Endgame
Part 1: A Game for Two?
Summary: After the fall of Vos, there was nothing its Winglord could do to reclaim it. Nothing, that is, except to sell his bastard heir to the leader of the Decepticons. Starscream, however, has other ideas. He would not let Coldfront reclaim Vos.
Fandom: Transformers
Continuity: AU! G1. Pre-Earth.
Pairing: Megatron/Starscream
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: This story came into being because of my fascination with HBO's new special, A Game of Thrones. I think my favorite portion of the story is Daenerys Targaryen's. Her story is sad, but moving, and well, imagination took flight. Now, obviously some things got changed, as I really can't see Starscream simply sitting by passively while he was sold to the highest bidder, so to speak, no matter how AU this story is.
"Don't try to make [your child] grow up to be like you, or they may do it."
-Russel Baker
Coldfront held the blade out for his inspection. "This is almost worthy of a Winglord," the larger-than-average seeker mused. "Its plainness should certainly do for a Winglord's bastard heir." Cold golden optics studied him, waiting for a reaction to the insult, but Starscream did not move or speak, merely stared back with his own crimson gaze, blank and silent in the face of adversity as he had been for many years. A cruel twist of familiar thin lips was the only sign of his sire's ire at his silence. "Touch it, Starscream. Feel the metal."
Starscream obediently touched the blade. The alloy of the metal was foreign to Cybertron, he knew it instantly. No metal on Cybertron hummed like this; no metal on Cybertron pulsed as if it had a life of its own. Starscream only knew of one metal like this – though he did not know its name, he knew of the race that had spent eons learning how to smelt the ore and forge the alloy just so, resulting in a cost that most beings on many planes of existence could never afford. The blade was smooth, unmarked by either the natural imperfections usually found in blades made of other metals or the customary adornments favored by those in the ranks of the elite. Starscream knew that the blade had been custom crafted for him. It fit his smaller-than-average grip too well, meshed too closely with his energy signature, appealed too finely to his simplistic aesthetic tastes. That some stranger would go to such expense for him frightened him.
He withdrew his hand and simply stared at the blade. "To whom do I owe my thanks for such a gift?" he asked quietly.
"It comes from Senator Ratbat," Coldfront said, coldly eying him again. Starscream knew his sire was calculating what Starscream's unusual beauty could win him. Coldfront had a dream, a dream he thought Starscream didn't know about, but how could the younger seeker not know? Coldfront lived for the day he could reclaim Vos as his own with a new mate who could give him many 'worthwhile' heirs. "The simplistic nature of the blade does not truly suit your rank, but considering just how bright your colors are, to adorn the blade would send out entirely the wrong message. Starscream, you must look a warrior tonight. If you fail me, it will go very badly for you."
Starscream did not react to the threat. He knew the worth, or lack thereof, his Sire valued him at, and had known it for many vorns. That his sire planned to sell him was not new, not by a long shot. He'd lost count of the number of deals Coldfront had tried to arrange with him as the prize, but this was the first time Coldfront's plan had ever come so close to fruition. It had hurt, once upon a time, to know that he would never be appreciated as a living, sentient being; to know that no matter what he did, he'd always be a thing to be used in Coldfront's view. Nowadays though, he felt nothing but the slow burn of anticipation. Coldfront wanted him to merely look a warrior, eh? He wanted to laugh. His sire had no idea what he was truly capable of, had never really wanted to know, and Starscream liked that just fine. He eyed the blade in his sire's grip, imagining how the smooth edge would look covered in Coldfront's energon. But, no. He wasn't ready for that confrontation just yet. As far as he'd come, he still had much farther to go before he'd be able to take on his Sire and hope to win - Coldfront had not become Winglord because he was pretty, after all.
