I'd forgotten I hadn't posted this here.
cmdrtekk mentioned that I hadn't posted this up here yet. Though I have the first two chapters. If you've seen this on FF.net, it hasn't changed. I really do need to do a revision on it, as the Prowl in Privileges of Rank and Three Small Words isn't matching with the one presented here. Sadly I have nothing new to offer for this yet, as Star-crossed still has me in the throes of labor. :P
RAWR!!
Title Silver Purity, Cursed Crimson (3/?)
Characters Prowl, Prime, Wheeljack, Ratchet, Jazz, Mirage, OCs as needed.
Warnings Transformers as dragons, but it's not what you might expect.... I hope.
Summary G1 AU. The Ark crashed, sending its passengers, both Decepticon and Autobot alike, offline. When the Autobots woke, nothing was like they'd left. Not even themselves.
Parts 1 & 2
Wheeljack looked up from examining the projection on Ironhide’s nose. Optimus paused, hand-foot lifted mid-step.
“You’re leaking Wheeljack, what did you do?”
The engineer dipped his head in an embarrassed shrug. “I wanted to see what lay under these odd plates.”
Prowl joined Prime after scrambling over the ledges. He eyed the pink fluid that dribbled down the engineer’s arm. Wheeljack favored that particular arm, shifting to keep from placing any weight on the limb.
“You should let Ratchet look at that,” Prowl said quietly.
Wheeljack’s stiffer membranes drooped. “He has enough to deal with, and this is minor.” He perked up, headwings rippling in his excitement. “But what’s interesting is that this has the same taste as what’s leaking out of the Ark.”
Prowl shook his head. “Wheeljack, that isn’t exactly something I wish to know.” Prime didn’t voice his own opinion, having said it before in this vorn old argument.
Wheeljack rumbled softly. “You shouldn’t be so squeamish, Prowl. We regularly recycle parts for repairs.”
Prowl frowned at the white beast, and neatly changed subjects. “Prime, you mentioned Teletraan-1?”
Optimus hummed and moved around the mass of bodies, his long legs stepping over easily what could only be the minibots, although Prowl could not tell one from the other besides that. Wheeljack followed just as easily, his long arms propelling his shorter legs over with a small leap. Prowl sighed, and began his scramble over the ledges to reach the other side of the room where his commander stood.
Wheeljack tilted his head, his bright blue optics following Prowl’s awkward path over the ledges. Prowl glimpsed the engineer’s gaze wandering around the room, staring intently at the ledges. Prowl hopped down, turning his head on his sinuous neck to see what had caught the engineer’s attention. Wheeljack turned back to the big red beast patiently waiting for his attention.
“This is the control room.” It was not a question.
Prime nodded. “Yes, and I can’t get a response from Teletraan-1 or any of the other stations.”
Prowl huffed in surprise, eyeing the ledges he’d just leapt off of. His tentacle aft twitched, rippling down its length, and sending the fuzzy end into an arc. “Those are consoles?”
The engineer rumbled with laughter as he turned to the ledge.
Unfocused memory blurred the original appearance of the Ark’s central computer. He tried to take the mass of grey bodies out of the equation without assistance from his internal mapping programs. His cranium ached with the effort.
But yes, he could see the similarities with the odd glass like objects surrounded by orange material. He slipped to the side of Prime and to one of the smaller consoles, a monitoring station, perhaps. Prowl couldn’t make sense of the absence of the screens. Where they should have sat instead was a vertical line. A seam with nothing connecting to it. He looked closer at the glass objects and was surprised to see them coded with colors and glyphs.
“I don’t know how we’re going to repair Teletraan-1 if we don’t know how it’s working.”
The tactician glanced up to see the engineer moving deft fingers over the console. Sharp fingertips caressed the console, searching for a seam, an access panel. Prowl twisted his long neck until his chin rested on the frame of his black chest. His curved fingertips clacked clumsily against the console. He pulled his hand away to curl and uncurl his fingers. His chin lifted away from his frame as they refused to obey any but the most basic grasping command. He would not be able to manipulate anything with his normal aptitude.
“Is something wrong with your hand?”
Prowl’s wing membranes rattled against his side in surprise. He looked up to see Prime’s large head turned toward him. Wheeljack still explored Teletraan-1’s console, plucking at the glass-like structures that took the place of the buttons and switches. His headwings rippled in blue waves as he muttered to himself in thought.
“The fingers are stiffer than I’m used to.” His tentacle aft twitched as he pulled the corners of his mouth down in a frown as he considered the implications of his loss of dexterity. He glanced up at the Autobot commander. “You said three were missing, which three?”
Prime’s head drooped; he blinked the translucent shutter over his eye. “Skids, Mirage, and Powerglide are not among the crew and they should be. With the Decepticons gone, I can only fear the worst has happened to them.”
