In The End


By
Lady Razorsharp
and
Lady MoonHawke

I tried so hard, and got so far
But in the end
It doesn't even matter
I had to fall to lose it all
But in the end
It doesn't even matter
"In the End" - Linkin Park

    The ship sank slowly toward the landing platform.  “And you feel this is the best course?” Morphaeus asked.  He held Razorsharp’s hand, unconsciously rubbing it with his thumb.

    Raven finished clipping on her cape.  “Yes.  Whoever your enemies are, they must not be allowed to cover this issue up or deal with it quietly.  They must be made to state their accusations in public.  You must feign shock, Narali, and express an immediate desire to see their evidence.  Doubtlessly they will produce reports alluding to the incident with the Governor, naming her as a conspirator in the assassination attempt.  You should give the matter thought, then reluctantly allow her to be taken into guarded custody.  From there, you must allow a hearing into the matter, so we can present the message we found.”

    “And the natusebla?  What will be done about that?” Razorsharp asked.

    “I plan to argue that as the izsludinât applied to Mars, so to should it.”

    “That’s irrational,” Razorsharp protested.  “What would be the point?”

    “Don’t say that too often.  We don’t want anyone else led right by the nose to it.”

    The ship touched down, and they all moved to the hatch.  “You are certain of this plan, Lady Raven?”

    “I am certain of almost nothing, Narali, except that if you allow whomever your enemies are to take her away quietly, she will be dead before the day is over.  Do what you will, but remember what I have said.”  She joined Rodimus.

    “You’re starting to act all Decepticon again,” he noted.

    “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”  


    Balurus and Zharan approached the ship as the hatch opened.  “Are you sure this is wise, Balurus?  She has only gained popularity since her arrival.  And the Narali is more popular than ever.  We may be unable to win the election no matter what.  Perhaps we should leave the plan until later, a time when they are no so damned beloved by one and all.”

    “No, Zharan.  It is too late to change plans now.  Once in power, Morphaeus will hand us over to the Autobots with a smile.  Do you want them free to rule and torment us again?  Look.”  He gestured to the party, pointing out Rodimus Prime in particular.  “He brings Autobots among up even before he is elected.  No.  She must be removed, and he discredited.  It is the only solution.  Saltarus will step into the late Rali’s place publicly, and rally support back to the true Decepticon cause.  There is no other way.”  He plastered an artificial smile to his face.  “Narali, Sarali, welcome home.  And welcome indeed to your honored guests.”

    “Chancellor Balurus.  Thank you.  Allow me to present the Autobot Heir, Rodimus Prime, and his mate, the Lady Raven.”

    “An incredible opportunity.  The Prince Prime on Drolma III.  And his Lady.  Allow me to ask, Lady.  Were you ever in the Arena?”

    She nodded.  “I was.  I am who you are thinking of, I’m sure.”

    “There will be a frenzy in the streets, to see the qIj HeghtoQ on Drolma III.  May I ask how you came to be…in your current position, perhaps later?”

    “Certainly.”

    “You are gracious, Lady.  My Lord, I fear there is a slight problem, but one that can be perhaps quickly and quietly overcome.”

    ‘Here it comes,’ Raven sub-commed to Rodimus.

    “Narali,” Balurus was continuing, “there is a certain issue involving Sarali Razorsharp, but I’m confident we can resolve it quickly, if she will come with us.”

    Morphaeus took a moment, appearing to consider.  “Explain this issue, Balurus.  Let us all hear what is so urgent.”

    The Chancellor looked from Razorsharp to Morphaeus, to the bland faces of the Autobots.  “Surely, Narali, you would not wish to shame Her Grace by making this a public announcement,” he murmured, as the courtiers on the other side of the platform began to buzz among themselves and glance in the direction of the royal party.  Balurus reached out to draw Razorsharp away, but Rodimus' hand on his arm stopped him.  Balurus had the audacity to look affronted as Rodimus pushed him gently, but firmly, away from Razorsharp.

     “Narali, your steward does talk sense--”

     ‘With a forked tongue, as the humans say,’ Raven supplied to Rodimus, sub-comm.

     “--Maybe it would be better if we finished this conversation inside,”  Rodimus suggested.  ‘I heard that,’ he sent to Raven.

     “I concur, Rodimus Prime,” Morphaeus nodded.  “We meet in the Stone Chamber.”

 
     The Stone Chamber was, true to its name, a room that had been hollowed out of living bedrock when the support for the landing platform had been built.  A series of tunnels joined it to the Narali's main residence, which was above ground.  The Stone Chamber, deep under Drolma's forested surface, was a secure base of operations for the Narali, and during Morphaeus' time, it was used as the Narali's ready room.  There was only one door to this room, a fact that was not lost on anyone as the group entered the rough-hewn chamber.

     “So, Balurus,” the Narali said evenly, seating his mate first and then settling into his customary chair at the head of the table, Razorsharp to his left.  “What are these charges?”

    “High treason to the Decepticon Empire,”  Balurus grated, the words dripping with ice.  “Sarali Razorsharp is accused of conspiring to murder Straxus, Lord High Governor of Darkmount--to whom she had sworn the oath of bheancoran.  She was also his mate.”

    Despite the fervor with which Raven had researched the charge, she gave a little gasp upon hearing it out loud.  Under the table, Rodimus laid a comforting hand on her knee, and she gripped his wrist.  ‘We were prepared for this, remember?’ came Rodimus' whispered thoughts against her processor.

    Morphaeus frowned, fixing his Chancellor with a dark ruby stare.  “I see several problems with this charge, Balurus.  First and foremost, the Drolma system has long ceased to be a part of the Decepticon Empire, by the Empire's own decree.  Lest you forget, that decree is why we are here, with our electoral system, ruling ourselves as how we see fit.  The Empire did not want to deal with us, so they put us as far away from themselves as possible.”  He frowned harder.  “Second, Lord Straxus was killed in battle nearly ten Earth years ago, when his flagship was destroyed.  Our laws release a mech or femme from their vows if their mate is killed.  Do you see where I go with this, Balurus?”

    The Chancellor's expression was almost smug.  “So you refute the charge, am I correct?”

    “We refute that it has any validity in Sarali Razorsharp's present circumstances,” Raven interjected.

    Zharan's optics narrowed.  “This is not an Autobot concern.”

    Rodimus leaned forward.  “Like hell it's not,” he growled.

    A smirk lifted one corner of Zharan's cruel mouth.  “And why not, Prime whelpling?”

    Raven shot Rod a wordless glance of warning, and immediately Rodimus' body seemed to relax, though his expression was still intense.  “I give you the respect you are due, Lord Zharan, as the Narali's advisor, and I would hope you would give me the same.  As for Razor's problem being my concern, it was my House that took Her Ladyship in when Darkmount cast her out.”

    “We call that 'aiding and abetting' where I come from,” Zharan said evenly.  “The Sarali has been named a traitor.”

    “Look, she said she was in trouble.  If it was anything having to do with the Autobots, that'd be a different story.  We didn't interrogate her when she came to us.”  Rodimus allowed himself an indignant snort.  “That's how the Decepticons operate, not us.”

    Morphaeus stood, and everyone scrambled to stand as well.  “Then it is settled.  I will call the Committee to examine the matter most carefully.”

    Balurus nearly blanched, but Zharan looked amused.  “What?!” Balurus exclaimed.  “But… the Committee…  Surely, you cannot…  The preparations for the elections, everyone is already occupied far beyond their limits as it is!”

    “I am a member of the Committee, and I feel that they would wish the matter settled before the elections begin.”

    “Then Guards, take her away,” Balurus declared.

    “She will remain in my custody,” Morphaeus growled.  “My personal guards will assure that she remains available when the Committee is assembled.”

    Zharan spoke with an oily smile.  “But, you are biased, and no doubt she has formed… friendships with many in your household.”

    Raven stepped between Razor and the advisor.  “Take it back or see your innards on the floor.”

    “You allow this Autobot to threaten me, Narali?  You should mind her better, Prince Prime.  It is unseemly for a femme to be so aggressive.”

    “You’re talking to me, Zharan, not them.”  Her optics gleamed coldly, the blue slowly starting to drain from them, leaving the red to show through.  “You insulted my Nibe, my sister.  You take it back now, or you die.”  A titanium blade appeared in her hand, tip hovering near his abdomen.

    Balurus, gave him a look, threw him a look, and Zharan stepped back.  “Soq Hut, Lady.” It was a bare minimum of an apology, but it was sufficient.  The blade vanished, and Raven stepped back to Rodimus’ side.

    “Hey, Zharan, where I come from, femmes have the right to do whatever they please, as long as no laws are broken,” Rodimus said.  “You might remember it.”


    “It’s not going to be pretty, is it?”

    Raven turned her back on the view of the City, leaning against the ornate balcony railing with care.  It was beautiful scrollwork, a testament to some unknown artisan’s skill, but it was delicate as well, and any ill-considered move would surely warp or break it.  “What isn’t?” she asked,

    “This trial or hearing or whatever they’re doing tomorrow.  It’s going to get ugly, right?”  Rodimus leaned in the door, arms crossed, studying her against the backdrop of the lighted city.

    “I would imagine so.  Razorsharp will have to hear the accusations against her.  Only then, when everything is said, can we begin to truly plan a defense.  If there is a defense.”

    “You’re still upset with her about the oath?  For all you know, you might have done the same thing in those circumstances,” Rodimus pointed out.

    “I am more jealous than angry.  She had the right to be his bheancoran, the right to be Morphaeus’ as well.  And I am forbidden.  It is painful.”

    He joined her on the balcony, standing in front of her, hands low on her waist.  “Would you change any of it?”

    She shook her head.  “No.  I have too much to sacrifice now.  But I would do all I could to prevent your death, vow or no vow.”  Her arms wound around his neck and she leaned into his frame.

    “Is this how Decepticons say ‘I love you,’ offering to die for each other?”

    “It’s true that we, Decepticons, I mean, value honor and duty above sentimentality.  I understand ‘love’ as a human concept.  But I would gladly die for you, Rodimus Prime.  It is all I truly know how to offer.”

    He slid his arms around her, pulling her closer.  “I love you, too.”  The old familiar stars sparkled overhead.  It was almost like the Cybertron of fairy tales, if he ignored the scent of plant life in the air.  “So what about tomorrow?”

    “Your assessment was correct.  It will not be pretty.”



    The doors to the hearing chamber opened, and those seated in the gallery began to file out into the hallway.  The observers seated on the floor level followed next, leaving the mammoth chamber echoing and empty.  In this silence, Morphaeus glanced at his mate, who was sitting before the Committee like a statue in the face of the last hour’s testimony.

    The words had been harsh, the images even more so as first Zharan, the most senior of Morphaeus’ advisors, and then Balurus, revealed the information they had stumbled on—that their master’s new bride was a wanted criminal and an outcast among her own kind.  Through it all, Razor had sat unreadable, affecting her usual aura of cold enigma.  Morphaeus stood and moved to join her, wondering for a moment if he would ever be able to see his lady wife as she truly was, without the mask of detached dignity she hid behind.

    “Let us go,” he said, holding out his hand to her.

    For a moment, she did not stir; then she slipped her hand into his and rose smoothly to her feet.  Her face was still blank, the harlequin markings making it seem like her ruby optics glowed from the depths of a cavern.

    “We will not let this stand,” Morphaeus began, low.  “I will use every resource at my disposal to uncover the truth of this matter.”

    “You have heard the truth, my lord,” Razorsharp said, without emotion.

    He frowned.  “We shall see about that.”

    “My lord Morphaeus!”  A liveried messenger—slighter in build than the heavily armed household guards—hurried toward them, a datapad clutched in one hand.  He stopped before the pair, touching his right fist to his left chestplate and bowing in salute.  “This message came for Her Grace not two breem ago.  It gave explicit instructions to be delivered to no one but you, Your Grace.”

    Razorsharp exchanged a silent look with Morphaeus, then took the datapad that the messenger proffered. She turned her gaze to the datapad, scanning it in silence.  When she was done, her face gave Morphaeus no clues to what the message had contained.   Razor handed the pad back to the waiting messenger. “Thank you.”

    “It is my duty and pleasure, Your Grace.”  The messenger bowed again, then hurried back to his post.

    Morphaeus tried to take Razor’s hand again, but he noticed that her body was rigid, her fists clenched at her sides.  “What is it?”

    “It was a message from my son.”

    He smiled.  “What did he have to say?”

    Razor looked up at Morphaeus, her ruby optics blazing.  “He and Destiny are on their way to the Drolma system.”

    “Ah.”  Morphaeus put his hands on his hips.  “That’s an unexpected, but pleasant surprise nevertheless.  I will have to let the household know to—”

    “NO!  They must not come here!”  Razorsharp hissed.  “Optimus Prime asked them to come, no doubt at Raven’s request.  Do you not understand?  I cannot let them be endangered with my past crimes!”  She began to walk down the hall toward the lift, then broke into a run.  Morphaeus caught up to her, courtiers scurrying to get out of the way.

