Chapter 11
It was harder to trace his steps back to the outside of the complex than Mordred had expected, but eventually he managed to walk out unseen. The light was dying on the planet outside. Looking around, he considered the merits of climbing up and observing the dimensions of the industrial complex, but night was approaching fast and it made him give it up. Come morning it would be a better moment to explore the size of their operation. What was urgent now was to let the Council know what he had found out — it was far, far worse than what the Senate had been expecting, and Peter had been right: the Republic had no way of resisting it, not unless they approved the creation of a Grand Army and the use of the Kaminoan clones. The very idea made Mordred's stomach turn. It felt too much like pieces of a puzzle fitting together, and the true issue there was that they did not know whose design it was.
His I4 unit chirped happily at his return, and he couldn't help but grin before climbing into the cockpit. Settling into his seat, he pulled out the ship's comlink, switching it on.
"Let's try and reach them, I4;" he asked, typing the appropriate codes.
No signal! / Transmitter is off! /
The Jedi blinked at the message at his screen, but I4 would not be saying so without good reason. Getting back out, he walked around the starfighter, and the reason why they could not get a signal was almost immediately obvious: the system was dangling outside, the wires blacked after some sort of bump. It looked like as if some of Raphael's tricks had indeed manage some damage to the ship in spite of the shields.
"I see how it is. Do we have any spare parts?"
Negative! / Spare parts were discarded in the bounty hunter chase. /
Cursing his own idea, Mordred pushed what was left of the transmitter back into the hole. Rummaging through his kit, he found his personal comlink and a small antenna that could be used to transmit to nearby systems. It would never be enough to secure a transmission to Coruscant, but wired into what was left of the antenna, it might be able to reach Merlin in Camelot, halfway there. His padawan would just have to send the message ahead.
His focus narrowed to what he was doing as he tried to combine the two systems into something that would work, and in the midst of the wild winds and the desert fauna, he did not notice the very sentient eyes on him. That he, normally so careful and attuned to the Force could not feel their presence was a mark of just how preoccupied he was with what he had heard. The majority of the economical powers were ready to support Peter's confederation, and many of them had flat out stated that it did not mean stop working with the Republic. They cared little for the political differences, but for their own profit, and unfortunately there was no way to exclude them from doing so, not without leaving the whole economical system in shambles. Mordred wondered what Chancellor Uther would think of having to accept their double-dealing, and hoped that his friends and advisers would stop him from taking too harsh an action.
As the contraption got ready, he connected it, pushing the appropriate codes to try and find Merlin's transmitter. Mordred almost crossed his fingers, as if the old superstition would help the outcome, but the makeshift transmitter finally beeped, homing in. It seemed to be a bit off — it positioned Merlin in Essetir instead of Camelot, but it was close enough and in such a precarious equipment it'd be foolish to hope for precision. He sent the signal: once, twice, three times and there was no reply. He had wanted to talk personally to his padawan before sending his report to the Council, he was worried about how he was coping with his loss and everything else, but it seemed not to be an option now. He hoped, against all reason, that it didn't spell trouble.
Pushing another row of buttons, he set it to record the message that would be retransmitted straight to Coruscant. It would not be the same thing, but it was all he could do. Turning the recording device around, Mordred rose from his seat, walked around his ship and stood up in front of it.
"Hello, Merlin. I seem to have had my long-range transmitter burnt by some missiles, so I need you to forward this message to the Old Folks, please." He took a deep breath, getting ready to relay what he had learnt since the last time they had talked.
"I tried in vain to get to Raphael — the bounty hunter — in Kamino; he was probably more than aware of his precarious position and was running away even as we last talked. I managed to plant a tracking device on his ship, though, and followed him to Geonosis. It seems the droid factories here are working at full speed to deliver the Trade Federation and the Commerce Guilds a new droid army. It is hundreds of times the size of the one used in the Camelot blockade, and from what I've heard, they no longer need external input to work. They are setting a deal that will deliver this same army in the hands of the Condeferation of Independent Systems. The bounty hunter seems to have been hired by the separatists to make sure that King Arthur will be out of the way — Viceroy Alined put the king's death as a condition for him to join the separatists…"
From the corner of his eye, he saw a movement, something far different from the wildlife he had seen in the planet. Stopping mid-sentence he turned around, trying to scan the area, but there was nothing around him. Turning back slowly, he continued his report.
"The Commerce Guilds and the corporate alliance have pledged their alliance to Count Peter — he's here, brooking some sort of deal — while the Intergalactic Banking Clan…"
The shadow moved again, and this time Mordred's instinct made him pull his lightsaber, turning it up. The blue light showed for a split of a moment a Geonosian with a trident on his hand, ready to pounce, and Mordred rolled away from the blow, defending himself with his blade. It cut the native's weapon in half, but the respite was short, for the guard had not come alone. He hadn't just happened to spot the Jedi and come to stop him divulging his information, this was an apprehension. Half a dozen of Geonosians, all armed, were now encircling him. Standing back up, he got himself in position to defend himself, his back safely turned to the wall.
