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The Military Lord and the Hero's Creation	By : TheGatekat Category: Transformers > G1 > Slash - M/M Views: 2755 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Transformers belong to Hasbro. No money made.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Fandom: Transformers G1 Pre-war AU

Author: gatekat, starsheild on LJ

Main Pairing: Jazz/Prowl

Secondary Pairings: Softlight/Prowl/Surestrike, Prowl/Coda, Prowl/Songbird, Prowl/Stardancer/Jazz

Rating: NC-17

Codes: Arranged Bonding, First Time, Tactile, Sticky, Spark, Mechpreg, Birth, Sparklings, Death, Abortion, Violence

Summary: When Jazz is forced to bond with a higher-ranking noble sight unseen, he fears his freedom is over.

Disclaimer: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the inspirations page http://www.gatekat-fics.livejournal.com/290.html We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read.

Notes: Prowl is my tri-wing design: http://www.alteride.deviantart.com/art/Commission-Resonance-Prowl-254774764

nanoklik = 1/8 second

klik = 496 nanokliks/62 seconds;

breem = 8 kliks/8.27 minutes;

groon = 9 breem/1.24 hours;

joor = 6 groon/7.44 hours;

orn = 42 joor/13.02 days;

decaorn = 32 orns/1.14 years;

metacycle = 8 decaorn/9.22 years;

vorn = 9 metacycles/72 decaorn/83 years;

