Chapter 2
Arthur was aware that it wasn't exactly the most adult thing to do to simply lock himself up in his room, but the whole mother hen thing Leon had going on with him managed to make him extremely annoyed sometimes. He loved his First Knight dearly, they were like brothers, but his insistence in mediating had struck him as unfair when he was trying to lead the Jedi to help further.
Perhaps it had been smart of him — if he was right, there would be a new attempt soon enough, and with Arthur under his watch, there would be nothing stopping them from following through with it. Even if he didn't like the concept of simply waiting, it seemed useless to complain now.
Coming to dinner with them wasn't a hardship. Whatever he had said, he was glad to have them around — even if he didn't particularly feel the need to their fighting skills — and he was also tired of being alone in his rooms, only I2-SA for company. The droid was clearly smart and almost human-like after all the improvements the engineers from Camelot had done to it, but it still just communicated with beeps and screeches.
Both master and padawan rose when he entered the dining room, and Arthur gestured them to sit again. He took his place at the head of the table, smiling.
"I am deeply sorry for my behaviour before," he told them, feeling deeply conscious that at 29 he was far too old for such tantrums.
"Not at all," Mordred answered, his face smooth. "It was a trying day, and such events are sure to bring emotions to a boiling point."
One of the servants walked in to serve them pre-dinner wine, and Arthur used the distraction as an opportunity to watch the two men he hadn't seen in a decade.
The changes in Merlin were the most obvious ones — if at twelve he had seemed like a child, at twenty two he could not be mistaken by someone younger than he was. It seemed somewhat surreal to think that he was now older than Arthur and Mordred had been at the time they first — last — met. There was, still, some similarities in their faces, but the differences were more pronounced. Merlin had become taller than both of them, and while he was clearly wiry, there was a width in his chest and back that couldn't have been guessed from their previous encounter. His hair was cut in the same messy style used by most padawans — at least those with hair — a mismatching mix of shaved, long and braided. It made his already distinctive ears look even bigger, but the overall effect was sweet rather than disproportional. His cheekbones had always been prominent, in a way that made him look gaunt and famished as a slave child, but now seemed to have been carved in the marble colour of his skin. As a child, his lips had seemed pouty, but now Arthur couldn't picture him doing something so undignified, not with his brown Jedi robes and calm demeanour. Sure, probably he would stick his feet on his mouth the moment he opened it, but as he rose the crystal glass to his lips, tasting the bitter drink without cringing, he seemed impossibly grown up.
The differences in Mordred were harder to see, but still there. The last of the roundness in his face was gone, replaced by a wider jaw and a sharpness that was smoothed only by the slight beard that covered the lower part of his face and the top of his perfectly proportionate mouth. There were slight bags under his eyes that spoke of little sleep and a long time spent on missions, and his eyebrowns had grown a bit thicker, just as the hair now spread somewhat wildly through his head — the last time they met, the braid had already been gone, but the hair remained cropped short. Now it seemed to frame his head perfectly, on long waves that hinted at curling if the hair was allowed to grown longer. More than physical changes, his demeanour was different — under Nimueh's tutelage, he had been shy and even a bit unsure, but now there was no space for doubting his abilities. With Merlin as his padawan, Mordred had grown into a full knight — a man — absolutely in control of himself and Arthur couldn't, now, see him doing some of the things he had once done. Mordred clearly had grown into the sort of man who was conscious of his duty and his orders, perhaps too much so.
Which was at once a good thing and a bit unsettling — in both cases. Arthur didn't even know how to start a conversation with people he had trusted his life with, once, people who had sat around him in an equal table, witnessed him become the King he wanted to be. He could never treat them with only polite distance; it would be out of character for him to do so, and at the same time, he could not see how to regain the old closeness. Many times during the intervening years Arthur had longed for the sight of them, for their voices and their company, but in facing the reality of it he felt strangely wrong-footed.
The moment of silent awkwardness while drinking a bit of wine was broken by Leon's arrival.
"Your Majesty," he said, coming in, with a kind smile. "Your popularity clearly isn't suffering in some sectors of society."
He held the door open to somebody, and Arthur was at once glad and unsurprised to see his visitor.
Morgana wasn't wearing her Jedi robes, but some sort of simple and yet flowing white dress under the dark green cape. Her hair was unbound, falling wildly through her back in dark waves, her face pale and her green eyes seeming to want to make sure that what she saw was real as she rushed inside and threw her arms around Arthur, hugging him.
It was a weird thing, to have her this close, to smell the distinctive herbs in her clothing and the scent of her skin. In the ten years since they had met, they had grown much closer — one might even say close, at least as close as one could be to a Jedi or to a Seer — but mostly they spoke from afar and even when meeting in person, never before she had shown such unbound affection as she was doing now. Arthur hugged her back, cherishing the warmness of the moment, and when they parted, there was a teary smile in her face.
"I was so worried," she said, in barely more than a whisper. "I feared — I saw — I tried to warn you…"
"And you were right, as usual." Arthur replied, patting her hand. "But I am here — I'm fine. Owain…"
No man was worth his tears, Arthur had learnt this lesson still young. But it didn't mean he didn't miss or feel pain for his fallen comrades, specially those whose death had been but means to keep him alive. Morgana seemed to know this — as she knew many other things without having them ever spoken, and she nodded with a sad smile, before turning around to face Mordred.