For a moment, none of them moved, all sure that whomever hit the first blow was fated to lose. Then, they all came at him. His let himself go, his hands moving to meet blows before he could see, his body curling and stretching away from electric whips. For a little while, there was even joy in the straightforward activity, so much better than politics or spying, but then it was all over — he had hurt disabled or killed most of them, and better get himself away before more guards came to check on their friends.
"I gotta go," he said, turning towards the camera, as if they wouldn't have notice it already. "I'll contact again as soon as…"
But Mordred never managed to finish his sentence. All he felt was a sharp bite in his nape,as if from an insect, and it all became black.
It was like looking outside at midday: the brightness of the sunshine casting deep shadows on the ground — except, those were people, and ever more complex than that. Will had not wanted the details, for it did not matter. They hadn't arrived in time, and it was hard to forgive them for it. For all the tales of heroism and courage, King Arthur hadn't kept his promise that they'd be safe away from Tattoine. For all the great Jedi stories, it didn't change that Merlin had abandoned his mother and let her to die in the hands of people who claimed to be his kin.
Will was bitter, and he knew it. It was hard not to be bitter when you had lived half a life of slavery and another of servitude. It was difficult to try and believe in the high ideals those two privileged men came to defend when he knew he was just a pawn, not important, a propaganda piece in favour of the House of Pendragon and not a real person. Arthur had never cared for him — or for Hunith, really. He had just plucked them out of Tatooine like flowers because it would be good for their image. Merlin… Will was not even sure that he still knew how to care.
Oh, he made all the gestures, alright. The rising sun had seen him kneeling next to the fresh dug grave, in silent prayer for the loss of life. Or, more likely, silent meditation, he had never heard of Jedi praying. How do you plead with higher beings when you're already considered one?
He tried, in vain, to warm his heart to the man that had once been his little brother but the truth was that they had grown so far apart that the bridge could never be gapped. Will had seen it in his eyes, when he had been introduced to his wife and child, how he could make all the gestures but how far such intimate connections were from his reality. Merlin had smiled through his hurt eyes, and charmed the baby with tricks, but there was something impersonal in all that he did. Even the king, pompous as he had always find royalty, seemed more genuine in his dealings with common people.
It made some sort of sense — Arthur would aspire to something like that, to a family and children; even if they would always first be heirs. He was known, too, as a romantic and time and again circumstances had made it clear that there would be no political ceremonial marriage for him with a girl from a good family of noble or royal stock. Will might not like the man or what he represented, but he had to admit that he was the sort to aspire a real marriage, if only because that's what he had been taught to believe his parents had. A romantic royal, Will thought cynically.
For a moment, he stopped and analysed the King where he stood in the entrance of the cemetery. Arms folded, his simple red tunic shining against the sun, his eyes never left the Jedi's immobile form. Will knew that Merlin was supposed to be in some mission guarding Arthur, but presently, their roles had been reversed. There was something incredibly protective in his stance, as if he was ready to dispatch anyone that might come and invade Merlin's peaceful contemplations.
It hit Will then — Arthur might have never particularly cared for him or even for Hunith, but he cared for Merlin, fiercely.
No good family girl indeed.
The king's head turned sharply towards Will as he approached, and the farmer raised his hands to show he meant no harm. Recognition was immediate, and there was a minimal change in his posture that, if wasn't welcoming, wasn't quite as threatening as before. Not that Will cared, really, he would have done as he thought best regardless of Arthur's attempts of looking menacing. He was not a man to be bothered by some dark looks. Still, he was not sure how to start as he stopped next to the royal.
"He's been there since dawn," Arthur offered, eventually. Will nodded — he would not have expected anything different. It was still not enough. "I don't know that he'll ever forgive himself for not saving her."
"He shouldn't," the farmer answered, his voice harsh. He knew he was being cruel, but he didn't care. Life hadn't been sweet on them, and it seemed that whatever Merlin's loss and pain, Hunith had paid the ultimate price for his dreams to be fulfilled.
Arthur's eyes on him were judging, but something stopped him from speaking about it. The two of them stayed together in silence for a few more minutes before Merlin rose from the dirt and looked backwards, seeming unsurprised to see them. Still, he took his time to come to them, looking around the place and contemplating something they could not see. He couldn't, however, avoid their company forever and his steps slowly took him back to their side.
"Is this a comission of some sort?" he asked, and Arthur's eyes softened a bit, as if he wished to offer comfort but knew better than trying. Will, on the other hand, had had enough.
"Yes, we all have nothing to do but wait upon you —" there was a genuinely hurt look from his childhood friend that ended up taking the sharpness out of his next words. "I know it is hard, but things have to be solved and it won't get any easier if we postpone it. Hunith didn't leave a will, but…"
The gesture that followed was completely and tipically that of a Jedi, raising his hand and dismissing it all.