    “Where are you going?” he frowned.

    “I am going to the source of the problem.”


    “If you would just LISTEN--” Raven was saying, trying to make herself heard above Razor’s words.

    “Must you continue to be so obstinate?”  Razor snarled, also raising her voice that much higher.

    “Obstinate?  ME?  You’re a fine one to---”

    “You waste my time with such nonsense!” Razor shouted, folding her arms and looking away.  “It was none of your--”

    “Aizturêt!” The single Decepticon word sliced through the argument like a rapier.  Both femmes’ voices died away on their lips, each responding to a voice that both had thought long gone from their world.

    Into the expectant silence came a bitter chuckle.  “So.  Who would have thought my pupils--ones I taught with my own hand--would be reduced to a pair of quibbling harpies?”

    Razor and Raven exchanged a glance, but it was Raven who dared to break the silence first.  “You have the advantage,” she called, never taking her eyes from Razorsharp, who was equally stunned.  “Show yourself; only the cowardly hide in shadows.”

    Another chuckle.  “Then by your reckoning, you were both cowards when you came to me.  I made you into the strength of the Empire.  Now you are nothing but garrulous younglings.”  Something moved in the shadows; a red-plated boot stepped into the light, followed by the rest of a shapely red-plated figure.  A magnificent dragon’s-head helmet framed the proud head, stylized flames twisting about an ageless, ancient face.  Razorsharp and Raven gasped in surprise as they realized whom indeed this impressive femme was.

    “General Fire-Eyes!” they breathed in unison, giving salute by placing right palms against left shoulders, and bowing deeply.

    “Little Bird,” Fire-Eyes intoned, raising Raven’s head with red-clawed fingertips under the older femme’s chin.  “And you, my Bright Blade.”  The General also raised Razorsharp to her feet, then stepped back and smiled at them both.  “It is good to see you both.  But I had not anticipated finding you at odds.  You disrupt my plan with your juvenile squabbling.”  She handed Raven a datapad.  “This is what you seek, Rayenlav’cha.  But at this point, I do not know how much help it will be.”

    Raven scanned through the lines quickly.  “I see what you mean,” she said, offering it back.

    “Give it to Racherz’harv, Rayenlav’cha ,” Fire-Eyes instructed.  “It is addressed to her.”

    It was strange to Raven, hearing her name pronounced in Old Decepticon rather than Basic, and with the diminutive attached.  ‘Little Raven.’  It had been along time since she felt like anyone’s little anything.  She offered it to Razorsharp without looking at her.

    “Paldies,” Razor said.

    Maybe it was partly the surroundings, the Decepticon insignia everywhere, or just hearing the language still spoken so much of the time.  Whatever it was, she found herself replying in Old Decepticon as well.

    “Navpar’Ko.”  You’re welcome.

    Razor read it aloud.
    
To the Lady Razorsharp,

Z’herochl’ya, Greetings from the Lord High Governor of Darkmount Fortress, New Polyhex, Mars, to his former bheancoran.

It is many vorns since last we spoke, Lady, and if you are reading this message, then I am slain.

I feel it my duty to inform you that I deeply regret the bitter words and actions that passed at out last meeting.  I was deeply hurt by your betrayal and wished desperately to hurt you as deeply.  I find now that upon reflection, had I it to do over again, I would have made different choices.

In time, your crime could have been forgotten, overshadowed by more pressing concerns.  I could never have forgiven the affront you did me; it is imponderable.  By rights, the last sight before my optics should have been your battered frame pouring out the last of its energon.  By your oath, we would have crossed to the other side together.  I think this is the highest compliment I can pay you.

So. Even though I die, I release you from your oath.  It is only a matter of time before the pain grows to great for you to remain and you follow.  Until then, I will be here.  Waiting.

Governor Straxus
Darkmount Fortress, New Polyhex, Mars.



    Sirius strode through the hallways of Ylarus Stronghold, his massive boots ringing against the stone. The young Lord of Darkmount bore a strong family resemblance to the Narali Morphaeus, a fact that was not lost on the household guards as they noted Sirius' progress. His Excellency's younger sister, Lady Destiny, shadowed him step for step, never more than half a stride behind. Although her resemblance to the Narali was subtler, the guards still gave her a wide berth; in her duties as bheancoran to her brother, Destiny would give her very life to protect Sirius. That fact alone generated an abiding sense of respect for both young Decepticons, even had they not been children of Morphaeus' mate, the Sarali Razorsharp.

    The royal children quickly reached the Sarali's apartments, and were met with two stonyfaced Ylarus household guards. Both guards were heavily armored, carrying assault rifles and other high-powered weaponry to repel any would-be attackers. The Ylarus livery painted on their hulls harkened to the deep green of Drolma III's endless forests, as well as the brilliant orange of Drolma sunsets. Their garnet optics, however, were flat and dark, and both pairs perused Sirius' dark-blue frame with suspicion.

    “Designation?” asked one.

    “Lord Sirius and Lady Destiny to speak with the Sarali,” Sirius intoned, hearing his father's voice yet knowing it was his own.

    The guards snapped to attention, though they did not crash fists to chestplates in salute; that was reserved for their master, Morphaeus. “You may proceed,” the other grated.

    Destiny nodded gravely as she proceeded through the door, one hand on the grip of her katana. When Destiny glanced in his direction, Sirius knew that she had made sure the room was safe for him to enter, and he did so as the guards reset their stance outside the swiftly closing door.

    Razorsharp had been kneeling at her altar for most of the morning, praying to Primus for guidance as to what to say to the Council at the inquiry. The small niche had been carefully disassembled from her quarters in Iacon, then rebuilt in her quarters at Ylarus, and this time, there was no reason to keep it hidden. The altar now had a permanent home, installed in a corner of Razorsharp's private suite. To celebrate its rededication, Raven had given Razorsharp an icon of Rhyah, their Patroness from the days of combat in the Arena. Now Razor sat before her mirror, watching the tiny energon flame on the altar flicker in the reversed image. She wondered if Rhyah was listening.

    “Protect us, Blessed Rhyah,” Razor breathed, calling up a prayer commonly said before engaging in a dangerous match. It was fitting, she mused, coiling the nightblack waves of synth-hair and pinning them in place. In many ways, this match of words was more dangerous than any trial by combat she had ever participated in. “Protect us all.”

    The doors behind her opened, and Razorsharp glanced up at the mirror in time to see Sirius and Destiny approaching. She pinned up the last coil, then retrieved her helmet from its stand. “It is time, then,” she murmured, slipping the helmet on.
    Sirius nodded. “Yes, it is.”

    Razorsharp stood, fixing her children with her usual frank gaze. “You do not need to be present during my testimony, my children. I would spare you this final anguish.”

    Destiny's ruby optics flashed. “I am my father's daughter. I will not let my duty go undone.”

    A faint smile found its way to Razorsharp's normally stern, harlequined face. “And you, my son?” she asked, turning to Sirius.

    The young Lord took his mother's hand and pressed it to his cheek. “I will do what I can, Maman. From what the Narali says, that will not be much.”

    Razorsharp favored her son with the same faint smile. “Primus grant that it be enough, children.  Let us go.”


    Razorsharp entered the council chamber with her back ramrod-straight and her head held high.  Flanked on either side by her two eldest children, she trailed her nobility like a mantle as she moved to the exact center of the chamber.  There she, Sirius and Destiny awaited the coming of the final three councillors, the interrogators for this session--and with them, the beginning of the inquiry.

    Sirius shot his mother a glance out of the corner of his optic, but saw nothing unusual in her stance.  Her appearance had never changed in all the time he could remember, he mused, but he could still feel her emotions as clearly as he could see her.  He had often wondered if he had a small portion of Razor's empathic gift, that odd talent for seeing into a mech's spark that went beyond mere diagnostics.

    Right now, he was sure her emotions were simmering under the surface, though her harlequined face remained expressionless.  Narrowing his concentration, he was able to pick up on the filmy trails of her thoughts.  There was concern in her, of course, for the position of her new mate, as well as her own, but there was also determination to see events through to the end--the bitter end, if need be--running underneath.  

    Sirius almost caught himself smiling; she was not afraid.  She was never afraid.

 
    Destiny kept her head still, but she moved the scanfield behind her ruby lenses in order to see a full 180 degrees.  She swept her gaze to one corner of the huge chamber and back, ostensibly to catch any danger to Sirius, but she considered the faces of each of the councillors ranged in the galleries.  These were the mechs and femmes who would decide her mother's fate, and she tried to engrave their images on her processor for future reference.  If the inquiry did not go well, she planned to do some follow up with the councillors--follow up, she was sure, that would not be sanctioned by either of the Primes.

    As if she had heard her daughter's questionable scheme, Razorsharp turned her head to fix Destiny with a piercing ruby gaze.  “My life is not worth the price of your honor, cara mia ,” she intoned solemnly.  “If the outcome is not favorable, then I do not want you to pile tragedy upon tragedy.”

    “Maman,” Destiny began, almost pleading, but three chimes rang through the chamber, prohibiting other speech.  She glanced at Sirius, but he shook his head and turned his attention to the three mammoth screens set high above them in the chamber wall.

    The three Drolman councillors who would hear this phase of the inquiry were represented by stylized visages, their true identities concealed behind elaborate masks.  The faces reminded Razorsharp of the histories she had translated of the Quintesson occupation, and a chill slid up her neural cable despite her efforts to quell it.  The Quintessons had been ruthless, money-mad dictators.  She dared to hope that these three would be very different from those long-ago slave masters.

    “Decepticon Razorsharp,” called the middle councillor--a mech, by the timbre of his synthesizer--as the room fell silent.  “Step forward.”

    All optics were on Razorsharp as she walked to the questioning ring.


    Razorsharp stepped into the questioning ring, which illuminated her from below as the flooring sensed her weight.  She paid the eerie lighting no heed; instead, she looked up to the masked councillors.  Her harlequined visage, known to all in the room either by personal introduction or through newsfiles of her marriage, wore an intense, yet composed expression.

    “Decepticon Razorsharp, sometime Lady of Darkmount and now Sarali of the Drolman worlds,” the councillor to Razor's left called, the voice distinctly that of a femme.  “These proceedings are meant to address the charges brought against you by this council.”

    “The charge is treason,” rumbled the extreme right councillor.  The mech's deep, ringing voice reminded Razorsharp of Optimus Prime, and she felt a sharp, sudden pang of homesickness for Cybertron.

    “How do you argue this charge?” The femme's voice snapped like a whip in the silence, but Sirius raised his right hand in formal greeting and stepped forward.

    “Esteemed councillors--”

    “Lord Sirius, you will be allowed to speak because your progenitor was known to this council,” the right hand mech grated, “but this council will not permit any disturbance.  Do you understand?”

    Sirius gave a brief, respectful bow.  “Darkmount understands fully, Your Honor.”

    “Very well then,” the middle councillor allowed.  “In the company of those assembled, you may speak.”

    “Darkmount thanks you, Your Honor.”  Sirius gave another short bow, then stepped slightly forward of his mother, who had not moved during the entire exchange.  “It is Our intention to shed light on the accusations brought against our Dowager Lady,” he continued.  “We will attest that, though not advanced in vorns, we realized the precarious position our Lady mother was in at that moment.”  He glanced around the chamber, making sure that every optic was fastened on him.  “His late Excellency, Straxus of Darkmount, was at times impulsive and ruthless in his manner.  Their Ladyships Destiny and Velocity, our sisters, were too young to remember fully, but we remember.”

    Sirius glanced up at the councillors, conjuring those long-ago days in his memory.  Once more, his father stood before him, as massive as the battlements of Darkmount itself in the optics of a young mech.  He could feel Razor stiffen slightly as she caught the spillover, but he was determined to press on.  “His Excellency mistreated the Lady.  It is true that the Decepticons were at war, and it is also true that the Lady was his bheancoran, his sworn protector, called to give her life in defense of his, if need be.  I trust that all of you are familiar with the term.  I then trust that I do not need to remind you of the depth of devotion this requires.  Despite the hardship our mother endured, she was determined to fulfill her duties as bheancoran.”

    The room was utterly silent as he spoke, and Destiny mentally applauded her brother.  He was truly charismatic, able to weave a spell with his words.  She tried to meld the image of her brother with the hazy, blocky memory of her father, mostly succeeding as she brought her optics to half-power.  The impression of hands around her waist, holding her safe; the first taste of flight as she was tossed high in the air; the memory of twin shadowed faces; a ruby optic band and a shining silver faceplate--all the images tumbled in her processor, refusing to form a single string of events.  She felt her irritation grow, and decided to concentrate on Sirius alone.  He was in the here and now, and nothing else mattered.