::text:: comm chatter

~text~ hardline/bond chatter

The Military Lord and the Hero's Creation 01: The Matchmaker's Contract

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ =================== ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sunflash strode through the gates of the main compound, optics sweeping around the well-appointed courtyard in appreciation. It was orderly and precise, as she would expect of the House of the Shining Sun, the premier military power of Praxus and supposedly second only to the ruling house in the providence.
Guards met her optics and nodded their helms in respect and acknowledgement of her right to be here as servants went about their business, working quickly and efficiently without looking hurried. This was the home of their lord, and here they belonged.
The mech that met her on the steps was obviously a step above the rest as he bowed in welcome. "Matchmaker, my lord's house is honored by your presence. If you would come this way please?"
"All honor to the lord of the house." Sunflash responded and offered a small bow in return, straightening to follow the servant through the halls of the main house, her private respect for the Lord Bladedrift growing. The ancestral home of the House of the Shining Sun declared the glory and might of the House in a way that was both subtle and elegant, and she almost regretted the end of her walk as the servant announced her arrival.
The mech that greeted her at the door to the lord's office chamber was clearly one of the political creations of the House, even if she had not recognized the Lord Heir Prowl on sight. He was a stunning mech, his simple black and white primary finish highlighted by red and gold and long, perfectly crafted sensor wings with all three panels and the flight edges of a noble, even though he couldn't fly.
"Thank you for indulging our request on such short notice, Matchmaker Sunflash," Prowl's rich baritone suited his frame and position as the next Lord of the Shining Sun. "Please come in," he stepped to the side and ushered her into a room that had seen energon spilt, peace made and powerful Lords broken. The very spark of the House's power.
"It is my pleasure to serve the Lord of the House of the Shining Sun and his Heir." Sunflash replied as she stepped inside and bowed to the lord seated across the room. Looking at the perfectly polished black mech with white and red markings, you would never know that he was unlikely to see the next century. He still exuded power befitting his title.
Only the fact that he did not stand to greet her, instead bowing slightly from where he sat behind the grand desk and the faint tinge of gray at the tips of his sensor wings indicated the true state of his health.
Beyond him stood his mate, a quite presence of rich red with silver and white highlights and a line of golden glyphs proclaiming his status as the First Bonded of the Lord of the Shining Sun and a minor priest of Primus. All three were Praxian and proud of it.
She was here because what they sought was not to be found in Praxus.
"Please make yourself comfortable," Lord Bladedrift spoke, his deep baritone unaffected by his condition.
"I am honored by the House." Sunflash acknowledged, taking the indicated seat gracefully. "What may I do to serve it in return?"
Not that there was any doubt why she had been called, but formality demanded formality. Only once that had been seen to could both sides go into the true reason for their meeting.
"My heir requires a suitable mate to produce a sparkling before I return to Primus," the old mech said calmly as his creation came to stand by his side. "Timing and other issues have removed those options from Praxus. Those who you have worked for in the past have spoken highly of your ability to make difficult matches quickly. The results I have seen bear this reputation out."
"The Lord is most kind." Sunflash murmured, bowing lower than before in acknowledgement of his compliment, and the added pressure. While it was true she was able to work with, in fact enjoyed, a challenge, she had never been called upon to create one for such an important House.
Straightening, shrewd optics settled on the Heir. "I will do my best. If I might know in detail what is being sought in a mate?"
While there was a list of almost standard traits that all noble houses required, she wanted to take into account the preferences of the mech she was to create the match for as well. It was a key feature in making a successful long-term match and the foundation of her reputation. Already she had a list of potential matches, some here in Praxus that the House might not have even known were available, but if the Heir had an aversion to aerial frames, or preferred mechs over femmes, those were the details that had allowed her to be so successful and she needed to know.
"In addition to the House requirements you were sent," Prowl spoke smoothly and calmly. "I prefer the Praxian frame, though I understand that is unlikely," he flared his sensor wings in indication what he enjoyed. "I have a mild preference for an untouched mate, though I do not consider it important. I require a mate that will produce many strong, intelligent, healthy sparklings for the House beyond the heir I require now. I would be grateful for a mate who can hold their own in a warrior House, with a quick wit, intelligence and education comparable to my own."
