Authors Note: This fanfic is a sequel - you can find the first part on my profile (it seems ffnet does not let me link. Ugh, ffnet!). You don't need to read it, though! You also don't need to know all that much Star Wars to try it out! I'd like to thank Dark K. for being awesome and playing in this 'verse with me and Moonflower999 for being the most amazing cheerleader I could ask for. I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter 1

The landing platform seemed absolutely calm, as if nothing abnormal was about to happen. The pilot felt his heart calm a bit as his fighter landed on the platform. Opening the dome, he jumped out of it without bothering with the ladder. Meanwhile, his I2 unit — which was still the very same one that had, long ago, helped a young Merlin to destroy the Federation Ship that had kept them isolated — lowered itself to the floor. Under no circumstances would Arthur admit to have taken a liking to the little hunk of tin. The main ship — the royal cruiser from Camelot, upon which he was supposed to be, was still approaching to land, but Elyan was already out of his fighter on the other side of the platform. As Arthur approached him, the captain took of his helmet — the king's still in place for security reasons — and Elyan smiled at him.

"They were wrong," he said, as the flagship landed swiftly and the ramp lowered. "There was no danger after all."

Arthur didn't even dare to nod, his heart twisting in his chest as he watched Owain — handsome and mainly, wearing Arthur's cape and Arthur's crown, with Arthur's chainmail on his body, making him look bigger than he was. They were not similar, not really, but they were the same size and had the same body shape, which was the reason why he had been chosen (against Arthur's express wishes) to be his decoy. It felt dishonourable to him, to use deceits such as this — against the Knight's Code, and against everything he believed. However, he had been forced to do it, while the council and the whole alliance, really, reminded him once again how he didn't have a heir. There was no one who could take his place. The whole situation was already precarious, as for the first time in more years than they cared to count, they had a non-royal, namely Aredian, representing them at the Senate.

He merely watched as Owain descended, Ranulf and Bedivere behind him, and he was almost ready to let out a breath of relief when it happened.

There was no warning, simply a huge explosion, shaking the whole ground and Arthur would have lost his footing if he weren't a warrior. Owain was sent flying through the air, and blood splattered them all as the royal cruiser went up in flames, tilting dangerously and finally falling off the back of the landing platform and down towards Coruscant lower levels. Arthur barely noticed it, all of his thoughts were focused on his people. Pushing up his helmet, Arthur rushed to Owain's side: his young knight was coughing blood, legs gone.

"Owain!" he called, kneeling and putting his hands on his man's head, but he knew, without a shadow of doubt, it was too late.

"I've failed you," Owain coughed again, more blood coming out, and Arthur just shook his head.

"You've saved me," Arthur countered, running his hand through the man's hair. "I own you my life."

"I did…" his breath was ragged, and his face was beyond pale as blood rushed out of his body, but his eyes shone with glory, "my duty."

"Yes," Arthur agreed, fighting against the emotions inside him to give this man some peace. "You honoured your knight's mantle."

"Proud?" he asked, with something of a smile, but by the time Arthur managed an answer, there was no life in him anymore.

"So proud…" Arthur said, his voice half-dead, and he lowered himself to rest his forehead against Owain's cooling brow. Rage surged in him — he had chosen Owain, and trained him, and made him a man of honour; but also a man of duty, and now because of it he was lifeless on the ground. Perhaps the worst of all, he was grateful to be dead as long as his King lived. And why? Because Arthur had dared to go beyond what was expected in order to protect his people? How could serving be considered such a terrible thing as to be greeted with death? But, no — only someone whose own plans were at risk because of Arthur's plans would do such a thing. He trembled, feeling the tears that he'd never shed burning behind his eyelids and wondered if it was all worth Owain's life — the loss of his joy, of his honesty, of his hard work. And yet, how could it compare to the millions of lives that could be saved if Arthur's plans came to fruition?

"You're still not safe," Elyan reminded him, seeming grim and determined at once. "Come."

There was no need to be called twice. He would not, could not, let this sacrifice be in vain. Standing up quickly, he donned his helmet once again and left the platform, hoping against all logic that this would be the last of it.