    “Our Lady mother was devoted to all tenets of Deceptica.  She was--and is to this breem--a devoted mother and loyal consort.  However, her loyalty rightly extended only as far as she was treated.  Nowhere in Deceptica's tenets is the instruction to submit and cower before a master who would seek to nullify the affection of a consort or injure progeny.”  His optics were like chips of ruby ice as he stood under the death’s-head gaze of the masked councillors.  “Her Ladyship sought asylum elsewhere, more for the sake of her progeny than for her own self.  Her master did not grant it; instead he redoubled his efforts to terrorize the one who shared his recharge berth.  The most stalwart personality can finally grow desperate, Your Honor, and that is precisely what happened to the Lady Razorsharp.”

    “What reason have you for this conjecture?” the femme's voice snapped out again.

    Sirius dared a glance at his mother, but she was staring at a spot a few meters in front of her.  “Our reason, Esteemed Councillors, is to prove that our Lady mother did not plot out of malice, but out of desperation.  When she saw that she could not change her fate even then, she confessed all and was welcomed back into Darkmount's embrace for a short time.  What happened after that, no one can say for sure.  It was not long afterwards, though, that Her Ladyship received a formal writ of banishment.  She was instructed to leave Darkmount, never to return.”

    The councillors ranged around the chamber began to buzz among themselves until a single chime sounded, denoting a call to order by one of the masked ones.  Sirius continued when the room was quiet once more.  “With the help of a few Autobots--mechs and femmes the Lady had no real reason to trust--our mother launched a daring effort to rescue her children.  We stand before you today because of Her Ladyship's courage and devotion.”

    The third mech seemed to consider a moment before calling out, “Lord Sirius, do you wish to add anything further to this testimony?”

    Sirius shook his head, then bowed.  “No, Your Honor.  We have spoken our piece--except for one final point.  We wish to pardon our Lady mother of all charges against her, in light of circumstances already presented.”

    “This council thanks Darkmount and will consider this testimony,” intoned the middle councilor. “Lady Destiny, have you anything to add to your Lord brother's words?”

    Destiny shook her head.  “Nothing, Your Honor, except to concur.”

    “Very well, then,” the femme echoed.  “Open remarks are now closed.  The Lady shall now speak in her defense.”


    Razorsharp kept her optics on the three huge panels set above her, willing her mind to settle like the placid surface of Lake Hilary.  The thought of the lake brought comforting remembrances of the mountain, its peak capped with white nearly year-round.  The three huge propulsion units of the Autobot ship lodged in the base of the mountain were an indelible part of the landscape—and with a shock, Razor realized that there was a lesson here.

     The Ark had not succeeded in toppling Mt. St. Hilary.  Though the mountain was changed forever by the Ark’s arrival, the peak still presided over the valley, watching over Autobot City like a silent guardian.  Over the four million years that the Autobots had lain dormant inside, the mountain had been lashed by storms, carved by glaciers, rocked by earthquakes, and finally, surged with a last burst of volcanic activity.  The mountain had watched as the Decepticons burned Autobot City to the ground, had stood silent while Optimus Prime and Megatron dueled to the death.  Yet still the mountain remained.

     Razor lifted her head as Sirius and Destiny retired to a stone table behind her.  The mountain had stood the test of time, unchanged by cataclysm.  So would she.

     “Decepticon Razorsharp,” called the third councillor, “The charge brought against you is treason.  In bringing this charge, the parties involved specify the following: that you plotted to assassinate your sworn Lord and Master, that you associated with a known dissident, and that you violated the writ of banishment.  This last is a doubly grievous offense, since during your illegal return to Darkmount Stronghold, you stole your Lord and Master’s progeny with no intent for your Master to see them again.”  

     “How do you answer these charges?” the femme’s sharp voice echoed in the silent chamber.

     The moment before Razorsharp spoke seemed to Sirius and Destiny like it stretched out to eternity.  “Of all you have told, I am guilty,” Razorsharp said, her voice clear and carrying.

     The councillors around the room began to buzz again, and it took several chimes to bring them to heel.  “Do you concur, then, with Lord Sirius’ witness?” the middle councilor asked when the voices had died down.

     Razorsharp dipped her chin once.  “I do.”

     Dimming their panels to note a discussion amongst themselves, the councillors conversed for several microns before returning to address Razorsharp.  “This court would hear the Lady’s own testimony, rather than solely base its decision on that of Lord Sirius and Lady Destiny,” said the femme.  “As Lord Sirius has stated, his youth at the time of these occurrences is a detriment to the validity of his testimony.”

     Sirius tried not to die a thousand deaths as he heard the femme councillor’s words, but he was not surprised at the decision.  Rodimus and Fire-Eyes had warned him as much before the inquiry began.  He dropped his right hand below the surface of the table, clasping Destiny’s cold fingers in a reassuring squeeze.



    The hall outside the Conference Chamber was nearly deserted, and Raven paced the length of it in long strides, 20 steps each way from one end to the other.  She passed Rodimus and Fire-Eyes each time without comment, not sparing either of them so much as a look as they leaned on opposite sides of the Chamber door.

    Rodimus stole another glance at the brilliant red Deceptifemme.  “She’s… ahh… a little high strung.  And she hates waiting.”  He chuckled nervously.  “But you probably knew that.”

    She turned to regard him with garnet optics set in a golden face.  “Yes.  I knew that.  She has never possessed a great deal of patience.  Not for something like this.  When she has a clear goal, yes; when she is receiving orders or instructions, yes.  But to wait for something with no way to affect the outcome, no.  This is not her element.”

    “I can hear you,” Raven said, her pace unchanged.  “Don’t act like I’m not in the room.”

    “So how did you happen to train her?” Rodimus asked.  “She never wants to talk about it.”

    “She came to an affair one night and expressed a desire to learn,” she said simply.  “Don’t mutter, Rayenlav’cha .  If you have something to say, say it.  Don’t waste energon pouting.”

    The grumbling that accompanied the pacing grew silent.

    “And you trained Razor, too?”

    “I named Racher’charv.  She was a beaten, near-broken thing when I found her.  But it was her own will that kept her going.”

    “Why them?  What was so special about them?”

    “You would ask me what is special about your own mate?  Are you truly a fool, Rodimus Prime?”  She lifted an optic ridge, and Rodimus saw in it the parent of Raven’s expression.

    “I’m asking what you saw in her.  I know what I see in her.”

    “Your mate may not be a fool after all, Rayenlav’cha.   So.  She came to one of the hideously baroque parties before the War, optics agape at everything so shiny and beautiful around her, and dared to speak back to Straxus.  Megatron and I had been discussing the role of femmes in the Armada.  I saw then that she could be my example.  That a femme in the Arena earning her place was not a fluke.  That with skill, desire and knowledge, a femme could be more than some mech’s plaything.  I thought I had succeeded.”

    “And then?”

    “Her quest for revenge failed.  Did you know, Rayenlav’cha, how amusing Megatron found it that in spite of what he did to your brother, he had you anyway?”

    Raven stopped pacing for a moment, dead center in a shaft of light that seemed absorbed by her black armor.  “Not on his terms, though.  It was the only way to win; to lose, but on your own terms and hope he didn’t notice.”  She resumed her pacing.

    “And Razorsharp?” Rodimus prompted.

    “It was Rayenlav’cha’s idea.  She suggested that Racher’charv could be good with proper training.  Certainly that idiot Starscream did her no favors with his foolishness.”

    “So which one’s better?”

    “You have children, Rodimus Prime.  Which do you favor?”

    “It’s not the same thing,” he protested.

    “For me, it is very much the same thing.”  She pushed away from the wall.  “Stop your meanderings, Rayenlav.   They are coming.”

    She halted in the center of the floor.  “You’ve never addressed me as an adult before.”

    “I’ve never needed you to act like one before.  Do not shame my teachings, child.”

    Rodimus moved to her side as the doors opened.  The Drolma Committee made its way out, arraying itself in a semi-circle before them.  Razorsharp, Destiny and Sirius followed, standing to one side.

    Lyphorous stood directly before Raven.  “We have considered the evidence you presented, Lady Raven, and your statement.  I think I do not lie when I say some members found it moving indeed.”  He cast quick glances at the other eight members of the Committee, Saltarus at one end, sneering at the Autobot femme, Morphaeus at the other, nearest Razorsharp and her children.  “Rodimus Prime’s statement was moving as well.  I tell you this because it is your right to know your words were heard and considered.”

    “It wasn’t enough, was it?” she asked.  Rodimus rested a supportive hand on her back, but she didn’t move.

    “Not in the sense you are thinking.  We are divided, five votes to four, on the Lady Razorsharp’s fate.”

    She let her optic darken and willed back the methanol tears that loomed behind them.  “I see,” she said softly.

    “I am not sure you do, Lady Raven.  While it is true that on Cybertron, a simple majority vote carries the day, here, things are not so arbitrary.  The close nature of the vote has afforded the Sarali a chance to prove her case herself.  It was Lady Destiny who pointed the way.  She reminded us that before her later accolades, Razorsharp served in the Arena.  Why not let her prove her case in combat?  It certainly appealed to a large number of the Committee.”

    “I’m glad, My Lord.  I do not wish to see the Sarali executed.”

    “It pleases me that you say so, Lady Raven.  It was pointed out that on Drolma, we have no champions of the Sarali’s caliber.  I’m sure you are very aware of our history.  How many of us were banished here after the Heads of our Houses were dispatched in the Arena.  It afforded Saltarus a great deal of amusement to point out that you have dispatched a greater number of his family than any other.”

    “I killed Solarus, Lord Lyphorous, and I’d do it again in a second.  If I read your laws correctly, I was entitled,” Rodimus gritted.

    Lyphorous lifted an optic ridge.  “Interesting.  At any rate, we have a proposition for the Lady Raven.  We will permit the Lady Razorsharp to defend her position in Arena-style combat, if you agree to serve as the Champion of Drolma.”  She looked at Razorsharp in astonishment, but the other femme wouldn’t meet her optics.

    “Neither the Sarali nor any member of her family may communicate with you until you have made your decision.”

    “Are we talking to the death?  I can’t let you throw them into a ring together and wait to see which one lives. That’s cruel,” Rodimus protested.

    “The fight would not be to the death, Rodimus Prime.  You and your mate are our guests.  It would be unforgivably rude.  But there must be a clear and decisive victory.  I cannot promise that you would not be injured, Lady.”

    “I’ll do it,” she said quickly.

    “Raven-” Rodimus started to protest.

    “No, Rodimus.  I’ll do it.  When?”

    “The election is scheduled to take place in two weeks, Earth time.  Would you be prepared by the end of this week?”

    “I’m prepared now.  I’m sure the Sarali is as well.  Why wait?”

    He smiled slyly.  “You and the Sarali are exceptional, each in your own way.  We poor mundane creatures must have time to prepare a setting worthy of your magnificence.”

    Razorsharp strode over to join them, signaling Sirius and Destiny to remain where they were.  “You are charming, Lord Lyphorous, but it is wasted on the qIj HeghtoQ.  She is unassailable.”

    “For your sake, Sarali Razorsharp, I hope not.  Lady Raven, you have done us a great favor.”

    “I hope you can repay it one day, Lord Lyphorous.”

    He bowed with a chuckle and departed, most of the Committee leaving with him.  Saltarus shot Raven a poisonous look, then departed with the others.

    “That one does not like you, Lady,” Sirius said, joining them.  Destiny was at his shoulder as always, and Morphaeus stood behind Razorsharp.

    “I can’t imagine why.  I only carved off his uncle’s interface unit.  It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it, either.”

    Rodimus drew her close to him.  It escaped no one’s attention that he had stayed in close proximity to her anytime Saltarus was around.  “I killed Solarus,” he repeated.  “If anyone has to pay for it, it’ll be me.”

    She rested a hand atop his where it curled around her waist.  “That is done with, as far as the Committee is concerned.  We have other things to worry about now.”



    Raven hooked a foot behind Rodimus’s knee and sent him sprawling with a hard shove in the shoulder.  She followed it up with a knee planted on his belly and a knife blade at his throat.  “If you’re not going to fight back, there’s no reason for you to be down here.”

    “I said I’d help.  That’s what I’m trying to do.”

    She stood up, releasing him to stand as well.  “By letting me toss you around six ways from Cybertron?  If you’re going to help me, fight.  Make me earn something; don’t just let me win.”  She spun backward in a blur, aiming a heel at his head.

    He deflected it easily, but didn’t follow up with an attack of his own.  “Maybe I don’t want to see you hurt.”

    “Rodimus, you heard Lyphorous.  I’m going to get hurt.  The only thing that’s not likely to happen is my dying here in two days.”

    He grabbed her wrist, yanking her close.  “Tell me you're not going to die.”

    “I’m going to try not to.”

    “That’s not what I was looking for.”

