem to care about him? Was it possible the mech already had a consort? Hmm, the option seemed plausible. At least Optimus would have time to himself without the expectation of being used often. Which mean he got to read up more on those noxious plants. And soon he was lost in the datapad still standing behind the door.