Aredian was just getting impatient. He knew better than most — better than anyone — the importance of listening to the Jedi Council members, but it was always a bit oppressive to have all twelve of them gathered around like that. He kept his face fixed in a smooth mask of indifference; and sat silent and quiet in his seat in the corner, but they just kept insisting. Worse, from any logical point of view, their reasoning didn't even make sense. One second, they were speaking against a Standing Army for the Republic, and in the next second, they were bemoaning their losses and their inability to deal with it by themselves.

It was very clear that Uther was getting impatient, too. His friend never had the true talent for politics. He was a man of action, and all this talking was wearing him thin. It hadn't been easy, getting him acquainted with the finest points of intergalactic policy and the workings of the Senate when he had first stepped in his younger brother's shoes, almost thirteen years before. In contrast, Aredian had long grown quite adapt at political manoeuvring. After twenty years serving Camelot from Coruscant, a great part of it as late Ambrosius' junior aid, Aredian had grown to throughly master the rules of the game. He had always quite liked Uther, and always, since they were young, the two had shared many similar views and philosophies. It had eased the burden of instructing the former king in the intricacies of the Galactic Senate.

Still, very few things were more likely to annoy his old friend more than Jedi — apart, probably, from old Gaius — and a whole group of them only made matters worse. It was clear, now, that he could barely wait for the audience to be over in the way he kept glancing at Master Gaius while Master Aufric, a particularly pale Vuk who had won renown as a pilot, spoke about some of the latest border disputes. Master Kilgharrah sat as still and calm as ever, his golden eyes focused on the traffic outside the window, not speaking much. He seemed to be, as usual, in deep contemplation. Master Deaton, on the other hand, seemed concerned, his very human face giving his emotions away. Battlemaster Ruadan also looked tense, eyes moving from one side of the conversation to the other, and Master Gaius had his wrinkled face twisted by his risen eyebrows, but this was such a constant in his face, that it didn't mean much, even for those who, like Aredian, had long known him.

"I don't know how much longer I can hold off the voting," Uther said, with a sharp movement of his hands. "More and more start systems are joining the Separatists, and ever closer to the Inner Rim. People are impatient — they are waiting for the Senate's decision."

"If they do break away…" Master Deaton started, his voice calm but, but with the smallest hint of reproach, and Uther would not stand for it.

"I will not let this Republic, which has stood for thousands of years be split in two!" He announced, closing his hand in a fist, as if it were an ultimatum he could indeed make, as if his sheer willpower would hold all systems together in a single cohesive unit. This was the strength and presence that had caused the Senate first to claim for Uther as their leader and then to vote for him again once his first time was up. "My negotiations will not fail."

There was no hint of doubt in his voice, even if anger was clear. Looking at the steel shining underneath his face, Aredian could well believe it — if anyone could keep them all together, it would be Uther. Hadn't he managed to keep the whole of Albion safe, without any help from his fellow rulers and little resources when it seemed it would all break away?

"If they do," continued Master Deaton, showing more of a Jedi's fabled patience than he usually did, and ignoring the emotions that were rolling off the chancellor. "You must realise that there aren't enough Jedi to protect the Republic. We are keepers of the peace, not soldiers."

Uther shot a look to Gaius, then, before turning his eyes to the Grand Master of the Jedi Order.

"Master Kilgharrah, do you really believe it will come to war?"

His voice was almost friendly in reaching to the dragon-like creature, and still Aredian could feel how little Uther trusted him. For all his politics, hiding or lying from a Jedi was no easy trick, specially one as accomplished as Master Kilgharrah, who seemed to have just acknowledged their presence around him, as if they were beneath his notice. The calm dignity that bordered on arrogance was part of the reason why Uther and the Grandmaster had never seen eye to eye.

"The Dark Side clouds everything," he announced, in his usual authoritative drawl. "The future is not that clearly seen under these circumstances."

Uther scowled at this, as he would often do when answers were not as direct as he'd like them to be, turning towards Master Taliesin, and the Iktochi shrugged.

"There have been… No clear sightings, sire."

"Morgana…" Uther started, ever worried, and the Jedi rose his hand in a calming gesture.

"Is by far our most talented seer, but even her cannot see through the veil of the darkness — not clearly enough as to be of any help, at least."

Uther nodded, accepting the answer, although it was clear he didn't like it. Aredian was truly thankful for the hologram that popped up immediately after that, showing Uther's secretary, who bowed before he started speaking.

