Astra Inclinant

by Sticky-Side-Stories (CampMithrilLake)

Summary:

Modern Cold Constructed Prowl is reborn millions of years in the ancient past of Cybertron. A time of magic and god-kings and royalty. As the unfavored creation of Praxus he finds himself used as a bargaining chip in a marriage.

Chapter 1: PROLOGUE 1: PROWL DIES

Drag Out was a tolerable partner.

Prowl would even be willing to concede to adequate as a descriptor. 

He was a pursuit model based off the repurposed racer frames the Council had deemed non-essential. He'd been assigned to their department as part of a cohort of newer models produced by Vector Sigma to replace the 280Xs who had been recalled. He's social programs were far more advanced and meant to put citizens more at ease as the face of most day-to-day interactions. He's sleeker design meant that actual pursuits were easier to run down and he could slip easily in between traffic. 

From the data Prowl had gathered he performed this function well within an acceptable percentile (93.4%).

Drag Out clearly knew what he was supposed to do and did do it but he was somewhat lazy in doing so taking longer than Prowl knew he needed (~x1.34). Drag Out was skilled enough that he would some days (3-5 per decacycle) laze about until he finished everything the last sixth of the day. During their patrols he insisted on taking the "scenic route" through the Old City which only Prowl agreed to due to a recent uptake in crime (+1.53%) with the phasing out of certain factory jobs.

The Old City was labeled such even in many official records and had been the former seat of power of the Primacy containing the Primal Palace, the Hall of Records, the Celestial Spires, and other heretical places lost time and decay.

It had long housed the functionless and lower caste in housing, both official and unlawful. Prowl was only so familiar with it due to his own work in helping to organize a manhunt and time working for the Curator. He had been part of the team that helped remove things from the Hall of Records for wiping once a working terminal and new hall had been unearthed in an earthquake. The Hall of Records had, like most of the Old City, been thoroughly covered by the remains of the fallen Towers and Spires which had never been removed. 

Drag Out liked to look at the old things and imagine what they had been in their prime. A dangerous notion that skirted the edge of heresy but never quite crossed over.

That was another mark against Drag Out leaving him only as adequate despite being Prowl's longest lasting partner. He was fond of dancing to the very edge of too far. Especially since he knew very well that Prowl's coding would force him to report any outright seditious sentiments and had skirted close enough for Prowl to voice a rebuke before.

He envied the colors of the artistic class talking long and often of the bright red a performer wore and how it would look on him with just an edge of gold detailing until Prowl had been forced to point out that wearing the paint of a different caste was a function crime as it sought to move beyond ones place.

He was intimately familiar with the movements of the Useless Ones and talked about their philosophy in a "theoretical sense" always carefully reporting sightings of the graffiti but never able to provide a useful descriptor of the dissident.

He knew medical repair techniques that should have been unlawful for a patrol unit and Prowl had almost had to report that until he'd confirmed a double function potential allowing him to be used as first responder in emergencies. That had been the closest and most dangerous incident. 

Drag Out didn't neglect his obligations though and was particularly careful to fulfill those as Prowl's handler. The forged unit meant to keep Prowl within acceptable range a task Chief Flatfoot had been happy to force upon the youngest forged model in the Department.

Drag Out took it startlingly seriously.

He playfully harassed Prowl into eating and recharging regularly, often whining if Prowl attempted to stay passed Drag Out's shift time and cut into his mandated socialization time. Drag Out forced Prowl to fulfill his own socialization standards as well though it was known CCs were not supposed to have the need quite as strongly given they were a step up from drones.

Prowl's previous handlers had simply stuck him in his storage unit with an uplink to approved entertainment videos and left it at that. One had taken him out at first but after Prowl had figured out the "club house" they went to was a cover for a bar and game den and reported it for Moral Crimes as his coding demanded that had ceased.

Drag Out insisted on taking Prowl out with him to barely legal races, street food vendors, cliffs overlooking the High Quarters to peer at the paint jobs of the high caste and rate them, and approved Enforcer bars for socialization. 

He did this despite the way it made the others in his cohort avoid him.

Though Prowl supposed discomfort of a drone's presence wasn't the only reason. Drag Out had a cutting acidic tongue that no one was safe from. He'd turned it on Prowl on more than one occasion, but Prowl had never strictly disagreed with those assessments unless they were factually incorrect.

The first time he had corrected Drag Out that he could not be "the glitched cold Sparked creation of a functionless scrapheap" due to not strictly being any mech's creation and legally the Functionalist Council decreed he did not have a Spark, Drag Out had burst out laughing.

He even insisted on performing Prowl's physical maintenance personally rather than sending him to the Repair Unit. It was preferable. Prowl found himself less productive after the times spent "checking" on his processor when he went there. The frame inspections were often stringent and would leave him with aches that slowed his reaction rates.

Drag Out was in contrast much more careful and far less debilitating and only ever touched the injured area.

Prowl made sure to reiterate Drag Out's positive features during times when the other officer was being particularly trying.

Such as not wanting to finish part of their patrol route for the third time due to concern he'd be scratched in the increased traffic brought in by the celebration of the Fall of the Mad Prime.

---

:: Skipping one loop would not be the end of law and order as we know it. :: Drag Out whined over their shared comm channel, slowly easing around the non-sentient barges parked along the cordoned off side road connecting to the Path of Enlightenment.