"Jedi have no possessions — even if I wanted something. Oh, Will… You know better than me what she would have wanted done, and I… I trust you to honour her memory."
It was not much of a surprise. Of course the high and mighty would have better things to do with their time than going over the possessions of an old woman that they had forgotten all about in the last decade. Hunith deserved better than it, though. He would do what he could, and, at least, she wasn't around to see this last abandonment from the child she had adored.
"I'll go over the small things," he agreed, "there are other things, however, like the house…"
Merlin gave him a small smile when thinking about it.
"It's right next to yours, isn't it?" he asked, though he knew the answer.
"I didn't want her to be completely alone after I married," Will justified himself, and Merlin nodded.
"Yes," the Jedi assented. "I imagined that much. You were a much better son to her than I was."
He could not argue against it, so he simply shrugged.
"Keep it, Will — keep the house as well. You can bring some walls down, add it to your place — you'll need the extra space for your growing family."
"Growing family?" he asked, but the Jedi just smiled.
"Oh, there will be other children, and my mother loved children, didn't she? She'd be so happy to help you, I think. So — keep the house, keep whatever you wish. It's your due for all these years… All the years you took care of her for me."
A part of Will was incensed that he'd so easily discard everything of his mother's, at the same time, he knew that it was a great gift, maybe the only sort of caring and emotional reaction he could still have after being so throughly immersed in the Jedi doctrine. He shook his head, uncomfortable, and shrugged accepting it for what it was — the passing of something that would be a burden to Merlin but a blessing to Will and his family.
He was about to give up the whole subject when he heard metallic steps approaching and the three of them turned to see the astromech that the two of them had brought next to George, the protocol droid that Merlin had assembled as a child. Its presence brought a shine of surprise and genuine joy to the Jedi's eyes, as if he had completely forgotten it's existence, even though the droid had been almost a friend to the two of them as children.
"Master Will —" he started, his metallic voice reverberating for a moment before he, too, was caught off guard by Merlin's presence. "Is this Master Merlin? Back at last! Good heavens!"
Merlin grinned, nodding to the droid.
"Good to see you too, George."
"Oh, but now this makes sense, yes, now it does," the droid continued, as it bowed to the King. "I thought this little one here had something in her circuits, but — no, she's right — I just never thought to get Jedi messages in Ealdor of all places."
"Jedi messages?" Merlin repeated, his face growing void of emotion once again.
"It comes from a certain Master Mordred — does that mean anything to you?"
And Will was almost relieved to see Merlin pale at the words.
Truth was that Gaius was getting old. He could feel in his bones the discomfort caused by the last two days, the frantic sorting through information and the multiple rituals designed and performed to help them find more answers about the future and the past that seemed to have changed before their eyes. The urgent beeping from the holocom was almost a relief; they had been expecting Mordred's next report and with some luck, in catching the bounty hunter that was both a soldier template and a kingslayer, find something that may finally shed some light into the last events.
Master Aglain was the one to click and accept the call this turn, and they were all surprised to see not Mordred, but Merlin staring at them through the video. The padawan seemed worried, even disturbed, but his charge could be seen close by in full armour.
"Good evening, Masters;" he greeted politely, though it was day where he was. "I've just received a message from Master Mordred to retransmit to you; he seems to have had some issue with his equipment — "
"We're ready and waiting, patch it through," interrupted Master Deaton, and the abruptness of the words created a crease in Merlin's forehead, but he just nodded and started pushing buttons.
"Last we heard, he was chasing the Bounty Hunter that eluded him in Kamino," offered the King, his arms crossed against his chest. "But that was — more than a whole day ago."
"Kamino was already far off, and it's a terrible region to reach — holonet isn't steady there. Delays are not so surprising," answered Master Grettir, and Arthur nodded.
After a few seconds there was a click and Mordred's figure took the place of the previous one, standing in a windswept plain, red rocks behind him. It was not a place Gaius could recognise on sight. There was something in the air that made it look obviously dangerous, which didn't do much to reassure the old consular.
As they heard Mordred's tale, Gaius started to believe that they were all walking into a trap — a perfectly set trap, one they could not escape even if they wanted to. It was as if the attempt on Arthur's life had indeed been a catalyst, pushing events forward, forcing different puzzle pieces together. All moves seemed to be neatly interconnected, in a way far too deliberate to be called destiny or the Force. No, there must have been interference, and someone playing them all as smoothly as if they were puppets; Republic and Separatists alike.
It was not a comforting thought.
He could see in his fellow council members the same sort of dread; allied with the long ignored knowledge that they could not see through the Force as they used to. Everything was nebulous, and there might even be more surprises incoming. Never before had Gaius felt so woefully inadequate to help the government, to keep the Republic safe. He had lost a limb in service, but Mordred's words pointed to them losing even more.
It pointed towards them losing meaning altogether.