The knight was standing, ready for her blinding smile, and it didn't look nearly as weird seeing the two of them embracing; in many ways they were more like siblings than he and Morgana could ever be. Morgana ran her left hand through Mordred's hair, while Arthur stepped back into his place in front of his chair. Her smile was still welcoming as she stretched her right hand in Merlin's direction, making the padawan stand and come close to her, holding it. Morgana squeezed the boy's hand for a moment, before letting go of Mordred and rising on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
"And you two," she said, with a shake of her head. "Having all the fun and leaving me here!"
"We may have different concepts of fun," Mordred replied in a deadpan, as Morgana grinned and moved to take the seat next to him. Merlin made his way around the table just as Leon arrived, to sit in front of Morgana, the servants bringing extra plates for her.
"I trust you will stay for dinner?" Arthur asked, and Morgana nodded, still smiling.
"Oh — so isn't it true what I've heard?" she teased the man next to her with a smirk, before turning her eyes to Merlin. "Tell me the truth, Merlin. What sort of heroics did both of you get into this time?"
Merlin laughed out loud at this, and Mordred grinned, and it was impressive how her simple presence had eased things. Leon, who had held a soft spot for his sister ever since meeting her, smiled.
"Don't try to lie, she'll have your head," the knight warned Merlin, and the boy shook his head.
"I wouldn't dare!"
"It was… interesting" Mordred declared, finally, as the food was starting to be served. "More than your usual border dispute, I assure you."
"Starting with the whole arriving to save our fellow Consulars," Merlin informed, and Morgana laughed good-naturedly at the jab.
"Getting in trouble, were they?"
"When aren't they?" Mordred asked, and Leon laughed at it.
"Just a small army of mercenaries," Merlin answered, gesturing it away. "Nothing we can't handle."
"Of course," agreed Morgana, looking at Arthur with a smile. "Mordred and Merlin were dispatched to play guards."
"We are guardians!" Mordred reminded her, laughing.
"Yeah — someone's gotta keep you people in one piece to do the important political talking for the Republic," added Merlin, with a easy smile.
"Then it was a simple matter of convincing the Alwari to share half their lands," Mordred shrugged. "There have been more difficult missions."
"Gundarks!" Merlin muttered, and Mordred shuddered, and the two men shared a look before laughing. It was clear that they had the easy sort of rapport that made them a wonderful team, but it meant that the rest of them were left out of their inside jokes.
"Never mind peace talks — I've had more than enough of them for a lifetime!" Morgana gestured with her fork towards them. "What I have heard, is that there was need for some talent offering? Something about a feast and presentations?"
Now both men blushed, but there was a spark in their eyes while they did it.
"Well — yes." Mordred admitted, scratching his head. "We met a clan that wouldn't let us through unless we proved we had souls, which is… Well, part of their culture. To prove it, each of us had to perform at a feast they were having — separately."
He stopped, filling his mouth with food, and Arthur found himself unusually interested in it.
"Don't leave us in the suspense — tell us what happened!"
Mordred just shrugged, clearly fighting to keep the smooth composure that he had been sporting before Morgana's arrival.
"Well, Sefa did a series of acrobatics with sand, and her padawan did lightsaber acrobatics," he turned to Morgana, his face a mask of mock-offence. "What do they do to you all that you think lightsabers are something to dance with instead of fighting?"
It made his sister laugh, and she shook her head.
"Don't ask me — I always took my training seriously. Now, you were the one in love with Ataru as a child, and it is…"
"A noble and fight worthy form," Mordred cut in, with a smile. "Now, it was a sight of pure mastery, but still…"
"No one is interested in their gimmicks," Morgana interrupted, sharing a look with Arthur before staring at the padawan. "Tell us about you."
Merlin smiled a bit, then, the tips of his ears shining red, as he shrugged.
"I sang a song," he explained, with a small shrug. "One my mother used to sing when I was a child."
There was something in his face, something of longing and pain and missing, but it was gone in an instant, under Morgana's sympathetic gaze. Sensing the tension that it left in the boy he had seen give up so much, Arthur turned towards Mordred.
"What about you? What was your offer?"
"I…" Mordred's face twisted in a expression of one who didn't know how to explain. "I just told them a story."
"A story?" Arthur asked, frowning, but Morgana was quicker than him.
"And what story was that, Mordred?" she asked, not without a hint of teasing, as if she knew very well the answer to it, but wanted to hear him say it out loud for the pleasure of hearing it said out loud.
Mordred took a deep breath before he started speaking, but his face was clearly tinged with red now.
"I told them about the blockade of Camelot — a tale of honour and deceit, a tale of friendship and loss, a tale of heroics and the rise of a great King," he rose his glass, as if toasting Arthur, before looking at her and Merlin in turns. "A tale of talents coming to light, and hope springing anew."
Arthur was touched by his words, and Morgana's eyes had grown soft again, her hand curling around Mordred's lowered arm; but Mordred's eyes were on his padawan, shining with some secret intensity, that made Merlin blush a bit, while answering the smile with the same fierceness. He was taken back to the past, his heart warming to their presence even more than before, and it seemed almost impossible that such a little time ago, he felt uncomfortable around them. Those people had seen him at his lowest — everything lost — and had proved through words and deeds that they would do whatever they could to help him. It had been stupid to try and press them or doubt their abilities.