The barges would be hooked up to special convoys, reformatted specifically for this purpose who’d been reprogrammed for the careful slow drive needed to lead the Dark Dawn Procession along without disrupting the live play that would be taking place on them. It traced the entire rise and fall of the Mad Prime and subsequently the birth of the first Council that brought order to Cybertron in the chaos following the fall. A celebration of the end of the Dark Ages that believed in Primes and magical artifacts over scientific classification and the purity of function and Primus's One Word directly from Vector Sigma and the supercomputer's component pieces.

:: I have never stated that it would. :: Prowl replied back, easing along the side street, careful to keep an eye out for maintenance drones doing last minute checks.

:: You certainly do a good imitation of believing it then, Boss. :: Drag Out said with a sub-glyph that Prowl was now able to identify snide.

:: My correct designation is Prowl. :: Was his only counter as he approached the turn off leading to the even narrower alley connecting the barges to the main street.

The first three, the opening act, were neatly lined up taking up almost the entire space. Prowl transformed into root mode to go around them, doing a quick visual scan to check if anything was amiss. The barges looked up to code so far. They were carefully maintained artifacts built during the first golden centuries called the Age of Reason when the Functionalist Council spread the taxonomy to every part of Cybertron and fit every Cybertronian into the perfect interlocking system. Or so they said.

“It’s certainly accurate,” Drag Out continued, taking the opposite side and checking even as he complained. “Anyone listening would think you were the handler and me some cogheaded technician wet behind the wheel wells.”

Prowl noted the tone and lack of substantial content and suspected that Drag Out was likely (78%) simply in the mood to complain. It was an aspect that Prowl did not understand, but exposure had taught him it was a less troublesome habit comparatively. Drag Out was also generally (in 93% of cases) more agreeable after he had “purged it from his system” (a phrase Prowl’s former handler Beat had been fond of using). Prowl started up a saved subroutine to track Drag Out’s chatter in the background in case it contained anything significant and dump the data after if there were no keywords triggered. Then he focused on his inspection.

It was rather peaceful even if there was no moment of silence until they got to the front.

Then they arrived at the first barge which should be the throne room in which the Mad Prime’s predecessor would monologue before the fateful moment of his death. Prowl had done inspections before.

He’d become familiar with the exact setup of the barge order when a bomb threat had occurred during the first festival of his existence. The barge was meant to be a monochrome display of black and white marble on the bottom with the thirteen sided throne and the five pronged star tipped model Sovereign’s Staff representing the Guiding Hand was meant to be the only color beyond Sentinel Prime’s “garish orange” (Drag Out’s assessment). The stage should have been empty, more than ready for the actor to mount and perform when needed.

Instead seated on the throne with a blank (bored, Prowl corrected himself) expression, legs spread wide and posture lazy was a threateningly Energon pink mechanism that Prowl recognized. One arm was propped on the arm of the throne, the servo cupping her face as she leaned into it. The other drummed a nonsense pattern on the flat side of the sword laid across her lap. She had no doubt noticed them already but had yet to react.

Arcee, Prowl identified immediately pulling up relevant files.

The Mad Femme of the Wastes. Extremely dangerous. Warrant for arrest in all polities.

“Arcee of the Wastes, place your weapon down and come in peacefully,” Prowl said, drawing his acid rifle without hesitation. Arcee had an automatic threat rate of three qualifying even the most peaceful encounter to be potentially fatal.

Drag Out made a staticky noise of surprise but Prowl heard the quiet buzz of his blaster being released.

Arcee looked up slowly, sanguine pink eyes glowing brightly as she slowly met Prowl’s gaze and made an expression similar to a smile though with too many teeth. “Oh, can’t a poor old femme take a little rest? All this excitement just rattles my old struts.”

“It is a Level Four Heresy for a non-approved person to board a barge meant for the Path of Enlightenment.” Prowl responded automatically, already running through scenarios and calculations for the percentage of surviving the confrontation. “You are not on the list of chosen entertainers and have been exiled from entering the borders of the polity of Iacon upon pain of deactivation per the Functionalist Council’s Ruling on the 3rd Chord of the 5th Cycle of 1245. Your current crime will be reported. Any cooperation on your part will be taken into account for sentencing. Do you have any statement you would like to make before arrest?”

“Hm,” Arcee said, lifting her servo to tap her lips with one digit, other servo moving along the blade to grip the hilt as she lounged back in the chair unbothered. “I do have one. I won’t be deactivating until the Council does so if you don’t want to get hurt little Prowler move along and let an old mechanism to her long earned vengeance.”

Prowl did not bother answering or reacting visibly to her remembering his designation. He pushed his battle computer to one hundred percent control, linked it to the share comm channel so it could provide live updates and suggestions to Drag Out, and fired.

Arcee, as he’d calculated (67%), dodged.

---

Arcee had not killed them yet, which was less a testament of their skill as her desire to keep things quiet as their deactivation would instantly be noted by the Central Hub. Instead her first moved was to slam Prowl’s helm against the road hard enough to destroy his right audial transmitter and pull out both of Drag Out’s finials, brutally removing their long distance comm systems from play.

The actions had cost her though, putting her close enough to Prowl and without the appropriate deadly force to impair his ability to react. He burst his own acid pellets on her joints directly, aiming for her left knee he remembered her complaining about as she dug her claws through the casing of his helm to keep hold of him and slammed him down again and again.

The pain was enough for her to snarl and rear back, stumbling as the acid melted through her already weakened wires. Prowl used the move to roll away closer to Drag Out.

It barely put him far enough to avoid retaliation from her sword.

The tips of the digits on his left hand had lost feeling as they bubbled and melted away.