How could they advise when they did not know better? Had it been nothing but a game of the blind leading the blind? Had it all been a lie, had they been no more than cattle; pawns being played in someone else's grand scheme? And worse; so much worse, for nothing more could be expected of those who lived their whole lives without immersing themselves in the Force; the Jedi were supposed to be better than that. They were supposed to see further than that. And, in truth, they had not, not for a long time now. There's none so blind as those who will not see.
The surprise should have been enough to make them stop being shocked altogether, and the attack to one of theirs by the locals was not even unexpected — it was clear that there was no space for diplomacy or conversation anymore, that Peter and his cohorts were not willing to follow any other path but that of war — but Mordred was one of their best Guardians, extremely skilled in different sorts of combat, and it should have been easy to him to get rid of them. Only subterfuge could give them the upper hand, and subterfuge it was in the form of a small insect-like droid stinging his neck. The reaction was immediate: the young warrior's body crumpled in itself and he fell to the floor, unconscious. A few seconds of silence and the image showed some Geonosians approaching, and one of them quickly hit the camera, cutting off the transmission.
The image was gone swiftly, leaving the council to stare at Mordred's padawan, his face a mask of angst, standing as if he was ready to fight the Geonosians himself at that very moment, as if they were not parsecs away. Arthur, too, looked murderous, but there could be no other reaction to hearing his life spoken of as if it were a chip to be bargained with for someone else's gain.
"We need to rescue him!" Merlin announced, as if the Order had ever been in the business of leaving their own behind. Gaius rose his eyebrow to show what he thought of such outburst, and Merlin had the grace of blushing. "Please, Masters…"
"Think before you act, padawan;" advised Master Grettir, folding his arms. "Mordred needs help, yes, but what else did we learn?"
"Do you see, now, the importance of your mission?" pressured Master Aglain, eyeing the blond man. "The danger that the King is in…"
"Is exactly the danger I foresaw myself," interrupted Arthur, and none of them could gainsay that. "You, Masters, did not want to hear of my suspicions, and they turned out to be correct."
"We're all flawed," conceded Master Kilgharrah, folding his long fingers in a peaceful gesture. "May your own mistakes, King Arthur, be those of a man who expects the best out of people you love."
That silenced the young men, although both still looked ready to run right into danger without carefully considering the consequences.
"It's crucial that you stay hidden," Gaius reinforced, knowing that they'd listen to him. "Arthur's life must be protected at all costs — this Bounty Hunter will not stop until he's either dead or has done the job."
"I'm not leaving a friend in need for fear — I'm not afraid to die!"
"A generous sentiment, but a foolish one," dismissed Grettir. "We can deal with the situation, we can handle Peter and Mordred. You need to stay away and safe, or the Republic will be doomed."
"You can not really believe that one man is enough to do that," derision was clear in Arthur's tone of voice, and the members of the Council exchanged glances, as if considering what should be said to best solve their impasse. In the end, it had to be him, Gaius, to speak, for no one knew the risks quite so well.
"Arthur, it's more complicated than that. There's a simple miscalculation in their plans: they think if you die, the Republic will lose heart, that your heartbroken father will be ready to yield his power and that the new government will be cowed into accepting whatever they want — but they don't know Uther that well. Your mother died of natural causes, and he plunged Camelot into a bitter feud for years just because he believed Nimueh could have done more for her. He had much less power, and much less cause, and thousands suffered for his actions. You're all that he's got left of Ygraine — and if you were taken away from him… With the whole of the Republic under his guidance…"
There was no need to finish the sentence. They all could see very clearly where that path took.
Chaos.
The sharp edge at Arthur's features could cut glass as he looked at the place where the Council hologram had been. Merlin did not know what to say, didn't know how to react. The weight and the responsibility that had been put in his shoulders must be a heavy burden to bear, specially when he had not asked for it. The King was a man of action, sitting still would never have agreed with him. Merlin saw him chew his own tongue once, twice, three times before marching out of his mother's home. The padawan jumped to his feet, following, and was not surprised to see him enter the ship that had brought them there.
It was neither one of Camelot's official Royal ships nor the old army ship that had carried Merlin away from Tattoine, but a new and unremarkable ship, coming from one of Corellia's many manufacturers. There was nothing in it to mark it's allegiance from the outside, and whatever security protocols that had been installed to allow important people to have discreet get aways could not be easily found. Flying it had been a pleasure, a small source of comfort as they made the quick and painful trip to Essetir with Hunith's body.
When Merlin walked in, Arthur was pushing the panel buttons with such violence he was half-afraid he'd break something and leave them stranded in the planet. It was far from the best place to make sure the king was protected. After a few moments he finally saw what the king had been doing as the galaxy map came to life, hovering in the air between them. They could only watch, grimly, as a red line traced the route between Coruscant and Geonosis. It shone as a river of blood between the stars, and the readings showing the distance and time that separated both places just made it all bleaker.
