Chapter 2: Aggressive Negotiations

Arthur was at the edge of his patience, which was not particularly big. He had done as his father requested, and had waited for a long while for the Senate's ruling in their favour, but there was no more time for it. His people were starving. Sure, Camelot was fertile, but not everythingcould be grown — and there were other needs that should have been met but were impossible too while the Federation was blockading their planet. There was no lack of food, but Camelot did not produce medicine, for example, and the stocks had been rationed high on a year. Worse, it meant that they were having to use ancient methods to control the outbreak of diseases, turning what had long since been minor discomfits into longer afflictions. Disease meant, too, that there were less people able to work, and in turn, poverty was spreading fast, and allied, sickness and poverty led to bigger issues.

It was the way people grew hopeless, it made them reckless and dangerous. Arthur was proud of his knights, but they were spread thin as it was, trying to contain the despair from in all levels of the city. People had already started to trickle from the outlying villages, and farmers were soon becoming too rich for their own good. It led to civil unrest, and unrest led to civil war, people turning against their own because all rule seemed to have faded — or worse, failed them.

He was very young, and had lived mostly in a time of peace — this was the first trial of his Kingship, and he was not going to fail.

The Supreme Chancellor had promised he was sending ambassadors to talk to Camelot's attackers even while the Senate discussed it — and although Camelot was not such a small planet, there were probably more pressing matters to be talked about — the final outcome of the war on Kalee for example. Arthur had met the Chancellor's attempt for direct intervention with relief, he had no longer known what to do, and there were few who could truly advise him in interglacial politics. He was supposed to be the expert — or at least to become one, by the time his heir came of age to become king.

Since he had no heir nor any particular wish for one so far, he was still clueless.

He should have talked to his father about it once again, but that would mean admitting he was in over his head, and Arthur couldn't do that. Not when Uther seemed exasperated when he even asked.

To think there were people that actually fought to be king.

He hid all his worrying under the mask of control he had been taught to use from an early age, and opened up the communication's channel to the Federation ship.

"Ahh — King Arthur…" Viceroy Alined gave his unctuous smile, and he looked slimy even for a Neimoidian. "How can I help you today?"

"You could help me by taking your ships away from here and finishing this ridiculous blockade," he said, his face impassive.

"Ahh, but that is not something I can do — unless you're ready to comply with our new terms?"

"They are abusive terms and you know it," Arthur shook his head. "I know you have been told to adjust them and reach a settlement by the ambassadors from the Senate."

Alined seemed throughly shocked by this.

"Ambassadors? I haven't met any ambassadors. I am ready, as always, to comply with the will of the Senate, but there have been no requests. Are you trying to fool me, young Pendragon?"

Arthur controlled himself to ignore the surprise himself felt, and the sting of being accused of using underhand tactics to win something. It was not the man he was, nor the ruler.

"If they haven't arrived yet, they'll be with you shortly." He assured, with a nod. "I'll be waiting for your contact to work on the settlement."

He cut off the transmission, and Leon, by his side, looked as worried as he felt.

"Gather the knights — and the council. It seems I'll have to contact my father after all."

The Chancellor's failure to honour his word didn't bode well for any of them.

"I don't know," his father's voice was bristled even in from half a galaxy away. "The chancellor told me they would be with you today. I don'tknow why they aren't. He must have sent Jedi — and everyone knows we can't trust Jedi — they do things in their own time as much as the Senate."

Arthur took a deep breath, before moving straight to the point.

"They may have or they did? You surely know the answer — you always do."

This made Uther smile, but it wasn't a kind smile.

"Yes — but you are the one that should know instead of calling up every five minutes simply because a few ships are on the way. Blow them up and have it done with. Unless you completely depleted the reserves since I've last been home, you have more than enough firepower to it."

"Father!" was his only answer, his voice shocked at the very suggestion.

"With all due respect, sire" said old Geoffrey, the bureaucrat of the palace. "I have a feeling the Senate wouldn't approve this course of action."

"The Senate is not what it was," Uther shook his head, annoyed. "They have become defiled by corruption and greed — ruled by bureaucrats like you, all in the pay of the Federation. It will not rule in our favour easily."

"Which is exactly why I asked for an ambassador!" Arthur complained, pacing in front of the throne. "I am ready to reach a settlement, I just can't accept the terms as they are now — it would do an even greater damage than it the blockade is doing."

"Stop pacing" his father chided. "Pacing is for men who are unsure, and unsure men are not kings."

Arthur had heard it all before, but it made him stop anyway. He scowled at his father, who then finally gave the answer to his question.

"I requested that Gaius be assigned to this," he temporised, raising his chin high. "As you know, he is a man I feel I can trust — in spite of being a Jedi. We have been friends for a long time, and I believe he is to be stronger in upholding our side than another man would. Oh, and Arthur? He is supposed to take his padawan with him. Make sure you welcome them properly when they move from the ship to the planet."

Arthur barely managed to contain his grimace. He had never met Gaius or his padawan, but he would have to be blind and deaf not to know who his father meant. There was a trace of begrudging pride in his voice when he said it, something he never had shown when talking about Arthur — he was always too quick to dismiss everything Arthur did, but it seemed that his sister could do no wrong, even being a Jedi. He knew it was not fair to compare himself to her — not only they had never met, but also she had never even known Camelot. It wasn't as if she could be a threat, and from the little he had gathered from the intelligence sources that were loyal to him rather than to his father, Arthur highly doubted she was particularly happy about this arrangement. Still, it made him feel marginally better to know that he wasn't the only one that sometimes was pulled into uncomfortable positions by Uther.