Prowl’s tentacle aft twitched, the fuzz brushing through the air. Air hissed between his dental plates. He wanted to say something reassuring, but he didn’t need his battle computer to know that the likelihood of it being ‘okay’ was 38 percent and falling by the breem. That’s without knowing how long those members had been missing.
Prime rumbled, the sound vibrating the small plates on his shoulder. Anything he might have said was interrupted by an audio-splitting shriek. Wheeljack, jumped, startled, his stiff membranes shuffling.
Prowl had gone through this before, and was almost jaded to the abrupt cry.
The sound continued, crawling over their circuits and setting their jaws together against the horrid noise. Prime’s brow ridges drew together and air huffed out from between his teeth.
“Something’s not right.” The mech-turned-flesh moved faster than his form seemed capable. His plates shimmered in the sourceless light. His frame slid under his exterior with the grace of liquid running through a tank.
Prowl and Wheeljack exchanged a surprised glance before Prowl clambered over the consoles and rushed to join Prime’s lumbering form. The tactician’s neck stretched out, parallel to the soft floor. His wing membranes flared out, shifting as he poured over the Ark’s squishy floor.
Prime didn’t slow down when the black and white mech-beast caught up. The scream was only getting louder as they reached the rec room where Ratchet currently worked on the previously offline mech.
They burst in to see two white forms entangled. Ratchet struggled to hold down the writhing, longer body. The medic’s hand-feet gripped the saboteur’s wrists, but only his chest remained pressed to the floor. The rest of the black and white mech-beast thrashed and flailed. His long white tentacle aft had somehow wound itself around the medic’s torso. Jazz didn’t have the soft fuzz on his tentacle, like Prowl did, but when he lashed the appendage, it cracked like an energy whip and each cracking thrash left a nasty-looking line on Ratchet’s shoulder and sides.
It took only an astrosecond for Prowl to process the scene. While Optimus remained still, taking in the scene, the tactician determined the most dangerous thing aside from the increasing volume of the saboteur’s scream, was Jazz’s lashing member. Another astrosecond passed and Prowl made his move. He waited for the tentacle to head down, predicting its path and then he lunged, slapping the tip down.
Jazz shrilled louder, his cry raking along the three Autobots’ circuits. Prowl could see Prime shouting at Jazz, and swiping at his audio receivers, but nothing could be heard over the mech-beast’s screaming. Jazz’s aft spasmed again, rippling down the length of the tentacle, squeezing an unhealthy wheeze from the medic’s chest. Prowl scrabbled to regain his hold on Jazz’s tentacle tip, grabbing higher up and slamming the appendage back down.
Prowl could feel the saboteur’s panic in his every wild motion, but he could only wonder at the source. Of all the mechs he expected to react like this, Jazz hadn’t even made his list. The saboteur usually accepted each situation thrown at him with an infuriating smirk and a calm attitude that belied his surprise.
Optimus slapped Jazz’s neck down, still shouting commands at the panicked mech-beast.
It wasn’t until the big red hand-foot pressed the long neck down that Jazz quieted long enough for Optimus to be heard.
“Jazz, calm down!”
A strangled sound erupted from the saboteur’s mouth. Optimus cautiously relieved some of his considerable weight from Jazz’s back. “Prime?” Panic still edged the normally jolly voice and Prowl tightened his hold on the tentacle.
“It’s okay, Jazz,” the red mech-beast rumbled deep in his chest, a soothing noise akin to the purr of an engine.
Jazz lifted his chin turning his head toward the sound of the commander’s voice.
“Prime?” His lithe body thrashed again. “I can’t- I can’t see, Prime! Why can’t I see?”
He became agitated when Optimus drew his head back in surprise. Ratchet seemed to barely register it, his optics half-shuttered, air rushing in and out of his mouth.
Prowl tried to get a closer look at the saboteur’s optics, but was forced to struggle with the writhing tentacle.
“I can’t see! I can’t see!” Panic seemed to grip the black and white mech-beast again, and all vestiges of Jazz briefly disappeared from the shrieks that tore from his mandibles. “Why can’t I see, Optimus?”
~*~*~*~
Soft soles slapped the hardwood planks that wrapped around the thick trunk of the tree. Kara brushed aside branches that trailed down toward the oft-used path. Surely they were ready to be Redirected upward, that they might catch all of Ilesia’s light and feed the mighty tree. Although not this day as she already sank, no longer visible through the branches. Soon Teyvonna would cover the land and Disfuriel would open his eye and scatter his tears to light Ilesia’s way. Unless this was to be a Dark night.
Kara could never quite keep the cycles straight.
She padded down a flight of stairs and raced along the walkway to the little hut nestled within the crook of a thick branch. Leaves and vines draped the roof of the hut. She ducked through the curtained doorway, the stern red face embroidered on the cloth reprimanded her for her tardiness. She walked past the kitchen, her steps as light as could make them.
She needn’t have bothered.
“Karaleessa.”