"Your Honor, His Majesty King Arthur is here."

"Good," Uther answered, with an real smile, moving from politician to proud parent in a second. "Send him in." He turned back to the Jedi High Council, still smiling. "I'm sorry," he said, although no one could have believed him to be anything but thrilled to be seeing his child after a long absence. "We will have to discuss this matter later."

Uther's clear and unquestionable love for his children was probably one of his most endearing characteristics, and there was no one, save the children themselves, that may say anything but the most glowing things about his feelings for them. The clear relief and joy in his face upon seeing Arthur walk inside made most of the council members smile, and Aredian himself could not be completely untouched by it.

Arthur was smiling broadly at Uther, looking none worse for the wear after his troubles earlier in the day. He had clearly showered, and now was donning velvet and silk, all in Pendragon Red, and his crown was nowhere to be seen — it was not, very clearly, an official encounter, but simply a child rushing back to their parent's arms after time apart.

Master Kilgharrah's wings flipped a bit as he approached them, making Arthur stop, but from what Aredian could see, the old Jedi was leaning on his long, decorated stick, and wearing something resembling a smile.

"Young Pendragon," he said, his voice booming as usual. "It was a tragedy what befell to you on the platform."

The chancellor flinched at this careless mention of the incident, as if he did not want to believe — or remember — how easily he could lose his heir. The king, on the other hand, remained firm, as if the tragedy served only to harden his resolve.

"It will not be forgotten," Arthur vowed. "Owain did not lay his life down in vain — I will continue my mission, and serve Camelot, Albion and the Republic to the best of my abilities."

Master Kilgharrah lowered his head, seeming a bit impressed — not an easy feat, for in his extremely long life, the Grandmaster had seen much. On the other hand, it just showed how little he knew about Arthur, or how low were his expectations for non-Jedi. Aredian wasn't sure which, but it was possibly a mix of both.

"For sure," The Jedi agreed. "Makes me glad to see you alive."

There was something in his voice that clearly gave Arthur a pause, and he looked from Master Kilgharrah to the rest of the Jedi, his face curious.

"Our intelligence points to disgruntled miners from Gedref," informed the small Master Grettir, but there was something in his voice that made Aredian — and Arthur — know that he wasn't sure about it.

"I think Count Peter was behind it," the bold king declared, finally.

The council received that with a stone silence. It was as if none of them could deny it, but none of them wanted to accept it either. It made Aredian frown.

"He is a political idealist, not a murdered," dismissed Master Alator, then, after an infinite second. The Cerean didn't seem perturbed by it.

"You remember, your majesty, that Count Peter was once a Jedi," Gaius told him, purposefully leaning into his stick as Aredian hadn't seen him do for a long time, as if to remind Arthur how much he had done to protect him, that he could and should be trusted. Gaius was one of the smartest political minds Aredian had ever met, and not above using such tricks to make himself heard. "He couldn't assassinate anyone. It's not in his character."

Arthur did look sorry upon being forcibly reminded of Gaius situation, and shrugged like some young boy being scolded by his schoolmaster.

"Whatever reason, young King, you are in grave danger;" Master Kilgharrah concluded, and it made Uther bristle once again.

"Master Jedi," The chancellor said, looking at all of them at once, his worry clear in his features. "May I suggest that the King be placed under the protection of your graces? Clearly…"

"Is it a wise decision, at this strained moment?" he asked, looking at Uther, and it was Arthur's turn to be annoyed.

"Father!" he complained, a second away from putting his hand on his hip. "I don't think the situation…"

"Is that serious?" Uther asked, clearly not in the mood to argue his point of view. "But I do, Your Majesty". His emphasis on Arthur's title was marked enough to make the man flinch. It was obvious that he had gone from child to ruler in a second, and Arthur had never enjoyed the intrusion of his duties on his relationship with his father. "The way matters stand — what would happen, if you were to die? Who would rule Camelot? Who would…" he shook his head.

"I do not need a baby sitter!" he answered, his pride hurt, but Aredian could see he was softening to his father's pleas. It seemed to Aredian that he was often caught in the midst of Uther's squabbles with his children; and if his friend had learnt how to handle politicians, he never did learn to accept rebellion in his own home.