Sunflash quickly accessed Prowl's file from memory, noting his education level and interests. That reduced the list of available mecha some, a few of them endowed with far better frames than processors. As befitting the reputation of his heritage, the Lord Heir was far more concerned with practical needs of the future and smooth functioning than appearances.
A mech that was able to produce heirs was a standard requirement, but the Heir's stated preference to have multiple creations eliminated one with a weaker spark, and several more were moved to the bottom and marked as last choices based on what she knew of their more amorous habits. If the Heir wished an untouched mate, he was very unlikely to be one who tolerated his mate having frequent lovers. It was a mark of a possessive nature.
Praxian framed..."Does the Heir have a preference between mechs and femmes?" She asked.
"A mech, Matchmaker, though only if all other traits are comparable," Prowl responded easily. "A strong frame is important in a warrior House."
The Praxian femme was eliminated. While he might accept her, she was of Crystal City and had almost no armor or sturdy structure. Beautiful, with a quick wit and one of the best educations on Cybertron, but she would not manage to survive any form of rough handling.
After a few more moments of consideration Sunflash had the list narrowed considerably. Red optics traveled between the three mechs of the House. Two pairs of gold and one of white looked back. "Are there anything other preferences before I offer what I have compiled?"
Lord Bladedrift looked at his creation, and Prowl canted his wings slightly in the negative.
"You have all requirements and preferences, Matchmaker," The Lord told her.
Sunflash considered everything she had to work with. There were several that fit all of the guidelines, but none of them seemed right. With an internal sigh she searched again, and paused as another profile popped up.
It was one that she had almost given up on, but as she looked the Heir... If the House was willing... The only requirement the candidate did not meet was the one stating that match needed to come from an equal house. If they rejected the first two she proposed, she would offer him. The worst that could happen was that they rejected him as well.
"Adding in the Heirs preferences, I have several choices," she placed a holoprojector on the desk and brought up the first profile. Though to most the three gave no reaction, she had spent a very long functioning reading unreadable mecha. The lord and his heir found the Iaconian acceptable, but the lord's mate did not.
She gave them enough time to make the assessment and brought up the next mech, a Seeker from Vos. His wings were spread proudly, a gleaming white finish accented by a fair amount of red and some blue, with bright red optics and a very handsome black face.
Though nearly inaudible, she heard the heir hiss in displeasure, very personal displeasure. He knew Starscream, and did not like him at all.
"Are there any others?" Lord Bladedrift asked politely.
Sunflash nodded respectfully. "I have another for the House to consider."
The next image that rose to life was a smaller mech with a frame of white and black, very complimentary to the Heir's. A blue visor spanned a face accented with a smile that had only ever promised trouble for the matchmaker and, she was starting to believe, his creators. Sensory horns adorned the dark helm, adding even more personality to the mech, and the image shifted to a full frame rotation revealing blue accent marks to set off the primary coloration.
A smaller, secondary screen rose up, listing every fact they could possibly want to know about the mech hovering before them. His activation date, home province, education, interest, hobbies, House, creators, ranking in the line of inheritance and what he was expected to inherit. On the next screen were his medical records, since the ability to produce many creations was important to this contract.
What it didn't list was all the trouble the rebellious mech got into, and that she had been paid well to not list. Yet after meeting him, she had quickly seen that while he was a dissapointment to his creators, he had a good spark and nothing wrong in his programming other than a limited ability to follow orders when upset. It was something she was sure would mellow with age and responsibility.
"Jazz," Prowl spoke the designation, tasting it as if it would tell him something.
And perhaps it did, Sunflash quickly amended her thoughts. Prowl was of a rank and station where the skill of designation reading might well be one he had mastered.
"He does not have the status," Prowl said coolly.
"His creator is a great hero who holds the Prime's Honor," Lord Bladedrift countered, considering the image and information. "He would be a fine addition to our lineage."
"Then I have no objection," Prowl said quickly, and it was the truth.
"His contract is open." Sunflash informed them, the slight tension in her frame easing as her last offering was accepted. "Shall I make known your interest to his creators?"
Provided both sides agreed to the match there were things that she might yet be called upon to negotiate, or that the Houses might choose to negotiate between themselves. Bond price, ceremony, engagement periods, and those were just a few of the most common details.
"Yes, Matchmaker," Lord Bladedrift inclined his helm to her, permission and request of her continued services expressed in the simple, graceful motion.
The preliminary details were quickly arranged, and the golden femme bowed low, thanking the lord for the graciousness of his house and promising to bring word as soon as she received it, that full negotiations might begin.
