Remember the one shot that I said was pretty much just out of left field? The one called "Last Lullaby"? (I don't remember what chapter it's in.) Well, here's a continuation of "Last Lullaby". Still out of left field.
Discovery
It was truly remarkable, in a way, just how much Optimus Prime managed to survive. Megatron sat on a pile of rubble that had once been Outpost Omega, stating thoughtfully down at the fractured, sparking frame of his greatest enemy, trapped beneath fallen beams and boulders. "You're probably the only being alive who's been through nearly as much as I have, you know," the warlord mused aloud. Optimus couldn't hear him, of course. His systems were far to focused on keeping him from succumbing to the grievous wounds. "No matter what I throw at you, somehow or other you end up on your feet again, ready for battle. You are, without doubt, one of the luckiest mechs I've ever known." A humorless snort. "I almost admire you for that."
Rolling his shoulders, the champion of Kaon equipped his sword and raised his arm high, intending to snuff out the Prime's spark once and for all. Inches from the damaged chestplates, the blade halted. Megatron stood frozen, transfixed by the pale blue optics that weakly flickered to life. "Pax Domina," he gasped, and forever after, Megatron was never quite certain whether or not he'd actually spoken the fateful name out loud. The resemblance was uncanny, now that he actually stopped to think about it. How odd that he should have spent centuries fighting a mech and never have properly looked at him. The optics had the same gentle tilt at the corners as hers, they possessed the same tendency to prefer reasoning to fighting. Curious, the Decepticon took the hand reaching futilely from the wreckage and examined it. Broad, flat servos...not the kind a Cybertronian of his caste ought to have had.
Being an archivist, Orion Pax should have had long, slim servos to aid in speed of typing, not the hands of a warrior. Megatron released the limb with a disgusted noise. What did he care? Similarities to the lost one were inevitable. They were both descendants of Prima, after all. And yet... He leaned down and stared at the disfigured faceplate. "I always forget how nauseatingly young you truly are," he growled. He stood and began to walk a slow, measured circle around the helpless Autobot. "Did you know I had a son?" he began, then stopped and shook his helm. "Primus, what an awful word: had." He returned to his circuit, arms crossed behind his back. "He would be about your age now, provided he still lives-which my spark tells me is more than possibility. They took him from me, of course, and killed his Carrier on the orders of Sentinel Prime. And why? Because we were breaking caste." His optics glowed with some dark memory and silver talons clenched.
"She was a senator, my sparkmate, of the line of Prima. Just like you, Optimus. I was barely even a gladiator then. I was a slave, the lowest of the low. She broke into a coliseum to bring a wounded femme energon, and I saved her life." He sounded very proud of the fact, and a smirk touched his scarred lips. "She loved me, the poor wretch. Worse, I loved her, and Sentinel could never bear the fact that Pax Domina chose me over him." Even now he gloated over those long dead, and a low chuckle rumbled into the still air. Then his face hardened and his scarlet gaze grew cold. "Your precious Senate cut out her spark in the streets for carrying my son, and the unfortunate little creature was stolen by Alpha Trion-yes! Your beloved mentor!"
"The old deceiver often snatched away the children of the slaves, probably to a life more miserable than ever I knew. I once counted him a friend, much as you did. But then I learned who he really was; what he really was. I realized that Domina's hope that he would protect our sparkling was vain at best, and that my miserable one would never know freedom. And I dreamt of vengeance, and I began a revolution. When first you came to me, I saw the mech my sparkling could have been. Maybe that's why I grew to hate you so much, Optimus. Everything he should have had, should have done, I watched it all fall to you. It's as if you stole the life that-" he stopped, confused. "I can't remember his name. I can't remember my own son's name! Oh Primus, is this what I've become?!"
With a bitter chuckle, Megatron sank down onto the debris beside his fallen foe. Almost before he realized what he was doing, he'd cleared some of the rocks from around Optimus's helm. Quickly, he drew back his hand and scowled. "Enough! Why do you torment me with her optics? Orion Pax, the peacemonger-" Megatron stopped mid-sentence. "Pax?" he repeated in disbelief. Again his servos drifted towards the dented cobalt helm, only to be snatched back at the last moment. "Impossible! Could it really be that simple?" the warlord murmured. He stood and looked down at the Autobot leader. "I will make you a deal, Optimus Prime," he rasped, "I will stay here and observe you this night. If at any point you should begin to relinquish your spark, out of respect for our old friendship I will ease your passing and see to it that your remains are treated with respect."
He paused and crouched again. "If, however, you live to see the sunrise, I will take it as a sign and you will accompany me back to the citadel. You will be repaired, and you will be questioned-though not, perhaps, on the subject you might have guessed." The massive warrior settled in to wait, optics falling on the handle of the Forge of Solus Prime. Well, if he tired of waiting he could use that and take the Autobot back to Darkmount for questioning anyway. For now, however, he would be patient. The watches of the night wore on and Megatron struggled within his spark with a tiny, unquenchable hope that Optimus would live. For Domina, for the life you failed to save, the stars whispered to him. He shut his optics. One way or another, he would know the truth by dawn.
Darkness. All was darkness to Optimus as he labored to clear his vents. All power was diverted to preventing a massive system crash. His left arm was barely attached at the shoulder, wrenched upward through the piles of concrete and rebar. The strain on the cables and joints was all that he could feel. In the hazy, error-message-filled mess that was his processor, Optimus had the vague notion that he ought to have been in excruciating pain, yet he felt very little. 'Is this what going offline is like?' he wondered. He was very dimly aware of a voice somewhere above him, speaking words he did not understand. A distant memory floated through his mind of being sent to work in the Archives for the first time.
He was bigger than the other younglings, and his frame was different. They assumed he was defective and avoided him. Alpha Trion stood beside him, as he had done since before he could remember. "Be brave, Orion Pax," the strange old recorder had whispered, "For the sake of your peoples, you must be brave!" Looking back, as his processor cleared somewhat, Optimus wondered if the ancient Prime had been referring to humanity when he'd said "peoples". Loss of energon began to take its toll and logical thought left him. He went into an emergency power-down state to conserve his remaining supply of energon. In a torrent of blackness the pain returned, and in the midst of the hurricane, Optimus dreamed.
He saw faces he knew he recognized, but could not name. There was power and fear combined in one, deep sorrow in the other. A rending sensation seized his spark, as if it were being torn from his frame, and he could not stop himself from crying out. Someone whispered, "Remember me," and vanished, leaving no name, no trace but an inexorable feeling of loneliness. Slowly, systems began to power up as the sun rose, drinking in the warmth through tiny solar panels in the armor. It was not nearly enough to sustain Optimus; the damage was catastrophic. The voice was still there, babbling to something or someone. Then he was being lifted by many hands, and all went hazy again. He did not know how long he was in stasis, but something in his spark was urging him to awaken. When his processor finally cleared, he was staring up into a pair of familiar blood-red eyes. Something like a choked laugh sounded above him.
"Found you."