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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
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The Military Lord and the Hero's Creation 04: Turmoil

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Jazz checked his reflection once more in the mirror quickly. Not that Evening Bronze's work was ever anything less than perfect, but the entire immediate family was to be attending breakfast this morning; all of Bladedrift's siblings, his creations, their mates and their creations, and Jazz would not shame Prowl by showing up less than perfect. More than a hundred and eighty mecha would be in the great dinning hall for the once a decaorn social gathering that he'd learned was the bane of his intended's existence, and was quickly becoming the bane of his as well.
Satisfied that he had not damaged his finish he started for the door, only to stop when the door opened before him and Steelplate stepped in. He looked far too serious for Jazz's taste. Things had been going so well lately there had been little need for serious looks.
Jazz waited until the door closed and Steelplate came deeper into the room. He still would not have been surprised to discover that his privacy was mostly an illusion, but what other others did not witness with their own optics and did not hear clearly with their own audios could always be contended.
"Steelplate?" He prompted softly, gaze focused unerringly on his mentor.
The following silence and careful way the older mech looked him over from helm to foot was more troubling, and Jazz had to fight down the urge to squirm like a youngling.
"It seems my stewardship of you has come to an end, my Lord Jazz," Steelplate said quietly. "I leave for Simfur this orn."
Surprise froze Jazz's frame as he processed the rather simple statement. "Why?" He finally managed to ask.
"I have been here nearly ten decaorn," the elder mech reached out to squeeze Jazz's shoulder gently. "Longer than I expected to be allowed to remain. It is time for me to return home and resume my duties for my Lord's House."
His Lord's House. Jazz's systems stuttered slightly as he sought to remain in control. Steelplate's home. Once Jazz's as well.
"I thought you were going to stay until the ceremony." He murmured, hand coming up to rest lightly on the larger mech's arm.
"It was an outside hope, Jazz," Steelplate told him gently. "I hoped to be allowed to remain. It is not to be." He paused and brought out a box not quite the length of his forearm, half as thick and half that wide. There was little decoration to it, only a line of designation glyphs, the last one being Jazz's. The one above it being Steelplate's. The dozen more that preceeded it were of mecha that Jazz didn't know. "I wish you to have this."
Jazz was too distracted to realize what he had been handed at first, still trying to come to terms with the idea that this was quite possibly the last time that he was ever going to see or speak to the mech that had filled the role of second creator for most of his functioning.
Surprise-shock-disbelief rippled through the small mech's field in rapid succession as he started at the box, then up at the large mech. "Steelplate?"
"You are the closest thing to a creation I am likely to have," the old mech smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder. "I would have you pass it on to one of your creations."
The small frame trembled under his hand, emotion causing the optic shielding visor to flicker until, in a the same headstrong manner that Steelplate had come to know very well in his charge, Jazz threw propriety out the proverbial window and wrapped his arms around the large mech in a fierce embrace.
Steelplate smiled and returned the embrace, his systems rumbling in a soothing harmonic for the young noble.
Jazz still wasn't settled when the elder mech gently set him back on his feet. "Your intended will be coming to collect you for the morning meal soon, and my escort is going to be waiting on me."
Jazz held on to the larger mech's hand tightly for a moment, still searching for words for all of the emotions running through his field. Fear, sorrow, affection, love...all of them spilling through broken defenses. "Thank you." He finally murmured, ashamed of how pitiful it sounded even to him.
"Thank you, for making an old mech proud," Steelplate gently lowered his forehelm against Jazz's. "Even if we never touch again, I will not forget you. I will call when I can. I would have you send me datapads of your life. Pictures of all the important moments I can not be here for."
It wouldn't be the same as the mech being there to witness it for himself, and they both knew it. Jazz wanted with all of his spark for Steelplate to be present for those times. But even he wasn't selfish enough to say what would only cause more hurt.
"I will." He promised quietly, taking Steelplate's lead and slowly regaining his composure.
They had managed to separate and appear at least proper enough when Prowl entered the room, the box now safely tucked in Jazz's subspace. It only took one glance at the Praxian to know he had picked up that something had happened, but he wasn't going to press for details. At least not yet.
"If you are ready," Prowl focused on Jazz, his sensor wings canted to express his concern that his intended was upset.
"Thank you." Jazz said again to Steelplate before nodding to Prowl. "Yes."