"Why does he gift me so?" Starscream asked, watching his sire closely. Coldfront was an intimidating mech to most, being nearly twice the size of a normal seeker, and much faster than he had any right to be when one considered his total mass, but Starscream knew that it was not the older seeker's size or speed that one had to be wary of. Coldfront was ...not well, mentally speaking. The older seeker was mostly lucid, but there were some occasions where he scared Starscream, and that was not an easy feat to accomplish. The worst part of it all was that Starscream never knew what could set his Sire off. "What does he want from me?" He did not for a moment believe that his sire sold him to Ratbat, nor did he believe that Ratbat was doing this out of the generosity of his own spark. For almost a full vorn, Starscream and Coldfront had lived in the Senator's tower, drinking his energon, being pampered by his slaves, and allowed in the forbidden archives where a treasure-trove of knowledge rested, just waiting for some enterprising young mind to pick through it. Starscream had only just been upgraded to his final frame several rotations ago, but he was old and jaded enough to know that such favors did not come free. They had a price; one that Starscream doubted could be repaid.
"Ratbat is no fool," Coldfront said. "The Senator knows that I will not forget to repay my debts when I regain Vos." There was a hint of the fervent madness that plagued him in those cold optics, and Starscream kept wisely silent. He did not think Coldfront was aware of just how far in debt to Ratbat they actually were, and while Starscream would be spared the repaying once he was finally sold, Coldfront had no such out. Senator Ratbat was a dangerous mech to be beholden to – the Senator had 'friends' in every city on Cybertron, as well as in most of the trading ports all across the known universe. It was whispered that there had never been a friend that Ratbat wasn't willing to sell or murder for the right price, and mechs that owed Ratbat too much often ended up disappearing. However, Starscream also knew better than to tell that to Coldfront, especially when he was working towards a goal Starscream knew would fail; a fanatical obsession that, more importantly, Ratbat knew would fail.
Coldfront's anger was a terrible thing, yes, and often led to critical (but never deadly) wounds, but mostly Starscream kept quiet simply because when his sire's plan failed, as it inevitably would, Starscream was planning on standing by and just watching the resulting disaster. There might even be some laughter involved.
His sire placed the blade on a table beside the door. "Ratbat will send the slaves to properly cleanse you for the party tonight. Be sure they wax you accurately this time – I can clearly see the stroke marks from your last session." He studied Starscream critically for a moment, distaste written in every tense line of his form. "And hold up your wings; be proud, bastard of mine, for you are to bond a Lord. The Lord Megatron will not want a weak-willed sparkling for a mate."
Starscream willed his wings to shift in the manner indicated, again reminding himself sternly that now was not the time. He needed to be patient, be ever still and waiting; the best predators, after all, were those who waited for their prey to come to them.
Coldfront nodded in satisfaction and left, leaving Starscream alone in the silence. He sighed and dropped his wings low again, relaxing in the quiet. Eventually, he wandered over to his barred window and looked out wistfully at the sky. The square towers of Axion were sparkling in the light of the mid-day sun, glittering for all their worth. The scene was beautiful, perhaps, but he truly didn't care. At this time, all he wanted was to be anywhere but here; to have no future and no past and no party to attend to determine if he was worth trading an army for.
Somewhere beyond Axion, across the wastelands and beyond Iacon, lay a land that had once been filled with glittering towers spiraling out of the ground like giant horns. There had been no roads there, no stairs; it had been a city for fliers built by fliers. He had been taught that the land was once called Voxni in their native language, but many generations of influence from the languages of the groundlings had shortened it to Vos. Coldfront had only one name for that land, however. Mine.
"Mine by right, taken from me by treachery and deceit, but mine still, Starscream. They will regret the day they forced me out, oh yes. I remember, and I repay."
And perhaps Coldfront did remember Vos, but Starscream did not. The last time he had seen Vos had been when he was still very young – little more than a sparkling barely past integrating his first frame. All he remembered of that city was pain and smoke and screaming. The places his sire spoke of so fondly – the Aeries, the Vosnian War Academy, the Spiral Gardens – they were just words to him. Coldfront had been forced to watch as his mate and true heirs, the legitimate ones, were murdered in cold blood, but no one had known about his lover on the side, or the resulting sparkling. Starscream had been raised by a mech maddened by the combined grief and rage over loss of his mate and trine-brothers and heirs for most of his youngling years. And he most likely would have died, a victim of Coldfront's madness, if it hadn't of been for Skyfire.