Kara flinched at the sharp voice and she looked toward the kitchen. “Yes, maman?”
“Do you realize what time it is?”
“Sun’s set.”
Her silvering mother appeared wielding a tined spatula, which she waved at her daughter. “You do remember that tonight is your Watch? Now get moving before Teyvonna settles. You don’t need to be climbing trees in the dark anymore than Sylfiel. And you still have to get the robe from the smith. You can eat when you reach the enclosure. Hurry, hurry. Don’t just stand there.”
Kara scuttled into the bathing room, and gave herself a quick scrub. She changed out of her day clothes, and into the Watcher’s robes. She was lacing her sandals when her mother entered, carrying a woven basket in one hand.
“Ah! You move so slow. A fat cat moves faster than you.” She set the basket down and roughly shoved Kara’s foot into the sandal and quickly laced it up. “Now take this and go, and don’t forget the horses’ grain.”
Kara quickly tied her hair back, foregoing her normal braid to save time. She grabbed the basket and rushed out, waving at her mother and brushing past her mother’s husband at the entrance.
The sky beyond the branches was streaked in the last purple ribbons of Ilesia’s robes. She still had to get the final layer to her outfit, but the blacksmith’s workhut was on the other side of the great tree. She could save time if she simply borrowed Sylfiel’s robe. It shouldn’t matter anyway. Nothing ever happened. It hadn’t for over five hundred seasons, not since her grandmother Watched.
Evening brought the hunters back from the forest and the gatherers back from the fields. She pushed against the flow of the crowd, apologizing when objections were voiced. She took the first ladder she saw, clambering down so fast the braided rope burned her hands.
Once her sandals hit the ground, she broke into a run, smacking aside leaves that slapped her in the face. The torches were already casting dancing shadows through the dark woods. She slowed down, calling her approach to the outlying guards. They didn’t show themselves, but called back, acknowledging her presence.
She skidded to a halt by a lone altar and dropped to her knees before it.
V’ranna sat in darkness, her jewel eyes glinting only because of the torchlight. Kara guiltily gathered the old candle up and placed a new one down.
“Uldial.”
The jewel flared with its own light and a thin stream of flame shot from the Mother’s snarling mouth.
“May he waken soon and call his kin to save us,” she recited touching the statue’s wrinkled snout. But please don’t let him wake on my Watch, she added silently, mindful of the blasphemy she thought.
She stood, brushing her robes clear of leaves and continued into the clearing at a sedate pace. The spells inscribed on the trees pressed against her skin, questing, threatening until she muttered her name and they withdrew.
The first thing she saw was the hulking white form of the Dragon. Always her eyes were drawn to the magnificent creature that struck terror into her heart. The snarling visage of V’ranna did no justice to the true thing. He hunched into a tight ball, his clubbed tail draped over his massive snout. Three pairs of blue horns framed his deceptively peaceful face. His white body gleamed beautifully in the moonlight, like a diamond hill.
Kara tore her eyes from the slumbering dragon and hurried over to the horses’ paddock to dump in their grain. The horses tossed their heads, a few trotting over to nudge her. She rubbed their noses, smiling at their content. They whuffed air over her fingers. These horses had been bred and raised specifically to stand in the dragon’s presence, the giant slumbering beast didn’t bother them anymore than their caretakers.
“Where’s your robe?”
Kara glared up at her older cousin, giving the horse one final stroke. “Can’t I just use yours?”
Sylfiel sputtered a moment. “We’re supposed to use a fresh one each shift!”
“Come on, just this once, what harm will it do?”
Sylfiel frowned. “If Grandmaman knew… Oh, here.” The dark-haired maiden shrugged the outer robe off and handed it over to Kara. “If you’d only be on time. At least you remembered the grain.”
“It shouldn’t be my problem,” Kara snapped, clenching the robe in her fist.
Sylfiel’s green eyes flashed yellow. “It’s the village’s responsibility. Last time I checked you were a member of this village. So yes, it is your responsibility. Your mother has no problem fitting in, neither should you.” She stormed off to the altar, where she would collect her candle as proof of her watch.
Kara yanked the robe on, suddenly angry.
She had never asked for this responsibility. Had never asked to be a part of the village. She didn’t even know why they kept this Dragon. Why would they want him to call others?
They only other dragons were the Kahns, the red-eyed devils that ruled the humans lands with their teeth. The Kahn who burned her own village and the forest around it to the ground. Her sisters were assuredly dead, if not enslaved by one of them. The nasty monsters sought out all their villages, wanting to bring them under their claws.
Why would anyone want this one to bring more of his kind?
She edged around the massive beast. A distinctive blue line traced the Dragon’s back made up of ridges that broke into three separate lines. She had always wondered at the odd marking, wondered its reason.
The elves had been watching this dormant monster for over twenty-eight generations, since the Mother V’ranna stripped the Kahns and all their kin of their metal shells. Supposedly there were others, who would oppose the Kahns’ rule, sleeping in the Sealed Nest. No one had ever managed to confirm it, and not even the Kahns could enter.