"I thought that after so many adventures, you'd have forgotten it," he said, trying to sound nonchalant about it, but Mordred's smile was disarming when he turned to him.
"Not for a single day," he answered, and now, truly facing him, Arthur could see the sadness in the depths of his eyes, even as he tried to joke. "It burdened me with this one," he indicated Merlin with his head, "which is a daily trial."
"I've been getting better!" Merlin complained, but there was no annoyance in his words. "I'm sorry that we can't all be the perfect Jedi you are — Master Gaius is incredibly proud of how well you turned out, you know. Almost enough not to raise his eyebrows, from what I've heard."
Morgana laughed out loud at this, and all of them exchanged grins.
"I've seen him earlier today," Arthur commented. "He seems well. I was glad to hear he had been invited to join the High Council."
"Master Gaius is wise and a very skilled negotiator." Mordred offered, returning to his food.
"And an absolute bore of a teacher!" Morgana completed, and none of them could help snorting.
"Well — yes," there was no way Mordred could deny it. "But if helped you a lot, in the end."
The two Jedi exchanged a look, while Merlin looked down. For all their closeness, Arthur had never really managed to understand exactly what happened to Morgana after the whole incident with the Sith back in Camelot. He knew that it had led her Sight to expand, far beyond not only what was natural for a human, but far more than even most Jedi. He had been told that Gaius had relinquished her training, and that she had been paired with Master Taliesin instead — which was, in itself, very unusual, but nothing about the whole thing had been normal. For the first year, he had heard nothing about her, save the most cursory reports of being healthy and in training in some long-forgotten planet that supposedly had been once dominated — and was still mostly populated — by a race famous for producing unerring seers. Even the following three years had been of little and sparse contacts, before she emerged a Knight of the Republic and a Jedi Seer, which allowed her much more leeway to talk to him more often, and something that was more than friendship — if not quite the relationship he was used to seeing between siblings — had developed between them.
"It did," she granted, with a small nod, her face peaceful.
"It was the natural progression of events, him becoming part of the council," the Guardian finished, before putting more food in his mouth.
"Took them long enough," muttered Merlin, somewhat darkly, and Mordred shot him a warning look.
"Anyway," Morgana said, clearing her throat. "Talking about old stories and timely acquaintances, reminds me — what is that treaty that has made you risk coming to Coruscant in spite of my warnings?"
Arthur sighed, because it was never easy to explain such things, specially when people were not particularly familiar with the local politics. Morgana may have been, once, fully acquainted with everything about Camelot — Uther and Gaius both would have made sure of it — but he wouldn't simply leave out Merlin and Mordred from the conversation, which meant explaining many things.
"Well, it's complicated — how much do you know about the Albion Sector?" he asked, looking at Merlin.
"It is one of the mostly heavily populated regions of the Inner Rim," the padawan started, his ears glowing pink, and speaking as if he was reciting a lesson well learnt "with over thirty inhabited areas — Camelot is the biggest system in it, and often the political leader. Seven different Senators speak for the Sector, that has elected the two last Supreme Chancellors. The biggest part of the population is human, and each system — or planet, depending on the case — is ruled by a hereditary monarch, served by a council. That council is normally elected by the people, directly or not. Albion Sector also has a strong military tradition, and unlike the biggest part of the galaxy, it does not relate to droid and other machine based armies, but fully trained sentient beings. The knights of Camelot," Merlin turned, to smile at Leon. "Are known as the best warriors in the galaxy. A bit over thirty standard years ago now, the Albion Sector got involved in a war with the people from Osarian that wanted to try and expand their rule into the Inner Rim — helped by the Techno Union, and Chancellor Uther, then King, managed to maintain control of it, in the course of a war that lasted almost 3 years."
"Very good," Arthur said, impressed, and Mordred seemed proud, though in a subdued way. "So you all understand the basics of our culture and history."
"It's not as sophisticated as you want to make it sound." Morgana said, deeply unimpressed with him, but she smiled kindly at Merlin. "As if yelling and keeping some particularly primeval perceptions were something to be proud of."
"We're not perfect," Arthur dismissed, easily. "But we are honourable and honest, which is more than can be said about many places in the Galaxy. We are also brave enough to fight — and defend — those in need."
The two older Jedi assented to it, though Morgana kept her mocking grin.
"The threat presented by the Separatists is growing," he added, unnecessarily, since they all knew it well enough. "The tensions on Ansion, they were symptomatic of it. They are growing bolder, and trying to close in on us. It's not only the Namadi Corridor they are pressing into, and there is no denying that the Corellian Run is one of the main entrances to the Core, and Albion is far too close to it. The treaty, as it is, expands on Albion's original treaty of military union and trade benefit; it increases the power of our own men by offering ourselves as training centres for other planets in the region — together, we can equip and prepare thousands of warriors to help defend the Mid Rim from their oncoming attacks."
"You don't know if there will be any attacks." Mordred pointed out, but there was no true belief in his voice. "The Chancellor's negotiations…"
"Will never be enough!" Arthur dismissed, looking at his sister, who promptly looked away without an answer. Her lack of reply was answer enough. "We have got to be ready for it — even if it never becomes a real war. The separatists have their means and their resources, they need to see that there were Systems in the Republic that are ready to hold out in any way they can."