    Her optics dimmed a moment, and the walls she’d been painstakingly constructing lowered a little.  “I know.  And I know why you won’t use force against me.  But it won’t be the same when I’m doing this for real.  I have to face that possibility now, to be prepared when it comes.”  She brushed pale fingers across his cheek.  “Go and sit with the Dragon.  I won’t be very much longer.”

    He turned his head to kiss the tips of her fingers before her hand left his face.  “I love you.”

    She allowed the corner of her mouth to twitch with a smile.  “I know.  Go on, now.  Fire-Eyes can tell you what I’m doing.”


    Rodimus dropped onto the hard stone bench next to the gleaming red femme.  “So now we’re going to know.”

    “And what is it we are going to know, Rodimus Prime?”

    “Which one of them is better.”

    She watched Raven whip blades around, defending herself from a mindless automaton.  “Generally, the one who is alive at the end is the best, Rodimus Prime.”

    “Lyphorous said it wasn’t to the death,” Rodimus protested.

    “I said ‘generally.’  And Rayenlav was one of my best students.  Move faster, Rayenlav’cha ,” she called as Raven took a blunt edge across the upper torso.  “ Racher’charv will not allow you an opening that broad, nor will she use a blunted edge.”

    “One of your best?  I don’t need to ask who another of your best students is, do I?”

    She lifted an eyebrow, and he realized it was a gesture that both Razor and Raven had adopted.  “I did say, did I not, that you may not be a fool?  Yes, Racher’charv and Rayenlav are the best out all the students I have trained.  It gives me no pleasure to see them have to fight like this.”

    “One of them has to lose.  You know them best.  Who’s it going to be?”

    Fire-Eyes sighed.  “Racher'charv   has everything to win, and Rayenlav nothing to lose.  Or it appears that way, at least.”

    “But?”

    “Racher’charv cannot find forgiveness in her own soul for what is over and done with, and Rayenlav cannot permit herself to be defeated.”

    “Razor wants to lose, you think?  Raven won’t just give anyone a victory.  Not out there, not in private, not even in her own mind.”

    She regarded him carefully.  “I wondered if you were merely entertained by the idea of a Decepticon-raised femme as a mate.  But you do know her well.”

    “So who are you cheering for in two days?”

    “Is it wrong for me to pray that Racher’charv is spared?  It would seem little enough for Rayenlav to offer up a small bit of her pride in exchange for her nibe’s life,” the Dragon observed.

    “Depends, I suppose, on what that bit of pride costs Raven,” Rodimus said quietly.

    “You are correct, of course, Rodimus Prime,” Morphaeus said, joining them.  “I trust you will not hold it against me if I hope for My Lady’s victory when the day arrives.”

    “I completely understand.  I don’t know that when the time comes, I might not be cheering for Razor as well.”  Rodimus looked down to the arena floor.  Raven and stepped back from the drone and lowered her weapons, looking to a point below the area where they sat.  “But don’t tell my wife.  The sofa here is less comfortable than the one at home.”


    Raven stepped back from the drone when she saw the glitter of a sword-edge in the archway under the stands.  The drone, obedient to its programming, went into a hibernation mode, head and weapons lowered.  Her own knives vanished into sub-space with a gesture.

    “I didn’t know you were coming down,” she called to the form in the tunnel.  “I would have arranged to practice earlier.”

    “I wanted to talk to you,” Razorsharp said, stepping out onto the grit floor.  “Don’t you let me win,” she said, gliding up to Raven.  “I know you, with your Autobot sentimentalities.  You feel sorry for me.  You have forgiven me for a crime that cannot be forgiven.  You think of my children and what this will do to them.  You’ll give me the victory to ensure that my Lord is well placed for the election, and Optimus gets his peace treaty.  Don’t do it.”

    “You think I’m doing this for a treaty?  That I’d humiliate myself for an agreement that means very little ultimately?  The Decepticons cast these people out ages ago.  Why would they care what they do now?  Why shouldn’t the Drolmans make peace with Cybertron?  It’s their ticket home.  And I know you, with the darkness that claws at your soul, holding you back from everything left in the universe.  Don’t you let me win, either, Razorsharp.  If you don’t fight me for your life with every fiber of your being, I’ll know.  And Lyphorous’s assurances won’t be worth a pile of empty energon shells.”  She walked past Razor, then turned back once she reached the archway.  “You’d better get busy.  You always had a lot of ground to cover to catch up to me.”



    The guest quarters were definitely not to Rodimus’ taste.  The colors were dark, the furnishings heavy, and the light muted, giving their opulence a brooding character.  It was a far cry from his bright and airy quarters on Cybertron.  And it lacked too the cheerful chaos of the children.  Raven brought them as often as possible on diplomatic missions, but they had been in agreement before even discussing it that this wasn’t the place for them.  He missed the cheerful distraction they provided, squabbling and plotting trouble by turns.

    He opened the recharge chamber door and stepped inside.  Raven was stretched out on the berth, hands pillowed behind her head, staring up at the ceiling.  He could tell she was deep in thought as he shed his armor; she didn’t comment as he left it on the floor where it fell.  He sat on the far edge of the berth from her, and leaned back slowly, finally coming to rest with his head pillowed on her abdomen.  The rhythmic pulse of her fuel pump was audible this close, and he allowed it to relax him, dimming his optic.

    He knew she was awake when her fingers slid into his hair.  “What are you thinking about?” she asked in the darkness.

    “Day after tomorrow,” he replied.  “That I’m worried for you.  That I miss the kids.  It’s almost too quiet.  I keep trying to imagine what trouble they’re getting into, being so quiet, then I remember that they’re not here.”

    “I know,” she said softly.  “They will seem so big when we get home.  I always remember then smaller, frailer, then I see them and it shocks me that they are so tall and strong.  They are fortunate to have all the qualities I admire in you.”

    “I think Perry’s more like you.  Serious, like you were the first time we met.”

    The bare tips of her claws combed gently through his hair.  “It was a different life.  I am fortunate to have brought so much with me from it.”  He heard her indulge in a sigh.  “I wish I still had that same single-minded determination.  My course for the coming days is so clouded.”

    He turned her question back on her.  “What are you thinking about?”

    “This fight will determine the course of Razorsharp’s future.  What did the Englishman write?  ‘If I lose, I will gain nothing but my shame and the odd hits.’  There is nothing for me in this fight if I win, except to see my friend die, and yet I lose something valuable in defeat.”

    He rolled to one side to face her, planting an elbow on the far side of her waist and propping his head up to see her better.  “You won’t lose anything from my point of view.”

    Her chin tilted down, bringing more of her face into view.  She was smiling, a clear, open expression she saved exclusively for their private moments.  “You are a romantic, Rodimus Prime.  That alone would set you apart in this place.”

    He picked up on something wistful in her voice.  “Do you think you’d be happy here?”

    She sighed.  “It is so like the Cybertron of my childhood.  Better, even.  The poverty and crowding I grew up with are not so starkly present.  And Fire-Eyes is here.  I didn’t even give her a thought for vorns.  It’s like she came back to life.  It’s like everything came back to life.”

    He reached up to brush away the slow leak of methanol down her cheeks.  “Do you want to stay, if Morphaeus wins the election?”

    “Don’t talk nonsense.  You can’t do what you have to do from here.”

    He shifted again, lying down next to her and pulling her into his embrace.  “So we’ll talk a little nonsense for a while.  It Morphaeus wins the election, the Drolma system will be in Cybertron’s possession.  It’s not outside the realm of possibility that there will be regular travel back and forth.  And there will need to be a certain amount of oversight; someone who can work with Morphaeus and whatever government he puts in place.  And it would have to be someone versed in Decepticon culture and history.  So it’s not as much nonsense as you think.”

    She pushed herself up to see his face.  “But you have work on Cybertron,  You are the Heir, and I cannot interfere with that.  And Peregrine must be raised with those he will one day lead.”

    “He’ll lead the Decepticons here, too, at least nominally.  Shouldn’t he know them?  And most of what I do can be done in any office just about anywhere.  We couldn’t stay forever, no.  But if you wanted to, we could probably stay for a while.”

    She curled up against him.  “I can’t think about it now.  It’s too much.  Ask me again, after the election.  There are too many ‘ifs’ right now.”



    Drolma’s daystar did little to lighten the dim interior of their temporary quarters, Rodimus noted,  The whole system had an ideal central star, only slightly brighter than Earth’s, and the natural adaptability of Cybertronians made it possible for them to inhabit all of the nine planets.  But the architecture was almost exclusively Pre-War Decepticon, and heavy on dark.  The suite was an end unit, and had windows on two sides, but none allowed for direct lighting.  If they were to live there for any length of time, he’d have to arrange to get some renovations done.  There may have been some ingrained trait in Decepticons that made them crave living in the dark, but he was missing things about Cybertron already.

    Most notable among them were the twins, and he opened the portable terminal he’d brought, plugging it into the comm jack in the wall.  He was sure the built-in terminals were perfectly serviceable, but the headache of trying to compose messages home in a foreign language was another thing he didn’t want to cope with.  He had no idea if the message he was preparing to send would be read by strange optics before it reached it’s destination, but if they found his little stories and tidbits to his children interesting, good for them.

    His steaming cup of energon had cooled by the time he finished, and Raven managed to appear just as he was closing the message.

    “Anything you want to say to the kids before I send this?” he asked.

    She helped herself to a sip of his cold energon and grimaced.  “Yes.  I miss them and think of them often.  And if they give Elita any trouble, they’ll answer to me when I get back.”  Her fingers dragged through his hair as she carried the cold cup into the small kitchen unit and dumped its contents into the recycler.  He could hear the soft whisper as the heavy fabric of her robe brushed against the cabinetry.  There was a soft gurgle as she refilled his cup and another like it with fresh steamed energon.

    The cup reappeared at his elbow as he hit ‘send.’  “I didn’t tell them about the fight,” Rodimus said, picking up the cup as he stood.  “Thanks.”

    Raven nodded, unwrapping the wire from around her VR visor.  “I will explain the situation to Velocity, and ask her not to tell the children, either.”

    “Don’t you think Razorsharp’s filled her in already?”

    Optics obscured by the visor, Raven’s head still swung around unerringly to face him.  “They did not part on the best of terms.  I’m not sure that even if Razorsharp wrote with the best of intentions, Velocity would read the message.”

    “So you’re going to be the messenger?”

    “Yes, well, it is no longer traditional to kill the bearer of bad news.  And knowing Velocity, she will offer to pray for success in vindicating Razorsharp.”

    Rodimus snorted to himself as Raven activated the visor, tossing her into the virtual network.  Within moments, she was speaking softly in Old Decepticon.  She’d made it a habit to correspond with Velocity in their native language as practice for the younger femme.

    He waited until she was removing the visor to speak again.  “So what are you doing today?  More practicing?”

    “No,” she replied, heading back into the recharge chamber.  He could hear the distinct sounds of her armor locking into place.  “I am going to whiff the flowers,” she said as she returned.

    That one took him a moment to interpret.  “Smell the roses, you mean.  So you’re going to take the day off to relax?”

    “Yes.  I intend to see some of the planet and order my thoughts.  What will you do?”

    “Not get used as a punching bag, it seems.  I don’t know.  I’ll think of something.”  He was a little surprised at her giving up her last day to prepare.  But being alone in her head might be the best thing for her.  “Okay.  Well, you have a good time.  You’ll be back tonight?”

    “Yes.  I plan to return before Chi Drolma sets.”

    “So if you’re not back by sunset, call the police?”

    She smiled.  “Something like that.”  She stretched up on tip-toes to kiss him.  “Be safe.”

    “Yeah.  You, too.”

    She smiled at him; a real smile rather than her typical Decepticon half-smirk, and stepped out onto the small patio.  He watched as she twisted and compressed her frame, sliding effortlessly into avian form.  Then she launched herself into the air, circling a few times, then flying off toward the rising daystar.



    “Prince Rodimus, thank you for responding so quickly to my invitation.”

    “Just Rodimus, please, Lord Lyphorous.  We’re not very formal on Cybertron.  Your quarters are really stunning.”  Rod hoped the terms wouldn’t be offensive.  To him, it looked like living in a dark, baroque cave.  I wonder if this style came first, or the Decepticon mindset.  Be interesting to know which was the cause of the other.

    “Then I am Lyphorous.  Please, come in and be comfortable.”  Lyphorous guided him to a grouping of chairs and indicated that he should sit.  “Lady Raven was unable to come?”

    “She’s out for the day.  This whole situation isn’t easy for her, and she wanted an opportunity to spend some time on her own.”  He settled back, trying to appear relaxed.

    Lyphorous appeared concerned.  “You do not worry that she is alone, without protection?”