She looked down at the passive face. The grass surrounding the dragon’s resting spot bent under his long breaths. She could sit under the shelter of the lean-to if she wanted, but Disfuriel’s Eye shone brightly down on the world, and it was too beautiful to stay sheltered. She thanked the Mother that he wasn’t tending his lover this night.
For even in utter darkness, the Dragon’s scales glowed with the strength of the Unseeing Eye.
They Watched for his Waking and to guard againtst any Kahn spies. The only reason the red-eyed Dragons had yet to stumble on the clearing were the protective spells scribed on the trees.
She didn’t know what made this Dragon so different from the rest of his kin.
His name didn’t even sound any different when spoken in their odd tongue. She tried it out, twisting her face as she formed the staccato sounds.
A grunt turned her attention back to the Dragon: She didn’t remember him moving but his head wavered above her and his nostrils quivered as he took in deep breaths.
Her heart stuttered and then raced, as she stumbled away, a clipped cry bursting from her mouth. Glowing blue eyes followed her and then his snout swept down to nudge her off her feet.
She hit the ground and scuttled backwards, her eyes never leaving the blue blaze between his eyes. Eyes that terrified her for a reason that she couldn’t quite place.
She needed to call out to the guards, but the words stuck in her throat, in the face of the Dragon’s presence. He rose, with the grace of a stalking wild cat. Hot breath washed over her, and the scaled lips parted to reveal pointed fangs. His tongue whipped out, swiping her robes.
Oh! Ohohoh! The robes! She didn’t have fresh robes! She smelled of wood and the forest. He didn’t recognize her scent.
The Dragon’s head pulled away, his long neck curving gracefully. His neck flared like a hooded snake, ready to strike. Sharp spines pushed their way out from between the ridged scales, and a hollow hiss blew from his throat.
She watched with wide-eyed terror as orange framed his body and abruptly he vanished from sight. With the source of her fright no longer looming before her, she found the wits to scramble to her feet, and she cried out to the guards.
“Get the Shaman. He’s awake! He’s-“ Her words cut off as she was swept off her feet. Tears ran down her face as she panted into the grass, stunned. A rumbling hiss and a blast of fetid air motivated her to crawl away and back to her feet.
What were they supposed to do if he woke? What did her Grandmaman always tell her.
‘If he wakes, he will be hungry. We are a meager meal. He will have more interest in larger prey.’
The horses! The paddock! Her sandals pounded the grass and she had no breath to call the guards again. The Dragon moved too quietly for them to hear, and even his hissing growls didn’t reach further than her ears. If they had, the horses would be in a panic. They’d been bred and raised to tolerate a slumbering Dragon, not one very much awake and hungry.
She felt more than heard the coming swipe. She dropped to the ground, and rolled back to her feet as dirt flew into the air behind her.
She slapped her hands onto the wooden fence with the intent of leaping over, but she felt the Dragon pass overhead. In only a few heartbeats a horse screamed, rising into the air, blood streaming down its flanks. The herd scattered, but not before another crashed to the ground, it’s hind end crushed.
The Dragon reappeared, the orange glow fading into blue and white. He ripped into the dying horse, his blue eyes watching her unsteady approach. Four bites and he turned to the second horse. His neck flared, hissing past the bloody mess in his mouth, and she stopped just beyond the reach of his clubbed tail.
Kara turned toward the woods, aware of the approach of many people, and sagged in relief. Someone had heard her, the Shaman was coming.
The Dragon finished the second horse as quickly as the first one. He licked his lips clean, directing the full intensity of his gaze onto Kara.
“Karaleessa? What’s this nonsense?” Her grandmother’s voice snapped sharply.
The Dragon’s head whipped toward the sound and Kara finally realized what frightened her so about his eyes. All aggression drained out of his posture as the God’s Banner fluttered into view. The cloth flipped and folded in a nighttime breeze, but the red face was still visible on the red background. A low whine bubbled from the white throat.
“Grandmaman, he’s awake. The Mirage is awake,” she shouted back, unable to move from her spot.
She had met the gaze of a Kahn, and they had never frightened her this much.
The Mirage looked back to her, his tongue sliding between his flared nostrils. He pranced over to her, blue ridges settling into calm lines. She flinched as he snuffled her hair, calm as a kitten now, with food in his stomach. She strangled her fear as she remembered more of what she’d been told. The Mirage enjoyed the sound of his name, spoken in the Kahn’s tongue.
“Mirage,” she cooed , reaching up to hesitantly stroke his snout. The skin between his nostrils was as supple as a newborn babe’s, and warmer than a bed of heated rocks. “Mirage,” she repeated in that other language.
But she shivered with fear under his gaze.
This Dragon had no soul.