He was on his pedes instantly though, dropping the rifle that was his preference and drawing the knives that Arcee herself had gifted him. Flatfoot had made an exception for his melee weaponry to allow them when he’d proven skilled enough in them to disarm as well as dismember.

There was the slightest pause a ripple of restrained fondness he recognized as the strange emotion he had never been able to identify in his early years, before her expression flattened and she bared her teeth coming forward with more ferocity and precision.

The fighting would attract attention soon, there was no way it couldn’t on such a busy day.

Especially not with Drag Out’s familiar loud running commentary and occasional shriek as he nimbly dodged Arcee’s strikes. Drag Out had wisely drawn his own melee weapon, a shock baton that could grow into a staff weapon he used now to keep distance.

“Stay still!” Arcee ordered with a grin that bordered on amusement.

“No!” Drag Out responded, dropping and rolling across the throne room, flipping onto his back to parry a thrust with his stun staff.

Arcee laughed as Prowl lunged forward hoping to use the distraction.

A bad move as Arcee twirled seamlessly, leg shooting up to hit him directly in the bumper above his Spark chamber and send him flying.

He heard a shout from Drag Out distantly as he was thrown out of the alley and rolling onto the Path of Enlightenment. He manually numbed his door wings the moment the hit connected, curling forward but aware that he did not have the control to land without injuring them.

When he connected there was a crack that would have foretold excruciating pain if not for the cutoff. Instead all the feed from the wing stopped instantly, leaving Prowl’s processor spinning rapidly to compensate.

Rolling onto his servos and knees he found the hydraulic pressure of the lines connecting to the door wing zeroed out and the few wires left connecting them loose and hanging.

It was dead weight.

His chances of survival plummeted by the nanoklik (13%…11%…9.5%…).

:: PR--L ---E! :: The local comm channel blared sticky and incoherent, glyphs not fully translating. His audio receptors were completely shot leaving the world silent as he raised his spinning head to try and look back to where Drag Out had been left to fight the old warrior alone.

Instead of a clear road all he saw was headlights of a convoy driving unhesitating to him.

(1%…0.5%…0.000001%…)

He turned off his tactile suite the moment before impact.

Chapter 2: PROLOGUE 2: PROWL LIVES

Notes:

This was a monster of a chapter and the next one is going to be worse. But Prowl's (second/first) childhood is done! And this fic is alive!

Given the fact Camshaft had been missing in action for three vorns, Downshift had reluctantly accepted that his partner was truly lost. It left him as senior operator under Overdrive's command with his workload doubled and it had only been made worse with the heir apparent was announced. In a way the business following the disappearance was almost a blessing, thoroughly distracting him from any grief.

The moment Downshift settled down enough to mourn, the wily bastard decided it was the perfect time to announce his survival.

::Hear the Silver Hen's laid an egg. ETA 2 Quartexes.::

Downshift had laughed until he cried.

Of course Camshaft would wait until Silverstreak had finally managed to finish delivering an heir to show back up. It was probably his plan from the beginning. The First Conjunx had made his opinion on the Emperor's Official Amica and all the requirements that came with that position very clear. Camshaft might not have been competing but it was a race nonetheless for who could kindle first. One Silverstreak could finally be satisfied to have won with the emergence of Prince Crosscut.

Camshaft had yet to kindle despite the very active favor the Emperor had long shown him.

Or, at least, that's what Downshift had thought until he found a pair of intense minuscule blue optics identical to the Emperor's staring at him from Camshaft's arms.

"What is that?" Downshift asked, despairing and praying to Primus and all the Guiding Hand, and Primes too just to cover his bases, he wasn't seeing what he thought he was.

Camshaft wrinkled his nose at him, blast mask down in the safety of the Back Rooms. "That is a sparkling. Mine to be exact. I've named him Prowl."

Prowl made a small binary beep in apparent agreement taking on a slightly judgmental expression that mirrored Camshaft's own that something that small should not have been able to manage. Of course, Camshaft's spawn would though. And the sparkling had to be Camshaft and the Emperor's.

He was miniscule and already fully colored--a bad thing given that Prince Crosscut was still freshly unfurled silver--though the colors were mostly plain. A startling white-and-black color scheme and gray protoform were likely inherited from Camshaft's more simplified design of mostly gray and black. The colors themselves were richer than Camshaft's, a deeper black and glossy white, though Downshift could put that down on the rounded sparkling clearly never having been starved with very healthy nanites. He wasn't all plain though and the bright red of the chevron and hint of developing red joints and biolights were clear marks of another parent. He didn't have the same heavily stylized kibble that came from noble lines (a product of breeding and carry-coding though Downshift knew mentioning the later was asking to be executed) and would have been considered plain by their standards, but there were undeniable traces. Not only door wings and a chevron, a hint that the other parent was at least nobility, but a center crest and the prong sharp wing tips both in imperial gold and double hinges wings. 

A disaster in the making given Prince Crosscut's small rounded wings that no one was foolish enough to point out. Or the simplified chevron.

"You hate me don't you? That's why you've done this," Downshift dropped his head to the desk so he didn't have to see the horror in front of him.

He heard an offended sniff from Camshaft before he responded coldly.

"Interestingly, my reproductive choices have nothing to do with you."

Downshift groaned, allowing it to putter out into a whine. That voice, the chill and hint of threat from Camshaft, one of the most dangerous agents in the Empire would be enough to intimidate most mechanisms, but not Downshift. They'd known each other since they were mechlings. It was strangely comforting to hear the undertone of threat again.

"The First Conjunx is going to order me to kill you in your sleep."

Camshaft scoffed. "Please. He'll get over it. Besides it would take more than you to kill me."

