A/N: Another hiathus, and a plethora of excuses that involve my mum getting her kidney removed after barely convincing her to start treatment of any kinds. Mum is fine now, thank God. So, I've been busy as well. Mostly catching up with real life and figuring out what to do. I am trying, I really am, to keep my stories updated, but by the time I get home I feel completely drained and just want to relax. And writing my chapters for the stories I got running takes time and effort to organize, to make sure I am in the proper mindset to portray the characters as they should be.

Anyways, Book One of Vestige Dawn is pretty much complete as a summarized draft. I've got the characters down, I got the villains down. All I need to do is find the right time to write. Of all my fanfictions, I really want to complete this one and Hinata the Dragonborn the most.

This chapter I wanted some stuff to happen. I don't know if I've managed to get the conversation the way it should be, but I think if it isn't there, its well over halfway to what I wanted it to be. Donnie's awake now at least.

Well, without further ramblings, here is ...

Chapter 14

The unknown terror
That stood alone
Passed from the days of the early suns
Through worlds of lost belief
Laid waste and buried deep

Summoned to be set up to fall
But there's no fear
That lives inside this soul

Inside this world
There is no way back to forgiving us
Undone, deliverer
The sinful and the saviors of the innocent

And so
Keepers of old
Keep us from cold
Let us fight once more
Till our honor is restored

The unknown terror
That lives below
Breaths the flames from the dying suns
And lives to wake the dying ones
The dying ones

Tear of the Goddess - Pentakill

I stretched out my arms and I looked into the eyes of my grandmother. She was the way I remembered her best, with her elegant thin hands, adorned with jewelry, with her blue eyes, the same I carried back when I was still flesh and blood, and that knowing, gentle smile. And she held my son in her arms. She had Ori.

"Give me my son." I said. It was not so much a plea as much as it was an order. There were just some things I could not let pass, even to the likes of my grandmother. I wanted to hold my son and I wanted to do it now. And, by God, was my son beautiful. His soft blonde hair shone like silk in the sun, his brown-golden eyes were glinting merrily as my grandmother bounced him lightly on one knee. Ori held something in his hands that I've seen before, something important, something alien. I paid it no heed given that my grandmother was ignoring my request.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she glanced at me and smiled sadly.

"I can't, dear."

"Give me my son. I have to hold him. I need him." this time my voice cracked, the pleading dominant over the order.

"I know, honey. I'm sorry."

For a while. We just stood there. Me- seeping with emotion and turmoil, and my grandmother serenely bouncing Ori.

"You have to find him, you know."

"Find who?"

"Save Orion, dear."

Save Orion? But... I already failed.

Ori is dead.

I wake up. I open my eyes. MJ's visorless face above mine. She looks like shit. I feel like worse.

"Rise and shine." she says with the same tone someone would say "About dang time, you son of a bitch!". But MJ doesn't usually swear, she's more into that passive aggressive thing, which may or may not be worse and which is also hilarious to watch when said passive aggressiveness isn't pointed in my way.

Everything hurts by the way, which is a total bitch in its own right. I don't want to move and I am hungry as hell. And thirsty.

And I miss Ori. My sweet little light of lights. Oh God, I miss him so!

"Hey! Fiona! Breathe! Focus on me. We found aliens. Made some friends. They look like us, by the way."

I breathed in and out slowly, forcibly trying to let go of the grief and misery that seemed to be choking my very being (and probably everything else in a wide range.)

"Friends?" I repeated, trying to imagine what that may have seen.

"Indeed. Apparently they wrecked their world in some sort of Civil war. Obviously they didn't say so, but you don't have a scrap of soldiers fighting over even less scraps in a forsaken frozen outpost. They were starving, more or less."

"You said some friends."

"Hn." She smirked, glad that I was still catching on as quick as she has known me to."We met the other guys as well. Purple gryphon storm troopers."

I chuckled, which was a bad idea in retrospect as everything hurt to begin with. I winced but I couldn't help keep a cringey smirk.

"Please tell me that will be in the official reports. I'd love that to be in the official reports. Imagine Gramps' look on his face. Stuff of pricelessness right there!"

"I am not even joking, Fia."

"So, what's the bad news?"

"Toli's knee is busted, Harry is a mess and I still have him down under, but he will make a full recovery."

