The carriage stopped abruptly, the motion jolting him from his thoughts. The ornate veil placed over him swayed, softly sliding against his freshly-painted armor. He rose a servo to shift it back in place but his attendant was faster, quickly harnessing the headpiece while he tried to avert his optics from the wavering banners before them.

They were dark scarlet, gold, and silver. Colors designating a newcomer by marriage. Colors greeting him to his new life.

The door of the carriage opened, the steps lowered in loud clicks as the footmech extended his servo for Optimus to take. He was grateful for the veil then. It covered the sudden flush of heat that spread through his face as he was guided out of the vehicle. The attendant gave him a courteous bow,a gesture of respect he was unused to receiving. Around him two smaller mechs quietly and carefully pulled the rest of his trailing silks from the carriage.

The rich silks of his bonding attire spread all around him as he stood upon the unfamiliar, wet ground. It had rained here recently, a good omen according to the old mechs who taught him in his sire's household. It did nothing to comfort Optimus, and the thought of his old teachers only made the pang of homesickness even more pronounced.

The attendants tidied him as much as they could, adjusting his attire and veil until the patterns were all facing appropriately out and the creases were smoothed. One of them took his servos and rubbed sweet scented oil on them. Optimus thought it smelled like the oil poured over his helm in the temple ceremony a few hours ago.

The memory made him shudder. His groom was there for all of ten minutes, just enough to say the vows, pour the oil, and replace the household crest on his chassis. It was a hurried ceremony, on the verge of being disrespectful even, based on the priests' agitated rumbles. But his intended-his mate, was a general.

And generals had wars to win.

Mates must learn to wait. Duty and tradition demanded nothing less.

The attendants brushed the colorful silks with soft bristles dipped in a delicate, aromatic powder. The effect made the light reflect on his bridal attire, and in dying rays of the sunset, Optimus softly glowed.

"Swift and safe journeys ahead my Lord," The footmech said rather formally. Even through his rehearsed words, Optimus imagined he saw a twinge of sadness there, a sort of worry and ache that was absent from his creators' faces when they sent him away.

He knew this footmech well, he knew all of his servants well actually. He shared distant hours of his growing years with them, watching them carry out his sire's orders, suffering beside them in different ways.

It was then that the reality of being married to a general truly gripped him. It was there, in the old footmech's sad smile, that he realized he would never see his servants again. The knowledge hurt him deeply, even more so than saying farewell to his creators.

Optimus squeezed his servos together to keep them from twisting and ruining the silks his servants had worked so hard to perfect.

He wanted to tell the footmech to stay. No. Not even that. He wanted to command all of them to take him far from this strange place, to the nearest port out of the province and save him from this war-hungry general his creators had sold him off to.

"My Lord Optimus?"

He blinked, taking a gem off one of his sleeves. He placed the jewel into the footmech's servo.

"Share whatever you can get from his gem with the others," Optimus said, "And I thank you for your service."

The footmech's mouth was open, his servos wrapping around the gem protectively. He stared up at his young Lord for the last time, optics wide and full of tears.

"We wish you a kind fate my lord," The footmech bowed, his voice gentle and humbled, "And a truly happy life."

"I wish the same for you," Optimus said, laughing softly, "Please...ensure my carrier's safety."

"Yes Lord Optimus," The footmech said, "We shall try to,"

Try.

The memory of his sire, towering over his beaten carrier while the servants carried him away. He was a child back then. That was enough for him to fear, to dread the power his sire held. It was enough for him to pity his carrier, no matter how unfeeling he was towards him.

Try…

That was more than enough for Optimus.

"Thank you," Optimus whispered, nodding to his servants for the last time.
They left him swiftly, for the sun was dying and tradition instructed he enter his new household before the nightfall, alone and ready to perform his tasks as a dutiful mate to his new Lord.

Although they towered much higher than any household Optimus had seen, the gates were open and inviting. The rest of the walls surrounding the general's palace were strong, dark red and thick. The sight appeared to him like stacks of large arms piled on top each other, molded together to create a terrifying welcome. He stepped through the opening, gathering his silks carefully as he followed the large stone paths leading him in.

Beneath his breath, he whispered the expectations, the words of tradition he had to abide by. The words frightened him, becoming painful strokes within his racing spark.

And it would soon be a spark that would no longer be his.

The role of being the submissive mate begins immediately.

That was the first rule his tutors ingrained in his mind during training.

When your pedal steps through her gates and into her household you belong there. You rule and oversee the household, and you must serve your mate at once, whenever she may arrive and in whatever manner she requires.

Optimus nodded obediently at those words. But now, as he waited in his new Lord's immense berthroom, he wondered what it all really meant.