S S S S S S S S S===================S S S S S S S S S
A blue visor shifted upward, taking in the gates of the compound as Jazz paused before it. To most they would have meant safety, protection, serving as another sign of the might and power of the family they defended. To him, they were just the entrance to his own personal prison. He didn't want to be here. He'd done his best- successfully- to get out of every arrangement that the matchmaker had managed to bring to his creators. But never before had she brought an offer from a mech that was willing to accept him without ever seeing or speaking to him in person. Negotiations had been made and contracts drawn up and signed before Jazz had found out what was going on, and by then it had been too late.
Not even he, wild, rebellious creation that he was, would bring the dishonor on his House and Family of breaking a signed contract. Honor which had led him here, across the greater span of two provinces, to the House of the Shining Sun.
He would have stood there, delaying his fate for as long as possible, were it not for the gentle nudge from behind urging him onward. "Best get it over with Jazz." The older mech murmured, optics sweeping around the busy street, constantly on alert for any danger to his charge.
Steelplate had been Jazz's friend and mentor since the orn Jazz had discovered he could slip out of the compound unnoticed. The old mech had taught the youngling all the tricks Jazz knew. Had drug him back for his lessons when no one else could find him and convinced him that the education was worth the effort it required. Had listened when Jazz needed to talk and offered sound advice in return, without judgment.
And even he was leaving in a metacycle. Leaving Jazz alone in this new prison. With a sigh Jazz lifted a foot and set it down over the threshold, a turning point in his functioning he hoped never to make.
"Greetings Jazz," a rich baritone drew the visored gaze to a fine example of the Praxian design dominated by a white and black finish accented by red and gold. "Was your journey a safe one?"
For a split second Jazz stared as he identified the mech before him as his future mate, a mech had until now only ever seen in holovids.
A mech that had come out to greet him, against custom. "Safe and swift, Heir Prowl." Jazz responded with a small incline of his helm, visor shining hopefully.
"I am pleased to hear," Prowl responded with a slight shift of his slender, elegantly long and dexterous wings. "Come, I will show you to your suite so you may begin to settle before the evening meal."
Despite the very easy way it could have been an order, there was no form of demand in the words; it was a request, an offer.
Jazz shared a quick look with his guardian, and the older mech was relived to note that some of the rebellious fear was starting to ease out of his young charge. A frightened or angry Jazz was a difficult Jazz, and a flightily one, and to have him run now could only spell disaster.
With a signal to the servants the old mech turned to follow his charge and his charge's intended into the grand central house of the estate. To Steelplate, there were many good signs of the character of the House as they were led deep into the building. It was as well kept as it was well appointed. The servants had the good color and smooth movements of being well fed and maintained. Their finish, while not kept to the level of the mech leading them, displayed pride in their station and the House they served.
Even better was that while all bowed and showed the Lord Heir proper respect, none flinched from him or showed a sign of the particular fear that mistreatment brought. If the servants were treated well, there was a strong possibility that his intended would at least respect Jazz as well.
His charge's interest in his surroundings, while very subtle, was clear to the old mech who had watched him grow. Jazz was taking everything in and did not yet seem overly distressed by the differences from home that surrounded him.
A turn brought them to another courtyard, much smaller, and the lord Heir led them across it without faltering, the statues and arrangements as familiar to him as walking, though freshly tended in preparation for Jazz arrival.
Steelplate was impressed again as he figured out the arrangement, the courting suite attached to the main compound but separate enough to offer privacy as well.
The very fact that there was a courting suite was a pleasant surprise. Accepting a bonding contract without ever meeting the other mech was not typically a sign of a mech who cared about anything but appearances. Perhaps the reputation of this House as brutally logical and unrelenting toward enemies and allies alike was somewhat undeserved.
"This side is your, Jazz," Prowl addressed his intended as he indicated a door and offered the other black and white a physical key and stepped aside to allow Jazz to unlock and open the door himself.
The key was accepted in silence, Jazz slightly surprised at the actual weight in his hand before he unlocked the door and looked inside. The first thing that caught his attention in the sparsely furnished room was that it wasn't empty. A well-built Praxian femme with the single wing panel of a free servant stood in the center of the room. Her optics were respectfully downcast, but not enough to hinder her ability to pick out who was at the door.
"This is Evening Bronze, the personal servant I have assigned for you," Prowl introduced the burnished bronze and maroon colored mecha.