Prowl settled his wings in a neutral stance and offered his arm to Jazz, a familiar tradition by this point. The smaller mech accepted it willingly, falling into step with his intended and resisting the urge to look back at his mentor. His field was pulled in tightly, a secondary defense as he finished getting his emotions under control during the walk. It wasn't just to protect him from being discovered, but to protect him from the displeasure-distress that inevitably settled into Prowl for these breakfasts. As much as the Lord Heir felt at home during the working dinners, he detested these larger family gatherings.
The family dinners were reasonably pleasant for Jazz as well. Unlike these breakfasts, he was allowed to generally be quiet as the business of organizing a large, powerful House was handled during the evening meals. He had also learned that he wasn't the only political to attend, and those that did were included in the discussions when they had knowledge to be useful.
Family breakfasts, with their much larger contingent and social function, were difficult at best and a nightmare at worst. The family was excited about Prowl's bonding and all it meant. It didn't matter who they were seated nearby, which as far as Jazz had worked out was randomly assigned each time as the only mech in the same location each time was the House Lord. Even mates were seated nearby only occasionally. Prowl had mentioned that they would enter the normal rotation and often be separated eight vorns after bonding. Much of the current conversation was of who would be attending the ceremony, the difficulties with such a short courting, the decorations, how good they would look. It was understandable, if annoying to both mechs about to bond. The comments about Jazz's lack of status and that he wasn't of Praxian descent were mercifully kept very limited.
The worst for Jazz was the almost endless fascination and talk of the sparklings to come. What they would look like, what their gifts might be, how long it would take before Prowl's true heir came. The first creation may have the status by default, but as Prowl was proof, they were not always the one who was finally chosen to lead the House. There were even suggestions, made to Prowl, as to how to ensure his creations at least looked fully Praxian.
It was debatable which of them found that line of conversation more embarrassing.
Jazz weathered it all like he did at all of the large family meals, not rising to some of the comments offered by Prowl's siblings. Some of them were clearly offered without consideration that they might be offensive, others Jazz wasn't so sure weren't deliberate jabs that stopped just short of crossing the line that would have earned a reprimand.
Other questions, and the true inquiries to his well-being and how he was settling, often came from the Lord of the House's mates and the mates of the elder creations, and were answered sincerely and a little relief at normal conversation.
Still, it was a trying ordeal that Jazz was never sorry to see come to an end, and thankful only occurred once a decaorn. At least by now his appearance on Prowl's arm was just the normal way of things. He nodded politely the greetings he received from Prowl's kin and their mates. There was a charge in the air this time, an excitement that wasn't normally present.
Prowl canted his sensor wings several times, some of which Jazz took as curiosity or question, but most were more complex moves than he understood yet. By the time they were seated, Prowl had caught the excitement, even if he barely showed it.
"Amethyst," Prowl motioned to a gleaming purple femme at a different long table who was chatting in a quite animated fashion to those nearby. "Is confirmed to be carrying twins."
"Then congratulations are in order, and thanks for the blessing to the House." Jazz answered, offering the proper response and meaning it sincerely as he ran a check on the designation. She was one of Prowl's older siblings, a warrior rather than political creation. He didn't really have notes on her, other than Prowl didn't seem to avoid her during his rounds, but that meant little when Prowl was scrupulous about not allowing his personal feelings to affect his performance of duties. The very fact that he knew so little of her was the best marker that Prowl didn't like her, but also that she was not one who had earned his ire by making his functioning difficult.
No matter what her standing, the announcement of a twin carry was something to be celebrated. Incredibly rare and Jazz now knew enough to recognize that while the general population had mixed views on twins, warrior Houses valued them highly for their bond and ability to communicate and anticipate on a level not even the best bonded mates could manage.
If Jazz was lucky might well turn into the focal point of the meal and allow them some peace for a change. It certainly had the full attention of everyone as cleanser was brought around for each mecha to wash their hands with.
Knowing now what the general excitement was about, Jazz cleansed his hands when the servant offered, relaxing and allowing his field to ease out at the familiar routine as conversation started to settle around the tables with the arrival of the last straggling, but still punctual, members of the family. There was no such thing as fashionably late in this House.
"Has your spark-line ever produced twins?" a white mech with deep purple and gold trim focused on Jazz as the appetizers began to be severed. This style of serving was odd to Jazz too. While the intimate family business dinners were normally presented with each mecha receiving a prepared plate, here there were large platters, baskets or carafes that were passed around and each mecha took what they wanted before passing it on.
Jazz took advantage of the basket passed to him, taking a moment to make his selection from the small mineral cakes that he honestly did favor. It gave him time to recall as far back was relatively prudent.