My heart-spark hitched when I heard that and a quick glance sideways, as painful as it was to move so fast, told me all that needed to be told – Harry was lying there, unconscious but stable. I felt for his presence and relaxed, relieved that he was fine. WOULD be fine.

I released the breath I was holding and turned my attention back to MJ.

"And you? Your visor's been ripped off."

"Avalanche." she said, unusually tightly lipped and with such an obvious tint of aggravation that I could not help but get immediately suspicious and was a story behind that. I didn't feel like pressing about it right now but I will as soon as it was feasible and convenient. MJ was neat like that as long as you knew when to push her buttons. And if she allows you to do so. She's like a cat that way – a douchebag cat that plops down on the floor like a spoiled brat and looks at you straight in the eye and blinks slowly, telling you in their kitty way "Nyan! Just try it and make me do whatever it is that you want me to do! I will poop in your shoes regardless!"

Or something like that. It's her passive aggressive ways, you see.

Ahem.

I strained to look around me, but MJ had curtains around me. Hey, my wings are missing and I'm naked under the sheets! At least I've got two blankets to keep me somewhat warm.

"Time?" I asked curtly, desperately trying to ignore how groggy and tired I was feeling on top of everything else.

"We are getting reinforcements either later on today or sometime tomorrow."

"Any other stat rep?"

"We are setting up defenses and the ET's are helping. One of them is blind and one armed, the second is a classic meatshield gunslinging military type and the third one is a playboy chatterbox that Number One is constantly shushing. And he also decyphered the English language in less than 30 seconds, or so Sarah says. I think Number One wasn't an exact description of the man. Let's call him number two. He claims to be second in command of these...Autobots."

"A second in command? I gotta talk to him." I made great efforts to get up, only to be foiled by MJ, who shoved me back down on the cot."

"You will do nothing but rest. If it wasn't for the chatterbox, that you tried to kill by the way, you'd be already dead. He saved your life."

"Even more reason to talk to them. This is important. I may not be in the best condition, but I am sound of mind."

MJ snorted at that.

"Sure."

"Fuck you, MJ. I am sound of mind enough to do my job up to specs." I glared at her, but I could tell that she was still craddling that amusement by the shine in her eyes.

"You're naked and look like shit."

"And that matters to me how?"

"Fine. He's blind and one armed anyways. And I am too tired to argue. Alright, I will have you prepped in a second. Just need to tell everyone it's safe to come down now." She stood up to leave but then realized something and turned back to me. "Actually, you can wrap this blanket around you. I don't feel like going back and forth to the Snow Fort to get more things for you. I am completely knackered."

I raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. This will be the best first contact negotiations ever. If Grampa doesn't decide to kill them on the principle of being near me when naked, Damn, now I have to ommit that from the official report. But I am keeping the purple gryphon storm troopers. Haha! Can you fucking imagine that? I gotta see one of those, there is no way MJ isn't pulling my leg with that!

888

:: She's awake. :: Came MJ's voice through the com.

:: We noticed. :: Ginny grumbled out, sparing a glance towards the three autobots who were still wide-eyed and overwhelmed by the whole ordeal. In her opinion tough soldiers like them shouldn't be acting like babies. Something didn't quite add up.

:: She wants to talk to Prowl. Send him in. I'm going to sleep now. Don't bother me unless someone is dying. ::

:: Understood. I'll handle things from here. ::

Virginia sighed. She was supposed to be Fiona's XO but that was mostly only on paper. Most of the time she either argued or physically fought with her commander who was far from the exemplary shining star that everyone portrayed her as. The Poster Girl for Humanity, people called her. What her commander was actually was along the lines of an emotional and psychological wreck with severe post traumatic stress disorder, survivor's guilt that was somehow still unresolved, seventeen years after the fact and the most clinically clean and efficient self-destructive tendencies she had ever seen. In short, Fiona Johnson did the job and everybody else in her clique held her together.

She was not in Fiona's clique. She didn't try to be. Virginia only ever wanted to do her own job and her duty, and she often found herself wondering why the bloody hell did her commander take her in at this post when all they ever did was argue and assault each other.

With an internal sigh she turned to look at the three aliens that they were currently harboring. A sorry, starved lot they were. And yet, their morale was unbroken despite spending who knows how long here, fighting the enemy tooth and nail. Well, figuratively speaking, of course. There was strength in that perseverence. And Virginia could respect that.