"They'll never get there in time to save him," announced Arthur, and intimately, Merlin agreed, but there was no point in saying it. "They'd have to cross half the galaxy just to get there — and these readings are considering this ship's capacities. She's one of the fastest ships ever produced, and there's no way the Order has anything to match its speed."
"You've heard Mordred's report," Merlin answered, grisly. "They have a whole army in the works. The Order can't simply send someone and hope they get lucky — the Republic must make a show of strength. Or they may try the diplomatic route…"
"I'd say the diplomatic solutions are long past," Arthur replied, pushing some commands. The map moved to show their distance to the planet, almost halfway through the previous route. "Infiltration might be a better idea."
Merlin's lips were pressed hard against each other. It was too much of a temptation — it was what felt right in his heart, to rush there, to get to Mordred's side, to save him. He could almost see the relief in his master's face as they found him, he could taste the victory in his lips… But he could also recall all too well the bitter taste of defeat, the pain of failing, the too fresh wound of loss. He had contradicted his orders just a couple days before, allowed his emotions to rule him, and it had ended in destruction. He'd be a fool to make the same mistake twice in a roll.
Automatically, Merlin's hand moved, stopping Arthur's where it had started to program the coordinates on their ship. The King looked up at him, the question hovering in his eyes, as if he could not believe what he was seeing. The padawan shook his head minimally, switching the controls off.
"We can't," he choked, and the thunderous look in Arthur's eyes were enough to make him cower.
"We must," countered the man, shaking his head. "We can make it there much faster, and between the two of us…"
"We don't even know if he's still alive!" Merlin exploded, his emotions flowing out in a rant. "We don't know how long it's been since that transmission, and there's no good way to find him there — and a whole army. We can't simply walk there and hope for the best, hope that we'll find him, hoping they won't kill you, hoping — this is far too serious for mere hope. Our stupid heroism and the certainty we could make it by ourselves has already led to a death. We shouldn't cause other deaths — we shouldn't give them the chance — we need to stay here."
The outburst made the king flinch for a second, before he stood straighter, puffing his shoulders out and looking more regal than ever as he responded.
"You are right — our foolishness has had a heavy cost. But this; this, Merlin, is not foolishness. We have learnt from our mistakes — at least, I have. This is not about being a hero; this is about loyalty. Do you know why Mordred is in that situation? Because he was trying to keep me safe. He was serving me, and the service may claim his life. I do not send men into danger and hide. This is not the kind of King — the kind of man — I want to be, the person that I am. If I were that person, they'd never even bother coming for me in the first place. I cannot pretend to be someone else, Merlin. And Mordred deserves better of me — better of us — than for us to think of ourselves before we think of him."
"I'm not thinking of myself, I'm thinking of you," he protested, but the king shook his head.
"No — you're thinking of the loss and the pain and that if something goes wrong but you were not there, then it would not be your fault. But we both know that is not the truth — he's your mentor, he's your friend, he's been the person you're the closest to in a decade — would you ever forgive yourself if you let him to his own luck?"
Merlin knew very well the answer to that question, and it was not an answer he cared to live through. Still, for all Arthur's words, of honour and loyalty, it was still attachment that would lead them to Geonosis. And attachment, he had learnt the hard way, was a danger to those who walked the Jedi path.
"You know I'd never forgive myself," he granted the king, looking away. "But you've heard the masters — I'm under strict orders to keep you at the safest place possible. I cannot condone…"
Arthur gave him a small smile before interrupting.
"I'd say the safest place possible for me is by your side."
"… Hidden in Camelot," completed Merlin, not letting the flattery getting to him. "They told you to stay hidden."
"Luckily for me — and for Mordred — I'm under no compulsion to obey the Jedi Council," Arthur answered, and his rebellious expression looked much like his father when he didn't like something Master Kilgharrah had said. "And what they ordered you to do was to protect me at all costs. Well, if you plan on doing it, you'll have to follow me to Geonosis because I swear I'm going to go there and get Mordred back."
The stubbornness must be a family trait, one that was represented by the tightening of the jaw and a hard glint in the eyes of all Pendragons. Merlin had seen it many times in Arthur's father and sister, but in the King it didn't make him look petty or angry, it made him look honourable and good. He could not, however, let himself be persuaded by it.
"Arthur, please, think before you rush into this — think of the Ashkanar pact, think of everything you've been trying to accomplish — think, too, of your father and his struggle to keep the Republic together, to keep the common people safe. If we loose you, all of it, all this efforts will have been for nothing. It'll all be gone. I love Mordred — love is the word, even if Jedi are not supposed to love, he is the closest person to me, and losing him would be like losing a limb — but… is it really worth it? All we could lose?"
The king gave Merlin a sad smile and took a step closer to him. Arthur's warm hand enveloped Merlin's own, steady and firm, something he could hold on to as he envisioned a life without the man who had turned him from an urchin to a Jedi Knight. Arthur's eyes were earnest as he stared deep down Merlin's blue ones.