"Thank you." Jazz nodded, the small motion polite acceptance and thanks. He had been privy to most of the details of the contract, and known that none of the servants from his own house were going to remain with him. The fact that he had been assigned one, giving the status of the House of the Shining Sun and his potential status within it, was something that he should have expected.
"Evening Bronze." The femme lifted her optics as Jazz spoke, his repetition of her designation acknowledgement of his acceptance of her services and her right to be there.
"I will leave you to refresh yourself and settle," Prowl spoke smoothly. "I will return in three joors to show you to the dining hall and present you to my creators."
Jazz hesitated, wavering with an answer and finally nodding in acceptance. Steelplate's frown of disapproval did not escape him, but he said nothing as Prowl departed, only turned and went to inspect the rest of his suite.
This first room was open to be personalized according the individual taste of the mech using it, either as an office or recreational room. It also was intended to serve as buffer between the common areas and the berthroom that Jazz could see off to his right.
Knowing that Steelplate would see to the servants Jazz crossed to the berthroom, curious. This was furnished more generously, a large berth dominating the room, a chair and side table off in a corner with a smaller lighting fixture, and some tasteful artwork arranged around the space.
Two small doors were set into another wall, one for storage he assumed, and another for private wash facilities.
"Would Lord Jazz like energon or to be detailed before the evening meal?" Evening Bronze asked quietly when his gaze came to briefly rest on her.
"Yes." Steelplate answered as he entered the room, optics softening a little as they settled on the small mech.
"You'll want both." He told Jazz firmly. "You want to make a good impression when you meet your mate's creators for the first time, which means looking your best. It also means not acting like you haven't refueled since this morning before we started traveling."
Evening Bronze glanced at Jazz, confirming that he wasn't going to counter his servant-caretaker's statement before slipping from the room to fetch the energon.
For a long moment the two mecha just looked at each other. Finally Steelplate sighed. "You could at least try."
Jazz sighed. "I'm here and I'm not snapping at him. It's not like it'll make a difference. He's going to breed me until I extinguish like some prize animal."
"He expressed a desire for a large family, but I severely doubt his desires will be filled at the cost of your health." Steelplate pointed out, moving closer to the mech that in his spark was the creation he never had. Jazz's field was full of misery, not unlike what it was like when his sparker's second mate had been going at him when his sparker wasn't around.
"The contract is signed," Jazz muttered, his frame slumping dejectedly. "He's not going to like me any better than anyone else."
"He's certainly not if you don't give him a chance." Steelplate pointed out. "At least get to know him before you decide you don't like him. He did make a point of meeting you himself, instead of waiting for the formal introduction tonight." The large mech reminded him gently.
"I guess that makes up for buying me like some high priced breeder slave," Jazz spat, too hurt inside that his sparker would agree to the match to see reason.
Or hear Evening Bronze enter with his energon until she gasped.
"Jazz." Steelplate rumbled warningly, walking the edge of impropriety now that there was another present. "Honor to the House." He reminded.
Red optics met the femme's soft pink as he reached for the energon. "Fuel. You'll feel better clean and with some energy."
Jazz would have cringed if it wouldn't have made things even worse. He accepted the cube and offered an apology to his surrogate creator in the silence of their fields as he drank.
"Do you wish to detail Lord Jazz?" Evening Bronze asked Steelplate softly. "I promise you, the Lord Heir did not buy him as a slave, nor to breed him as an animal. He is a good mech ... and we have both slaves and prisoners to breed for warriors or additional creations if it came to that."
"Give him a chance." Steelplate repeated before stepping back and making room for Evening Bronze to go to work. There was nothing that was going to convince the young mech until Jazz saw the truth for himself.
"He needs to look better than I can manage tonight." He admitted quietly.
"Of course," she smiled at the much older mech. "I will ensure he is presentable to the House Lords. If Lord Jazz would come with me," she offered smoothly, motioning towards the washrack room door.
The young mech finished off the cube, handing it to Steelplate before moving off to the washracks, silent and brooding.
S S S S S S S S S===================S S S S S S S S S
Prowl examined himself carefully in the 360 degree mirror that included a reflective floor and ceiling. His personal attendants waited just outside, in case he perceived a flaw in his finish. Their positions were considered among the most prestigious, for they were allowed to touch the Lord Heir so intimately and often, yet they were also among the most dangerous, for they were exposed to his temper in ways very few were.