---

The First Conjunx of the Imperial House of Praxus did not, in fact, "get over it".

Though, thankfully, he was smart enough to not try and get the Emperor's own agents to eliminate the competition. Downshift had known it was inevitable though after seeing Silverstreak's face when Proteus had Camshaft present Prowl informally to court. Downshift had expected the First Conjunx to have better spies in place and to have at least heard a rumor about Camshaft's new addition given how little he was hiding it. The clear expression of rage only barely contained after the initial shock told Downshift that they'd apparently done better about containing the information than intended.

Silverstreak was as patient as he was vicious and nothing happened for long enough that Downshift's Energon pressure was getting ready to burst. When it did come it was when the Emperor, still riding on his uncharacteristically familial feelings, granted Prowl a household, converting one of the old lake houses built for the favored mistress of an Empress a few generations back into royal compartments. It was small, what nobility considered a "cottage", but lush and upgraded before Prowl was moved in and on the shores of the lake that the Conjunx Palaces resided. The First Conjunx's personal palace, the Opal Palace, was directly across the sparkling mithril waters. The location and pretty building were a disaster from a security standpoint with far too many entrances and a security system from the dark ages. 

Even worse was the fact that Prowl had staff.

All of whom they'd had to independently verify and hire because the Imperial Households were under the First Conjunx's purview after the Dowager Carrier's passing. Downshift graciously refused the First Conjunx's offer to assist on Camshaft's behalf. The hiring was a very time consuming and annoying process to root out Silverstreak's spies which left the house mostly unattended and Camshaft paranoid since he was being forced to stay in official housing now instead of the Back Rooms for appearance sake.

A Royal Carrier had less leeway than an spy/bodyguard playing at Official Amica.

A paranoia that proved well founded when a Sparkling's scream cut through them (mostly Downshift) sorting through applications for a housekeeper. The last one had a Conjunx with a gambling debt that made her too risky for blackmail despite her other qualifications. 

Camshaft disappeared before the first warble was properly processed through Downshift’s audio processor. Downshift tried to rush afterward, but his joints seized up at the quick movement freezing him. He never hated his injuries more than in that moment, watching Camshaft's back and hearing Prowl scream while he waited for his joints to reset. 

He followed Camshaft at his fastest speed once he could move, Spark compressed in his chest. 

Prowl abruptly stopped screaming as he crested the corner of the room. 

Downshift pulled out an acid pistol. 

The taut silence broke with the screeching sound of rending metal and something slamming into someone with a wet gurgle.

He couldn't stop himself from collapsing to the ground at the sight of the nursery when he entered. Energon was everywhere. The energy keeping him upright and moving left him in a terrible instant before he actual processed the reality.

Camshaft with pink covering his lower face was checking over Prowl, alive with distinct oil steaks down his cheeks and whose wings were high and moving in rapid distressed circles despite his silence. 

At his feet were two mechs, one with a vibroblade with the hilt sticking out the bottom of their jaw. Their color was already starting to fade in death. They had been a clean kill, closest to the door and simply in the way.

The other was beside the bassinet. They were gurgling from an opening in their throat, their optics still flickering with power. Downshift cataloged the full damage with careful distance. The tensile wires at the knees were so ripped out the lower half of the legs were practically detached, servos missing and sparking where they should be, and all of the throat tubing bitten out. 

Downshift pushed himself back up unsteadily, pulling along the doorframe. Dull green optics met his as he made his way closer, shuffling to the assassin when he regained strength in his shrieking knee joints that were unwilling to react to his commands, leaving him to walk in a stilted, stiff gait.

The would be assassin gave him a hopeful look when Downshift pressed firmly against the tubing and drew out a medical kit.

It vanished when he slipped a chord into the connector port at the back of the mech's helm and ripped viciously into the unprepared processor. Downshift would find out who sent him.

---

Camshaft vanished for a decaorn following that, getting Overdrive to create some sort of cover mission for the Emperor, and tucking Prowl safely into the Back Rooms while Downshift avoided, lied, and ignored his way through anyone searching for him, keeping up the cover that he was being housed in the lake house.

There was no connection to the First Conjunx Silverstreak. He was much too clever for that, going through several layers of covers. Without proof there was no way they could bring it up to the Emperor. 

Camshaft returned with a dangerous glint in his optics Downshift recognized and he presented his own finds in offering.

The First Conjunx may be careful, but his brother was much less cautious when he sent poisoned Energon for the nursery.

---

Duke Bluesilver retired without warning to the country within a decaorn though rumors circled on the exact reasons why all agreed the Duke had last been spotted with a blast mask covering the lower part of his famously handsome face.

---

(Only three people knew that the First Conjunx had awoken in the night to see his brother's lower jaw resting beside him on his bed and an assassin soothing a dozing Crosscut.)

---

Camshaft's threat earned vorns of peace. A peace that wasn't shattered by anyone within the palace. No, it was someone else joining the Imperial Family. Emperor Proteus getting a Second Conjunx was always going to be a helmache, but the fact the Conjunxing was forced to prevent war only made it worse.

Their Emperor decided to seduce a trainee Torchbearer while visiting Solus Prime's Temple. Even worse the trainee Torchbearer was Sparked from the encounter and the Mistress of Flame became involved personally. It was an unspoken fact that should the Emperor refuse the match and therefore leave Lady Dust Up to be disgraced it would mean war for "befouling" one of the sacred maidens meant to tend Solus's Flame.

Downshift spent three very tense decaorns convinced they'd go to war due to the Emperor's pride.