"I know what you're saying. I heard them. I know you're scared — and that is ok. You've been through a lot recently. But, Merlin, I can't just turn my back. Mordred pledged himself to my service, I invited him to seat himself by my side. Do you remember what he told me, then?"
"The bond we share is more important than the power we yield," Merlin repeated the words that had been engraved in his heart ever since. Arthur nodded, the small smile never leaving his face.
"Just so. I cannot forgo that bond, now, for power. I understand the risks, but, whatever they are, we have to stand for what is right, for the things we believe in. If I betray that — if I betray who I am — all my words are just words. They mean nothing. And that would destroy everything I've strived for. I understand why the council is worrying about my father, but if it comes to that, he'll have to fight his own path to be the leader that all believe him to be. I cannot help him in that — but I can help Mordred, and I can be the man he — and you — believed in. And I swear to you, Merlin, I'm going to rescue him or die trying."
It was hard to breath with the pressure in his throat that kept him from breathing, because although Merlin wanted nothing more than to obey and hope for the best, he knew, in his heart, that he could never do it. That Arthur was right. That he would never simply turn his back and let his master die. If Arthur would claim bonds with Mordred, Merlin could actually feel the other Jedi through theirs, a link that kept the two of them together. For all his fears, there was no way he could come to harm without Merlin knowing, there was no way they couldn't find him, not when Mordred's presence shone through the galaxy, their link a compass and his master the absolute north of it. And Arthur, Arthur shone like the rising sun, guiding his steps, the one light he could never fail to see. There was only one thing he could answer to such a declaration.
"Then I swear I will protect you or die at your side."
The king's smile before he switched the ship back on would have made a supernova look pale, and, suddenly, Merlin knew that, whatever the result of their adventure, there was no turning back.
Aglain knew it was only fair that he was part of the delegation chosen to break the news to Chancellor Uther, but that didn't mean he needed to be happy about it. The Chancellor's temper was well known, and it was hard to forget that the men had once blamed all Jedi for his personal troubles. Still, as the most senior ambassador at the Jedi High Council, he was a natural choice for the committee that had been sent to bring Uther up to speed in their investigations. As Master of the Order, Master Deaton had the nominal leadership over them, but they hoped to count on Master Gaius throughout knowledge of the man's moods to help them navigate the delicate situation.
It was not to be easy — there were enough faults for them to admit, and the situation was grave enough to warrant a formal meeting, to which some other key political figures had been invited. Aglain had known all of them for years: Uther and his Vice-Chair God'wyn; his long time friend senator Aredian; the Corellian Senator, Helen of Mora; the leader of the opposition and senator for Alderaan, Cerdan; along with the main representative for the pacifist party, senator Forridel of Naboo. They all bowed respectfully at their entrance, and the Jedi repeated with a similar gesture of their own. As the door closed and the chancellor gestured them to sit, Aglain felt as if this meeting was a small mirror of the Senate itself, with Uther's partisans to his left, his adversaries to the right and the Jedi in the middle of it all.
He could only hope that their mistakes were not so great at to inspire them to gang against them.
"Master Jedi," started Uther, as gracefully as he could. "You've called this meeting forth with utmost urgency and given us the understanding that some grave discoveries were made in your investigation on the attempt against King Arthur's life —"
"— A waste of public resources, if you ask me," muttered Forridel under her breath, and the chancellor shot her a dark look before he continued.
"So here we are, gathered, ready to listen to your report and act upon it. Is it really so grave?"
Uther's eyes went straight to Gaius, as they usually did when he needed confirmation. The consular's face was grave, his distinctive eyebrows high on his forehead.
"And worse — you'll see. We have brought to your appreciation two recordings sent by the Jedi Knight on the case," the old man took the holodisk from his pocket and held it where they could see it. "May I?"
"Of course," the chancellor replied, smoothly, gesturing towards the device on his desk to reproduce such things.
As the first hologram was replayed, Aglain took the time to watch for the politicians reactions instead of the words from the young Jedi under the storm. Both Uther and Aredian had deep creases in their foreheads, as if they could not wrap their heads around the information that someone had ordered an army for the Republic. Cerdan seemed appealed, but his college's face was that of complete outrage: she seemed to consider the existence of those clones akin to High Treason — and it might as well be. Still, it was a crime that would have to go without punishment, for there was preciously little to be done against a woman that had been dead for almost a decade. God'wyn's lekkus were moving constantly, the signs of anxiety, and it was not surprising for the twi'lek was not the bellicose type, the very reason why Uther had chosen him as Vice-chair: to balance him out. Only Helen of Mora seemed to listen to it all without being affected, but she had been an old hand at political intrigue when most of them were only young men.
"So you sent this boy to find a bounty hunter — and he found a whole army," the corellian senator smiled at them, almost feral. "How convenient. One ordered by one of your own…?"