"I realise," he interrupted, trying to sound as pacifying as possible, as he had done dozens of times before. "That additional security may be disruptive for you," he told the young king, trying to smile. "But perhaps someone you're familiar with…" he let the suggestion hang.

Both Uther and Arthur looked at Aredian, and from him to Gaius, who, naturally, would have been Uther's first choice but that now, as a Council Member, was not a possibility — not to mention that, while wise and a remarkable Ambassador, he was not a Guardian and could hardly be of use to defend a warrior such as Arthur with all his restrains.

"Someone like Mordred," Gaius suggested, then, looking at his colleagues, who nodded to it.

"It can be arranged," Master Deaton answered, with a nod. "He had just returned from a border dispute on Ansion."

Others might have missed the way King Arthur's eyes softened and a bit of colour rose up his face, but not Aredian. It truly intrigued him, but he saved the information for future analysis. Uther stepped down from the steps that held his desk above the chairs that were positioned for those who came with petitions, walking towards his son and putting his hand in his shoulder.

"Do it for me, Arthur," he pleaded, his face sad. "The thought of loosing you…"

Uther didn't finish the sentence, but the way he gripped at Arthur's shoulder, looking into his eyes before looking away and composing his face into a mask of calm were more than enough. The chancellor was not a man that was comfortable with divulging his emotions, lest his enemies use them against him, but in begging his child to be more careful with his life, one could see the ghost of his beloved queen and her loss in the depths of his eyes. Arthur looked around, lost, before nodding to the waiting council.

"I'll ask Mordred to report to you immediately, Your Majesty." Master Deaton said, his face softened by the scene and by Arthur's clear awkwardness.

"Thank you," Arthur answered, his voice subdued.

The council continued on their way, leaving the room, and Aredian followed to register the things he was meant to and consider what he had just learnt, giving father and son a modicum of privacy.

Merlin was trying, he really was. Half of his mind was on the task of not fidgeting, the other half was focused on keeping his cool — controlling himself, keeping his emotions in check, keeping everything in perfect peace. That was the Jedi way: live in the moment, be mindful of your thoughts, control your emotions — there is nothing but the Force, nothing but peace.

Yet, if he was to judge by Mordred's face, he wasn't doing a very good job at it. His master seemed to be fighting not to laugh openly at him.

"You seem a little on edge," Mordred pointed out, still as a rock as the elevator rose through the sky; but the undercurrent of mirth in his voice couldn't be hidden.

"Not at all," denied Merlin, glad that at least his voice was under control.

Mordred's eyebrow twitched in doubt, but the rest of his face was smooth.

"I haven't seen you this tense since we feel into that nest of gundarks."

That broke Merlin's attempt at composure, and he snorted, remembering the moment.

"You fell into that nightmare, Master!" He reminded. "And I rescued you."

"Oh yes," Mordred said, with a tiny laugh. The smile that came to rest on his face after it was genuine, and made his eyes crinkle a bit, and for the first time since they had entered the elevator, he looked straight at Merlin. "You're sweating!" he seemed surprised, and not positively so. "Relax. Take a deep breath."

Apart from his clear concern with Merlin, Mordred was calm as still water. It boggled Merlin's mind how he could be so, after everything — well, not that Merlin knew anything for sure, but it had clearly… It was just surprising that he was so unaffected by the meeting that was clearly coming, considering that when they had last met, Mordred had blushed without Arthur even looking at him. If anything was needed to prove how much Mordred had grown — as a man, as a Jedi — it was this. Forget the trials, he was a Master indeed, not only for Merlin, but for all.

Merlin could only hope he would have grown as clearly as Mordred.

"I haven't seem him in ten years, Master," he said, although for sure Mordred knew, as his small nod gave away.

However, Merlin doubted he could fully understand how important it was to him — how he had thought of King Arthur every day during this period, how he had wanted to be half the warrior he had glimpsed in him, half the man. Mordred's heart and his loyalty belonged to the Republic as a whole — he may had pledged his support to Arthur in his hour of need, but he had said then that the bonds shared were more important than any power — and those bond him to the Jedi Order first and foremost. Whatever feelings King Arthur might have once awaken in him, they were not the sort to make him forget where his should keep his faith.