Thankfully they wouldn't have to test their military against the Follower of Solus Prime or any polity allying with them. Second Conunx Dust Up proved to be charming enough to convince the Emperor on her own. 

A love match the rumors–at least forty percent of which was likely Overdrive’s propaganda to help ease the transition–said. Downshift knew from more reliable sources that the Emperor seemed smitten and was favoring Dust Up, lingering at her side, and holding her servo while she labored despite the normal standards that would put him far from the room. It was he who held the newest prince first and even allowed the Second Conjunx to select a designation.

Prince Smokescreen's birth was celebrated with the same pomp and color as the Imperial Heir.

A fact that First Conjunx Silverstreak was seething over according to reports.

Downshift's processor throbbed with the stress of the chaos and his new duty to protect the Second Conjunx from the predators that made up the Royal Court. Second Conjunx Dust Up was pretty and charming and young. But she was also naïve, devout, and inexperienced.

Downshift was certain she'd be eaten alive.

The new Prince was dozing in her arms rather than those of a nursery attendant. A charming "peasant" habit the First Conjunx had been sneering over since Dust Up arrived and spent her first week in Praxus sharing the Imperial Palace Grounds with the First Conjunx. The Second Conjunx was proving to have much more relaxed views on courtly behavior that seemed to endear as well as alienate. The silver and blue mechanism followed behind Downshift with twinkling blue optics, slowly taking in the Argent Palace she'd been assigned. It was traditionally reserved for the Heir Apparent's household. A fact that showed just how favored Dust Up was. Something that had escaped no one's notice.

Downshift was showing her the Singing Hall when Prowl, unattended, stepped out of a room they were passing, an adult sized datapad clutched in his servos.

Downshift didn't stumble, but it was a near thing, leaving him leaning heavily on his cane.

Dust Up noticed instantly, optics flickering to Prowl, and showing obvious surprise but no hostility. Downshift had a sudden wonder if she'd been apprised of Prowl's existence.

"Downshift," Prowl greeted, voice high and inflections smoothed out, too formal subglyphs mixing into Downshift's designation in a way that would send the court into a frenzy if they heard. His blue optics moved to Dust Up and the recognition was immediate as well as the focus onto the small figure she held. 

His little doorwings twitched up to a perfect thirty-five degrees Court etiquette demanded and he carefully bowed fully at the waist, changing his subglyphs to something even more formal and archaic rarely heard outside of official ceremony. "The lowly one offers humble grreetings to Your Most Imperial Majesty, the Royal Carrier, Silver Moon of the Empire, Second Conjunx Dust Up, and His Highness Smokescreen, Star of the Sky, Prince Argent."

Well, at least Downshift knew Prowl had finished the etiquette modules he’d finally convinced Camshaft he should learn. Unfortunately, and characteristically, Camshaft had clearly chosen ones from the Bronze Age likely for equal parts whimsy and spite. Prowl was always a good student though, so it was painfully matching in outdated etiquette. The overly gracious greeting worked through the sheer ridiculousness of coming from someone so small.

Dust Up laughed, gentle and pretty in a manner that made her charm clear to see. Downshift carefully did not react when she bent down to get to her knees at Prowl’s height.

“The Second Conjunx accepts this greeting,” Dust Up responded with a brief moment of equal seriousness before her smile returned. “Please though, we must have things less formal between us. When in private, no titles. My designation or even whatever form of Carrier you and Camshaft are comfortable with. We’re family now!” 

Dust Up’s field projected a joy that made Downshift flinch and Prowl’s optics blow wide when it hit him. “I am so excited to meet you, dear! The Emperor told me all about you. Are you here to meet your brother? How are your lessons going? Your Sire mentioned you’ve soared through the early modules already! What is your favorite subject? Anything in particular you are eager to learn?”

Downshift did not stare. He did however note that Second Conjunx Dust Up would likely need extra lessons in comportment given how she talked a blue streak so rapidly she almost tripped over the glyphs. They almost blurred together into one ceaseless blended noise. 

Prowl’s response, after a thoughtful frown, was much slower in comparison, carefully measuring his words. “Dust Up will be an acceptable manner of address then. You may call me Prowl. Terms of endearment are unneeded and presumptive.”

Downshift didn’t wince. Alright, perhaps he’d been too soon to comment on Prowl’s manners. That would have to be corrected before the Emperor made one of his rare visits. He would not be near as forgiving.

Dust Up though nodded carefully. “Sorry. I get a bit ahead of myself in excitement. Prowl it is.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said, head tilted back to maintain optic contact with Dust Up’s nose, an unwavering imitation of direct optic contact. “I am not here to meet Smokescreen as I was unaware you would be present, not due to any particular aversion to meeting. I am here to finish inspecting the facilities for safety measures. Camshaft has tasked me with finding three areas with security risk and coming up with potential countermeasures.” 

“And have you?” The tone was indulgent but strangely lacked a patronizing edge.

“I have found seven. I am currently doing a walk through to determine the most effective camera placement to account for the blindspots I have found.”

Downshift fought the sharp spike of pride inside him and instead focused on Dust Up’s reaction. 

She looked taken aback but quickly caught herself. “Thank you for your diligence in making sure we’re safe.”

“It is my duty,” Prowl said.

There was something in that sentence. Something solemn and serious and meaningful that Downshift didn’t quite understand.

“My lessons have been satisfactory. I have a preference for mathematics though my current lessons are simplistic in nature. In turn I am ‘eager’ to have more stimulating coursework to fill my time.”