    Rod chuckled.  “Raven’s the last one to ask for protection, with the possible exception of Razorsharp.  She, both of them, really, consider themselves equal to anything out there.  Rave would be insulted if I suggested she needed back-up for a little stroll.”  He was deliberately casual, letting Lyphorous decide how seriously to take his statements.

    “Well, I am certain you are much more aware of her abilities than I am.  I had hoped to see you both, but I am sure you can pass on my message.  I wanted to invite you both to a gathering this evening in honor of tomorrow’s event.”

    Rodimus arched an optic ridge.  “I’ll certainly pass your invitation along, but I can’t guarantee that she’ll want to accept.  It’s certainly kind of you to offer, though.”

    “I have the sense, Rodimus, that you will not be offended if I speak bluntly, so I shall do so.  What does Raven intend to do tomorrow in the Arena?”

    “She’ll fight, of course.  That’s what you want her to do, right?  She’ll get in that ring, and she’ll do her best to defeat Razorsharp.”  His optics narrowed.  “Why?”

    Lyphorous leaned forward.  “I know our political system seems strange, but it grew out of backlash to the arbitrary way in which our families arrived here.  To be accused in the old Empire was enough sometimes to send a House into exile, a Head of Family into the Arena.  So now, we vote, and tell ourselves we are so much better than our ancestors.  But we are too much Decepticons for true democracy to exist in anything but name only.  Morphaeus is our best hope for true reform, true change in our little Empire.  And he will give us back Cybertron, even if it comes through Autobot hands.  Morphaeus must win the election, and therefore, his Sarali must be free of suspicion.  Razorsharp must win the day tomorrow.”

    “You’re asking Raven to throw the fight?” Rod asked, voice deadly quiet.

    “You are her mate, her lord.  What you tell her must be, shall be.”

    Rodimus stood abruptly.  “Thank you for your honesty, Lord Lyphorous.”

    He rose as well.  “What will you say to the Lady Raven?”

    Rod stopped at the door.  “We’ll be here tonight.  But if you want her to throw the fight, you’ll have to tell her yourself.  I’m just gonna suggest you do it from a nice safe distance.  A couple of parsecs should do.  Good day, Councillor.”



    Drolma III was as unlike Cybertron as possible, it seemed.  From the Ylarus stronghold, Raven had flown toward the rising sun, past the fortress, the city that surrounded it and into the forested preserve where the planet’s native species still roamed wild.

    She settled into a clearing and shifted back to her robot form.  She had yet to see any avian on Drolma III that mimicked her particular form, but any predator hungry enough might have considered trying her for lunch, and her taller, more imposing form would give them pause.

    She picked her way through the woods to the edge of a large ravine that offered a spectacular view of the city and fortress.  She found a suitable looking tree and was preparing to climb up into it when branches crackled behind her, and she turned, hand on the knife strapped to her thigh.  She didn’t customarily wear arms openly in Iacon, but on Drolma, it had seemed prudent to take the extra precaution.  She summoned a blaster to her other hand, keeping it our of sight behind her leg.  “Who’s there?”

    The branches rustled again, and a figure stepped out into the dappled sunlight.  “You are a difficult quarry to track, Lady Raven.”

    She moved her hand away from the knife, stepping back and dipping her head in a small bow.  “Lord Saltarus.  An honor to see you.  If you will excuse me…”   She moved to step past him, but he held up a hand to stop her.

    “Oh, you’re not rushing off, are you?  You spent all this time bringing us out here.  Don’t tell me we’re leaving all ready.”

    She took another careful step back, casting a quick glance at the ravine and measuring the distance she’d need to cover before she could fling herself over the edge.  One tussle with a member of his family had been more than enough for Raven, and she wasn’t above jumping from the face of the cliff and racing back to Ylarus as fast as her wings could carry her.  One look at the inverted wings on Saltarus’ back told her that flight might be her worst option, however.  He was all sleek lines and powerful jets, and though she was equipped for powered flight, she knew her power pack was no where near equivalent to his.  “I came here for solitude, Lord Saltarus.  If you will not allow me that, I see no reason not to return to the Stronghold.”

    “Come, come, Lady.  I tracked you all the way out here.  Surely I am to have some reward for all my efforts.”  He advanced on her slowly and she thought she recognized the insidious gleam in his optics.

    “Stop, Lord Saltarus.”  She took a full step back, well out of arm’s reach and drew her knife.  “I will not warn you again.”

    “Here I have come simply to have conversation and you offer me violence.  How uncivil of you,” he sneered, though he maintained his distance.

    Had she been mistaken?  Had she been so long outside of Decepticon culture that she had forgotten simple courtesy?  Were the prejudices of the Autobots rubbing off on her?  “If you wished to have conversation, you would have made an appointment to speak with me within Ylarus.  You can have nothing to say to me that must be kept private.”

    “Perhaps I wish to discuss the dishonor done to my House by you.  Three members of my family died at your hands.  I have the right to demand restitution by Drolman law.  Would you like that discussed in front of your Autobot mate?”

    She let one corner of her mouth quirk up.  “Your grandsire and sire were found guilty of treason and executed by imperial law.  And your uncle the Rali did not die by my hand.  I merely took what was my due after he dishonored me.  You are fortunate I did not demand restitution as well.  I could have bankrupted your family easily.  We may pay it little mind in Iacon now, but I am a de facto member of the Royal Family.  I could have demanded the lives of every mech over the Age of Choice in your family.  I invite you to consider that most seriously, and this; the vorn has not yet passed.  I could still file a claim, under Imperial law.  And if you believe I have kept anything of my past from my mate, you are as great, if not a greater fool than your uncle.”

    “Mechs have died for saying less to me, bitch,” he spat.  “You might wish you had died once I finish with you.”

    She laughed coldly.  “Your uncle was the one bleeding his energon out on the floor when he was finished with me.  I doubt you will come through any better.  And I invite you to think of this, Lord Saltarus.  If I cannot fight Sarali Razorsharp tomorrow, she will win by default.  Of course, you more than likely wouldn’t be around to worry about it.”  She extended her concealed hand to the side, exposing the blaster, and then, with a conceited flick of the wrist, sub-spaced it and re-sheathed her blade.  “You have spoiled my solitude, Lord Saltarus, so I will be leaving now.  I bid you a good day.”  She turned on her heel and stormed away through the forest, making no attempt to hurry or conceal herself, though she could hear Saltarus fuming behind her with every step.



    Raven was already back by the time Rodimus returned.  He had detoured through the commercial district on the way, looking for something to soften the blow of telling Raven about the “entertainment” planned for the evening.  Hopefully the prospect of a gift would make the gathering, to which he was not looking forward, more palatable.

    She was pacing when he came in, her measured stride covering a maximum of distance while using a minimum of energon, and he knew her ramble had not been the restful, mind-clearing meditation she had hoped for.  He set his purchases down and lowered himself onto the sofa without a word.  She knew he was there, and would speak to him when she was ready.  If he tried to force her to open up before she had walked off the worst of her anger, she would only snap at him.  It had led to arguments in the past, and they had both been forced to learn not to focus their sharp tempers on each other.

    “Saltarus in a fool,” she said at last.  She was still pacing, but winding down, her movements betraying less agitation.

    “I kind of thought he would be,” Rodimus agreed.  “I mean, being related to Solarus, he didn’t have much choice.  What did he do?”

    “He patronized me, insulted me, threatened me.  And he had the gall to imply that I left the stronghold to participate in an assignation.”  This last statement seemed most offensive to her, and Rodimus forced himself not to chuckled.  Raven took her vows of Unity very seriously, and any suggestion that she was anything less than perfectly faithful angered and insulted her.

    “Boy, was he barking up the wrong tree.  What was he threatening to do?”

    “He implied that I would find his company no more congenial than that of his uncle.”

    Rodimus frowned, interpreting her complicated phraseology.  Then he stood abruptly and picked up pacing where Raven left off.  “Oh, no he didn’t.  He can’t be allowed to threaten you like that and just walk away.”

    She reached out to touch him, resting a palm against his chestplate before he could really work himself up.  “ I walked away.  After I reminded him not only of the end Solarus came to, but also the fact that if I am unable to fight tomorrow, Razorsharp wins.  The gnashing of his dental plates as I left was sweet indeed.  It won’t be hard to avoid him until tomorrow morning.  By then, everything will be academic.”

    “It’s going to be harder than you think.  Lyphorous is throwing a cocktail party tonight in honor of the fight.  I’m certain the whole Committee will be there, probably drooling to see some pre-fight fireworks between you and Razor.  This whole damned thing is turning into a circus.  There are banners with your face on them going up all over the City.”  He pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her waist.  “I wish you weren’t fighting tomorrow,” he whispered.

    She bit back a number of sharp retorts.  He loved her too much to let this debacle go on without saying something of what he was feeling, she knew.  If anything would have changed her mind, he would have said or done it.  So instead of arguing or brushing aside his concerns, she simply allowed him to hold her.  “I know,” she replied.  “I know.”


    “I bought you a present,” he said after a long moment.

    “Did you?”  She loved gifts.  Her progenitors had had so few credits to spend on anything but the barest necessities.  “What is it?”

    “A surprise.”  He released her gently and moved to pick up the parcel.  “I’ll give you a hint, though.  I knew you didn’t plan on going to any formal parties while we were here.  So it’s for tonight.”

    She sighed a little, her lips quirked in distaste.  “We have to go, I take it?”

    “It’s in your honor, yours and Razorsharp’s, really. So not appearing would be pretty rude.  And I told Lyphorous we would be there.  You wouldn’t want to make a liar of me, would you?”

    She laughed.  “You’re a manipulative bastard, Rodimus Prime.  Did anyone ever tell you that?”

    “Only when they were pretty pissed at me.  Are you pissed at me?”

    “Not if you give me my present.”  He offered it to her and she picked it open, tearing aside the wrappings and lifting off the lid.  She lifted out the gown inside and set the packaging aside.  

    It was electric blue, designed without sleeves and slit high on one side.  She held it up to her shoulders and studied herself in the heavily-framed mirror on the wall.  It was easily the brightest color in the room.  “It’s beautiful,” she said.

    “You’re gonna knock their socks off,” Rodimus assured her.



    They waited in a small anteroom, listening with half an audio to the soft chatter and music coming from the main room.  Rodimus wandered the room, looking at art and picking up small knick-knacks.  Raven leaned against one wall, still adjusting to the strappy, high-heeled footwear that went with the gown.  They left a great deal of her legs bare, a sensation she was unaccustomed to.

    The door opened, and one of Lyphorous’s aides slipped in, shutting the door behind him.  “Only a few more moments, I assure you.  The other guests are almost arrived.  We have only to work out a small matter of protocol before you can be presented.”

    “What is the problem?” Raven asked.

    “There is some confusion as to the question of rank.  There is debate as to whether you and Lord Rodimus should be presented first or the Narali and Sarali,” the aide explained.

    “Mophaeus out-ranks me, if it helps any,” Rodimus supplied.

    “Yes, Lord Rodimus.  We are aware.  It is the matter of the Ladies…”

    “Surely the Sarali out-ranks the mate of the Heir.  I have no title of my own beyond my rank as Commander.”

    The aide nodded to her.  “True, Lady, but you are also the Champion of Drolma.  Ordinarily, the Sarali would still out-rank you, but with the question of her disgrace…”

    “Oh, for the love of Primus.”  Rodimus marched over to Raven and caught her hand, pulling her away from the wall.  “Line us up, kid.  We’ll concede rank if it will move things along.”

    The aide nodded in apparent relief, scurrying over to another door and opening it, leading them out.  “Oh, thank you, Lord Rodimus.  We did hope… But to suggest ourselves…”  He led them around to a set of heavy curtains.  “Just go right through when you are announced.”  He nodded again and slipped away.

    They heard other names announced from the other side of the curtains.  “Doesn’t seem like we’ve gotten anywhere,” Rodimus muttered.

    “Are you wishing we were back in the room where nothing was going on?” Raven asked with an arched eyebrow.

    “Maybe,” he drawled.  “What are you suggesting?”

    “My Lords and Ladies, I am honored to present –”

    “Tell you later,” Raven whispered.

    “ – Lord Rodimus Prime, Prince of Iacon, Heir to the Autobot Matrix of Leadership and Lady Raven, esteemed Champion of Drolma.”

    Rodimus clutched her elbow and pushed aside the curtain.  “Showtime.”



    At the top of the stairs, Razorsharp glanced a final time in the mirror held by one of her attendants.  A huge pair of hands appeared on her shoulders, clawed fingers lifting one of the curled tendrils of jet-black fiber tumbled against her iron-gray skin.

     “You are not pleased?” came a rumbling voice from high above.

     “After countless vorns in armor, such attire takes a certain amount of adjustment,” Razor muttered, smoothing the sequined purple fabric of her formal gown where it draped against her abdomen.  “I wonder, at what price do I follow the dictates of fashion?  That of my life?”