Merlin, on the other hand, would never be able to forget that before the Republic, before the Order, when it had seemed that his whole life had been turned upside down and his dreams dangled in front of him only to be smashed, Arthur had believed in him and trusted him and wanted his loyalty. The support of his heart was all he had asked, and Merlin had given it — fully, completely, in a way that made sure he could not just pretend this was an assignment like any other. Forget the Knight Trials, as much as he was eager to go through his, this was the moment where everything he had been through in the last ten years would be put to the test, his worth be judged, and it was impossible to be calm in the face of that.

The door opened, and Elyan was standing near the elevator, a huge smile on his face as he saw them.

"Mordred?" he asked, watching his master for a second before being sure that this bearded man was the same young padawan that he had fought with in Camelot. "Mordred! I'm so glad to see you!"

Mordred smiled at him, accepting the hug that was offered.

"It is good to see you again, Elyan," he said, warmth in his tone. "How is everyone else?"

"Good!" he said, before remembering himself and making a face. "Well — there is the separatist thing…" Mordred gave him a side nod, and he moved on. "But as good as they can be, I'd say."

"All of them, I trust?" Mordred said, and Elyan's smile grew bigger.

"Yes — Lancelot has even grown enough balls to start courting my sister — at this rate, though, they won't get married until they're old and grey," he confided, with an amused smile. "What about Master Gaius? Lady Morgana?"

It was always confusing to hear someone talking about Morgana as if she were royalty — although, technically, she was — and Merlin kept his silence as Mordred's smile grew.

"Master Gaius is at the High Council now, as I'm sure you know," Mordred answered, and Elyan agreed to it with a gesture. "Morgana, I hear, is to be made a Master soon. She has been… Well, I believe, although I haven't seen her in person in months."

"Stuck at the border, I've heard," Elyan said, before slapping his head. "Where are my manners? Please come in."

He escorted both of them to the royal apartments Camelot held at the 500 Republica, the very same ones Merlin had come to as a child. It was, suddenly, as if all the years in between disappeared and he was just a boy once again, recently brought from Tatooine, unsure of where he stood, unsure of who he was, and what he was meant to do.

"Arthur!" Elyan called, betraying their closeness in the intimate space provided. "The Jedi have arrived."

Arthur walked from one of the inner rooms, and Merlin was struck speechless once more. It was not that the years hadn't touched him, but he didn't look older. More mature, perhaps, with a new strength in his jawline and a tired glint in his eyes; but it seemed as if, instead of ageing, Arthur had simply become more himself in the last decade. His shoulders were still impressively broad, his arms clearly muscled under the silk that covered it. He smiled upon seeing them, but his eyes were focused on Mordred as he approached. While some part of Merlin couldn't help but being disappointed at it, he was not really surprised.

"It's been far too long, Master Mordred," he said, coming to shake his hand in a way that was far more friendly than one would generally expect from a king.

"I'm not a master," Mordred corrected, but his face was still… affable. Mostly calm and polite, undeniably pleasant, and only the long years spent together made Merlin notice the slight pink in his cheeks. "Not yet, at least."

Mordred gestured to Merlin, where he stood behind him, and Arthur stopped, openly staring. Focusing, Merlin could see himself through Arthur's eyes — long and lean, quite a head over Mordred's height and a tad taller even than Arthur himself. He could see how his shaved hair must look, somewhat messy, and his long padawan braid hanging from behind his left ear. Arthur could not see, under his brown mantle, the scars he bore from his years serving the order, but there might be something — anything — that showed him just the sort of warrior — guardian — he had become since their last meeting.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked, finally, blinking as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "My goodness, you've grown."

"So have you," the words were out of Merlin's mouth before he even thought them, before he could notice he was making no sense. "More royal, I mean..." he tried to correct himself, and he could feel Mordred's reprehension without a single movement. It was clear that his master would have rolled his eyes at him if he weren't so controlled. "For a prat, I mean."

This made Arthur laugh, shaking his head.

"Well, clearly you'll always be the brat I knew on Tatooine!" He answered, but there was no particular sting to it. "Never a ounce of smoothness — should have known better than to expect that the Jedi would've given you any sort of ability to be political."

It was clearly a jest, and aimed at Merlin's poor manners rather than the Order, but Merlin also knew his master and knew how it'd pain him, how it'd make him feel like he had failed. A wave of protectiveness surged inside him, and even though he could have kept his silence, he didn't want to.