“I am certain your lessons will improve,” Dust Up said and angled the Prince in her arms to face Prowl, drawing his attention. The normal blank face changed. It grew intense and focused, blue optics bright as he got to see the sparkling. The expression grew into something slightly softer, fascination with each movement.

It was the first time Prowl would have seen another sparkling, Downshift realized with a jolt. They had kept him carefully cocooned since the Energon poisoning attempt and at times it was easy to forgot the four vorn old was a child with how he acted as a little adult and Camshaft’s judgemental shadow.

It was much easier to see in his expression looking at the Prince.

“Would you like to look closer?” Dust Up’s said in a soft voice and Prowl looked uncertain, hesitating before seeming to brace himself and stepping closer leaning over the younger sparkling.

“He is very small,” Prowl said, matching Dust Up’s volume and Downshift saw him startle when the Prince’s optics, newborn silver-white opened and turned to look at him. There was a long moment when the two sparklings, half-siblings apart in appearance and status, stared at each other equally enraptured.

“Greetings Smokescreen.”

It was a delicate moment and Dust Up spoke up in an equally tender tone with a gentle correction. 

“Smokey.”

“Smokey,” Prowl echoed and was rewarded with a bright grin and beeping giggle. One of the young Prince’s hands reached out to him. Prowl looked at it perplexed, glancing at Dust Up for direction.

“He wants your finger.”

Prowl offered the digit slowly and the Prince grasped on, giving another high excited beep. 

Prowl lit up.

When he spoke next it was in a gently stern voice. “You may not keep my digit, but I will allow you to hold it temporarily.”

They stayed there for a solid ten minutes.

When they parted the Second Conjunx told Prowl firmly that he was allowed to visit his brother whenever he wanted.

---

Prowl was in Overdrive's office. 

Next to Overdrive. 

Overdrive, who infamously despised sparklings.

They were sitting at the side table reserved for guests with a Fulstasis table between them fully engaged in a game. Prowl, at six vorns, was not yet high enough to reach over the table and this had been rectified with a pile of cushions he perched on with an imperiousness that was all the Emperor. It was a startling similarity for a mechling that seemed wholly Camshaft's at every turn.

“And if I win?” Overdrive drawled, voice dripping with amusement and clearly in the middle of a conversation. 

“No,” Prowl answered, cutting and firm and high, not removing his gaze from the board until, finally, he lifted up one of the pieces and moved it diagonally crossing through almost three full quadrants. “I will not bet my future on a game of chance.”

Overdrive made a clicking noise in the back of his vocalizer, dismissive and scalding, optics narrowing as he glanced over the board considering. “Fullstasis is a game of strategy not chance little one. Your Carrier’s penchant for risk taking should not be taken as standard.”

“All strategy is chance,” Prowl countered and looked up from the board. “Fullstasis, seven moves.”

“Not quite,” Overdrive replied, moving one piece and the board color shifted allowing two more moves, before he reclined back. “Explain.”

Prowl ignored him for a moment, critically examining the new battlefield and offered. “Eleven moves. Strategy is built off data of past encounters. How tides turned, what choices paid off, what were doomed to fail. The soundest strategies choose the options with the highest percentage of success, but the data itself is always built of people.” 

“People often controlled by emotions over logic. No one can fully understand another at every moment. You guess the proper response or likely choices based on rules and experience. Battles can take sudden unexpected turns because no data is complete. When employing strategy you always bet on the chance your data is sufficient enough.”

“Cybertronians are fickle, so you are always playing games of chances with them?” Overdrive sounded delighted.

Overdrive should never sound delighted.

“And because you believe there’s a possibility your read on my strategies are incorrect and may lose you refuse to bet.”

Prowl nodded firmly, adjusting his back battle line and moving another distant piece three hexagons over.

“I will not. I would also make a poor successor. We do not possess the same skill set though there are artificial similarities. I also have an insufficient skill with deception. It is a necessary one for the role.”

“We can teach you to lie better.”

“I will not improve,” Prowl said instead. “I have other skill sets I will build that will benefit Praxus.”

Overdrive hummed thoughtful, glancing over the mechling and ignoring the board for a moment. “That I cannot disagree with. Downshift are you going to continue to linger or enter the room?”

Downshift set his jaw and entered, smiling at Prowl, whose doorwings had fluttered at his name. The mechling leaned around his chair to look at him with large eyes, looking much too relaxed to be next to the Praxian Left Servo.

“Greetings Downshift. Have you finished the paperwork you were letting pileup?”

Downshift forced a smile and walked to his superior. “I was not letting it pileup, Prowl. I always finish on time. I had other concerns.”

Like why you are alone with the second most dangerous mechanism in the Empire.

“Exactly on time,” Overdrive quipped taking the datapads with a dismissive look and then in an action that made Downshift’s gears grind, offered the stack to Prowl. The small mechling, hopped off his tower of cushions and walked around the table that hid him from view to accept the stack and go to Overdrive’s desk.

No, to a portable writing desk that had been converted into a makeshift desk for Prowl given how he sat down on the foot rest next to it and began reading through them. Each received a minute or two of a intense focus before being sorted into different piles. Half of which Prowl typed something on and set aside. The other half of which were neatly set beside Overdrive’s favorite light pen for review.

Downshift couldn’t stop himself. “How long has this been going on?”

It was an accusation. He’d meant it to come out as a joke, acceptable to demand, but there was no dulling the edge.

Overdrive looked like he wanted to laugh at him.