Author's Notes: I'd been planning to introduce the elves into this fic later on, but then I realized that she would be appearing out of nowhere with Mirage; which wouldn't would be kinda bad. So yeah, elves. For those of you whom it might interest an elven generation is about 200 years (thanks to JML for correcting my idea of what a generation is).
RAWR!!
Title Silver Purity, Cursed Crimson (3/?)
Characters Prowl, Prime, Wheeljack, Ratchet, Jazz, Mirage, OCs as needed.
Warnings Transformers as dragons, but it's not what you might expect.... I hope.
Summary G1 AU. The Ark crashed, sending its passengers, both Decepticon and Autobot alike, offline. When the Autobots woke, nothing was like they'd left. Not even themselves.
Parts 1 & 2
Wheeljack looked up from examining the projection on Ironhide’s nose. Optimus paused, hand-foot lifted mid-step.
“You’re leaking Wheeljack, what did you do?”
The engineer dipped his head in an embarrassed shrug. “I wanted to see what lay under these odd plates.”
Prowl joined Prime after scrambling over the ledges. He eyed the pink fluid that dribbled down the engineer’s arm. Wheeljack favored that particular arm, shifting to keep from placing any weight on the limb.
“You should let Ratchet look at that,” Prowl said quietly.
Wheeljack’s stiffer membranes drooped. “He has enough to deal with, and this is minor.” He perked up, headwings rippling in his excitement. “But what’s interesting is that this has the same taste as what’s leaking out of the Ark.”
Prowl shook his head. “Wheeljack, that isn’t exactly something I wish to know.” Prime didn’t voice his own opinion, having said it before in this vorn old argument.
Wheeljack rumbled softly. “You shouldn’t be so squeamish, Prowl. We regularly recycle parts for repairs.”
Prowl frowned at the white beast, and neatly changed subjects. “Prime, you mentioned Teletraan-1?”
Optimus hummed and moved around the mass of bodies, his long legs stepping over easily what could only be the minibots, although Prowl could not tell one from the other besides that. Wheeljack followed just as easily, his long arms propelling his shorter legs over with a small leap. Prowl sighed, and began his scramble over the ledges to reach the other side of the room where his commander stood.
Wheeljack tilted his head, his bright blue optics following Prowl’s awkward path over the ledges. Prowl glimpsed the engineer’s gaze wandering around the room, staring intently at the ledges. Prowl hopped down, turning his head on his sinuous neck to see what had caught the engineer’s attention. Wheeljack turned back to the big red beast patiently waiting for his attention.
“This is the control room.” It was not a question.
Prime nodded. “Yes, and I can’t get a response from Teletraan-1 or any of the other stations.”
Prowl huffed in surprise, eyeing the ledges he’d just leapt off of. His tentacle aft twitched, rippling down its length, and sending the fuzzy end into an arc. “Those are consoles?”
The engineer rumbled with laughter as he turned to the ledge.
Unfocused memory blurred the original appearance of the Ark’s central computer. He tried to take the mass of grey bodies out of the equation without assistance from his internal mapping programs. His cranium ached with the effort.
But yes, he could see the similarities with the odd glass like objects surrounded by orange material. He slipped to the side of Prime and to one of the smaller consoles, a monitoring station, perhaps. Prowl couldn’t make sense of the absence of the screens. Where they should have sat instead was a vertical line. A seam with nothing connecting to it. He looked closer at the glass objects and was surprised to see them coded with colors and glyphs.
“I don’t know how we’re going to repair Teletraan-1 if we don’t know how it’s working.”
The tactician glanced up to see the engineer moving deft fingers over the console. Sharp fingertips caressed the console, searching for a seam, an access panel. Prowl twisted his long neck until his chin rested on the frame of his black chest. His curved fingertips clacked clumsily against the console. He pulled his hand away to curl and uncurl his fingers. His chin lifted away from his frame as they refused to obey any but the most basic grasping command. He would not be able to manipulate anything with his normal aptitude.
“Is something wrong with your hand?”
Prowl’s wing membranes rattled against his side in surprise. He looked up to see Prime’s large head turned toward him. Wheeljack still explored Teletraan-1’s console, plucking at the glass-like structures that took the place of the buttons and switches. His headwings rippled in blue waves as he muttered to himself in thought.
“The fingers are stiffer than I’m used to.” His tentacle aft twitched as he pulled the corners of his mouth down in a frown as he considered the implications of his loss of dexterity. He glanced up at the Autobot commander. “You said three were missing, which three?”
Prime’s head drooped; he blinked the translucent shutter over his eye. “Skids, Mirage, and Powerglide are not among the crew and they should be. With the Decepticons gone, I can only fear the worst has happened to them.”
Prowl’s tentacle aft twitched, the fuzz brushing through the air. Air hissed between his dental plates. He wanted to say something reassuring, but he didn’t need his battle computer to know that the likelihood of it being ‘okay’ was 38 percent and falling by the breem. That’s without knowing how long those members had been missing.
