This was originally supposed to be the one- or two-shot prequel to something larger, with completely different pairings. It's still a prequel, but it grew and grew and grew. Mirage just kept talking, and he had more to say than I had originally thought.

This takes place in a G1 side-universe, which is essentially the love child of a messy orgy involving the G1 cartoon, the Marvel US and UK comics, the Dreamwave & IDW comics, some fandom clichés, and a (questionably) healthy scoop of my personal preferences.

I'm not a big fan of OCs myself, but since this is set before the G1 storylines usually pick up, all of our favorite 'bots aren't together as a group yet, so I needed a few OCs to fill things out.

Disclaimer: Anything worth owning isn't mine. Transformers belong to Hasbro and Takara. If they did belong to me, things would probably be...different. To say the least.

Noblesse Oblige

Chapter 1

noblesse oblige -n F, lit., nobility obligates:

The moral obligation of those of high birth, rank, powerful social position, etc., to act with honor, kindliness, generosity, etc.

If the house had been built in modern times, it might have been called 'ostentatious'. But people tend to view the excesses of the old with a more tolerant eye than those of the new, and so the palatial mansion that sprawled out across extensive grounds was called 'regal' and not 'tacky'. It was the oldest and nearly the largest of the residences that made up the ultra-exclusive, if-you-weren't-born-here-don't-even-think-about-it region of The Towers. Built countless vorns ago, it served both as a model for architecture students to study in their classes and as the residence of the descendants of the family for whom it had been built.

All two of them.

The youngest descendant of the house of Kallin was making his way through the halls of the house. Some younglings who are born into privilege rebel against it. Not Mirage. He had a natural eye for detail, and was being raised with an emphasis on appreciation for the finer things in life. Each arch and column and spire was regarded with pride, the same pride with which he wore the traditional house colors of blue and white and silver on his smooth metal skin and with which he wore the house shield centered on his chest.

The floors and walls of the hallway were metal, and his feet were metal, but the youth made hardly a sound as he made his way clear across the house from his quarters to the office of his sire. He remembered once upon a time clattering down the hallway with the characteristic exuberance of a sparkling, only to have a heavy hand clamp down on his shoulder and hold him still. "Walk with dignity, if you please," his father had said firmly. "There will be no more of this clomping around like a commoner." And Mirage, who strove for nothing less than to uphold the ideals embodied by his sire and outlined by his heritage, had adopted a much more graceful and appropriate gait. His new walk greatly complemented his namesake natural abilities, but even more importantly, it had earned him one of his sire's nearly-imperceptible nods of approval.

As he walked, Mirage curiously mulled over the possible reasons for being summoned. The request for his presence had interrupted his long morning of doing nothing at all. His main tutor was in Iacon for a conference and his sire had granted his other various and sundry instructors the deca-cycle off, giving Mirage a short but welcome vacation from his studies.

Mirage had a feeling he was expected to be more constructive with his abundance of spare time, but he had mostly given in to the temptation of sloth, and spent most of every solar cycle curled up in the sun window with stacks of datapads, greedily devouring novel after novel. So his father hadn't really interrupted anything important, but the request was still unusual. Oblique was a busy mech, and he and his son didn't usually see each other until the evening refuel, sitting together at the end of the impossibly long banquet table and sharing exquisitely refined energon and each other's company.

The doors slid open almost instantly when Mirage rang the door chime at his father's office. He walked through the empty reception area and into the office proper. His optics swept over the office: the portraits of his ancestors on the walls, the tasteful lighting, the furnishings made of rare metals. Pacer, his father's personal attendant, stood in profile in his customary nook in the wall. His expression, as it nearly always was, was that of an ideal servant: impassive while still remaining alert to his master's needs.

Pacer was one of the two dozen or so mechs dedicated to keeping the house and grounds and business running. He lived in the servants' quarters on the grounds with his mate, who was a mechanical servant. Rumor had it that the two were actually bonded, and while Mirage was too young to really understand the implications of the term, he grasped readily that it was a laughable, archaic and somewhat distasteful practice. Mirage didn't really think too hard about it one was or another, honestly. He was used to seeing Pacer at his father's side at nearly all times, indispensable and invisible. He gave the mech's presence no more note than he did the great dark desk that separated him from his sire.

Oblique glanced up from his work for a moment and gave a quick nod. "Mirage. Give me a few nano-kliks." He turned his head back to his computer screen and resumed his tapping at the keyboard. Though he and his father did not look exactly the same, the family resemblance was unmistakable: the blue and silver skin, the golden eyes, and the distinctly aristocratic crests framing their faces were shared by not only them but by the portraits surrounding them and Mirage felt a small surge of pride.

Oblique finished typing and folded the screen away, turning his full attention to his progeny. He allowed himself a small smile – regal bearing or not, he was inordinately fond of his son, who was turning out to be everything he could have wished for. He folded his hands and asked, "How are you, Mirage? Are you enjoying your little break from studies?"

"Yes, I'm enjoying it very much, thank you," Mirage answered politely.

"And the new hunting speeder? How's it working out?" Oblique inquired.

"Oh, it's wonderful. Perfect. Lots more power, and the handling is so much smoother. Thank you very much for it." Mirage wondered where this small talk was leading.