     Morphaeus dismissed the attendant, who bowed slightly and withdrew.  He turned Razor around and tilted her chin up with those same clawed hands.   His garnet optics searched her face, his thumbs pressing gently against her harlequined cheeks.  “You are the jewel in these Drolma worlds.  I searched for a very long time to find you--do you think I would let anyone steal you away from me?”  He slid his finger down her noseplate.  “You underestimate me, Lady.”

     Razor's electric blue lips curved upward slightly.  “You could at least have let me wear my armor.”

     “And let everyone think you serve an impoverished master?”  Morphaeus chuckled as they stepped up to the curtained doorway.  “Perhaps as bheancoran, but never as Sarali.”

     Startled, Razor opened her mouth to say something, but there was no time to respond as a silvery blast of trumpets heralded their entrance.

     “My Lords and Ladies, Their Excellencies Narali Morphaeus and Sarali Razorsharp!” came the cry, but the silence that greeted the couple was nearly as loud.  Morphaeus squeezed Razor's hand in the folds of their capes, then steadied her as they descended the stairwell to a bare smattering of applause.



     Rodimus cupped his hands over Raven’s shoulders, trying to give comfort when he knew there was none to be found.  There was a brief flare of silvery notes as the royal couple was announced to the room.

     “That’ll be Morphaeus and Razor,” he murmured, glancing toward the double doors.  “Hey, if all this fanfare bugs you, just remember, it’s just plain old Razorsharp, same as she always—“  His optics widened slightly and his mouth dropped open.

     Scowling, Raven glanced up at her mate, quelling the urge to laugh at his comic expression.  “What?  Did she grow another head or something?”

     “Or something,” Rodimus nodded.  He turned her around to face the doors.  “You can’t miss this.”

     “Honestly,” Raven sighed, turning as Rodimus bade.  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather n—Oh, Sweet Primus!”  The crowd thinned to reveal the Narali and his bride, and Raven finally caught a glimpse of what her own mate had deemed worthy of such a display.  Morphaeus was as tall and intimidating as usual, a tower of maroon plating with a richly decorated cape over all, but Razorsharp was—Raven groped for an appropriate word—arresting.

     Razor’s gown was a deep purple, thickly embroidered with tiny metallic disks that shimmered in an ever-changing display of reflected light.  The tasseled hemline dipped nearly to the floor in front, but was cut high to reveal shapely thighs.  Encasing her legs from thigh to toe were boots of the same purple, fashioned of an exotic hide so tight that it looked to be painted on.  The gown appeared to defy gravity, with only slender straps holding it to Razor’s defined shoulders, revealing the angular violet Decepticon brand on Razor’s right bicep. Delicate lacings on the bodice gave all the leering mechs a generous view of her silver-grey décolleté.  Raven could see where Razorsharp, with her elliptical ruby optics and space-black tendrils of synth-hair framing her harlequined face, would be enough to give even the mighty Straxus serious pause.

     Inside, Raven knew that this was the grossest travesty of them all; Razorsharp was a trophy on display, meant to be every mech’s fevered recharge dream come to life.  On the surface, Raven was shocked to find a flare of jealousy burning hot and bright, and she tamped it down.  She knew she should feel sorry for her friend, not jealous of the way the Council was taking advantage of Razorsharp’s physical beauty.

     “I’d like to see her try and wear that back on Cybertron,” Raven murmured, inclining her head as the royal couple processed past.

     “Optimus’ optics would fall right out of his head,” Rodimus returned out of the side of his mouth.  When Raven gave an indignant snort, he glanced her with a fleeting grin.  “About two microns before Elita shot him, anyway.”

     With the queasiness in her holding tanks nullifying Rod’s attempt at humor, Raven shook her head.  Razorsharp was her cool self, but Raven knew her friend too well to think she was having a good time.  One glance at Razor’s tightly compressed electric-blue painted lips was enough to tell her that Razor felt vulgar and exposed.  “I wish to Primus this was already over.”

     Rodimus laid his hand on her back as they watched Morphaeus and Razor make the rounds.  “I know.  Me too."


    Raven took a tiny sip from her goblet of sparkling energon.  “That’s certainly an interesting perspective, Lady Thia.  Though I would be interested to know how you account for-”

    “You saw her,” Lady Thia said, cutting Raven off.  “She walked in without a hint of shame for what she has done.  Bad enough to survive the death of her Lord, but to flaunt herself before us; to take the place that should rightfully go to some other femme…”

    “You are long separated from the Empire, Lady Thia.  Surely the traditions do not continue?”

    “Indeed they do.  We have little left that makes us Decepticons.  We hold to the traditions all the tighter because of that.”

    Raven watched as Thia’s optics followed the First Couple around the room.  “I have yet to meet your mate, Lady Thia.  Where is he?”

    “I was betrothed before our family… left Cybertron.  My intended did not come with us.”

    “He was sent to the Ring?” Raven asked softly.  She was treading dangerous ground here, representing the force of authority as she had.

    She glared at Raven.  “No.  He elected to withdraw his offer.  My family was in disgrace.  My father and eldest brother had gone to the Ring.  There was no other choice he could make that would save his own family.”

    Raven gasped softly.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know…”

    “Of course not.  Oh, don’t look so concerned.  It was none of your doing, or the Sarali’s.  But when our traditions are all we have left, they must be protected.  If you will excuse me…”

    Raven nodded deferentially, and Lady Thia made her way across the room.


    “So what’s her deal?” Rodimus asked her a few minutes later.

    Raven traded her empty glass for his half-full one.  “I can get you another if you want,” he said with a smile.

    “No.  I’m not finishing this one.  But I would prefer no one offer me anything else.”  She cast a glance after Thia.  “She voted against Razorsharp.  I thought I could persuade her to change her vote.  She seemed the most open to hearing my arguments.”

    “And?”

    “She is resolute.  Razorsharp broke with tradition, and Lady Thia wishes to see her punished for it.”

    Rodimus sighed.  “There’s no chance Saltarus will change.  Lord Hypnosis-”

    “Hypneus,” Raven supplied.

    “Whatever.  He’s practically asleep on his feet here.  He’s going with the flow, and the flow is against Razor.  What about Artemia and Nemesea?”

    Raven shook her head.  “Artemia loves the idea of combat.  She fancies herself a warrior, though she never faced Tournament, and Nemesea’s family went to the arena under Razor’s blade.  We will find no help for either of them.”

    “So we have Lyphorous, Thesellius and Criuses.”

    “And Morphaeus,” Raven pointed out.  “Has it escaped your attention that all our supporters are mechs, and the three femmes on the Council oppose us?  I have also learned they are all unmated at this time.”

    “Jealousy?” Rod asked.

    “Not only jealousy.  There is legal standing for their votes.  But Lord Morphaeus did bring in a strange femme to take a position of high power at a time of great turmoil.  I can’t believe there are no personal feelings involved in this.”

    Rodimus slid one hand over the slick blue fabric of her gown and around her waist.  “Why don’t we ever go anywhere relaxing on vacation?”

    She bumped his chin playfully with her forehead.  “Why don’t we ever go on vacation?”  Then she stepped back.  “Time to circulate some more.”

    “That empty room is looking better and better.”

    Her laugh drifted back to him as she moved away.


    The evening was barely endurable as Razor noticed the frosty glances from those in attendance.  Raven was distant, as was Rodimus as they made the rounds of the hall, and Razor tried not to glance in their direction.  The only brief respite came when Sirius and Destiny approached to pay their respects to the Drolman royal couple, and Razor felt all optics on her as she accepted Sirius' kiss on her cheek.

     “You look lovely, Maman,” he grated.  “You outshine all others this night.”

     “Take care, my son, how you speak,” Razor cautioned as some of the guests discreetly moved away from the family.  “I fear you and the Narali are the only ones present who share such a view.”

     Destiny's optics were blazing in a face that was almost her mother's twin.  “We will show them what true nobility is,” she murmured, her armored frame a marked contrast to the finery of the other femmes.  She kept her hands clasped together, and Razorsharp knew it was to keep from reaching back for a sword that was not there; she had been allowed to attend only after surrendering her weapon to the household guard.

     “Perhaps she shall, child,” came a low femme voice, and the small group turned to see General Fire-Eyes standing beside Morphaeus.  “Lord Sirius, you remind me so much of your father,” Fire-Eyes nodded to Sirius, who bowed slightly.

     “Thank you, General.  Allow me to present my bheancoran, the Lady Destiny.”  He stepped aside to let Destiny come forward.

     “Ah, your sister,” Fire-Eyes nodded.  “Yes, I remember you.  Your family resemblance with Thalia's children is unmistakable.”

     Destiny gasped.  “You knew my uncles--the twins, ThunderCracker and SkyWarp?”

     “And her youngest, Starscream, as well,” Fire-Eyes answered.  “He was the pride of the War Academy, like your father.”  She shook her head.  “Their destinies lay in opposite directions; a pity.”

     “Not all can be as the mighty Straxus,” Destiny said coolly.  “Starscream was a bastard; not of the same progenitor as my uncles.”

     Now it was Razorsharp's turn to gasp.  “Destiny! For shame!”

     Morphaeus shot Destiny a warning look, and the young femme bowed and excused herself to stand a short distance away.  “Forgive the brashness of youth, General.”

     Fire-Eyes nodded.  “Unfortunately, she speaks the truth.  Racher’charv was never privy to that information.”  She glanced in Razor's direction.  “I am sorry that you had to learn of that in such a circumstance.”

     Steeling herself, Razorsharp returned Fire-Eyes' nod with a serene one of her own.  “Starscream was a conundrum. May he rest in peace.”

     “May he indeed,” the others chimed automatically.

 
 
    To Razor's immense relief, Morphaeus was able to end their appearance early, citing the impending events of the next day.  In the safety of their quarters, Razor felt secure for the first time that evening, and she sat in front of her mirror for a long time, letting her mind drift.

     Morphaeus' hands again appeared on her shoulders, reflecting in the mirror as they had earlier.  This time, Razorsharp smiled and patted her mate's hand with her own.  Morphaeus peeled back Razor's violet satin robe to reveal her shimmering skin, replacing his hands with his lips.  

     “Come rest,” he murmured against her skin.  “Tomorrow follows on the heels of the moon.”

     Razor chuckled.  “You have been reading the Poems of Altarus again, haven't you?”  She turned and put her arms around Morphaeus' neck, searching his face as he sank to one knee beside her.  “You would seduce a femme who is Death's bheancoran?”

     “I would duel with the Chaos-Bringer himself for you,” Morphaeus grated.  “But I cannot.  This fight I must leave to you.”

     “You would have me in your berth tonight, when I may not be there tomorrow?” Razor whispered, smoothing her hand against his cheek.

     “All the more reason for you to be there tonight with me,” he returned, sweeping her up in his arms and bearing her to their chambers.

 

    Raven stared again at the city, hands gripping the delicate railing.  She could hear Rodimus pacing inside the apartment, his echoing footfalls sometimes louder or softer, depending on his location and the various area rugs scattered around the room. Finally they clanked loud and heavy out onto the balcony and he stood next to her, looking out onto the same scene, but seeing it no more than she did.

    “There’s no getting out of it now, is there?  Nothing to do but fight.”

    She shook her head slowly.  “No.  Nothing.  There was never a choice, really.”

    “So why were we charming Councillors all night?” he asked sharply.

    “You wouldn’t accept it otherwise.  You would ask yourself forever if you did everything you could to protect me.  And you have.  There is nothing left to do but for me to fight as the Council wishes.  They will have their entertainment, along with everyone else.”

    “I won’t be entertained.  I’ll be hating every damned minute of it.  I’m hating it right now.”

    Raven slid over, slipping her frame between the balcony railing and him.  “Don’t hate it right now.  Rhyah forbid, the worst still might happen tomorrow, completely by accident.  Please don’t waste these few remaining cycles hating things you can’t control.”

    Rodimus straightened up, wrapping arms around Raven and pulling her back against him.  “No.  I don’t want to waste them.”  He stepped toward the door, bringing her along.  “I’m not going to entertain half of Ylarus, though, either.”

    “Somehow, I didn’t think you were.”



    It was garish.

    There was simply no other word.  Banners flew in the breeze, flapping gently, and Raven frowned as her face glowered at her from every corner.  It was one thing to be alone with one’s self, but to be alone and surrounded by the glaring visage she knew was supposed to represent her…  Well, it was enough to make a bot, mech or femme, purge their holding tanks.

    She paced the small chamber below the Arena floor, crossing and re-crossing before the door to the lift that would take her up to the ring.  Rodimus had asked her earlier if she had ‘butterflies‘ in her stomach, another of his peculiar human expressions.  She’d brushed it aside then, but privately, she had to confess that the peculiar fluttering in her holding tank could be visualized as a mob of flying insects.