The young Lord Heir's expectations were as simple as they were difficult; perfection. His punishments, while notoriously creative for repeat offenders, were also as flawlessly within the structure of the law and traditions. That was little comfort to prisoners of war that had no one to buy their freedom and became the property of the warrior who captured them.
This pair, bonded mechs Prowl had personally taken captive in the first campaign he led himself, had served him well for many vorns. This orn was no different and the young Lord Heir exited the mirrored side room with a flick of his long sensor wings to inform the pair he was satisfied with their work.
Both bowed deeply to him before returning to their other duties in maintaining his suite and personal possessions.
Prowl left them to their work, confident that they needed no oversight. His duty was to see his intended to the family dining chamber. He did hope the mech would present better after a detailing and energon. If nothing else, he knew he could trust Evening Dawn to tell him why Jazz did not, and do her level best to ensure she would not have to explain anything.
His arrival and announcement at the half of the courting suite now occupied by his intended found the smaller mech ready and waiting for him in the sitting room. Hovering against the far wall were Evening Bronze and the large, dull colored mech that had accompanied Jazz, the rest of the servants from his escort already absent and presumably seen to.
The mech was much more pleasing to the optic with the wear and dirt of travel seen to, though nothing could hide the subtle tension running through then mech's entire frame as he bowed to Prowl. "Lord Heir."
"Jazz," Prowl canted his wings politely, in a friendly greeting reserved for family. "You look good." He stepped to the side smoothly, motioning Jazz to walk with him. "My creators are eager to meet you."
"Thank you." Jazz answered, helm dipping in a nod that was the equal to the wing greeting he had been offered. It was an effort, responding in the tone and mode that Prowl had set.
Letting out a very soft vent he joined the larger mech, falling into step with his guide. "I-look forward to meeting your creators."
Prowl rewarded his efforts with a tiny smile and a soft brush against Jazz's EM field as they walked though the family section of the compound to one of the more intimate dining rooms. Tonight was only for close kin; Prowl's creators, his sparker's other mates and the other political creations among Prowl's siblings. Nine mecha in all, including Jazz.
Question, unsure-not-quite-fear was thick under a layer of determination that wavered at the touch before stiffening again, Jazz pulling his frame straight and proud as they arrived at the dining room.
The ornately carved door slid open to reveal a very traditional family dining room, though it was far larger than any Jazz had seen before. All optics turned to him as the seven mecha already present turned to take in the eldest creation's mate for the first time.
Jazz's optics swept around the room, taking in each mecha in turn. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting exactly, but at least there was no open hostility directed his way.
Calculating. Evaluating. Judging. But nothing to set off a true defensive reaction just yet. His optics ended their journey on the Lord of the House, and Jazz paused for just a moment.
Then he stepped inside and bowed low, with all respect and honor due an elder and House Lord in his House.
"Creator, I present my intended; Lord Jazz from the House of Crossbeam," Prowl spoke formally.
"Welcome to the House of the Shining Sun," the House Lord spoke with a small incline of his helm and neutrally friendly cant of his elegant wings. "Sit with us and refresh yourself."
"The House of the Shining Sun is gracious." Jazz replied formally. "I am honored."
He waited until Prowl moved past him, taking his place gracefully across from the Lord of the House. As soon as Jazz was settled as well servants appeared, offering the hand cleansers before departing to make room for meal to be served.
The introductions were made. Prowl's three older political siblings, his creator's first bonded, a Praxian who was Prowl's carrier, and the two younger bondeds, both alliance bondings. One a still-young femme from Iacon, the other an older Aerial of Vosian lineage. A larger family than Jazz's would ever be, and a clue to the young mech where Prowl's interest in having many creations likely came from. If there were four political creations, there were likely a dozen or more warriors.
Jazz committed each designation to memory, offering the proper greeting and thanking each for the kindness of the House as the food was placed on the table, each dish starting with the lord and his first bonded before making its way to Jazz and eventually down the table.
He silently thanked Steelplate for insisting that he refuel before he came. If there had not been something in his tank already it would have been very hard to sit there waiting for the lord to begin first. As it was he was able to concentrate on the pleasantries as he should.
Once everyone had been served Bladedrift offered a murmur of thanks to Primus and took a bite of his meal, the signal that everyone could begin eating as well. The meal was a sedate affair; the way civilized, well-fueled mecha ate. A social event as much as it was an act of necessity.
Jazz noted the way he was watched as he nibbled on the offerings placed before him. The selection was actually simpler and smaller than most meals his sparker's second mate insisted on, though of even finer quality ingredients.