"It's safe to go back in." she stated simply, and while her people went back to their business, the three Autobots stood stock still, staring with what she could classify as shock and apprehension.

"That...that was a punch in the...what did you humans call it? Ah, yes! A punch in the gut!"

Virginia could argue that the experience was more akin a punch to the balls, the way they had tensed and somewhat doubled over, but she really couldn't care less about semantics. She was already annoyed by their antics as it was. Her nerves were worn thin at this point. She had never been the patient sort and now she had to babysit full grown aliens on top of the unruly lot already halfway through the facility's doors.

A glance told her that General Johnson was sitting up, which she found unadvisable, but the Doctor Keats probably helped her up. She was still in the area designated as their impromptu medical wing, surrounded by makeshift tarp curtains for at least the illusion of privacy. Not that mecha generally cared about nudity. It wasn't like they had anything to hide. It was all machine, metal and cable, not matter they still nurtured a human soul underneath (she hoped). She fought for her humanity, damn it! And she wouldn't let go of it, not for anything!

"Get used to it." Virginia said. It was all that was needed to be said. The Commander had her heart on her sleeve and while she had many schemes and little underhanded (and often convolutedly concealed) things going on at the same time, she always had that one goal in her mind and that was the betterment of humanity.

It was a terrifying thought that someone could dream and think so deeply and so darkly. There was something taboo about the way people could empathize with each other now. Mecha people that is. She still remembered when the Commander woke up that first time. She still remembered the panic, that suffocating feeling of wrongness, of helplessness. But she also remembered the near infinite will to fight no matter what. She also felt the love and the hope, the bittersweet grief that drove her mad and for a small moment, she had understood everything.

It was like a distant dream now, though. Surely the Commander was half mad at the very least if not completely bonkers by now. Who would not be with such soul-wrecking, crippling grief? Virginia understood. But it was like a moment of clarity achieved by the mistiest and murkiest means and now that understanding had become more of a reminder everytime she felt that familiar constriction wherever her heart used to be. Everytime in moments like these, to be exact.

"That's...that's not healthy, bae." Jazz said after a while, looking oddly somber and less perky than usual.

"We make the best of what we have, Autobot." Virginia said evenly."Prowl, the Commander wishes to speak with you immediately."

With that she turned to get inside herself. A part of her felt satisfaction at how they reacted to Dawnbreaker's field. Fear was a good reaction as far as she was concerned. It meant that these Autobots will have at least the notion in their minds that humanity was not to be trifled with. Another part found it somewhat strange that they still hadn't shaken themselves from the initial shock. She'd have to keep an eye on them at all times.

888

"Prowl? Is- Is that what ah think it was? Vector fragging Sigma, mech! It can't be! C'mon Prowl, don't glitch out on me ol' buddy, ol' Prowl, ol' mech. Speak tah me, whisper sweet nothin's in mah audials, whatevah. Just...Just tell me that ain't a Prime. It CAN'T be a Prime!"

"That's ah Prime ah-rite, Jazz." Said Ironhide instead, the look on his face as grave as his vocals.

Of the three, Ironhide was the oldest. In fact, he was probably older than Jazz and Prowl combined. That alone made him the most qualified to confirm Jazz' fears. Well, the fears of the three of them. It was a well known fact back in the day that Primes were more or less not just political and religious figures, but also blessed by divine providence and by the power of the matrix with a certain kind of strength. A type of power that made any and all mechs and femmes certain that this was a leader before them. In part, that power was due to the Matrix of Leadership. In part, it was the drop of divinity within that mech's (or rarely femme's) spark that swayed the masses. It was hard to describe with words that specific sensation that the three autobots had come to associate with their Prime's gentle strength and steadfast nature.

That wave of malevolence that had passed through them, a malevolence born of grief, helplessness, frustration and misery, was like a perversion of all that was holy to them. It was torn apart and put together again, wrongly. It was vicious where Optimus had been gentle. It was tumultuous where he had been calm, serene even. It was a will of fire, a passion like no other, zest, stubbornness, chaos, a raw, savage, unbridled fury, as sweet as sin and as sour as death. It was everything that was not Optimus and it was there, an amalgamation of opposites that tore through them and sweeped them away in indescribable currents, like a furious acid storm, like Unicron himself had torn Cybertron apart with them still on it.