Prime rumbled, the sound vibrating the small plates on his shoulder. Anything he might have said was interrupted by an audio-splitting shriek. Wheeljack, jumped, startled, his stiff membranes shuffling.
Prowl had gone through this before, and was almost jaded to the abrupt cry.
The sound continued, crawling over their circuits and setting their jaws together against the horrid noise. Prime’s brow ridges drew together and air huffed out from between his teeth.
“Something’s not right.” The mech-turned-flesh moved faster than his form seemed capable. His plates shimmered in the sourceless light. His frame slid under his exterior with the grace of liquid running through a tank.
Prowl and Wheeljack exchanged a surprised glance before Prowl clambered over the consoles and rushed to join Prime’s lumbering form. The tactician’s neck stretched out, parallel to the soft floor. His wing membranes flared out, shifting as he poured over the Ark’s squishy floor.
Prime didn’t slow down when the black and white mech-beast caught up. The scream was only getting louder as they reached the rec room where Ratchet currently worked on the previously offline mech.
They burst in to see two white forms entangled. Ratchet struggled to hold down the writhing, longer body. The medic’s hand-feet gripped the saboteur’s wrists, but only his chest remained pressed to the floor. The rest of the black and white mech-beast thrashed and flailed. His long white tentacle aft had somehow wound itself around the medic’s torso. Jazz didn’t have the soft fuzz on his tentacle, like Prowl did, but when he lashed the appendage, it cracked like an energy whip and each cracking thrash left a nasty-looking line on Ratchet’s shoulder and sides.
It took only an astrosecond for Prowl to process the scene. While Optimus remained still, taking in the scene, the tactician determined the most dangerous thing aside from the increasing volume of the saboteur’s scream, was Jazz’s lashing member. Another astrosecond passed and Prowl made his move. He waited for the tentacle to head down, predicting its path and then he lunged, slapping the tip down.
Jazz shrilled louder, his cry raking along the three Autobots’ circuits. Prowl could see Prime shouting at Jazz, and swiping at his audio receivers, but nothing could be heard over the mech-beast’s screaming. Jazz’s aft spasmed again, rippling down the length of the tentacle, squeezing an unhealthy wheeze from the medic’s chest. Prowl scrabbled to regain his hold on Jazz’s tentacle tip, grabbing higher up and slamming the appendage back down.
Prowl could feel the saboteur’s panic in his every wild motion, but he could only wonder at the source. Of all the mechs he expected to react like this, Jazz hadn’t even made his list. The saboteur usually accepted each situation thrown at him with an infuriating smirk and a calm attitude that belied his surprise.
Optimus slapped Jazz’s neck down, still shouting commands at the panicked mech-beast.
It wasn’t until the big red hand-foot pressed the long neck down that Jazz quieted long enough for Optimus to be heard.
“Jazz, calm down!”
A strangled sound erupted from the saboteur’s mouth. Optimus cautiously relieved some of his considerable weight from Jazz’s back. “Prime?” Panic still edged the normally jolly voice and Prowl tightened his hold on the tentacle.
“It’s okay, Jazz,” the red mech-beast rumbled deep in his chest, a soothing noise akin to the purr of an engine.
Jazz lifted his chin turning his head toward the sound of the commander’s voice.
“Prime?” His lithe body thrashed again. “I can’t- I can’t see, Prime! Why can’t I see?”
He became agitated when Optimus drew his head back in surprise. Ratchet seemed to barely register it, his optics half-shuttered, air rushing in and out of his mouth.
Prowl tried to get a closer look at the saboteur’s optics, but was forced to struggle with the writhing tentacle.
“I can’t see! I can’t see!” Panic seemed to grip the black and white mech-beast again, and all vestiges of Jazz briefly disappeared from the shrieks that tore from his mandibles. “Why can’t I see, Optimus?”
~*~*~*~
Soft soles slapped the hardwood planks that wrapped around the thick trunk of the tree. Kara brushed aside branches that trailed down toward the oft-used path. Surely they were ready to be Redirected upward, that they might catch all of Ilesia’s light and feed the mighty tree. Although not this day as she already sank, no longer visible through the branches. Soon Teyvonna would cover the land and Disfuriel would open his eye and scatter his tears to light Ilesia’s way. Unless this was to be a Dark night.
Kara could never quite keep the cycles straight.
She padded down a flight of stairs and raced along the walkway to the little hut nestled within the crook of a thick branch. Leaves and vines draped the roof of the hut. She ducked through the curtained doorway, the stern red face embroidered on the cloth reprimanded her for her tardiness. She walked past the kitchen, her steps as light as could make them.
She needn’t have bothered.
“Karaleessa.”
Kara flinched at the sharp voice and she looked toward the kitchen. “Yes, maman?”
“Do you realize what time it is?”
“Sun’s set.”