"Tell me, Mirage, are you lonely?" Well, that was an unexpected question.

"No, sir." It was the truth, but it would have been Mirage's answer even if it wasn't. It had been impressed upon him by his father early on: "We bestow our company upon others, Mirage. We do not need companionship." And Mirage didn't. He was satisfied with his mostly solitary life, seeing the other Tower youths only on hunts and other social gatherings as dictated to them by their parents.

Oblique steepled his fingers. "I see." Where is this going? Mirage wondered. Feelings and emotions were not usually discussion material. His father leaned back slightly and switched to a more casual, conversational tone. "You know, Pacer has been with me since we were both not much older than you are now. Isn't that right, Pacer?"

The black-and-white attendant turned his face toward them briefly. "Quite right, sir," he said smoothly.

Oblique nodded and smiled. "I've been thinking, Mirage… Did you know that Pacer and Swing have a son? He's not much younger than you, actually."

"No, I didn't know that." Actually, it sounded kind of familiar, but it certainly wasn't anything Mirage had paid attention to. He was used to his sire being much more direct than this, but he was starting to follow the conversation's circuitous route. He wasn't sure he liked where he suspected it was going.

"I think you might be of an age when it's time you had an attendant of your own, son." Mirage stayed silent. He was perfectly comfortable with interacting with servants, of course. But having another mech with him at nearly all times? Pacer was like Oblique's obedient shadow, and that seemed like an intrusion to Mirage's ideas of personal space. Oblique raised an optic ridge at him. "Well? What do you think of that?"

"That sounds…fine, sir." It didn't, really, but Mirage would have flung himself off the roof of the mansion headfirst if his sire had suggested that it was appropriate for him to do so.

"Good. I think I'll give you Pacer and Swing's son, then. We'll see how that works out." He gave a satisfied nod and then his demeanor changed. He paused. "There is, however, a slight complication." The tone suggested that he was coming to the part Mirage might not like.

"Oh?" Mirage, already dubious about the situation, kept his voice neutral.

"The youngling can't see."

"Oh?" Mirage's dismay at the situation deepened.

"He's not entirely blind, I understand. But mostly so. A problem with his protoform. Tragic, really. Rather limiting for him." Oblique's words held pity, and roughly the same amount of concern he might have shown for a scratch in his desk. Mirage flicked his gaze over to Pacer, curious to see his reaction to such a serious matter concerning his son being discussed so casually. The black-and-white mech remained still, though his jaw was maybe clenched a little tightly and his gaze at the opposite wall unusually focused.

"Um, forgive me, but..." Mirage allowed his dubiousness to color his voice, finally. "…if he can't see anything, what exactly can he do? I mean, can he really be useful?"

"Well, we don't exactly know," Oblique admitted, "Pacer leads me to understand that he's intelligent and learns quickly, but this is honestly just an experiment. The youngling obviously can't go to school or get a regular job, so we thought we'd try this. See if you can train him to be useful, a good attendant for you. If it doesn't work, or you don't get along, or he ends up being more trouble than he's worth, well, you don't have to keep him. But it's worth a try."

This was shaping up to be easily the lousiest 'gift' Mirage had ever been given. Whatever spin his father was trying to put on it, this sounded a lot like protositting. It was out of character – Oblique always insisted on the best. Their house, their energon, their alternate modes, all the comforts of life – none of it was second rate. And now he was being saddled with some defective commoner? He must have let his thoughts show on his face, because Oblique leaned forward and gazed at him intently.

"Mirage. Son. You and I are fortunate. What we have, what we ARE… is indeed superior. And with our gifts come a certain amount of responsibility. We can't remake all of Cybertron in our image, no, but we would be remiss if we didn't attempt to be a civilizing influence. For the rest of your life, you'll come into contact with mechs who don't possess your level of… quality. It's up to you to raise them up by association, and to not let them drag you down. Part of the burden of nobility, I'm afraid. I know you're a strong enough mech to bear it, even as young as you are." Oblique smiled kindly and Mirage spared another quick glance at Pacer's profile. He hadn't moved at all, but he looked… tight, somehow. The winglike doors that protruded from his shoulders were being held stiffly, and his gaze looked as though it could melt through the bare patch of wall it was aimed at.

Mirage realized an answer was expected of him. "Yes, sir, I'll try."

"Good. Remember: you are to be a good influence on him, not him on you. If he starts dragging you down or holding you back, it's over. But I think it's worth a try. So. That's settled." Oblique looked pleased. He glanced over his shoulder as if remembering suddenly that there was a third mech in the room. "Pacer?"

Pacer's features shed any trace of tenseness and quickly melted back into neutrality. He turned toward his employer. "Yes, sir?" His voice was nothing but attentiveness.

"Would you like to bring him in now?" Oblique asked pleasantly. Pacer nodded.

"Right away, sir."

Mirage experienced a sudden sinking feeling. Right now?

Apparently so.

A note: I'm aware that blind!Jazz has been done into the ground and back again. What can I say? I'm weak.

Also, while the idea of noblesse oblige is a human conceit, I don't think it's too much of a stretch to imagine that such a class-based society as Cybertron would have a similar concept.