"It sounds like you're in favour of the creation of an army for the Republic," Mordred questioned, and there was something of a disapproval in his voice.
"And I am," Arthur agreed, not fearing his discontent, surely Mordred couldn't have expect anything else? "There aren't enough Jedi to protect all of us — hundreds of billions of people in any particular part of it. You are not soldiers, as I've been so often reminded. You are leaders, and generals, but not…" Arthur sighed. "If the push comes to a shove, there simply aren't enough of you to guarantee the Republic's safety alone."
Mordred looked like someone who had just been force fed something particularly sour, but there was no disagreeing with it — from what his father had said, the High Council had admitted that much in their last meeting. Still, Arthur felt for him, because it was clear that there was a huge desire to help from them, more than they could.
"It's not your fault — it's no one's fault," he offered, trying to make amends. "And I know how terrible it feels to not be able to do as much as you want to do — which was the whole reason beneath this treaty. We are armed and prepared, but if it is needed… We want to do more. To offer more. Not only knights, but commanders and archers and pilots and whatever else we can train. The miners, smiths and engineers of Albion are also bound by it to multiply their knowledge, to share with whomever in the Republic wants our help. We may not be Geonosians or Xi Chars, but there is a lot of talent in our lands, and we want to share it with the Republic in this time of need."
"A noble goal," Merlin said, with clear approval.
"And a dangerous one," Mordred added, with a sigh. "With Albion's culture and Camelot's renown in warriors… I can see where your suspicions came from."
Arthur looked from one to the other, and it was comforting to know they were finally in the same page about this. The only thing that stopped him from smiling at it was Morgana's worried frown, her eyes unseeing.
There was no point in arguing with Arthur, and Morgana knew better than to even try as he asked Mordred to escort her. For all that Arthur was in clear danger, Merlin was more than capable to overseeing the protection of a man that, generally speaking, needed no help in protecting himself.
She was almost grateful for the opportunity her brother was giving her, allowing her time to spend with Mordred alone. They hadn't met in months, even before he left for Ansion, always jumping from one mission to another. Sure, they had talked, but it was never the same thing. When one lives half of their lives wandering through dreams and visions, the HoloNet seemed too unreal, not that different from the nightmares that haunted her.
And lately, there had been many. Arthur's assassination attempt wasn't even the worst of them — or even the clearer. Most Jedi needed to focus to be one with the Force, to embed themselves in it, but since that fateful encounter with the Sith, Morgana had come to need to focus to step out of it. Before that, in her life, it had seemed like an eternal struggle, becoming one with the universe; while now hard it was to keep her focus in the present, the moment, the reality.
It was no wonder the council took her every word with a grain of salt, even if they were ready to call her a Master. She was one, in all ways that counted, which didn't make it easier to live with the gift she had been bestowed unwillingly.
Sometimes she feared that the worst of the rumours that had grown around her situation were true — that it hadn't been some unwittingly awakening of her natural talent, but some dark sort of punishment for them all; to allow them so many glimpses of a future that seemed even grimier and to make them despair.
She would not allow herself to despair over it, most of the time. And Mordred was right; she had Gaius to thank for it. Her old master had given her more than enough instruction to weather the worse of it. Master Taliesin and the Voss mystics had helped her hone her skills to make it something she could use for good, for the Order, for the Republic, instead of something holding her back and sending her spiralling into madness.
The isolation of that first year never truly left her; locked inside the ancient Temple of Healing, isolated in a planet that shunned contact with outsiders, her contact limited to those who shared the same sort of gifts — and a whole different culture. Never before, though life as a Jedi was meant to be a continuous sacrifice, had she felt so alone. Everyone was kind and understanding, more Jedi than the Jedi themselves, but they were all people she didn't know and had never met before being entrusted into their care. Gaius had been almost overbearing in his insistence of keeping her close, while Taliesin was distant, and wanted her to thread on her own through the darkness and light of her visions, until she emerged on the other side by herself.
On the darkest moments, she had wondered if he would have even minded if she failed, if she fell to the darkness, if she got lost or if it would ease his burden. On the best ones, she knew that most of her trials would be fought in her own mind, were he could not help her, unless she helped herself. And Morgana was strong enough — or stubborn enough — to pass through it by herself.
The following two years of her training her been easier — after threading alone for the worst of it, there was no real challenge to be overcome. Her liberties had increased, too, and she had used it to keep in touch with Arthur. There were few that doubted his importance to the future, because his light shone bright to all prophets, and Uther's continuous pressure about it had guaranteed them some time to bond.
Chancellor Uther, at least, seemed glad with the changes in her life. No more risks of having her become too independent; not when her duty kept her in Coruscant and in the Temple. She might not be a wife and mother like most Camelotians of her age, but her position was not that different to the one of a Priestess, and while he would never like it, he begrudgingly respected it. More than that, for all that he didn't seem to like or trust the Council very much, he was always ready to hear whatever she had seen and act accordingly.
It would have been an honour, if it weren't a burden as well.
As the speeder stopped in front of the Temple, Morgana shook her head and forced herself to return to the moment.
"I'm sorry," she said, smiling sadly at her friend. "Sometimes, it is too easy to get lost in my own head."
"There is more in your head than in that of most people," he answered, smiling gently. "It's a heavy load to carry, and just your presence is more than enough to sooth my heart."