"Jazz, have you ever been around a large family?" Tandem, the second oldest political creation, asked once the meal had settled in.
"Not for very long." Jazz responded as soon as he had finished the confection he had been nibbling on. "My Sire's brother has a large family and I spent a metacycle with them once."
A very different metacycle. His uncle had taken three mates, all of them fruitful. But where Jazz's home life had been one of discord, the environment he had found there, even with so many siblings and three mates, had been one of chaotic harmony. It was one of the few bright social spots in Jazz's upbringing.
"You will find having many creations is common in this House," Tandem smiled slightly, a gentling look on a naturally stern face. "Most are warriors, though you will likely have more political creations than most as the Lord's first mate. It takes many skilled administrative hands to maintain a House this large."
Jazz managed a polite answer, though deep within his spark rippled in fear and denial. Even if on the surface this was a semi-formal event where everything he did would be remembered, picked apart and analyzed later.
"What is your favorite hobby?" Asked the youngest of those present, Metronome. She was the Lord's youngest bonded, not much older than Jazz and already potentially looking at the end of her functioning when he extinguished.
Exploring. Racing. Anything that had gotten him out of his family compound and away from his sire's second bonded. Not all of which were fit hobbies for someone who was to be the first bonded of a future lord, characteristics that had been left out of his profile, he had discovered once he had been able to hack a copy of it.
"I enjoy listening to music." He told her, managing a small smile. It was the truth, and an acceptable interest in most social circles.
"Do you play as well?" Prowl asked with definite interest.
"I have yet to find an instrument that I can play well. I do sing a little." Jazz told him, admitting to something that no one had ever been able to figure out a reason for.
He caught flickers of approval from various mecha. So singing was a valued skill, at least for his new position. Perhaps most importantly, he felt clear approval from Prowl.
The conversations entered another welcome lull for Jazz as other subjects were discussed, including family finances, an upcoming minor campaign, those in training --updates which predominantly came from Prowl -- and discipline issues.
In it was a very interesting insight to the dynamics of the family, and a little disconcerting as well. Jazz was old enough to remember when his one of his sibling's intended had arrived, and it had been several decaorn before some of these topics had been openly discussed in his presence.
He homed in on the training, curious because Prowl was the predominant speaker and because the fighting style of the House and its warriors was of interest to him. It was on the tip of his glossa, barely contained, to ask if he might observe when the time of the next orn's session was mentioned.
"What level of training did you complete?" Prowl suddenly turned and looked at Jazz, his golden optics intent and field curious.
"Second level weapons training. Second level unarmed hand to hand." Jazz answered confidently, settling into something he understood, and a mode he was familiar with. "My sire encouraged my interest once he found out."
Though it wasn't a surprise in a warrior House, the approval around the table was welcome.
"Most impressive," Prowl voiced what others clearly thought. "Who was your master?"
"Steelplate taught me the basics, and my sire instructed me when he was home. Once I was beyond Steelplate's instruction it was split between several monks from the monastery." Jazz answered. And severe task masters they had been, but fair. They demanded as much perfection from him as they did of themselves, but even that was something that Jazz had grown to appreciate that over time.
"Then your style is a mixture of Circuit-Su and Crystalocution?" Prowl extrapolated.
Jazz's visor flickered in surprise, even though after a moment of consideration he realized he should have been expecting the question. "Yes. My sire's preferred form is Crystalocution. I started there and had other elements added later."
Prowl inclined his helm slightly in understanding. "What weapons do you prefer?"
"Duel short blades. I was drilled in staff work as well." Jazz considered, going through the rest of his list of weapons. He had some skill with long range weapons, but nothing that was particularly noteworthy.
"Perhaps we can spar with the staff or practice blades after you have settled," Prowl offered, keenly interested in seeing for himself how skilled his intended actually was.
"I look forward to it." Jazz murmured truthfully. Yes, his intended was a political creation, but a political creation in a House of warriors, and apparently much more military minded than Jazz's older brother was. Jazz also got the distinct impression that this conversation wasn't over, but that the remainder was being saved for a more private setting.
The conversation drifted back to normal talk around the table, more of the formal dropping away as Jazz relaxed. It was a full two-joor affair, much of it taken up by business discussions of one kind or another.
By the time they were excused, Jazz had almost relaxed enough to feel normal, but he was still grateful to escape to his quarters and the privacy when Prowl excused himself to give Jazz some space.