    Raven paused long enough to glare at the lift door again, but it remained stubbornly closed.  Lyphorous had begged both Razorsharp and her to indulge him in a bit of theatrics designed to amplify the already thick tension, and they had reluctantly agreed.  Now their entrances were being carefully choreographed to turn the match into some kind of effects extravaganza.  Raven’s snide question about whether the fight should be choreographed as well met with a couple of wry chuckles lapsing into uncomfortable silence, reminding them all that it was likely the only unpredictable part of the event.

    The door opposite the lift whooshed open, and Raven whirled, crouching to minimize her target profile, one hand already on the hilt of the long knife behind her back.

    Rodimus regarded her from the doorway.  “You’re jumpy today,” he said calmly.  He’d awoken to find her back on the balcony, locked into her armor, chilly and impenetrable as an iceberg, drawing an invisible cloak of all that was inherent to the Decepticons about her.  He recognized the necessity of her distance, but still it hurt to see the femme he loved locked away inside her own head.  He wondered idly for a moment if this was all Morphaeus was ever permitted o see of his own mate, or if Razorsharp ever dropped her guard enough to let him in.

    Raven stood, forcing her hand to release the blade, forcing herself to appear relaxed.  “Yes.”  She made no apology or excuse, simply acknowledging what he had correctly seen.

    He held out a slightly curved disk, an anti-grav unit with binding affixed to the top.  “Lyphorous says this is the last bit of the ‘production.’  You and Razor are going to be flown around the stadium so everyone can see you.  Then the binders will release while you’re in mid-air, and you’ll take the fight to the floor.  And I’m supposed to remind you that transforming is strictly prohibited.”  He handed it to her reluctantly.  “It’s going to make moving hard, so you should wait until you’re in the lift to put it on.”  He stared at her for a long moment, as if taking in every detail one last time.  “Rave,” he started, “Ellie…”

    She darkened her optics when he said it, that personal diminutive of her former name.  “Please, Rodimus,” she said softly, interrupting him, “please, be strong for me.  If I am to get through this travesty at all, I need your strength, your resolve.  Don’t let me do this alone.”  Behind her, the lift door opened, and a chime rang softly.  “I have to go.”

    “Wait!”  Rodimus crossed the meters between them, His hand snaked beneath the black swaths hanging from the back of her helmet around the back of her neck, and he dragged her forward, kissing her passionately.

    He released her after a  long moment, foreheads touching, optics locked.  “Rhyah guard you,” he whispered softly.

    “Primus guide you always, my love,” she whispered back.  She stepped back then, his hand sliding across her shoulder armor and down her arm.  Then she was in the lift, and the doors sealed shut between them.


    Razorsharp leaned against the wall next to the lift, her optics darkened in contemplation.  Sirius and Destiny had taken formal leave of her only moments ago, again proclaiming in front of witnesses their continued belief in her innocence.  Their expressions had been stoic, but Razor had gleaned the gaudy images of the outside of the arena from the outrage that radiated from her children.  The myriad of posters and flyers plastered all over the walls, as well as the holographic projection of herself and Raven in a stylized clash, were sights she was glad she had not seen in person.

    Even now, she could feel her children's consternation and worry, though as they traveled to their seats of honor in the boxes high above her, the sense became cloudier--due somewhat to the physical distance, but mostly due to the fever pitch of excitement of each and every spectator in between.  Razorsharp had had to shut down most of her empathic sense in order to find a modicum of peace inside her own head.

    I never asked for this gift, she mused, a tiny smile flitting across her electric-blue painted lips, or curse, as it might well be.   She raised her head, powering up her optics to scan the huge ceiling beam, the whole space above her ringing with the footfalls of spectators climbing to their seats.  This duel was a travesty of the first water, but she was determined--as Raven was, she knew--to stand firm and see that right prevailed, no matter what side the right turned out to favor.

    Razorsharp turned to her right, feeling the presence of her mate before his heavy tread reached her audios. She thanked Primus yet again that he had not shied from the intimate sharing of their minds as his half-brother had done.  His steady glow of Morphaeus' strength and affection was a welcome greeting before the blocks of light thrown by the barred windows ever allowed their optics to discern each other's frame.

    "It is nearly time," Morphaeus grated, stopping to stand just out of her arm's reach.  "The stadium has never been so full, not even during the last games many vorns ago."

    Razor gave him her Decepticon smile.  "Somehow, I do not take that as a compliment."

    Morphaeus nodded.  "I want you to know that I protested this travesty from the start."

    "I know you did, caro mia."  Razor pushed away from the wall and stood before her mate, wishing she could master her whirling emotions as well as she had trained her frame to stay poised and calm.  "I want you to know something as well," she said after a moment's hesitation.

    "And what is that?"

    Razorsharp looked full into her mate's face, seeing the echo of her first love, but none of the bitterness and reproach.  "That I will cherish you until the end of time," she said softly.

    Her mate was across the distance between them in two steps, lifting her off her feet as his huge arms wrapped around her frame.  After a moment, Morphaeus stepped away and knelt at her feet, bringing her joined hands to his forehead.  "Primus keep you, Lady."

    Razor favored him with another Decepticon smile as he released her.  She stepped backwards into the lift, her hand outstretched to him as the doors slid shut just beyond her fingertips.



    Riding the anti-grav disk was disconcerting.  It wasn't that Raven was uncomfortable with flying, or the sensation of the air slipping by her.  But the upright position was awkward to her as she was shuttled around the massive stadium seating of the Arena.  The faces flashed by in a blur, cheering, waving small banners with her image on them.  She hated the banners, the spectacle, the circumstances.  Most of all, she hated the necessity of this whole disaster.

    The disk shifted its trajectory, heading back for the center of the ring, and for the first time, she could see Razorsharp.  The Deceptifemme was ready, crouched slightly on her own anti-grav unit, hand on the sword hilt behind her back, optics cold and calculating.

    The bindings on Raven's boots popped open and she leapt off, flipping to maintain control of her descent as the ground rushed up to meet her.


    Razorsharp stared at the femme in front of her.  She is no one to me, she chanted in her head.  Not my friend, not my sister, only my enemy.  She can only be my enemy.  Her sword was out, hilt fitted naturally into her hand, light playing along the edge.  The knives in Raven's, no, her opponent's , hands were longer than normal, each perhaps three-quarters the length of her own katana.  She'd never seen her opponent use blades quite that long before, but Razor was unpleasantly certain their owner knew well how to use them.

    Lyphorous's voice boomed out from overhead, filling the Arena with sound.  "Citizens of Drolma, your Council presents to you this Trial by Combat.  The Sarali, Lady Razorsharp stands accused of treason and has come before you to plead her case.  Before her stands the Champion of Drolma, the Lady Raven.  They will fight, one against the other, until one is struck down and cannot rise.  Should the Sarali be the victor, she will hereby be absolved of all crimes, found innocent of all charges.  Should your Champion be victorious, Lady Razorsharp will be found guilty, banished from the Drolma system in perpetuity, on pain of immediate death.  Lords and Ladies, the match you have all been waiting for.  Begin!"

    The word released something in Razorsharp, but she didn't strike, choosing instead to circle, warily eyeing her opponent.  The knives were turning, not with their customary speed, but rather at a cautious rate.  The cold optics were an amethyst echo of her own.  There was nothing there now of the femme she knew.  Just as well, she thought  There's no room for sentimentality in this.

    The turning blades broke their pattern and came in, and Razorsharp deflected them easily, ignoring the cheer the crowd sent up.  It was more a feint than a real blow, a test to see what she would do, how she would react.  It was a smart move, a move that said her opponent was serious.  Down deep, she appreciated the maneuver, a silent acknowledgement to how dangerous this was, for both of them.

    She released her own careful blow, much to the crowd's pleasure, and nodded tightly as it was easily deflected.  They were both very aware of exactly what was at stake and possible here.


    Raven watched the ruby-chip optics warily, watching for any shift or change that would signal an attack.  Her nerves were wound tightly enough that she had to consciously suppress the trembling, cables pulled tight in her shoulders and back.  Win or lose, she knew already she was going to come out of this with some terrifically sore muscles.

    Razor launched a heavy overhand blow, and Raven snapped her mind back to the fight, deflecting her aim with one blade and reaching in with the other to pink the inside of Razor's elbow.  It was nothing as far as injuries went, a mere slit in the skin, but it dribbled a few drops of energon to the Arena floor, and the crowd was crazed for more.

    "Qua'jam vot," Razorsharp hissed, complementing her on the hit.  "Too bad it's not to first blood."

    "I know."  It pleased Raven not at all to have scored even a symbolic victory.


    The fight intensified, blades flashing, hands and feet flying, and heads butting when the opportunity presented itself.  Raven reeled from a particularly hard blow, slipping a little in the sand, trying to gain a little space to recover her composure.  Razor stalked her diligently, katana whirling, keeping her moving and off-balance, unable to set herself and fight back.  The silvery katana swung in close, and Raven threw herself backward, batting it aside with one blade.  The sword tip screeched across her brassard, digging and ugly gouge in the armor over her upper arm.  She was alive, as Razorsharp was, with little nicks and cuts, crusted over with a stinging combination of energon, coolant fluid and arena grit.  She shoved Razor back with one booted foot and scrambled to her feet.  I may be getting too old for this , she thought, fending off another series of lightning-quick katana strikes and offering back a few well-places knife blows of her own.  I'd like nothing better than to go soak in a hot oil bath for a couple of cycles.

    Dreaming of that bath became her undoing.  Her mind was so lost in the imaginary steam that she left her hand out a moment longer than she should have, giving Razor an irresistible target.

    Her gauntlet saved the hand, but the shock of the blow numbed it immediately from the tips of her fingers past her elbow, and her hand popped open, the knife dropping uselessly to the grit.  Razor kicked it away and launched a heavy blow toward Raven's head.  Raven spun, leg extended to flick aside the blade, but her foot connected with nothing but air.  She came to a rest ready to threaten some vulnerable cable, but Razorsharp wasn't where she had been.  Instead, the tip of Razorsharp's katana hovered in front of her face.  Too far , she thought.  I don't want to win badly enough to risk seriously injuring either of us.  "You have to do it," she said softly.

    "I know."

    Razorsharp's wolf's-head boot loomed in her vision, and pain exploded in her head.  Raven felt herself flying backward, landing on the gritty surface of the arena floor, heard the cheers in the stands….

    Then, there was nothing.



     Systems and senses came back slowly. Self-awareness first, then sounds, then the realization that she functioned. She powered up her optics, and found herself staring straight into a pair of vermilion ones. Then they turned away, revealing a silvery-gray face with high cheek-bones.

     "I think she's awake now."

    The face drew back, and Raven was able to see it, and recognize the figure. "Circe?"

     "It's been a while, Rayenlav . I wondered if you'd remember me."

     Raven struggled to sit up, wincing a little, then smiling when Rodimus appeared at her side to support her. "I certainly didn't expect to see you here. Where's Old Esclepus?"

     Circe shook her head. "He went to serve with Bai-Sun many vorns ago."

     Raven dropped her head a little and sighed. "I'm sorry to hear that. He was the best medic at the Arena. I trusted him to put me back together more times than I can count. SkyStream told me once he admired his skill as well." She saw the pain in Circe's optics and hastily reached out to touch the other femme's hand. "I'm sorry. I know you were close to him."

     Circe nodded. "Yes. If things had been different--"

     "I know." Raven took a deep breath, feeling for any undiscovered injuries. "So will I live?"

    "If you don't go around picking anymore fights with Racher'sharv," the Dragon said, striding in. "The Councillors have returned to chambers to discuss the matter. We need to return to the Hall and await their decision."

     Rodimus stepped between Fire-Eyes and the berth where Raven lay. "Wait a minute here. They said this would be it. Whoever won would determine the outcome of the case. Why is there any more 'discussing' to be done?"

    "There has to be consensus, Rodimus," Raven said tiredly, sliding off the berth. "Everyone has to agree that they all saw the same thing. There can't be any questions."

     Rodimus turned, sky-blue optics locking on her. "You went out there and let her nearly knock your block off, and now it may not have been for anything? No. You played by their rules; she played by their rules. It's time someone played by my rules, and the Counsel is on the top of my list." He side-stepped Fire-Eyes and stormed out of the dispensary.

     Raven stood carefully next to a seemingly stunned Fire-Eyes.

     "He is passionate," The dragon noted with a hint of surprise.

     Raven chuckled. "You have no idea."


    Raven approached the huge doors to the Council Chambers, helmet tucked under one arm, a heavy black cloak shot with silver thread clipped to the shoulders of her armor.  She stopped next to the other figure, saying nothing.

    "How is your jaw?" Razorsharp asked at last.

    "It's been better," Raven said dismissively.  "Is he in there?"

    "Yes.  He brushed past me a few breem ago and slammed the doors closed.  He's been haranguing them ever since."