They kept in silence for a few more steps as they went along the Processional Way, looking at each other and basking in the bond they had always shared.
"I wish I could be around more often," Mordred said, taking her arm into his. "I miss the peace of the Temple."
Morgana merely shook her head slightly.
"Your path lies elsewhere, out in the galaxy, keeping us all safe," she reminded him, with a gentle squeeze. "And while I would love nothing more than to spend longer with you, I think you're wrong — there is preciously little peace to be had at the Temple or anywhere in Coruscant." She sighed. "I can't say for sure about other places, but here feels like the darkness is always encroaching. It isn't as it used to be. Dark times are ahead of us, and yet the Senate refuses to see it."
"There is no one in the galaxy that can see as well as you," Mordred started, but he seemed unsure. "So I'll ask you — do you believe Arthur's right? That it'll come to war? That there is no other way for us to thread than to have an army for the Republic?"
Morgana wanted nothing more than to ease his fears, the ones he kept close to his heart and under the shroud of peace and acceptance, the ones he couldn't admit even to himself because they would make him less of a Jedi. Yet, she loved him too well to lie to him, and there was no point in mollycoddling what her visions kept showing, again and again.
"War is coming," she told him, as gently as she could. "There is no doubt about it, whatever Uther might say. There will be no negotiations that may stop it."
"Count Peter…" he started, and she shook her head at it.
"I know you always liked Master Peter, and I know he was a Jedi like few that have ever been. But, Mordred… He is truly the one deserving of the title of Lost among the twenty."
"What do you mean?" he asked, dread colouring his curiosity.
"I mean that Master Peter is no more," she couldn't honestly explain the things she had seen, unclear and more of feelings and sounds than shapes and views. "Count Peter and him share preciously little — he is not the man he once was. The Republic broke his heart for good, crushed much of his soul, and there will be no returning to the fold."
Mordred exhaled slowly, seeming sad at this, and Morgana could truly understand it. She would easily trade her Mastery for the hope of having Count Peter back among them, of the war being nothing but an invisible threat that would never come to pass.
"I am sorry to hear it," Mordred replied, finally, shaking his head.
"His wisdom would have been of a great help in times to come," she agreed.
"Would they even come, if he was still among us?" he wondered out loud, and Morgana stopped, looking straight at him.
"You are wiser than that, Mordred," she told him, knowing she sounded like some chiding mother and not caring. "As great as Master Peter was, one man alone cannot change the course of this — the darkness that comes is not of his doing."
"Isn't he helping it along?" the knight asked her, his voice small. "Not saying that he has fallen to the dark side, but however great his motives, however light he hopes to shine, isn't it just conjuring darker shadows around us all?"
"There is no way to say for sure," Morgana sighed. "Sometimes… Sometimes I have reasons to think it would be far worse if he wasn't the one leading them. There are some… Well, it doesn't matter, there is little point in dwelling of things that have not come to pass and just vanished in the air of possibilities."
Mordred nodded, and they started walking again, no longer touching, but close enough to feel each other's warmth.
"Arthur's right about one thing, though," she finally said, turning towards him. "How can we fight, if we know nothing of our enemies? Why are we even fighting it? I know the Republic… I know we are sworn to defend the Republic, but what is the harm they would do if left alone? Whatever the Senate says or thinks — why do we have to.." She just shook his head, as if trying and failing to see the reason behind everything they went through.
"We have to fight them because they are not interested in peacefully coexisting," Mordred replied, easily, with the certainty of those who know nothing but the present. "I'm not so sure they want to divide themselves from the Republic — their actions seem to veer more towards taking control of it."
Morgana assented, but she also knew it didn't mean to her what it meant to him — there was more to it than the simple black and white.
"It does not seem like a war we can win," she confessed.
"What can you see?" he asked, point blank, and it was different from the usual behaviour around her, no one but Uther was so direct, and in Mordred's case, she could trust him enough to say everything that she had told the council and they had dismissed as a possibility when her heart said it was a certainty.
"I see an army made of one man," she replied, shivering at the cold wind that came to sweep through them as if to silence her. "An army of one man that saves us and dooms us at once. I see the Republic breaking apart even through the Victory. I see fear and destruction spreading through the galaxy. I see a world in Gray."
Mordred's face was serious and considering as he heard her, before they went back to walking.
"Ominous words," he offered, and she shrugged.
"I wish I could just be like you — out there, doing something to help us all. It feels as if all I do is… Spread doom and gloom."
Mordred snorted at this, and she knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth.
"It's not as glamorous as you think, nor as interesting. I would much rather have the time to stay, to study, to become… More than I am. Wiser. Maybe then I'd have enough wisdom to help the Republic to avoid this."
"You're far too wise to your years," she told him, with a grin. "And isn't that always the case? Aren't we always craving for things we cannot have?"
"We shouldn't," he reminded her, with a grin. "We are meant to accept our lives for what they are, and find peace in our duty."
"So we should," she agreed, smiling. "Not that easy, in the end."
They were in front of the doors now, and there was no reason for him to continue, as much as they hated to be parted. Morgana watched as Mordred clearly tried to find his courage to speak, and patiently, she waited for the moment he would finally be ready to talk.
"You said earlier that I am wiser than believing that one single man could change the course of this," he started, seeming unsure. "But… isn't there one man that could?"