Her silvering mother appeared wielding a tined spatula, which she waved at her daughter. “You do remember that tonight is your Watch? Now get moving before Teyvonna settles. You don’t need to be climbing trees in the dark anymore than Sylfiel. And you still have to get the robe from the smith. You can eat when you reach the enclosure. Hurry, hurry. Don’t just stand there.”
Kara scuttled into the bathing room, and gave herself a quick scrub. She changed out of her day clothes, and into the Watcher’s robes. She was lacing her sandals when her mother entered, carrying a woven basket in one hand.
“Ah! You move so slow. A fat cat moves faster than you.” She set the basket down and roughly shoved Kara’s foot into the sandal and quickly laced it up. “Now take this and go, and don’t forget the horses’ grain.”
Kara quickly tied her hair back, foregoing her normal braid to save time. She grabbed the basket and rushed out, waving at her mother and brushing past her mother’s husband at the entrance.
The sky beyond the branches was streaked in the last purple ribbons of Ilesia’s robes. She still had to get the final layer to her outfit, but the blacksmith’s workhut was on the other side of the great tree. She could save time if she simply borrowed Sylfiel’s robe. It shouldn’t matter anyway. Nothing ever happened. It hadn’t for over five hundred seasons, not since her grandmother Watched.
Evening brought the hunters back from the forest and the gatherers back from the fields. She pushed against the flow of the crowd, apologizing when objections were voiced. She took the first ladder she saw, clambering down so fast the braided rope burned her hands.
Once her sandals hit the ground, she broke into a run, smacking aside leaves that slapped her in the face. The torches were already casting dancing shadows through the dark woods. She slowed down, calling her approach to the outlying guards. They didn’t show themselves, but called back, acknowledging her presence.
She skidded to a halt by a lone altar and dropped to her knees before it.
V’ranna sat in darkness, her jewel eyes glinting only because of the torchlight. Kara guiltily gathered the old candle up and placed a new one down.
“Uldial.”
The jewel flared with its own light and a thin stream of flame shot from the Mother’s snarling mouth.
“May he waken soon and call his kin to save us,” she recited touching the statue’s wrinkled snout. But please don’t let him wake on my Watch, she added silently, mindful of the blasphemy she thought.
She stood, brushing her robes clear of leaves and continued into the clearing at a sedate pace. The spells inscribed on the trees pressed against her skin, questing, threatening until she muttered her name and they withdrew.
The first thing she saw was the hulking white form of the Dragon. Always her eyes were drawn to the magnificent creature that struck terror into her heart. The snarling visage of V’ranna did no justice to the true thing. He hunched into a tight ball, his clubbed tail draped over his massive snout. Three pairs of blue horns framed his deceptively peaceful face. His white body gleamed beautifully in the moonlight, like a diamond hill.
Kara tore her eyes from the slumbering dragon and hurried over to the horses’ paddock to dump in their grain. The horses tossed their heads, a few trotting over to nudge her. She rubbed their noses, smiling at their content. They whuffed air over her fingers. These horses had been bred and raised specifically to stand in the dragon’s presence, the giant slumbering beast didn’t bother them anymore than their caretakers.
“Where’s your robe?”
Kara glared up at her older cousin, giving the horse one final stroke. “Can’t I just use yours?”
Sylfiel sputtered a moment. “We’re supposed to use a fresh one each shift!”
“Come on, just this once, what harm will it do?”
Sylfiel frowned. “If Grandmaman knew… Oh, here.” The dark-haired maiden shrugged the outer robe off and handed it over to Kara. “If you’d only be on time. At least you remembered the grain.”
“It shouldn’t be my problem,” Kara snapped, clenching the robe in her fist.
Sylfiel’s green eyes flashed yellow. “It’s the village’s responsibility. Last time I checked you were a member of this village. So yes, it is your responsibility. Your mother has no problem fitting in, neither should you.” She stormed off to the altar, where she would collect her candle as proof of her watch.
Kara yanked the robe on, suddenly angry.
She had never asked for this responsibility. Had never asked to be a part of the village. She didn’t even know why they kept this Dragon. Why would they want him to call others?
They only other dragons were the Kahns, the red-eyed devils that ruled the humans lands with their teeth. The Kahn who burned her own village and the forest around it to the ground. Her sisters were assuredly dead, if not enslaved by one of them. The nasty monsters sought out all their villages, wanting to bring them under their claws.
Why would anyone want this one to bring more of his kind?
She edged around the massive beast. A distinctive blue line traced the Dragon’s back made up of ridges that broke into three separate lines. She had always wondered at the odd marking, wondered its reason.
The elves had been watching this dormant monster for over twenty-eight generations, since the Mother V’ranna stripped the Kahns and all their kin of their metal shells. Supposedly there were others, who would oppose the Kahns’ rule, sleeping in the Sealed Nest. No one had ever managed to confirm it, and not even the Kahns could enter.