"You're one to talk!" Merlin scoffed. "Clearly my masters have been far better than yours!"

It didn't have the effect he had expected — Mordred looked torn between pained and moved by his defense — but Arthur smiled, looking from one to the other, and disarmed him with a single sentence.

"I do not doubt it."

He turned his back and walked to seat on the couch — red, as most of the decoration. Mordred sat himself opposite to Arthur, and Merlin took his customary place on his right. Elyan was talking to someone on the intercom, as Mordred reassured Arthur.

"Our presence here will be invisible, Your Majesty. I can assure you."

"Arthur," the king corrected, waving away his title. "Men who have fought on my side have earned the right to call me by my name."

Mordred assented with a gracious bow, and a new man entered the room. It took Merlin a moment to recognise Sir Leon, his face cordial and wary at once.

"Hello, Master Mordred — Merlin." He smiled at the padawan, who was shocked that he had been so immediately recognised, before focusing on his master. "As the one responsible for His Majesty's security service, I'm very grateful for your presence," he said, shooting a glance to his king that looked very much like the ones Mordred would send him when he was being unreasonable or too heroic. Arthur's scowl was, he imagined, not so different from his own expression at such occasions and Merlin needed to control the urge to giggle. "The situation is more dangerous than he will admit."

"I don't need more security," Arthur waved it away, and Leon stepped back, hands hidden behind his hips, standing attention as the king spoke; but his face betrayed how little he agreed with his liege's words. "What I need, is answers. I need to know who is trying to kill me."

"We are here to protect you, not to start an investigation," was Mordred's careful answer, and Merlin bit his tongue.

"What is the point of it?" Arthur questioned, but unlike Merlin, he didn't sound like an ungrateful child when doing it. "How can you — or anyone — possibly be effective in protecting someone — or something — when you don't have all the information? When you don't know what you are protecting them from or why? How can you want me to just hurry up and wait without having enough knowledge to devise a proper plan?"

"I understand your concern," Mordred replied, calmly. "But we cannot exceed our mandate."

"Why?" Arthur asked, as if it were simple. "Why else were you assigned? Protection alone — this is something my men and local security can do — failing that, I'm more than able to defend myself. Having Jedi on top of that is an overkill."

"I agree, Master," Merlin finally spoke, emboldened by Arthur's words. "Investigation is implied in our mandate."

"We will do as the Council instructed," Mordred's eyes were on him now, hard and judging. "And you will pay attention to my lead."

Merlin's answer was on his tongue as Leon interrupted.

"Perhaps your presence alone will be enough to clear the mystery of this threat."

The look he shot Arthur was admonishing, and the king stood up, then, with a sigh.

"Very well. If you excuse me, I will retire."

It was clear that his face was sour, and he walked out of the room without another word. Leon seemed long suffering as he watched the king's back, before Elyan stood up and spoke to them.

"The gods know we all feel better having you here," he said, with a sigh. "We have gathered all the specialised personnel we could — one man in every floor, though most aren't knights. I was about to go check the control centre downstairs."

He gave them a small wave and followed with his orders, while Leon stayed. Mordred started to walk around, analysing the place for potential weak spots, and Leon looked at Merlin with a smile that was a bit more welcoming than his previous expression.

"I'm so glad to see you again," he told both, and Merlin could see his master smile, but he kept on moving.

"He hardly recognised me," Merlin complained, with a sigh. "I have thought of him every day since we've parted… But he has forgotten me completely."

Leon frowned at this, shaking his head.

"He was happy. Happier than I remember seeing him in a long time," he offered, but Merlin just shook his head, desolated.

Mordred stepped next to him, his voice comforting.

"You're focusing on the negative," he warned, not for the first time. "Be mindful of your thoughts."

Merlin considered saying something else — even rebelling, because it just wasn't human to act like it was something so small, even for a Jedi, there must be limits, when Mordred's face broke into a sunny smile.

"He was pleased to see us — now, let's check the security."

It was heart-warming to see Mordred don off his Perfect Jedi cape, but at the same time, it was discomfiting to see him so affected by so little words. As Leon led them to see the full scheme they had organised, Merlin's head was filled with questions he doubted he'd get the answer to.