Passing the basket on to Prowl he turned his attention back to the speaker, finally placing the mech as the bondmate of another one of Prowl's elder siblings. "Two generations back there was a set of twins, but they are not in my direct spark line. Their carrier was my grand-kindler's half sibling."
There was a general sense of approval to that answer, especially from Prowl. It was a reminder that as careful as Prowl was about mentioning sparklings around him, he really did want them.
"Wouldn't it be exciting, to have your first be twins?" A black and sky blue femme across from them nearly trilled.
Jazz could feel the intense surge of desire-approval in Prowl.
"Yes, it would be extraordinary," Prowl said, his reaction more muted than his field would have suggested. "Though perhaps not for my first creation. It would make it less agreeable to train them as politicals. Twins belong as warriors."
Jazz focused on the plate in front of him to avoid saying something he knew he shouldn't. It didn't hurt that he was honestly hungry, and at least if he wasn't addressed directly, or if Prowl was willing to answer in his place, he wasn't expected to speak. Thinking about it he even filtered the emotions in his field a little, doing his best to keep the negative ones close to home as the conversation once again descended into talk of the ceremony, hope for the first creation ... and then to how many Prowl hoped for.
Jazz tried not to cringe at the honest answer of a dozen or more, or at the intense approval that came from all who heard.
"Are you planning to take Metronome as a second mate when Bladedrift extinguishes?" An older warrior asked. It took Jazz a moment to place him as Lord Bladedrift's third creation. "She is still young enough to maintain the alliance."
"I would prefer not to," Prowl actually smiled slightly at his older sibling. "I happen to know her House finds it agreeable for her to be taken in by one of my siblings, if she would be their first bonded."
A few knowing looks passed between nearby mecha, along with a couple grins at the politely phrased request for the young femme.
Jazz couldn't quite catch the flicker of relief that slipped through his field at Prowl's answer. It was almost inevitable that Prowl would eventually just take at least one more mate, but he still wasn't keen on sharing that soon either. Anyway, he had a good idea that Metronome would be a good match for the older warrior based on Prowl's opinion of him. Jazz was fond of Lord Bladedrift's youngest bonded; she had always been kind to him and he would like seeing her happy.
His optics scanned the table and he noticed a platter that had appeared with a variety of magma solids he knew Prowl was fond of, and without really thinking about it he picked it up and offered it to his intended. Prowl offered him a smile and warmly affectionate brush across their fields as he selected a few.
Briefly, watching other pairs, he was reminded that he was lucky with Prowl. The circumstances sucked big time, but his intended was a good mech and far kinder and more affectionate than he had ever expected. It was a reminder of Prowl's words early on, that the Praxian desired a loving bond, that he wanted a mate that would be happy at his side.
It was clear that was not always the case.
With a very soft vent he placed the platter back on the table. At least Prowl had honestly been looking for a mate when Jazz was selected, and the alliance was a secondary consideration instead of the primary reason for their bonding.
Speaking of bonding- Jazz had to hold in another sigh as the conversation several seats down shifted once more to the ceremony that was coming up. As Lord Heir of the House of Shining Sun it could be nothing less than a massive public affair, and not the sort that Jazz was used to from small province upbringing, where any sort of public bonding ceremony was really a time of celebration.
From the sound of it, Prowl's bonding would rival the bonding of the Lord of Simfur. Not only was the entire province going to watch, either at the ceremony itself or at one of many broadcast points, but they were paying for energon and time off for three entire orns for every single mecha in their territory, resident or traveler. The cost of that made Jazz's mind swim. Even the governor of the province of Simfur couldn't afford that. The single orn holiday when his Heir had bonded had been considered extravagant and talked about for metacycles afterward.
Then there was the fact that Nova Prime himself would be officiating.
That was enough to make Jazz quiver a little, because the Prime would most likely know who he was. It was his creator's rescue of the Prime in a battle that had earned him his House and title after all.
It was getting to the point that Jazz was starting to dread the ceremony almost as much as the heavy pressure for the sparkling he was to produce, apparently immediately and with all of the qualities to be Prowl's perfect heir. His higher functions knew that was an exaggeration, but it didn't stop it from feeling like he was expected to do the impossible on command.
His thoughts were interrupted by a brush of Prowl's field, questioning and a bit concern.
Outwardly calm, Jazz offered reassurance that he was holding it together in return, and a glimpse of the stress that seemed to be his constant companion these orns by way of a general explanation.