"Master Meer-Dieth was a seer in the Order," agreed Master Deaton. "She seems to have been the one to reach the Kaminoans, but we had no knowledge of it."
"She must answer for this — this — abuse of power!" complained Forridel, and Aglain frowned. He could never understand how someone who was so deeply compassionate could also be so harsh in their judgements.
"Alas, she can't;" he told them, smoothly. "Soon after these events, she was taken ill and died."
"A timely death, no doubt;" Helen grinned once again, as if willing them to find it as amusing as she did, but none of them accompanied her.
"What else do we know of this army? Could it be useful? Is it really as formidable as Master Mordred seems to think?" Uther's voice was all practicality, but Cerdan raised his hand, interrupting it.
"You cannot be thinking of using — the Senate is still debating whether such an army would be acceptable."
The chancellor looked at the senator as if he were a particularly slow child, sighing.
"We may use them — or we may not — it depends on what the majority will decide. But how could they make an informed decision if they don't have all the data? And even if we decide against an army; it was co missioned in the Republic's name and we'll have to find a way to dispose of it."
"Dispose?" Naboo's representative repeated, horrified. "These are people!"
"These are programmed soldiers, and if we decide not to use them, then they'll present a risk to our peaceful ways — but I do not mean murder, Forridel, I am not such a monster. I merely meant the dismantling of it until we could insert them into society, if it's even possible."
"We could just… Undo the business, couldn't we?" asked Cerdan, and Helen snorted.
"That would only mean someone else might buy it — no, that would be even riskier. We do not want the Separatists to get any ideas —"
"There's more," interrupted Master Deaton, his face grave. "We had more news from Mordred after this. It seems our friends in the Confederation of Independent Systems have already procured their own army."
"How?" Forridel's voice trembled with passion, and the Corellian senator clicked her tongue, as if their innocence made her despair.
"Money, I'm guessing, and influence — Count Peter lacks neither, or the charm to convince others to give him even more of both. I am not surprised that they have some sort soldiers…"
"We'll show you Mordred's following message, but, in the mean time: Master Kilgharrah himself is on his way to Kamino to gather more information on this clone army. Regardless of what the Senate choses to do, he will be able to give us a much fuller picture of the situation."
Without waiting for any answer to his words, Master Deaton pushed the button that started Mordred's last message, from the red plains of Geonosis. Outrage and anger were slowly replaced in the audience's face by concern. Even the Chancellor and Senator Aredian, who were experienced warriors, paled as they listened to Mordred's description of the upcoming enemy. Forridel's hand moved to grip Cerdan's arm, God'wyn's face was touched by sweat and Helen's lips were so pushed against each other so tightly that they completely disappeared.
As least, he could be sure they understood the gravity of the situation.
"It seems the droid factories here are working at full speed to deliver the Trade Federation and the Commerce Guilds a new droid army —"
"He must've gotten it wrong," Cerdan interrupted, gravely. "If the Trade Federation built an army, it'd be in complete rebellion of the treaty that was signed ten years ago —"
"It is hundreds of times the size of the one used in the Camelot blockade, and from what I've heard, they no longer need external input to work…"
"It seems, senator, that this is yet another case of Might trumping right," replied Helen.
"The Geonosian Foundries are part of the Techno Union association, maybe we should get their representatives and ask them some very pointed questions," considered Aredian, but the chancellor just shook his head.
"It's too late for that," his head gestured towards Mordred's hologram, as it explained the terms for these same powers to join the Separatist state. "They're preparing for war — and we have preciously little to answer them with."
The chancellor's grip on his desk was tight enough that his knuckles had grown white; and even Forridel seemed to soften as she registered that this was a man who had just heard that his child's life was to be a bargaining chip in the hands of people who wished nothing but to undo all that he had done.
"Yes," Master Deaton agreed, folding his hands. "We need to stop the production before they're done, or the Republic will be doomed."
"That's it," Aredian stood up, nervous energy swirling around him. "The time for niceties — debates, arguments — is over. We need an army, and we have one at our disposal. We must use it."
"Oh, it's not that simple," Helen answered, tilting her head. "The debate is not over, and, even if we all agreed to it, the Senate would never be able to approve the use of that army before the separatist attack."
She looked away from the two camelotians and at her politician friends. The two of them exchanged a glance, as if they were divided between their hatred of violence and the knowledge that an ready army might be the only way of keeping the Republic safe. For a moment, it seemed like they were about to argue, but for the first time, Uther's Vice-Chair's voice was heard, trembling with panic.
"This is a crisis without precedent!" The twi'lek announced, his lekkus trembling. "The Senate must see it — and there's a way — if they give the Chancellor emergency powers, he could…"
Uther rose his hand, as if he couldn't bear to even hear it.
"No — I don't want it. There are already those who call me a tyrant, and those," his eyes flickered towards the opposition leaders, "who think I'm far too indulgent with my family and that would accuse me of using this power in their favour alone. No. Our peace is guarded by the Jedi. Tell me, Master Deaton, how many could you send to Geonosis right now to stop this threat?"