"You mean Merlin," she pointed out, and Mordred had the grace to blush.
"Isn't he the Chosen One?"
"There is no doubt about it in my heart," she replied, and caressed Mordred's face. "And you've made a great man out of him. Merlin is destined to be the most powerful Jedi ever."
"And couldn't he change the course of it?"
Morgana sighed, wishing it could be so easy.
"He could if he was ready to. He could if he was… As grown into his own as he will be. Alas, the war won't wait for heroes to grow."
"You speak as if we had but months," Mordred said, his eyes growing wide. "Negotiations like those can go on for years."
"Yes," she agreed, knowing the nature of those arguments well enough. "But I fear we have only weeks until the storm breaks."
Mordred gulped at this, and she wished there was anything she could do to help him, to ease his heart, all of their hearts, but whatever her powers, this was beyond her.
So she did the only thing she could do and hugged him, keeping him close, wishing that he would always be as safe as he was when in her arms, at the doors of the Temple that sometimes seemed to her like a tomb.
After Mordred and Morgana left, Merlin was left with Arthur for the first time in a decade, and to say that it made him anxious would be an understatement. King Arthur, the ruler of Camelot, had been everything he dreamed of being as a grown up, and after training and focusing for years, he felt as if he was once again short of it. It was clear that whatever his mind had been telling him about Arthur, his memories were far weaker than the reality of his wonder.
Not that Merlin would adore him, of course. He may have good principles and his hearts were clearly in the right place, but he was still a prat.
"I though you would be knighted by now," Arthur said, and Merlin felt himself bristle at the tone. Clearly his ability to control his emotions wasn't at it's top for today, or he wouldn't have been so clear to the king to the point of making him raise his hands in an calming gesture. "No offence."
"None taken," Merlin replied, but they both knew it was a courteous lie. "It is… Well, nothing about my training was according to standard, so the trials are particularly important and… Master Mordred doesn't seem to think I'm ready."
"I see," Arthur sighed, trying to smile and failing.
"I'm still fully capable of protecting you," Merlin assured him, and this made him laugh.
"I've told you, Merlin, I have no need for protection — not that sort of protection at least. I've survived many attempts without your help, and I am confident I can survive many more."
Merlin wanted to tell him it wasn't strictly true, that if Morgana had been warning him about them, it wasn't exactly surviving without the help of the Jedi, but it would be a useless point to make.
"What I need," he continued, tensing up. "Is answers. I need to know more, to know the reason. It gets tiring, looking over your shoulder all the time — always acting on the spur of the moment, no planning. I know it's difficult to understand with the adventurous lifestyle you have…"
"It really isn't," Merlin said, snorting. "Half of the time we have a plan, the other half we just need to wing it. We always make sure to gather as much intel as we can before starting — but, Your Majesty…"
"Arthur," he corrected, gently, and Merlin nodded.
"Arthur — even with it, half of the time it's about instinct and whatever precognition the Force grants us."
"I have no precognition of my own," he reminded Merlin, with a sigh. "And I fear Leon is right — that your presence will make them not even try. Which would be a good thing, except that it means we aren't going to find out anything about it. I cannot have you both continuously at my back, I won't use the privilege that having the Supreme Chancellor as my father to keep you. There is much more — more important things and battles — for the Jedi all through the galaxy. Which is why I need information on who it is, so we can tackle the threat and eliminate it, once and for all."
"It isn't that simple," Merlin tried to argue, but Arthur cut him.
"No, I know it isn't. But it is far harder to discover anything if they don't move, and they may as well hold their time until you are… otherwise engaged."
"What do you have in mind?" Merlin asked, giving in to Arthur's will, and the King's smiled, making his heart beat faster.
"We could make them believe that you were here merely out of duty — that the council doesn't believe there is something to worry about."
"You're talking about baiting them." Merlin pointed out, shaking his head. "It's too dangerous."
"Living is too dangerous," countered Arthur, rubbing his hand on his face. "If I closed off the camera feed…"
"… And how would that help us in protecting you?"
"It wouldn't", he admitted, before picking up a communicator in his belt and pressing a button. "But I wouldn't be completely uncovered either. There are more of your old friends here."
Merlin could only blink for a second, before the meaning of the words became clear. For all that people said about droids, there was no way he would ever confuse I2-SA with any other I2 unit he had ever met. There was just something about her pristine white dome and blue top screens that were as distinctive as the happy whirl she used to demonstrate her happiness in seeing him.
Without even pausing to think on the uselessness of his action, Merlin raised his hand and caressed her dome.
"How are you, old friend?" he asked, and was greeted by a series of beeps.
"It seems happy to see you," Arthur noticed, with an amused smile.
"I'm happy to see you too," Merlin guaranteed, smiling at the droid. "The other droids — they are not as fun as you are to fly with."
The droid whirled at it, and Arthur continued his speech.
"I can program I2 to keep an eye on the room — sense any movement inside it — while you stay here, cameras closed, and I will look like I'm unprotected in my sleep."
"It could work," Merlin agreed, with a nod. "I don't really need to see you to sense the danger — if I concentrate, I can feel it even from afar."
Arthur nodded, his smile still there.