"You look as if it went well," Steelplate commented when they were alone.
"It ... went better than I was expecting." Jazz admitted, the last bit of formal falling away now that he was alone with Steelplate. The pair were long past the formalities of free servant and master, the smaller mech collapsing on the berth as the large gray mech made himself comfortable in the chair in the corner.
"Did you learn anything of interest?" Steelplate smiled privately.
"The fact that I can sing a little seemed to go over well. Prowl, at least, is interested in my combat training. He expressed an interest in sparring once I have settled in. The family...must be very large. There were four political creations present tonight." Jazz said, rattling off everything he had noticed that seemed to be of importance.
"The Lord of the House does not look well." He added softly. While it was something they had been informed of, reason as to why the heir was searching for a mate so quickly, Jazz had not realized just how bad things were until tonight.
Steelplate nodded grimly. "Unfortunately, that will mean that the pressure for the Lord Heir to have an heir will be intense. He can not inherit his creator's title without one."
"I know." There was a distinct note of bitterness in Jazz's voice, the good mood from the evening vanishing at the reminder.
He did not want to be here. He did not want to be anyone's mate just yet. He did not even want to think about being a creator right now with a mech he had just met, no matter how agreeable the mech seemed to be.
Or how easy on the optics.
"It is far from the worst fate, Jazz," Steelplate sighed. "The servants, even the slaves here do not fear him, and they do respect him. He cannot be a cruel or abusive mech when those he has such power over view him positively."
The blue visor flared as Jazz jerked upright. "And the ones at home had no reason to fear her."
When there was no immediate response to his outburst Jazz fell back on the berth, curling up on the soft surface in a posture distinctly reminiscent of a frightened sparkling.
Instead of trying to argue logic, Steelplate stood and walked over to the berth to stroke Jazz's side soothingly. "It will work out," he murmured.
Jazz wanted to believe him. Steelplate had always been right. A source of comfort and guidance when Jazz had needed him most. Tension eased from the small frame, light coming back slowly as the visored mech's posture eased. "They have you quartered with the rest of the servants?"
"Yes," he continued to stroke Jazz's side.
"They provided fuel for everyone?" Jazz asked, focusing on something besides the pain and confusion in his own spark.
"Good quality and enough for everyone to recover and recharge well," he assured the young noble. "They have been fine hosts so far."
"You should be recharging with them." The young noble murmured, well aware that if the orn had seemed hard on him it must have been beyond taxing for his guardian.
"I will, when I am sure you will recharge as well," Steelplate said firmly. "You need to be in peek condition far more than I do."
"Why?" Jazz asked softly, begging a reason for all that was happening from his guardian while finally relaxing completely into the soothing touch.
The old mech hummed softly, encouraging his charge to slip into much needed recharge, no matter how early it was. There were so many ways to answer that, and all of them would hurt. "I believe your creator knew how miserable you were and why. Giving into her demands may well have been a way to try and save you from far worse. You were legally old enough to be bonded to advantage to the House long ago, and as the youngest warrior creation, no reason for you not to be."
A soft sound, pain and sorrow, escaped the young mech under his hand. His creator had always been good to him, stern and demanding at times, but Jazz loved him. There was no such warmth in his spark for his sire's second mate.
"Old enough to be bonded, but not old enough to go with him." Jazz commented, more to himself than to Steelplate.
"You know what he said, that when you reached the third level with either a weapon or hand to hand you could join him," Steelplate reminded him gently but firmly. "You were several centuries from that level of mastery."
"Never have the chance now." As much as the truth hurt Jazz knew the older mech was right.
Steelplate hummed. "In this House? My dear Jazz, their mates often stand at their side in battle."
"To stand at Prowl's side. To share his glory." Jazz sighed. To never have the chance to be anything but a shadow of his mate, a secondary thing no matter what he managed to accomplish through his own effort.
Sometime during the conversation Steelplate had settled on the edge of the berth, and now Jazz rolled back, leaning against the warm frame and taking comfort in the steady field.
"There are far worse fates," the older mech reminded him gently. "You won't know how much independence you'll have until you try. You won't know Prowl until you try."
As the rest of Jazz's systems settled he suddenly realized just how tired he was. Tired of worrying and fighting and watching every step he made. The soothing voice and contact had him drifting toward recharge, the silent promise that it would be well making it that way in the moment.
"I'll try." He promised. He would try to give that mech and this place a chance, for the honor of his sire and house and for Steelplate, who had invested so much in raising him.
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The Military Lord and the Hero's Creation