It was as terrible as it was glorious and they reveled in this sensation as much as they were terrified by it.

And all of this in less than a sparkbeat. And then it was as if it had not been.

How had these people survived such a terrible thing? They spoke so highly of their commander, of this Dawnbreaker. Perhaps it was indeed best to let Prowl speak with her. Of the three of them he was the most sensitive and with his glitching problem he was also the most unqualified as well as qualified person to do this. They needed to enter proper official negotiations, though. These humans were as friendly as they could allow themselves, with being reserved about certain things. They showed kindness and compassion, and yet were ready to rip them to pieces, should they prove their own claims false.

There was a sort of desperation clinging to these people that they had not seen in their own kind, but rather in the ranks of the Decepticons. Decepticons with the camaderie of Autobots, in search of peace, exploring the universe and generally...just, being Human, Jazz guessed. All of them were so different. Even the fleshies. They spoke in different dialects, they came from different cultures, had differing opinions on practically everything. But there was also banter, some rough-housing, and despite their overall dire situation, their spirits and morale was kept high.

How does one even live with such an amalgamation of chaos?

How does one survive what they have?

But, most importantly, how will he get himself on their ships to meet some more babes! They had a ratio of one mech for every ten femmes, or so one of those Seekers told him. Babes! Sexy, lonely, NUMEROUS babes! Everywhere!

"Jazz, I will go speak with their leader now. Keep in mind my instructions."

"Sure thing, Prowler." he pretty much missed whatever Prowl had told him, of course. Ah well, Ironhide will fill him in.

"It's Prowl, Jazz." the Autobots' Second in Command replied automatically as he headed inside, slowly, with great care not to step on anyone or trip. He almost looked like he was taking a leisurely pace and was not actually without the use of his optics.

"So...Ironhide, what did Prowlie say?"

Ironhide exvented exasperatedly and looked to the sky with a quick prayer to Primus to give him just a bit more patience with the likes of Jazz. After counting down from ten, the older mech turned towards Jazz.

"The usual, Jazz. Dun cause a scene, dun be a nuisance and teh stop flirting with Executive Officer Gravity. An' every'un else fer that matter."

"Dat bae's totally hot." Jazz said extra dreamily to which Ironhide snorted.

"Ah ain't gunna save ya if she tries ta kill ya again, Jazz."

"Well, we both know Prowlie's already got dibs on the medic femme. She's a piece o' work, Hidey. Ya'd think ol' Hatchet raised her 'imself!"

"One o' these days Prowl will snap an' kill ya, Jazz." Ironhide said semi-seriously.

"Hide? Is it me or is their Commander...Wowzah! She is!"

"What?"

"Hidey, look!"

It took Ironhide a few moments to find his vocals.

"Ah well. Look at that. Prowl's gotta be teh luckiest unlucky mech ah know."

There, in all her almost naked glory, stood the battered and tired looking Dawnbreaker sans all of her armor, and wrapped in a silvery thermal blanket that made it look like a strapless mini dress, showing off the near entirety of her legs, the looks of which made Jazz both feel like he was overheating and also realize that, despite her rather large size, she was in fact a Seeker build.

The welds, most of which he had done himself, were already repairing themselves, something that Jazz immediately took note of. They looked like them, but had their differences it seemed. He also noted the femme seeker's stance. She carried herself like a seeker alright. She was straight as a beam, her shoulders squared and her chin held high. As she waited for Prowl to reach her, she glanced discreetly around her, making note of what everyone was doing and Jazz could practically see her going through everything that was surrounding her, making plans and contingencies, not unlike Prowl himself.

For a moment their optics met and when Jazz gave her his trademark cheeky grin she smiled at his antics and gave him a playful wink. Maybe, just maybe, Jazz thought, she might not be as bad as he had thought her to be. She was tired and, frankly, exhausted and battered, but she still found it in herself to do what had to be done, to watch over her people and, what really struck Jazz, to try and give them the proverbial olive branch (What was with English and all these archaic metaphors and symbolism stuff anyways?).

She turned her attention from Jazz towards Prowl and her blue optics looked him over from top to bottom, sizing him up, her gaze calculating and far more serious than the playful, somewhat wry smile that played on her lips.