"And it'll give us the chance to see more — they may be careless enough to be seen and…"
"Blasters can't get through the windows here," Merlin continued, standing up to examine the exoglass panes. "So you'd be safe from that at least. There are other ways — less obvious ways to kill you — but save from poisoning your food, all would lead them to come close enough…"
"To be caught red-handed," Arthur agreed, with a smile. "And we can be sure of what we're dealing with — the sooner we know, the sooner you two will be free."
Merlin wasn't all that sure he wanted to be free of Arthur's presence, when it was almost as intoxicating as the drugs he heard were sold in the lower levels. When Arthur was around, it seemed like everything was possible, even the things he should never even think about. There was nothing that empowered him like the golden presence of the king, and there was no way he could say no to his request.
"Don't worry too much about our time," he warned, but smiled. "But — yes, let's do this."
And, together, they started to plot it.
Mordred's head was filled with thoughts as he returned from the Temple. He didn't doubt any of Morgana's words, and he trusted her Sight with his life, but it only made it harder for him to deal with the inevitability of her words. There was something big coming, and for some reason, he knew he was about to be in the middle of the whole explosion. It seemed to be his lot in life, whatever he wanted to do, he ended up in the worst possible place in the worst possible moments.
Which, of course, had been the whole reason for him ending up in a Gundark's nest.
He came up the 500 Republica and forced his thoughts to focus on what was important: namely, the safety of King Arthur. His first action as meeting Elyan in the Control Room, and overseeing with him the whole security measures he had put in place. Uther's standing had clearly facilitated things, and there were man loyal to Camelot all around. Mordred walked through the corridors, feeling each of them, and none of them could possibly be traitors — they were all, clearly, ready to die for their King — even if some seemed terrified with the possibility of being killed instead if they failed.
When one worked as closely with the Force as the Jedi did, fear was something that may lead them towards the dark side, but for ordinary beings, it was just part of life. Mordred would never approve of Uther's harsh tactics, but he doubted they would break now. There was clear loyalty, and it surpassed whatever fears they had of reprisal. It didn't surprise Mordred, not really, because it was clear that King Arthur was able to bring all to love him without effort. A sort of charisma that would make him an unstoppable politician if he decided to follow the path.
It was amazing, he had made a woman he had publicly humiliated ten years before become an ally when he had managed to convince even Queen Annis to agree to his views and share his plans. The strength of his character was exactly what made him a target, and the thought of his good actions led Mordred through rechecking every single person in charge of his security.
Leon and Elyan were absolutely capable of guaranteeing his security, Arthur hadn't lied. Mordred had no doubt, too, that at the slightest hint of danger Arthur's own sword would be out of it's scabbard, ready to attack.
There was where they differed, because Jedi didn't rush into attacking — their job was guarding them all, keeping them safe. Attacking was a reaction, never an action, and the lightsaber wasn't a weapon as much as it was a tool to guarantee the safety of all.
Entering the Royal Apartments, he walked towards his padawan, who was watching the traffic outside the window. Coruscant night shone with the light of thousands of speeders passing by, with the brightness of the buildings bellow them. The stars could barely be seen under it's reflective shields, at least in the Ambassadorial District. At the Temple, they could watch them move above their heads, but there, the only brightness came from what people had built.
"Morgana is safe and sound at the Temple, and His Majesty is more than safe in the 500 Republica," he informed Merlin, and his padawan nodded in agreement. "Leon has more than enough men downstairs. No assassin will try that way, I'm sure. Any activity up here?"
"Quiet as a tomb," Merlin replied, with a sigh. "I just don't like this whole waiting for something to happen to him any more than he does."
Mordred could feel a hint of something as his padawan spoke, and he stepped closer before asking.
"What's going on?"
"The cameras are closed," Merlin shrugged, and Mordred frowned.
"What is he thinking?" he asked, annoyed at the king's continuous insistence that he didn't need their help.
"I don't think he likes me watching him," offered Merlin with a hint of a smile, and Mordred groaned.
"Were you staring?" he asked, although he knew the answer.
"No!" Merlin replied, seeming offended for a moment, before he looked back sheepishly. "I didn't even have the chance, really. He had already blocked all of them — but, hm, he has programmed I2-SA to warn us if there is an intruder."
Mordred just exhaled loudly, this kid was going to be the death of him.
"Are we trusting in I2-SA to do our jobs now?" he enquired pointedly, and Merlin looked at his feet, seeming less sorry than Mordred would have liked. "Besides, there are many other ways to kill a man."
"I know," Merlin replied, rising his shoulders and putting his hands on the pockets of his robes in a movement that spoke more than enough about his feelings. "But we want to catch them trying, don't we?"
Mordred was stunned for half a second before he could reply.
"You're using him as bait!"
"It was his idea," Merlin was quick to point out and Mordred shook his head, almost ready to scold Merlin — though he didn't doubt Arthur had come up with the whole idea. It was just the sort of thing he would do, damn the man. It had been foolish to hope that Merlin would have more sense than that, because as himself had learnt first hand, Arthur was capable of convincing anyone of anything through pure charm — and Merlin had some sort of idol worship for that man that just made it easy. His padawan was still trying to make himself seem sure of his actions. "No harm will come to him, trust me," he continued, and Mordred just put his hands on his hips, shaking his head continuously. "I can sense everything going on in that room."
Mordred had to snort at that.
"Your senses aren't that well attuned, my young apprentice."