It seemed to Aglain that in the minutes since they had arrived, Uther had put on years on his face. As the three Jedi looked at each other, the ambassador feared their answer would only add to his burden.
"I'd say — counting older padawans — around two hundred."
It was Cerdan's turn to pale, and, not for the first time, Aglain wondered if they had erred in not making it clear just how few they were for the immensity of the task that was guarding the Republic.
"Not nearly enough — your son was right, Uther, they cannot match the power of the Separatists."
Master Gaius merely raised an eyebrow at the senator, before continuing.
"We could be able to extract Mordred, and even slow down the process, but, no, we could not face their army in battle alone. However, there are more possibilities than open warfare —"
"You know better than to believe that, Gaius!" interrupted Aredian, taking one step ahead. "If it's war they want, we should be ready for the worst. We have no time to lose." He turned to look at the chancellor, his face flushed with emotion. ""Sire — there's no man I'd rather follow, and no other man I can see leading us out of this crisis. There are no men of your calibre in the Senate, indeed, there are few in the galaxy that are your match. You may not be perfect, sire, and even if it's not in your nature to reach for compromise, you've worked admirably to try and avoid needless bloodshed. Still, our enemies are not interested in peace; and I can not imagine who else could command us through such a war — the likes of which haven't been seen in centuries. You're the leader we need, and you need the power to be the leader you have to be in this trying times At the next session I'll propose a motion to grant Uther emergency powers."
"No!" Uther's voice was as thick as his friend's. "I don't want these powers, but I can be persuaded to take them if the Senate wills it. But you, my friend, know you cannot be the one proposing it, or it'll never be legitimate."
"Why not?" questioned Forridel, and it surprised Aglain that she had nothing against the idea, although there was nothing surprising in the fact that Aredian still looked at Uther as his King, even if he hadn't worn the crown in over a decade. "Aredian knows you better and longer than anyone else, who better to attest you'll do the right thing?"
"Almost anyone," answered Helen, licking her lips. "There have long been those who accuse Aredian of supporting Uther's chancellorship only to maintain himself as Camelot's representative; and you must have heard suggestions that he was frustrating any sort of courtship of King Arthur to make sure there was no heir that could threaten his position…"
"Vile lies," Uther said, his face red with consternation. "Aredian would never…"
"A lie repeated a thousand times becomes more important than the truth it hides," reminded the corellian.
"I don't care!" Camelot's senator's voice was trembling with passion. "You're my kin — you're my king. I would follow you to the world's end and count myself lucky for it. The proposition must be made, and if no one else is brave enough to make it, I will! I couldn't care less for the stain in my reputation — I took a vow to serve and protect the Republic, to serve and protect you. I will not fail it!"
"You took a vow," the chancellor agreed, standing up and facing his friend. "And by the power of that vow, I forbid you of doing anything of the kind!"
"Sire…" Aredian started, but Uther just shook his head.
"No — as you said, you swore. Your honour's bound to it. You say I'm still your king — so listen to my command. The political turmoil would force you out of your seat, and the Senate needs you, the Republic needs you, and I am certainly not ready to let you go simply because you're stubborn — no. Camelot has no one else to serve at the Senate but you or Aggravaine; you know as well as I that there's little hope of Arthur ever settling down to a nice girl and giving me grandchildren. Damn, I'd settle for tumbling a serving girl and making the child his heir, but I'm not so blind as to see that it'll never happen. I might have to accept heirs with questionable legitimacy, but I won't have a bastard in your place because you can't bring yourself to see the dangers of gossip. My slimy brother in law should never be allowed real power over Camelot and you know it. I forbid you to propose such a thing!"
For a moment, neither men spoke, eyes locked in a battle of wills, both tied in a web of honour and loyalty that made them try and keep each other safe in spite of the cost. It was remarkable, and, at the same time, the exactly sort of bond the Jedi feared to make.
"Very touching," said Helen, breaking the spell that held them, but even the mockery in her tone sounded fake. "However, it's also a pointless debate. The only way such a motion would pass was if everyone," she looked at her fellow politicians, the ones that were known to stand against Uther, and the two of them nodded. "Everyone could be convinced that this was the best — the only — solution. And the only way to make sure of it, is to have it come from your greatest political enemy. No one else could make the senate agree to it."
Her words hovered in the air for a moment, while all of them tried to digest it. What Helen suggested would, of course, work; but the hard part would be to ever convince Queen Annis to speak in Uther's favour. She might have absolved Arthur of blame, but she had always been fierce in her despise of Uther and all he did, she had never forgiven the chancellor for pushing her out of power or for the blackening of her name that his campaign had caused.
"She'll never agree to it," Uther sighed, shaking his head.
"I wouldn't be so sure," offered Cerdan, surprising them all. "Leave Annis to me, chancellor. Just make sure you can save us all."