Summary: No-War, No-Factions AU. Festival of the Five: They were two stars circling a single gravitational point. One driven by faith, the other by desire. They came together only with the blessing of the Guiding Hand, and when they did all of Cybertron was caught in their orbit. They weren't destined for each other, but as Primus said: There is destiny, and then there is destiny.

Warnings: Sexual Content, including one (mild but detailed) tactile interfacing scene. Cannon-typical violence. Alien Religion and various issues thereof.

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Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory

Part Four: Festival of Adaptus cont…

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Mirage climbed. Exhaustion pulled him down. Pain sapped what little strength he had left. His diagnostics refused to clear the alerts from his injuries from his HUD, insisting that the damage he had taken was beyond his capacity to cope with. He needed a medic.

He needed to continue climbing.

It was thoughts of Sunstorm, as much as those of Hound that kept him conscious and continuing upward on the rusty ladder his navigation said went all the way to the top. Hound, who he loved with all his spark, would not be disappointed in Mirage for succumbing to his injuries, as long as he survived. Simply by entering the race, he'd proven himself to Hound; the gardener would not demand Mirage die to prove himself. And if rank and caste continued to be an issue, he'd try again and again and again until between the three of them — Mirage, Hound and Optimus — the obstacles had been ground to dust.

But what about Sunstorm? How would his faith be tested if he woke up to find he'd won, not because he was favored but because Mirage had proven unworthy?

Or worse, if the heretic hadn't given up after Mirage took out his ability to transform and a good portion of his root-mode agility along with it?

Mirage climbed.

When the ladder gave out, crumbling beneath his weight, sheering away from the wall and falling away into the depths, he couldn't even panic. Sheer desperate reaction had him jamming his arm-blade into the metal wall almost before the hidden weapon had finished unfolding from the metal and circuitry of his arm.

No longer plummeting, his situation wasn't much better. The blade was stuck good. Gravity as well as desperate strength had driven it deep into the wall. It wasn't going to come out, not with what little was left of Mirage's strength behind a pull, but it was also already starting to give under the strain of supporting his whole weight. Agony blared across his HUD as the blade bent even slightly. All he could think was that his stubbornness had gotten him killed. He should have given up at the base of the climb.

He closed his optics and let out a vent. He'd tried. He'd given everything in the attempt. At least Hound would know just how much Mirage had loved him. Silently he offered a prayer to Primus Life Crafter, and Mortilus Death Bringer. It had been a good life.

"So that's it?" Someone asked from above him and Mirage opened his optics. The damage to the lenses made it difficult to focus in the dark, but eventually the speaker resolved into a blackish-purple warframed mech with gold shoulder and wrist spikes kneeling on a nearby ledge above him and looking down. "Adaptus throws a tantrum because you're one of mine and not one of his and you're just going to give up?"

"Not…giving up," Mirage corrected, pain and effort making his voice static. The blade creaked as the metal started tearing and it was all he could do not to howl in unbearable pain. "Dying."

"I can see that," said the mech. "And I'm the one who's going to have to go to my Creator and say I'm sorry but the world he wants will only be crafted in the aftermath of war because of it. Not something I mind, really — Patron of War, after all — but we'd promised Him that it'd be different this time. You are such a disappointment."

Somewhere Mirage found the strength to snarl, "Take your disappointment and shove it." Some part of him, the part that knew who this mech was, also knew he shouldn't be angry at him. He was just here doing his job. Mirage didn't have the right to be angry with him. The vast majority of him though was just angry at this mech's presumption and mocking tone. He reminded him too much of Phantasm, and that made his circuits crawl with indignation and rage. "I don't give a flying frag about you!"

Far from being offended though, the dark mech was only amused. "Good. You really shouldn't. There's only two people in existence you should care about right now: yourself and…"

"Hound…" Mirage whispered, finishing the sentence.

Hound was watching the cameras right now. Hound was watching him give up.

No. Never. He might die, but he wasn't ever going to surrender.

"That's the spirit! A noble becoming a warrior. Spark of my spark or not, Adaptus should be proud." The mech looked down with those burning gold optics, deep and unfathomable as the void. Judging him. "Here… let me help you up…" and he reached down, offering one glossy black hand for Mirage to grab. He reached for it…

…and with a pained cry, he snapped the blade off the other arm as he hauled himself onto the ledge. He clung there for a moment, dizzy with survival. Then he looked up again, taking stock of the rest of the climb. Without the ladder, it was going to be more difficult, but he wasn't going to give up now. He was going to finish. Already the strange mech was fading from his memory. Unimportant.

He had a long climb still ahead.

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When Mirage opened the maintenance hatch and crawled out, blinking stupidly at the sudden light, it was all Optimus could do to keep Hound from flinging himself from the viewing box and to his lover's side. He still had to make it to the finish line and where in previous vorn this last stretch had been a fierce competition, alt-mode against alt-mode, between whoever was still there, this vorn it was just Mirage, too injured to transform, limping to the finish line.

Hound had been a tense knot of wires and tubing since the starting shot had been fired, and each injury great and small Mirage had taken had just wound him in tighter and tighter coils. When the ladder had given way, hitting the camera and cutting the feed, he'd fought as best a boxy gardener could to dive down there and see if Mirage had survived. Medics had been dispatched, but there was no word. Nothing at all to say if the noble was alive or dead, until he'd crawled his way out of the depths of Cybertron only a dozen car-lengths from victory.

Optimus kept his hand on Hound's shoulder as they made their way down to the stadium floor. With a pat, and a strict instruction to "Stay" the Prime left him on the side lines and walked forward too meet Mirage at the finish line. To Hound's audios the crowd was silent, holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen. So was he.

After an eternity of charged silence, Mirage took that last step across the line. He touched the ribbon and stopped, seemingly confused by it's presence. Optimus gave a low chuckle and reached out to break the ribbon for him. "Congratulations Mirage."

Mirage looked up at the big mech for a moment, just as confused by his existence as he had been by the ribbon, then he shook his head and stepped around the Prime, trudging forward again. Listless and determined and unable to even focus his optics.

Watching, Hound couldn't help it. He called out, "Mirage?"

Yellow optics focused, for the first time, dimly on the green mech and he changed direction, stumbling forward and nearly collapsing into arms hastily put out to catch him. "Hound…" he sighed. "Hound, I choose…I love…"

His systems finally cycling down into emergency stasis, he went limp. Medics rushed forward and it was with reluctance that he gave up his hold on his Intended to get medical treatment.

Shellshocked himself, he stood unable to move until he and Prime were the only ones left on the stadium floor again.

"Hound?" Optimus looked kind, but expectant.

"Yes," he whispered. "When he wakes up, tell him I said yes."

The word echoed around Cybertron, and the crowd cheered.

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tbc