The palace was empty, or at least it appeared so. He was prepared for that. It was part of the ongoing ceremony for his first hours to be alone, his new servants hiding away from him until the wedding night was over. They would greet him in the morning, and the seemingly dead palace would burst in life and celebration at the union of their Lord and her new, freshly broken mate.

Be mindful of her needs. But do not expect her to extend the same to you. You must remember your servitude.

The red and blue mech studied the room, hoping he was correct in assuming it belonged to the great general. A collection of swords lined the wall, their blades glinting sharply in the candlelight. Optimus had found several of them in his exploration of the palace, lighting the rooms and windows as he waited for his mate to arrive. Perhaps this is what they meant, to serve his Lord in whatever manner she required? It was the least he could do, to light the darkness of her home when the sun was at rest.

Optimus laughed when he realized the action mirrored the priest's words to him in the ceremony.

"May you bring light to her household, spreading beyond the sight of your lives."

Sparklings. That's what it was in the symbolic sense. Little sparks he would bring into her home, outliving them both and sealing her legacy.

Unless of course, he proved to be like his carrier. Unable to provide the desired femme.

The laughter fled from Optimus' lips. The general's collection of swords winked wickedly in the light. He shook away the thoughts, smoothing his bridal attire, adjusting his veil. The scent of the ceremonial oils was faint now, and the night was heavy with darkness. Was his mate ever to come?

He stirred the small pot of energon tea, hoping the strength would be to his mate's liking when she finally arrived. He recalled his carrier serving his sire tea before. His sire had taken a sip and threw the pot at his carrier's face. The medics weren't allowed to touch him until the tea was perfect.

Optimus found that the more he tried to forget his sire, the more memories surfaced of her. His sire was an old femme from a great and noble family, ancient, rumored to have started their line from the first Primes. Whatever kindness or nobility her supposed ancestors possessed, she did not. But the pride was there, blinding and cruel. Her regard for Optimus was minimal until it was clear her mate could no longer bear her any more children. She devoted to find the best mate of him then, not for his happiness, but for what it would do for her own purposes.

Optimus was unsure of what he hated more. The sire who ignored him, or the sire who obsessed over every potential match. He prayed that the sire of his future children would be neither. But then again he prayed for much simpler things before. And Primus seemed to have other matters in mind than to listen to a desperate child's pleas.

"Forgive my sudden disappearance at the ceremony,"

Optimus jumped, turning towards the window to see his mate swinging into the berthroom. His optics grew wide at the sight of her. Her armor was thick, smooth along her curves, yet sharp at her broad shoulders, thick along her hips and chest. She pulled of her ceremonial mask, and for the first time he saw her face.

"The emperor assigned me to keep the rebels at bay from the Eastern borders." She said, her voice low and soothing, "I pray you understand."

Optimus was at a lost for words, still trying to make sense of this...beautiful stranger he married.

"Lord Elita...it is my duty and pleasure to understand," He said, wincing as she pulled out her sword, hints of energon flecked on it, "I take no offense in you keeping your word to our Emperor."

Elita raised an optic ridge. Optimus found it odd that someone with such a notable reputation could be so casual with him. Her optics were dark blue, nearly smoldering as she hung up her sword on the wall.

Optimus pulled himself together, racking his processors for the appropriate actions. He stood up, silks flowing around him and bowed at her feet. His servos reached out to barely touch her pedals when she pulled back. He immediately withdrew, shut his optics, bit his lip.

Images of his sire towering over his carrier flashed in quick succession.

But no strike came. Not even a spiteful word.

"On the berth,"

The confused mech huddled, shrinking into himself as his mate slide pieces of her extra armor off. She tossed her arm guards to the floor, both pieces clanging on the floor. Her shapely lip plates turned up as she began undoing the remainder of her ceremonial garb.

Optimus rose from his place on the floor, walking over to the berth. He sat down on the edge, fixing his bonding clothes as he went, rubbing his servos nervously to produce more of the temple's scent.

"Forget what they taught you Optimus."

He gasped when her servo grabbed his veil, pulling it swiftly from him. He felt it slide from him, the protection it offered gone. He turned his helm away.

"Lord Elita-"

Her fingers guided his helm to look at her once more. His optics opened at her request. She was beautiful, her face young but wise, her features strong, solid, but with a kind countenance he did not expect.

"There are many times for traditions to be upheld. We've already done enough. I wish for you to be at ease." She motioned for him lay on his back.. He obeyed, careful to move with all the grace he could muster.

"As you wish my Lord."

Elita lifted his chin. The touch was confident yet gentle, inviting. Her body was formidable, strength radiating out as she climbed up and over him, her shadow hovering above. His optics flared brighter. She traced his nervous, trembling lips. His field was restrained with fear. Her optics inspected his frame, her mouth curling in an appreciative smile.

"I see I have much work to do."