"You must be Prowl, yes? My name is Fiona, but most people also call me by my moniker Dawnbreaker. Using either one is fine." The Femme Seeker introduced herself. Up this close, Prowl could still feel the aftershocks of her powerful field. She was straining herself for this, that much was obvious and whatever had caused the violent reaction of grief and pain that had swept over them was now a mere memory, though still gripping her, and, as a result, at this small distance, it was gripping him as well.

Her introduction was informal, much to the dismay of his aching proper decorum protocols, but given their circumstances and what he had learned of her from her comrades, Prowl had come up with at least a 37.54 percent chance that she'd go for this kind of easy going, informal approach. She had a military rank, she had titles that she could have, SHOULD have used, but instead of parading her power to him, she had opted for a very Optimus-like way of doing things. It both made him relieved and made his spark ache at the thought of the missing Prime. She was honest, open, curious and, most of all, hopeful. But just like her comrades, she was weary of him, of all of them. A wearinesss born of terrible, horrible past experiences. She was weary and ready to face him and all of the challenges that their interractions (the interactions between Humanity and Cybertronians) would present to them in the future.

"My designation is Prowl, I am Second in Command of the Autobots and their military strategist. My logic circuits dictate that there is a 89.41 percent chance that you wish to speak with myself in terms of diplomatic exchange."

"At the very least, yes." She said curtly, not having any trouble with his particular way of speech (especially because it sounded peculiar to the other humans in English). It was ...refreshing." I mean, you guys are the first sentient species we've met that haven't actively tried to anihilate us from the get go. And, ugh, I really don't want to make this about the Blitz, you were probably told about it, I think. But. Eh. I just want this to work. And I want to help you guys. We can work out everything else from there. "

It was idealistic, it was almost with a note of sparkling-like wonder and it came straight from the spark of this femme. Even with his damaged sensory systems, Prowl could still detect all of this through the sheer power her field possessed.

"While I do have the authority to initialize talks with your people, I'd rather do so in the presence of all the figures of authority aboard my fleet. What I can offer you right now is something kinda like sanctuary. All three of you are in dire need of hospitalization, especially you, Mr. Prowl. Once that is out of the way I will see what I can do to work towards getting you an embassy aboard the Valkyrie, which also happens to be my flagship. What say you, Mr. Prowl?"

"Your offer seems reasonable, Madam Dawnbreaker." Prowl had almost called her Madam Prime, but thankfully his processors were fast enough to stop him. She definitely possessed the authority of a Prime. What was worse, Prowl could not determine if this was just a quirk of character or if she was a genuine Prime, and not just a wielder of the Matrix of Leadership by force. He needed more data for his systems to properly assess the situation. " What does this offer of sanctuary mean for us, exactly, if I may be so bold to ask?"

"We will give you medical attention as well as your own rooms aboard my ship. At this point what I really want is to talk with you, with your people. What happened here? This place is like an abandoned wasteland and MJ said that you were... that you were starving."

There was emotion in her voice. Compassion.

"We, the Autobots have been at war with the Decepticons for a very long time. I am not entirely certain your time measurement system will believably portray the scope of the war we have been in. I am capable of presenting you with both a detailed and a summarized version of our history, though I am of the opinion that you, Madam, are not in a state to go through either versions."

The Commander smiled at him with an exvent of amusement. He did not see the smile but he could feel it, as well as the feeling of selfdeprecation concerning her own condition.

"I've been through worse, Mr. Prowl. Right now the most important thing is to make a connection between our people. Learn from each other. And, if the Lady Fate is willing, work together for the betterment of all."

Why did that feel so much more weary than what it sounded like? A jaded kind of hopefulness. Desperate and full of grief. The sensation of all of this was gone as soon as it came to be and Prowl pursed his lip plates together in thought.

"You put great emphasis on peace and unity, Madam Dawnbreaker, and yet you come here, armed to the teeth, if I may use one of your own human phrases." Prowl was starting to get the hang of those, though his processors were still struggling with the archaic nonsence and chaotic drivel of it all. It was an uphill battle.

The Seeker femme leaned forward, towards him, an action emphasized by the rustling of the fabric she was covered in and the oh so quiet grunt of pain and discomfort that accompanied any and all of her movements. Prowl felt scrutinized, he felt as if that oh so very light air of acerbic amusement that surrounded her hiccuped, as if it had been a thin veil that had been ripped asunder by swift, turbulent winds.