Stress that Prowl knew was aggravated in settings like this, and that had been running high from learning of Steelplate's imminent departure. Expected, and thus with a brush of affection-support Prowl focused on his kin once more, this time trying not to snap at a well-meaning sister of his creator when she offered graphic advice on how to ensure his creations looked fully Praxian, even though they wouldn't be.
It wasn't the first time they'd heard it, and Jazz doubted it would be the last. It was just another item he studiously ignored the insult potential of.
He was still tense as they left the breakfast gathering, not missing the small comments that followed them out as he and Prowl departed. It really wasn't anything he hadn't heard before, but hearing it over and over, like there was something he could do about it or if they talked about it long enough something would change, was grating on his already fraying nerves.
Prowl waited until the door closed to the common room of their suite. "What is bothering you?" he solicited, doing his best to sound caring despite his own stress.
Jazz quivered, getting himself under control before he snapped at Prowl over something his intended could do little about. He sighed, though the sound came out more like a growl, "Listening to them, talking about sparklings like it is going to be theirs and not ours, so concerned with what it's going to look like, of all things!"
That wasn't all of it, but it was the first thing to come to mind that wasn't deeply personal.
Prowl cocked his helm, the cant of his sensor wings confused. "Appearances are important. It may be embarrassing to hear repeatedly, but they are only trying to make things better for the sparklings. It is accurate advice."
His intended stared at him. "So if the sparkling is unlucky enough to look like me at all it isn't going to be good enough?" He asked, voice dangerously controlled.
"For me? Yes." He said firmly. "For society ... it will have difficulties if it is of a political inclination."
"So really what is comes down to is I'm not good enough for most of your family, and neither is any sparkling I'm likely to produce, even though I need to have one as soon as possible." Jazz rumbled.
Elegant sensor wings flared, their three fingers separating and angling outward to make the display of puffed out armor and scowl far more intimidating. "You are good enough for me, and for my creator. The rest of the family will accept that or face the consequences."
Jazz vented roughly, though some of his own aggression drained away at the display.
"Jazz," Prowl forced his reflexive display to settle somewhat and reached out for his intended. "My first bonded is a political powder keg. There are several mecha in that room who wanted the position. There will always be dissenters and those who want to hurt you simply for being my first, or for not being Praxian. You were chosen."
"As the last choice." Jazz murmured, knowing that he was being unfair but so exhausted by the whole situation he was finding it hard to care in the moment.
Prowl paused. "Yes," he consented to the truth.
Jazz shrugged. It was a truth he had known since the beginning, even if it still hurt. He didn't realize Prowl had moved until a strong white hand touched his upper arm. He twitched, looking at the hand in surprise before pulling back from the touch. It was far too close to how Steelplate had always comforted him, a memory that hurt.
The rejection visibly surprised Prowl and he took a step back, considering his intended briefly. "I will leave you to meditate, if you wish."
"It ... might be a wise idea." Jazz finally agreed. "I ... was not expecting Steelplate to be departing so soon." he explained, rubbing at his shoulder.
Prowl hesitated again. "Would you tell me about him, what he is to you?"
Jazz shifted, thinking quietly for a moment, before he reaching into his subspace and pulling out the blade case he had tucked away that morning, laying it down reverently on a table where Prowl could see it as well and sighing as he sought words to explain.
A delicate touch traced the line of glyphs as Prowl's sensor wings flared into separate fingers once more. Golden optics moved from the box to lock onto Jazz's visor, waiting for an explanation.
"My carrier passed away not long after I was created. My creator was gone more often then he was home. Steelplate was..." Jazz's voice trailed off. Mentor. Friend. Confident. Protector. Teacher. "Everything."
"Your sparker's second mate did not like you," Prowl extrapolated.
"She did not like my carrier. Once she might not have cared about me one way or the other. As I grew older...she hated me. It was she who submitted my profile to the matchmaker."
Prowl's understanding hum had the dissonant tone of disapproval. "Yet if she had not, you would not be here."
"No, I would not." There was bitterness in the agreement. No, he would still be home, training to join his creator and building a future as a warrior.
"I understand," Prowl said more stiffly than he was towards Jazz even in public. "I will leave you to meditate. This," he tapped the box, "should not be seen by anyone else. It will go badly."
Jazz's visor flashed at the change in Prowl's tone and the perceived threat. "Understood." He responded curtly, snatching the case up and turning away, frame quivering slightly from the strain of everything weighing on him.
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The Military Lord and the Hero's Creation