Starscream closed his optics as the grief, still so fresh despite the long time he had had to deal with it, threatened to consume his spark yet again. Once Skyfire had practically kidnapped him that night, Starscream had been practically adopted by Senator Vaerys, Skyfire's Sire. Skyfire had been Vaerys's only sparkling, and had used much of his creator's influence to sway the Science Council into allowing Starscream to take the entrance exams to the Iacon Academy of the Sciences. War-builds such as seekers were usually denied the privilege of attending the prestigious school, but the results of Starscream's exams had spoken for themselves. He had had thirteen vorns of peace and learning. Thirteen vorns of exploration and inventing. Thirteen vorns of patient courting and excited planning.
He should have known Coldfront would never allow Starscream to keep his freedom; he should have known that eventually the Winglord of Vos would regain his equilibrium and remember about the bastard heir that might buy him a way to reclaim Vos. He should have known that the union between the Winglord's only remaining heir and a mere shuttle – senator's creation or not – would never have been accepted by said Winglord.
Coldfront had killed Skyfire, or had him killed, Starscream knew. Oh, sure, the reports said Skyfire had crashed during a freak snowstorm, but Starscream knew better. It struck him as a highly odd coincidence that not three cycles after they had announced their intent to bond that Skyfire suddenly off-lined. Especially when not two joors had passed since Starscream and Senator Vaerys had been given the news that Coldfront miraculously showed up demanding retribution for being denied access to his only remaining heir. The look in Coldfront's optics when he'd been forced to acknowledge that Starscream was his heir had told Starscream everything he needed to know about what he was to Coldfront. He wasn't Coldfront's heir, he was the Winglord's bargaining chip. A thing, a tool. What does a tool need with happiness or freedom? It's purpose was to be used. Starscream did not blame Senator Vaerys for giving into Coldfront - what could the poor mech do? Yes, he was a Senator, but he was a minor one, and he had never had enough political clout to go helm-to-helm with a Winglord, ousted one or not. Starscream had placed blame on one he knew deserved it, and for the next two cycles that he had been under Coldfront's less-than-stable care, he'd barely been able to look at his sire without feeling the murderous rage that threatened to swallow him whole. Two cycles had been all he could stand before he had simply packed up and left, burying himself deep within the ghettos and underground societies of Cybertron. It had been another seven vorns before his sire had managed to track him down and capture him, this time keeping him locked up and denied any form of freedom. Seven vorns of harsh lessons and harsher truths, but he was made all the better for it.
Starscream allowed a small smirk to cross his lips. Oh yes. He doubted very much that anything he did tonight would make him look a warrior – he was too colorful and much too delicate in build for one to immediately think warrior – but there were other ways of being useful in a society that valued warriors above all else, ways that he rather excelled in. This Megatron, the self-styled Lord of the Decepticons, by all reports was an intelligent mech. Not a schooled one, like he was, but canny and keen with a killer's ruthless instinct. He imagined that an intelligent mech would value what he could bring to a union. He absently touched his canopy, behind which rested his mutated spark.
Yes, Megatron would be a fool to pass up what he could offer, especially if the rumors Starscream had heard about a war were true.
Yes. Again, this will be based on Daenerys Targaryen's story, but will be drastically different in many areas. Again, mostly because Starscream is such a fun character to write - he's a badass who must pretend to be a weakling who has to pretend to be a badass. It's going to be a very delicate dance for him to pull, requiring every last inch of cunning and sly maneuvering, but I think our favorite seeker is up to the challenge. As for Coldfront, well, he's an OC, but he will serve a rather important purpose in this fic. But you're just gonna have to wait to find out. XD
RnR?
EDIT 06/22/11: As promised to the wonderful PaperBerry and the equally fabulous HighxOnxCrack, I added in some key points in regards to Coldfront's character that I probably should have put in to begin with, but didn't realize I actually needed. I tend to forget that others don't live inside my head, and thus can't make an instant connection between the what the mech is doing/saying and why he's doing/saying it. I'll be fixing the other chapters as well, just as soon as I get this stupid document manager to stop reloading randomly on me. XD If there's anything else I forgot to add in explanation wise that you guys really want to see added in, don't hesitate to ask. I'm seriously open to suggestion and advice on this fic, especially 'cause I don't want it to be an exact situational copy of Dany's story in the A Song of Ice and Fire series. I'm doing my best to diversify it, but in the process, I seem to be loosing a few of you. XD