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Ironhide: Semper Fidelis

He hears the message sent out to the remaining pieces of a once great empire, listens to the words like a zealot on his first quest for Mecca. It sounds like truth but – and there always is a but, he thinks – the way the sounds are delivered rings like the dark bell of despair, full of hidden pain and broken hearts. From this way no help will come.

He remembers the old times, before the war and the problems that created the need for it. He remembers the happy times when he was Commander of the Guard, the highest rank a soldier of Decepticon lineage could find himself honoured to fill, and teacher to the young heirs. He remembers laughter and children's pranks, scolding words and important lessons.

He remembers thinking that old Orion Prime, who had no mind for ruling and most of the times let Lord Trion decide what should be done, really should not have been the one to continue the most exalted and cherished line. Trion, in his youth famous for his victories in the arena, was better suited for fatherhood. After all, as well balanced as a mind can be, it is the passionate ones who incite the fires of knowledge. And this passion within Trion's spark was it that made him reign over an empire as vast as theirs with the loving touch of a tender kiss.

With the air of one condemned to the gallows, his feet carry him to his designated place beside the Prime, one step left and behind the imposing figure of his young sovereign. The child, and he has never managed to think of Optimus as anything but, sighs in the tired way only fighters with nothing left to lose can. The sound saddens him beyond imagination.

"It should never have come to this," his charge whispers in the chosen language of the area, every syllable of an organic way of speech tainted by mourning.

There is nothing for him to say, only protective silence follows as an answer to Optimus' unspoken question. Was I wrong? seems to hang between them like the sword of Damokles. Was I wrong all the time and you didn't correct me?

"I should be dead," comes after a short moment that seemingly lasted for eternity and much longer still. "Not him, never him."

"You did what needed to be done, Prime. There's nothing else." His voice is gruff in his reply, short words most suited for a warrior's arguments. That, if nothing else, will bring the lamenting poet's soul inside his leader to think about more than the perceived cruelty of fate.

"But..."

He finds himself reminded of other dialogues such as this, their number as great as the multitude of stars that cannot be seen. The child always tended to self-flagellation in these situations. Irrational behaviour perhaps, but it taught the lesson better than a thousand hard won challenges.

Back then he was gladly filling the position of Lord Protector so that first-born Megatron could age enough to fully grasp the duties put on far too young shoulders. Now he'll probably have to do it again as both Lord Protector and Protector's heir found their final termination on this cube-forsaken vermin infested mud ball.

"There is no but, Prime." Don't you see, he asks without a sound because such traitorous thoughts can never be allowed to be spoken. Don't you see that there must never be doubts, that this was his only chance to safe us all?

Cybertron was dead long before the war began. It's children just didn't want to believe it.