Prowl looked up and responded blandly. “Approximately two and one half quartexes. When you are unavailable, Camshaft assigns me to Overdrive for supervision. He made a requirement of this agreement that I do something productive. Sorting through unrestricted information to smooth operations was decided to be an appropriately non-taxing option with little security risk.”

That datapad only was only authorized to be viewed by five people total in the Empire.

Downshift received a standard memo that his work had been accepted and Prowl focused back downwards.

Overdrive was gazing at the mechling with an intense mix of near fondness and calculation.

A ping interrupted the taut silence and Prowl stood up.

“Camshaft has messaged. His mission is complete and he will return shortly. I am to meet him in the lobby so we may rendezvous with the Second Conjunx and Prince Smokescreen. I have finished the data sorting.”

“We will have to pause our game here then.” Prowl nodded and paused beside Downshift. 

“Camshaft says ‘Tell Downshift he better get his aft to the Lake House for supper.’ It is within the range for a randomized sweep for bugs and I believe Camshaft wishes for your assistance as well as a social visit. Farewell Overdrive. Do not rearrange the pieces again.”

Overdrive waved with a chuckle and met Downshift’s gaze unflinching. “I only did it once to test his recall. He has distrusted me on the matter ever since.”

He smiled down at the board in a way that made Downshift’s plating itch.

“Who’s winning?” he asked and somehow landed on casual.

Overdrive hummed, thoughtful. Or faux thoughtful anyway.

“Hard to say. Little Prowl is truly vicious when he wants to be and seems to be getting a feel for me. Camshaft really outdid himself with his creation. A shame he refuses to be trained as his successor. But he isn’t wrong. There are other ways to apply such skill."

Downshift was suddenly very, very concerned at exactly whose successor Overdrive was imagining Prowl as.

---

Being called directly to the Emperor's side was never a good thing. Before Downshift had been grounded it was unimaginable. Direct interactions with someone so high ranking would be resigned to Overdrive, who had the pedigree even with the bastardy for it not to be an insult. Downshift was now the main holder of the keys to the Back Rooms though and a very center hub to their network. Despite Overdrive being the leader, Downshift had, mostly against his will, been firmly shifted into Second.

Which meant he had to act as fill-in when needed.

Like when receiving the Emperor's personal requests or assignments.

He'd expected another liaison to be quietly Conjunxed to someone of appropriate rank or a debt from betting to be settled. He didn't expect to be handed a list of subjects and told to find appropriate and trustworthy tutors for "my spare" by the Emperor. He didn't let the shock show. 

The Emperor hadn't acknowledged Prowl directly for three vorns. He'd never been doting, but he had occasionally checked in and given gifts. Dust Up, true to her amicable nature, had encouraged it. She was much more doting on her step-creation, though Prowl mostly gave her politely puzzled looks. He in turn doted on her offspring.

The doting, interestingly, had not vanished with the Emperor’s favor and instead Dust Up made a point of simply arranging private time to “run into” Prowl when the Emperor was distracted. 

Downshift had never gotten the full story of the visit that had ended this, Camshaft wore an icy expression that not even Downshift could push against, but it had been vorns of absence though Prowl was never sent away or had his household "reduced". 

The Emperor simply didn't mention him or invite the child into his presence.

It had aligned with the first instance of Prowl’s “glitch”, something that was actively forbidden to be spoken of. Prowl had taken the health issue with surprising, or perhaps characteristic, calm at seven vorns when he’d woken strapped to a medical berth too large for him and surrounded by a sea of wires and machines. Camshaft had spent the time tracking down the only medic they could trust and smuggling them into the Capital while Downshift had barely held the line against a needler being summoned to “fix” Prowl at Silverstreak’s suggestion.

Overdrive, the canny bastard, had been the one who’d ultimately dissuaded the Emperor with cautious words about Iacon finding out about the weakness given all needlers's first loyalty came from there. 

The medic had made certain it was not needed in the end.

Downshift hated his Emperor some days.

Looking over the list, Downshift was almost entirely certain the Emperor hadn't remembered his responsibility to his acknowledged bastard. Or suddenly had a change of Spark.

No, this was Overdrive's meddling. And his debt collection in one.

Camshaft took it in stride, not even hinting at any worry about the potentially perceived favor. He, frustratingly, offered a similar reason to the Emperor. Prowl required a formal education. He was a member of the Imperial family despite the Emperor's "leniency" in allowing Camshaft to raise him and keeping him away from the public. 

Camshaft at least offered the assurance that Silverstreak would be too distracted soon to note any changes within Prowl's household.

The next decacycle, Dust Up announced she had kindled once more.

---

Downshift was not fussing. Triple checking pre-mission was standard. Besides Camshaft hadn’t been on a long mission since Prowl was born, rarely taking anything longer than a decacycle. A creation had turned him into a regular homebody and his work focused mainly on the capital, leading the to outsource to the trainees he’d agreed to torment into shape.

“You're fussing,” Camshaft accused, optics two degrees brighter in a smile. He’d been practically skipping to “finally” have proper fieldwork now that Prowl’s Spark had fully stabilized at ten vorns and didn’t require a creator’s nearby.

Camshaft was propped in the corner, in the middle of reassembling his rifle after giving it a quick wipe down. It had been stored long enough to have a few droplets of dust on it. He’d already replaced his battlemask with a sturdier version and his armor had clearly gone through a refinish and tune up.

“I am not,” Downshift denied as he repacked the kit, adding another packet of nanite gels.