Merlin always seemed to be offended when reminded him of their age difference — not that seven years were that much, and Mordred couldn't help but try to wind him up now, not when he was making his life harder.
"And yours are?"
There was some sort of challenge in his voice, and those were not uncommon from him. It was part of their relationship; and Mordred wouldn't have wanted any other way. Nimueh, too, had pushed him and challenged him, and made him a better Jedi because of it — now, with Merlin, he kept on growing. Neither his master nor his padawan were glad with just doing things because they ought to be done, just because it was the way things were. The need to explain and justify made him think about it, to become critical, and to learnt to go beyond the line of duty.
None of these were what Merlin's tone implied, a mix of jealously and curiosity that Mordred had seen before. He didn't even know how much of it was his fault, and every attempt he had done at curbing it had been half-hearted, as it was part of what made Merlin special — what made him different from the score of Jedi that walked the Temple halls. His heart was his greatest asset and his greatest curse.
"Possibly," he answered, with a grin of his own, and Merlin huffed.
Mordred stopped to watch his padawan closely for a second, and noticed the bags growing under his eyes, the mess of his hair, the way the first hints of beard were starting to show up in his jaw, as if he couldn't have bothered cleaning then even knowing he was meant to keep his face clear until his knighting. It made Mordred's heart ache.
"You look tired."
"I don't sleep well anymore," Merlin confessed, his shoulders rising again, looking at his feet.
"Because of your mother?" Mordred knew the answer, but sometimes there was nothing to be done but to talk about it.
"I keep dreaming of her," Merlin explained, though they had had this conversation before. "I don't know why. There's no reason to…"
"Dreams pass, in time," he offered, and he knew it was a weak excuse, especially to those who were around Morgana so often.
"Yeah," Merlin agreed, looking away. "I would rather dream about anything else" he continued, a mischievous grin coming to his face. "Or someone else."
Mordred shook his head — it was a conversation they had had before. He often would damn Nimueh for deciding that it wasn't a problem to have certain conversations in front of impressionable children. Still, it was hard to keep something of a smile off his face, because it reminded him also of her rebellious nature and how much it had made her a better Jedi, even if somewhat Gray.
"Be mindful of your thoughts, Merlin, they betray you," he said again, trying to banish the images and feelings Merlin was projecting — unwittingly or not — in his head. "You've made a commitment to the Jedi Order, a commitment not easily broken."
"I was not thinking of breaking it," guaranteed Merlin, but he didn't look in the slightest as if he was trying to control his head. "It's just that…"
"He's a politician," reminded Mordred, no need to specify who he was talking about, he had seen the glint in Merlin's eye upon meeting Arthur again. "He may not be a senator, but he is still a politician, and nothing good ever coming from trusting those."
"Arthur's not like the senators," he dismissed easily, and of course that Mordred agreed, but giving in would lead them anywhere productive.
"And yet, in my experience, Kings and Queens care only about keeping their power and they are not that democratic as to uphold the Republic's principles above their own prestige and privilege. They may say he has the best public interest at heart, but it starts with money — if it weren't threatening the riches of Camelot…"
"You're not going to lecture me again, will you?" Merlin complained, shaking his head. "At least not in the economics of politics."
"It seems you haven't learnt it well enough yet," pointed out Mordred, and his padawan rolled his eyes.
"You are just generalising — and I'm not talking about Kings and Queens in general, I'm talking about Arthur, the man who set us in a table and pledged himself to equality in all things."
"It served him well, didn't it?" Mordred questioned, trying to make Merlin see beyond the golden tinted lens of his childhood. "Never has a man been so beloved of his people, so respected by the others."
"I don't think he's faking it!" protested Merlin, and Mordred nodded.
"Nor do I — but that much power, it has brought more than things for himself, Chancellor Uther…"
"He doesn't appear to be corrupt," Merlin said, with a frown. "Harsh, yes, and far too stubborn, but money doesn't seem to matter as much to him as other things."
"Uther has grown into a fine politician," was all he could reply, crossing his arms in his chest. "I have observed that in the last years, he has grown very good at following the passions and prejudices of the Senators in name of making them do what he thinks it's best."
"I'm not saying he's a good man," explained the padawan, lowering his voice, clearly not wanting to be overheard, "but I think he has the best interests of the Republic…"
Mordred wasn't listening anymore, because his extremities were tingling. There was no doubt that something was wrong inside the room what Arthur was sleeping in.
"I sense it too!" Merlin said, and together they rushed inside the bedroom.
His lightsaber was in his hand before he even fully registered what he was seeing — Merlin jumping over the bed and slashing some sort of worm in two while Arthur lit up the electricity around his own sword — in bed with him — to burn another. Mordred's eyes zeroed on the device that was still vomiting slugs inside the bedroom, and he didn't need to think about what to do.
Getting an impulse, Mordred rushed ahead and jumped, his lightsaber cutting through the glass easily, before he was in the air, one hand closing around the flying robot while the other felt around to put the lightsaber back in his belt. The droid fell a few feet with the increased weight, Mordred swaying dangerously for a second before he managed to grip at it more surely — both hands on the machine. Beings inside speeders yelled at him, but there was no way he was going to let go now.
He just hoped it wouldn't take Merlin too long to catch up.
Author's Note: Merry Christmas to you all!
Reviews are more than welcome! :)