"Do you fancy games of chance, Mr. Prowl? You certainly seem to like knowing your numbers."

"Ah." Prowl exclaimed quietly. Usually, Prowl did not have the habbit of encrypting the meaning of one's words. But even he, a mech as far from being a socialite as he was, knew that what she had spoken held a double meaning. It was in the tone of her voice, the spike of her field, the way she had leaned in, both curious and taut from the stress of just talking to him.

No.

Scrutiny did not even begin to explain what he felt wafting from her. She was hanging on every single one of his words, of his movements, emotions even. It was as if she was capable of accessing his very programming, as if she was capable of gleaming into the truth of his very being without him even being aware of it (except that he was).

Was this an interrogation? No. His logic circuits had calculated within a reasonable error margin that this was her trying to figure them out all the while doing her very best to protect her people. She was, however, doing it in a very roundabout, Decepticon-like way that Prowl did not like, not one bit. This was not an interrogation. But depending on where their conversation took them, it could turn into one, as well as getting himself and his two Autobot compatriots incarcerated.

"I do not see myself as a mech who thrives on danger, Madam. Nor do I especially fancy endangering my fellow Autobots. Thus I believe the answer to your question is no. I do not fancy games of chance. "

"I don't like gambling away the lives of my people, either. I will do my very best to make sure all of these people go back home safe and sound. I know it's not always possible, but I will do my very best, Mr. Prowl. Contrary to popular belief, I don't like games of chance but they sure like me. I think you know what that feels like, don't you? I play to win and so do you. That's why the three of you are still alive. Were there more of you here? Probably. But it's just you now, isn't it? You and the other guys. The enemy." her vocals were barely above a whisper at the end, like a string of sweet nothings whispered by a jilted, vindictive lover.

The best of Optimus and the worst of Megatron. That was what she felt like. And he could not even see her. He did not need to see her. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

"So, since both of us hate gambling, how about we skip the card tricks and play this straight? I did not come here by choice, but now that I am here, I might as well make the best of it. Who the hell is after you and what can we do to defend ourselves from them? I will go on a hunch and say getting rid of you will not get rid of those jokers, which, by the way, I wouldn't have done anyways, since it just plain ain't right. But hey, it's an option. It's there. I don't like it, it doesn't like me either, but sometimes we gotta do what we gotta do. Sometimes all the time. You never know."

Dawnbreaker plopped her arm on the table, the swift action making her cringe and placed her chin on her hand, looking straight at him and again with that maddeningly irrational sense of dark amusement building up in her despite the contradicting waves of compassion, hope, dread and grief.

There was something so fundamentally wrong with her! How can anyone function with such an emotional schism that probably ran as deep as their spark!? Prowl set such notions aside and focused on the actually important parts of what was happening. Wordplay aside, this strange Seeker femme had provided him with vital data for his simulations. She had said that she had not come here by choice? That meant that either she was here by complete accident (something that he could not give more than 0.0001 percent chance, and that with the most accurate astimate of the margin error) or somebody had made that choice for her. She either did not know who that somebody was or she was not allowed to divulge such information. Second, just like the rest of her team, she was unaware of who the Autobots and Decepticons are, down to the point where she was openly asking about it in such a manner that would reveal not just important information about the Decepticon forces here, but through it she'd get important information about the general presence of Autobots. Which was really just the three of them at this point, compared to the Decepticons' two thirds of the Commanding Trine, namely Skywarp and Thundercracker, as well as the infamous Seeker Femme Slipstream, who was known to be nearly as good, if not just as good as Starscream himself in terms of dastardly, convoluted plans and innovative ideas.

And then...

Then there was Overlord.

Prowl suppressed the shudder that was threathening to spill down his spinal struts at the memory of how effortlessly he ripped off Prowl's servo. There were still shocks of phantom pain down his missing limb. He was still uncertain how he had made it alive off of their ship, the Darksyde.

These dark memories of the not so distant past, along with the results of his simulations ran by his logic circuits cemented his decision at the end.

"I will attempt to present the data on Decepticons in a timely fashion, Madam Dawnbreaker."

He had almost called her Madam Prime again. It was painful and difficult for so many reasons.