The latest assignment to bring the newest Consort, Flowspade, a calculated political union on the part of Tarn, from the foreign city-state across potential hostile territory. Kaon held sway over Tarn as Iacon did over Praxus and their Polar State was not pleased by Praxus push for new alliance. Almost as upset as Kaon was about Tarn’s. Neither Polar State currently had the power to directly oppose their orbital states, Praxis was the center of the Tri-Peninsular Empire and Tarn was the manufacturing powerhouse of the south ready to throw itself around.

It was a declaration of independence and provocation that Downshift knew they couldn’t let stand.

He hadn’t been able to find a single trace of movement on either side, which meant either high skill or they were waiting. Neither were particular good options and his instincts were screaming there was no waiting.

He despised Camshaft being in the middle of it, because he had a terrible feeling. 

“Downshift,” Camshaft said, after a few quiet moments Downshift spiraling.

Downshift looked up and Camshaft looked–

Sad. Vulnerable. Serious.

Downshift froze.

“I-”

Before Camshaft could find the words there was a low tone in warning and part of the wall disappeared revealing Prowl. He’d found them quicker than expected. And was going through another growth spurt soon judging by the flaking paint at the edge of his joints. There wasn’t much, Prowl was too meticulous with cleanliness for it to linger, but it was there anyway. Downshift made a mental note to ping the medic to come help with the transition. While nothing had happened the time before Prowl was coming up on being an adolescent and the next growth spurt would be a dramatic one replacing most of the remainder of his baby armor.

It was physically stressful enough to be a potential trigger.

Camshaft shifted the moment Prowl walked in waving his son over. 

Prowl, face in a neutral serenity that signaled a good mood, walked over obediently. Camshaft pulled him into a quick hug, one that Prowl even returned with a quick squeeze before releasing.

Downshift held his tongue shelving his uneasy to listen as Camshaft cheerfully interrogated his son on his first day with the new tutors Dust Up had recommended and Prowl's calm but detailed breakdown.

He was especially enthusiastic when he got to the part about being permitted access to the Royal Library now. Apparently, there was much he did not know and he looked forward to correcting this “deficit” in himself. The rest of the evening was mostly Prowl outlining his study plan and topics he intended to cover, listening to their suggestions and dismissing and adding them based off his own private evaluation system.

Downshift stayed through the evening meal and long enough to send Prowl to recharge.

By the time he went to leave a silence had grown warm and thoughtful. Camshaft decided to walk him to the Back Rooms, fussy in his own way. He didn’t speak until they crossed the threshold. The words immediately chilled him.

“If anything happens you have to promise to protect Prowl.”

“Cam,” Downshift started. He’d never seen Camshaft look so sad and serious at him.

“Promise.”

Downshift reset his vocalizer, disliking the cold sensation in his limbs.

“Whatever it takes.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

---

Camshaft was dead.

Downshift denied it right up until Overdrive took him to see the body. The Imperial Consort had thought to bring it back with her. In respect for the sacrifice made to protect her, she’d told them coolly, and then gave sympathies for their loss before departing. Overdrive passed them on as if they meant anything.

As if Downshift could do anything with words.

Camshaft was dead.

Camshaft was supposed to be unkillable.

Downshift looked at the empty shell, pitted with wounds and optics were lifeless glass with no glow, limbs stiff as the Energon settled into the tanks already gunking and charge faded. The body was gray and was the right shape and frame, but Downshift’s mind still rejected it. Rejected it right up until they cracked open the chassis at his insistence and found the matching scar on the protoform under his Spark cradle that Downshift had. 

It was the glyphs for Slow-Walk that was the first half of Downshift’s designation. Next to it, more recently added was the glyph for Slow-Hunt. It could only be for Prowl and it was the first time Downshift had seen exactly how Camshaft had written the name.

Downshift had the glyph Opposite-Force under his Spark.

Camshaft was supposed to be unkillable.

Prowl needed a new caretaker. 

That caretaker couldn’t be Downshift.

After he finished smelting the body, Prowl would never see Camshaft like that, he went to Dust Up.

She was waiting for him, face carved into a sadness he almost believed. Her arms twitched as if to hug him. Camshaft had always said she was a hugger when he came back from picking up Prowl, faceplate twisted in bemusement. She stopped herself though. He wasn’t sure if he was grateful or not.

“I’ve put him with Smokescreen and Lightspeed,” she said with her voice more solemn than he’d ever heard before. “He is under the impression he is watching them for me while I rest. It only took a few minutes of Smokey and Speedy napping on him before he nodded off.”

There was genuine fondness in her voice, one servo resting over her newly swollen Spark. The picture of a kindly caretaker. Or, perhaps an excellent facsimile, Downshift was too weighed down to examine it deeply. He would have to trust that there was no long con in place.

“I need you to take Prowl,” he said and loathed the vulnerability in his voice but he’d weighed showing it would work in their favor.

She, to her credit, didn’t react beyond going still though her expression went soft. An improvement brought on from vorns of careful scrutiny and exacting mentors peppered among her servants. Downshift had chosen them. 

“I would be honored,” she said with an almost ceremonial intonation. “I will treat him as my own and he will never lack under my care.”

Downshift nodded. He’d betted on her reacting just like that.

“If anything happens to him I’ll kill you.”

He had not intended to say that.

It was true. The absolute truth. But it would color the conversation in ways he hadn’t intended.

Dust Up still as strange as always did not take offense. “Your kin will be safe and I will never keep him from you.”

More grace than he’d expected.

Downshift shook his head. 

“No. It is best to put some distance. I have hunting to do.”

Camshaft, unkillable, crazy, beloved Camshaft was dead.

And he knew in his struts the Imperial Consort had never been the target.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Jazz/Prowl Verse