She looked down at the passive face. The grass surrounding the dragon’s resting spot bent under his long breaths. She could sit under the shelter of the lean-to if she wanted, but Disfuriel’s Eye shone brightly down on the world, and it was too beautiful to stay sheltered. She thanked the Mother that he wasn’t tending his lover this night.
For even in utter darkness, the Dragon’s scales glowed with the strength of the Unseeing Eye.
They Watched for his Waking and to guard againtst any Kahn spies. The only reason the red-eyed Dragons had yet to stumble on the clearing were the protective spells scribed on the trees.
She didn’t know what made this Dragon so different from the rest of his kin.
His name didn’t even sound any different when spoken in their odd tongue. She tried it out, twisting her face as she formed the staccato sounds.
A grunt turned her attention back to the Dragon: She didn’t remember him moving but his head wavered above her and his nostrils quivered as he took in deep breaths.
Her heart stuttered and then raced, as she stumbled away, a clipped cry bursting from her mouth. Glowing blue eyes followed her and then his snout swept down to nudge her off her feet.
She hit the ground and scuttled backwards, her eyes never leaving the blue blaze between his eyes. Eyes that terrified her for a reason that she couldn’t quite place.
She needed to call out to the guards, but the words stuck in her throat, in the face of the Dragon’s presence. He rose, with the grace of a stalking wild cat. Hot breath washed over her, and the scaled lips parted to reveal pointed fangs. His tongue whipped out, swiping her robes.
Oh! Ohohoh! The robes! She didn’t have fresh robes! She smelled of wood and the forest. He didn’t recognize her scent.
The Dragon’s head pulled away, his long neck curving gracefully. His neck flared like a hooded snake, ready to strike. Sharp spines pushed their way out from between the ridged scales, and a hollow hiss blew from his throat.
She watched with wide-eyed terror as orange framed his body and abruptly he vanished from sight. With the source of her fright no longer looming before her, she found the wits to scramble to her feet, and she cried out to the guards.
“Get the Shaman. He’s awake! He’s-“ Her words cut off as she was swept off her feet. Tears ran down her face as she panted into the grass, stunned. A rumbling hiss and a blast of fetid air motivated her to crawl away and back to her feet.
What were they supposed to do if he woke? What did her Grandmaman always tell her.
‘If he wakes, he will be hungry. We are a meager meal. He will have more interest in larger prey.’
The horses! The paddock! Her sandals pounded the grass and she had no breath to call the guards again. The Dragon moved too quietly for them to hear, and even his hissing growls didn’t reach further than her ears. If they had, the horses would be in a panic. They’d been bred and raised to tolerate a slumbering Dragon, not one very much awake and hungry.
She felt more than heard the coming swipe. She dropped to the ground, and rolled back to her feet as dirt flew into the air behind her.
She slapped her hands onto the wooden fence with the intent of leaping over, but she felt the Dragon pass overhead. In only a few heartbeats a horse screamed, rising into the air, blood streaming down its flanks. The herd scattered, but not before another crashed to the ground, it’s hind end crushed.
The Dragon reappeared, the orange glow fading into blue and white. He ripped into the dying horse, his blue eyes watching her unsteady approach. Four bites and he turned to the second horse. His neck flared, hissing past the bloody mess in his mouth, and she stopped just beyond the reach of his clubbed tail.
Kara turned toward the woods, aware of the approach of many people, and sagged in relief. Someone had heard her, the Shaman was coming.
The Dragon finished the second horse as quickly as the first one. He licked his lips clean, directing the full intensity of his gaze onto Kara.
“Karaleessa? What’s this nonsense?” Her grandmother’s voice snapped sharply.
The Dragon’s head whipped toward the sound and Kara finally realized what frightened her so about his eyes. All aggression drained out of his posture as the God’s Banner fluttered into view. The cloth flipped and folded in a nighttime breeze, but the red face was still visible on the red background. A low whine bubbled from the white throat.
“Grandmaman, he’s awake. The Mirage is awake,” she shouted back, unable to move from her spot.
She had met the gaze of a Kahn, and they had never frightened her this much.
The Mirage looked back to her, his tongue sliding between his flared nostrils. He pranced over to her, blue ridges settling into calm lines. She flinched as he snuffled her hair, calm as a kitten now, with food in his stomach. She strangled her fear as she remembered more of what she’d been told. The Mirage enjoyed the sound of his name, spoken in the Kahn’s tongue.
“Mirage,” she cooed , reaching up to hesitantly stroke his snout. The skin between his nostrils was as supple as a newborn babe’s, and warmer than a bed of heated rocks. “Mirage,” she repeated in that other language.
But she shivered with fear under his gaze.
This Dragon had no soul.
Author's Notes: I'd been planning to introduce the elves into this fic later on, but then I realized that she would be appearing out of nowhere with Mirage; which wouldn't would be kinda bad. So yeah, elves. For those of you whom it might interest an elven generation is about 200 years (thanks to JML for correcting my idea of what a generation is).