    Raven smiled tightly and cocked her head, listening in on her mate through an internal channel.  "He's certainly making quite a lot of noise.  Is it making any difference?"

    "Difficult to tell.  The sheer number of spectators and their wildly varying feelings make isolating any one reaction next to impossible."

    "But you're managing," Raven stated, swiveling her head slightly to look at Razor.

    The Deceptifemme's head turned slightly and she offered Raven her trademark wolfish smile.  "Of course.  And I do not wish to brag, but I am enjoying a sudden resurgence in popularity.  Perhaps I should render you unconscious on a regular basis."

    "You were lucky."

    "No.  You were predictable."  Razorsharp's smile showed a hint of proverbial fang.

    "We can always settle this in a rematch," Raven offered, brows drawing together.

    "Aizturêt!" the Dragon called, forcing her way between them.  "Stop it!  Enough of this foolishness!  I did not raise the two of you with the expectation that you would be at each other's throats.  Any sign, any hint, Rayenlav, that you still challenge the authority of the Sarali will be used to find the fight inconclusive.  And you," she said, wheeling on Razorsharp.  "You must collect all your peace and bearing into these next moments.  The slightest suggestion that you do not consider Rayenlav beneath your notice will open the doors for further debate.  Do you both understand me clearly?"

    "Of course, Fire-Eyes." Raven said.

    "It shall be as you say, mighty Dragon," Razor intoned.

    Fire-eyes looked from one to the other, then threw up her hands.  "It is pure fortune on my part that I did not train the two of you together.  I would have gone to Primus of an arrested fuel pump in the first quarter-vorn."   She brushed an invisible speck of dust from Razor's armor, and fiddled briefly with the mantle clip in Raven's shoulder.  Then she removed her own crested helmet and tucked it under her own arm.  "We must enter now.  I know you will not shame me."


    The Council was arrayed at the far end of the chamber, gathered around the three lectures, each of the three screens split by a broad-armed Y, the images of the Councillors compressed into the spaces available.

    Razorsharp and Raven occupied the witness ring together, helmets tucked securely under left arms, right arms still at their sides.  Rodimus stood off to one side, optics still blazing blue, the passion of his speech still coursing through the energon in his frame.  Raven had looked at him once, then forced her optics away.  He was too raw, too filled with zeal to approach safely.  There was no telling what shameless thing could happen should she approach him now, still feeling the heat of her battle against Razor racing through her.

    At the central podium, Lyphorous brought the meeting back to order.  "Lady Razorsharp, you have by all appearances defeated the Champion of Drolma, Lady Raven, in single combat.  Is this correct?"

    "It is, My Lord."

    "Lady Raven, recent Champion of Drolma, were you fairly defeated by the Sarali, Lady Razorsharp?"

    "I was, Sir."

    Lyphorous consulted her datapad.  "How did this come to be?"

    "I miscalculated, My Lord.  The Sarali took advantage of my error, as well she should have.  I was fortunate that she chose to stay her blade from my throat."

    "Thank you.  Then, if there are no further questions--"

    Saltarus spoke up.  "I have a few questions, Lord Lyphorous."

    Lyphorous nodded tightly, but it was clear he was not pleased.  "I yield the floor to Lord Saltarus."

    There was some shuffling as Saltarus stepped up to the main podium.  "Thank you, My Lord.  Decepticon Razorsharp, have you fought the Lady Raven in the past?"

    "Define fight, My Lord," Razor replied, and Raven repressed a smirk.

    "Have you pitted yourself against the Lady Raven?  It's not a difficult question."

    "The Lady Raven and I frequently express opposing viewpoints in a forceful manner.  Is this what you mean?"  Now there were titters of laughter from the spectators' gallery.

    "Do you engage in physical combat with the Lady Raven, yes or no?"  Saltarus was angry now.

    "We have sparred on occasion," she admitted at last.

    "Thank you.  Lady Raven, are you familiar with Lady Razorsharp's fighting style?"

    She shrugged off-handedly.  "To a certain degree, My Lord."

    "Decepticon Razorsharp, did you engage in one of these 'sparring' fights for the amusement of the Lord Solarus during his visit to Cybertron?"  Saltarus was finally getting to the point of his questions.

    "No, My Lord.  It was for my personal amusement, and that of the Lady Raven, I would assume."

    "You would assume?  Did she not believe it was for, as you state, 'amusement?'"

    "You would have to ask her, My Lord."

    "I certainly didn't take it personally," Raven replied before he could ask.  

    "The late Lord Solarus noted you were not victorious on the occasion he witnessed, Decepticon Razorsharp.  How is it that you were victorious today, against what appears very like a maneuver that defeated you in the past?"

    Razor offered him a sweet smile, sharpened to a fine edge.  "'Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, shame on me.'"  Rendered into Old Decepticon, it set the galleries laughing aloud.  Then a chant picked up, starting in the back of the galleries and working its way around the room until the very walls shook.

    "Sa-Ra-Li!  Sa-Ra-Li!  Sa-Ra-Li!"

    "You have a cheering section," Raven murmured under her breath.

    Lyphorous resumed the central podium as a outmatched Saltarus scurried back to his place.  With a practiced gesture, he brought the shouting crowds back under control.  "Fellow Councillors, Distinguished Guests, Lords and Ladies, I think our decision must be clear.  Lady Razorsharp, mate of Lord Morphaeus and Sarali of Drolma III, is victorious in Trial By Combat.  Therefore, she is henceforth absolved of any and all charges stemming from the dissolution of her previous union, and is found blameless of any attempt on his life."

    Frenzied cheering filled the room, drowning out any dissention on the part of Saltarus.  Morphaeus was pushing his way through the crowds, as were Sirius and Destiny, and Razor saw a third figure with the children, draped in novitiate's robes of the order of Primus.

    "Velocity?!  What are you doing here?"

    Razorsharp's young daughter stood between her brother and his bheancoran, one of the few Destiny would permit that close to her beloved lord.  "I could not permit you to face the ravening horde alone."

    "But your studies…"

    "The studies will be there when I return, Maman. If I return.  I have already seen the worship of the Patrons alive and thriving here on Drolma."

    Razor opened her mouth to reply when she was snatched up and spun around in a victorious circle.  'You were brilliant, Razor," Rodimus crowed, spinning her around again.  "You really gave it to Old Salty with both barrels."

    "Really, Rodimus Prime.  I must ask you to unhand my mate.  That sort of display cannot be good for her in her condition."  Morphaeus had joined then at the witness ring.

    Rodimus dropped her, albeit carefully.  "Condition?" he squawked, only to be echoed by a number of voices.

    "I told you, My Lord.  I am not certain…."

    "I am," the Narali rumbled in near-perfect imitation of you late half-brother.

    Raven was incensed.  "You went into the Ring knowing you could be carrying his heir?  What kind of idiotic, hair-brained idea--"

    "There was no other way," Razor insisted gravely.  "Paldies."

    "Navpar'Ko.  That was stupid and dangerous and you'd better never, ever be planning something that dumb again."

    "I will keep that in mind."  Razor looked to Morphaeus.  "What is next?"

    "We have an election to win, My Lady.  Then," he exchanged significant looks with Rodimus, "then there will be a great many possibilities to discuss."




    Morphaeus handed Rodimus a tall glass of distilled energon.  "Thank you for coming.  It was good of you to come to keep up company while the election is evaluated."

    Rod lifted his glass in salute.  "Least we could do."  He looked over to where Raven had decamped to sit with Razorsharp and Velocity, trying to kill time before the returns were announced.  The evening news report continued on the vid screen, but aside from announcing that polls were closed on all planets, there was no real mention of the vitally important election.  "Have I been missing something, or are there no exit polls?"

    "I am not familiar with the term," Morphaeus said.

    "in certain Earth-countries, voters are questioned as they leave about how they voted. They are free not to answer, but news casters often use the results to forecast the election results."  Sirius joined them, accepting his own glass from Morphaeus.  Destiny hovered at his shoulder, refusing a refreshment with a shake of her head.  "It has led to great confusion in the past."

    "Ah.  I see.  No, Rodimus Prime, there are none of what you call 'exit polls.'  News agencies may not influence the outcome of any election.  Once the votes are tallied, Lord Lyphorous will make an official statement, which the networks are welcome to attend and broadcast."  He glanced over at the screen.  "It should not be much longer."

    "Is there such a thing as a recount?" Rod asked,

    "There is a process by which a losing candidate may contest an outcome, but a full recount is very rare.  And the presumptive winner is free to continue his own programs in the meantime.  The burden of proof rests with the challenger."

    "I'm a little surprised you don't resort to the Arena," rod commented.

    "Not everything in our culture centers around the Arena.  With any luck, you may be able to see this for yourself."  He looked over to where Razorsharp stood, beckoning to him.  "Come.  It is time."

    They stood in a semi-circle, gazing at the screen.  For a moment, it displayed only the news agency logo, then cut to Lyphorous, standing behind a sleek black podium.

    "Thank you, Lords and Ladies.  I will make only a brief statement, announcing the victor of the election.  There will be no further statement, or questions taken.  Votes have been tallied from the centers of government, and the results are thus.  With 74.8 percent of the vote, I hereby declare Morphaeus of Drolma III to be the victor.  Good night."  He walked off the stage amid a cacophony of shouted statements and questions.

    "That's it?" Rodimus asked, staring at the screen where full election results were scrolling by.  "We did it, and that's it?"

    "It is more than sufficient," Morphaeus replied, holding Razorsharp to his side in a tight grip.  "I have, somewhere, a very old bottle of fine energon distillate.  If any occasion calls for its opening, I believe this one does."  He looked from his mate to Rodimus.  "Shall we drink to new possibilities?"

    "I will certainly drink to that."

~~~
His Excellency, Lord Morphaeus, DevHoj of the Drolma System
together with his mate, the SevHoj, Lady Razorsharp,
Requests the honor of your presence at a
Reception in honor of the arrival of their heir,

Lord Zhirus.

Please present this invitation at the Great Hall, Ylarus.


    Rodimus handed the heavy engraved invitation to the guard at the door, who studied it carefully, then bowed and stepped aside, permitting them to enter.  Once inside, Raven offered the beautifully wrapped gift to a servant, who thanked them with a murmur and carried it to a table, where it was carefully opened and set out on display, a tasteful card identifying the giver.  The carefully written document granted the newborn the title 'Prince of Vilnacron,' and ensured his rights as a citizen of Cybertron to himself and his progeny in perpetuity.  It had been an issue of great debate in the Council for weeks, finally agreed on as a symbolic gesture welcoming the Drolmans back from their long exile.

    Slowly, they made their war through the crowds to the happy couple, seated in regal splendor at one end of the room, Sirius, Destiny and Velocity chatting nearby.

    Raven hugged the younger femme.  "It's good to see you again, child."

    "And you, Revered One.  The light of the Patrons shines on you, fills you with the joy of life."

    Raven smiled.  "Don't spread it around.  We're not telling anyone yet.  Verinox has sent a number of trax for you.  You can come to our quarters anytime for them."

    "I hope he was not too disappointed in my decision.  This is an important time for my family, and I should not miss it."

    "He was very understanding when I spoke to him.  He said the opportunity to study a continuing way of worship was a chance you shouldn't let pass.  And he hoped you were happy here."

    Velocity turned to look at her mother and step-father and new half-brother.  "I'm very happy here.  You can assure him of that."

    "I will."  Raven looked over to Razorsharp, then hugged the young femme again.  "I must speak to you mother.  Feel free to find me any time if you want to talk."

    "I will.  Thank you."

    She ascended the dais, Rodimus at her side, and Morphaeus stood to greet them.  "Welcome back, friends.  It seems too long since you were last with us."

    "Only the demands of duty could keep us from enjoying your delightful hospitality," Rodimus replied.  "The most sincere congratulations on behalf Optimus Prime and Elita-One, as well as ourselves."

    "Thank you, Rodimus Prime," Morphaeus intoned.  "You have given our son a great gift, and shown the way to our people.  We owe our future to Cybertron, and so it is to Cybertron, in a way, that we wish to make this gift.  We have offered, and Optimus Prime, in his wisdom, has accepted.  Lady Raven, we ask that you accept a role in our new government, as a member of my council and liaison to the Autobots.  Your courage and wisdom will be of great and continuing value to us in the days ahead."

    Raven's optics flashed between Morphaeus, Razorsharp, and Rodimus.  "You knew about this?" she asked her mate quietly.

    "I told you we'd think of something.  It's entirely up to you."

    She didn’t' think she could ever love him more than at that moment.  "I am honored you would think me worthy of such consideration, My Lord," she said, turning back to Morphaeus.  "And I accept your very generous offer with great pleasure."

    Razorsharp sighed dramatically.  "I see I am still not rid of you," she said in mock aggravation.

    Raven offered her a shrug very like Rodimus's.  "Well, better luck next time."

~THE END~

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