"Sure. Now, maybe you could ask for a report, see if something happened to them on their way."

"It is harder without Gaius here — you know how they are — but there is a sure way to know…"

This father's image started breaking up, and it Arthur struggled to understand his next words.

"Using the…"

"Father?" He called, as it was clear he hadn't noticed anything from his end. "Father!"

But the image was gone, and Arthur looked up at Gwen, his chatelaine.

"Find out what is wrong with the communications," he ordered, his hand on his hips.

"It seems we've been cut off," offered Geoffrey. "Never a good sign when perfectly good calls…"

"There is no signal…" Gwen said, frowning at the tablet in her hand. She shook the thing as if it would change anything, and even slapped it, but her expression made it clear there was no change. "All communication is shut down — even inside the planet — I've… It must be a rather strong blocker."

"Well, cutting off communications can only mean one thing," said Leon, his face grim. "A full on invasion."

Arthur knew it well enough, and he barely stopped to take a deep breath before turning towards the rest of his council.

"Ladies and gentleman, we are at war."

Now there was little he could to but try to prepare his people for it.

It seemed, this was to be a day full of firsts — first time the negotiations she entered turned sour so quickly, the first time she travelled as a stowaway, first time she was to actually step on her home planet. She could bet Gaius would be in a mood, he hated when things didn't go according to plan and always said that it was the foolishness of youth that made her thrive in such situations. Somehow, after meeting Nimueh, it seemed less likely to be the case, but there was nothing to be won by pursuing that line of thought.

She allowed her breath to even out, focusing on being unnoticeable — not very hard when most droids were turned off, but it was better not to take chances. She felt the swift impact of entering the atmosphere, and for a moment everything was still just before it went to hell. It took her an embarrassing amount of time to understand they were crashing fast, plummeting through the sky.

Well, it wasn't as if she had thought the day wouldn't get more exciting.

She moved as quickly as she could, ignoring the heated air coming from the other side of the ship — the front side — and kicked open the back gate that was meant to be used for unloading the droids in stand by. The wind almost knocked her back, and her ears complained quickly from the change in pressure, but there was no time to worry about it, or the small rush of nausea she got by looking down. Even for a Jedi, it was a huge drop — she needed to thread carefully here. One deep breath, and she was jumping.

The trick was in both allowing your muscles to relax for the impact and manipulate the force to slower your speed — and, of course, to roll just right when once you actually were in the ground.

She wished she could say she handled it perfectly, but impact brought a sharp pain to her right heel even as her body rolled over it in a cartwheel. The day just kept getting better and better. It was a testament to how bothered she was that the sound of the ship hitting the ground and exploding surprised her, making her jump to her feet again. Turning, she was faced with the image of the ship being engulfed by flames. Now, that seemed like solving a problem by creating another one; the grass where they had landed seemed dry and it wouldn't take long for it to spread.

Maybe this was part of their tactic — she wouldn't know — but she doubted they had truly considered it. Other ships had managed to land without being hit, although she could see one heading towards the deep lake ahead in flames. It was best if she got out now, while the droids were still trying to figure out how to behave — there would be far too much hassle to hide herself in the midst of all that green. She stood out like a sore thumb in her light clothes.

The Citadel was just ahead, so there was no reason to stop, really. She took a deep breath, fixing her ankle — running would surely be required — and moved towards it as quickly as she could. Gaius, she knew, was already waiting under the bridge — his calm presence a mark on the Force to which she turned as she begun to jog. She wasn't familiar enough to Nimueh to have any idea where she was, but she couldn't reach Mordred either and for a moment she felt a pang of worry before the sounds of laser blasts and lightsaber hits turned her attention back to the situation she was.

Nimueh, it seemed, was but a few meters ahead, dispatching the droids that were trying to stall her. Morgana tried to speed up and help — not that Nimueh seemed to be in any particular need of help — and reached the woman just a few seconds before they got to the bridge.

"What happened to being discreet?" Hissed Gaius, turning up his lightsaber and joining them as they made a stand. There weren't that many droids coming anymore.

"I'm just making sure there is no witnesses to our arrival!" Nimueh replied, cheekily. Morgana couldn't help but chuckle.

"I'm sure nobody will question dozens of droids broken on the way to the castle." Gaius cut the last one down and turned off his blade.

"Well — I've always heard Camelot had the best knights in the galaxy," Morgana offered, smiling to Nimueh, who let out a laughter and patted her shoulder.

Gaius raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, and she kept her tongue in check, chastened by this look alone. As they walked inside and the adrenaline jolt stopped, she turned again towards the guardian.

"Where is Mordred?"

"Don't worry about Mordred," Nimueh waved her hand away. "He's just fine. Now, come on — it's time you met your brother."

Arthur and his knights were in position and had their swords drawn as the sounds fighting approached the throne room. It was not the way he would have preferred to make his stand, but it was the best option they had right now. There was no time for open battle — not with an invasion this size. Elyan, who was in charge of the shooters, had warned them that around fifteen ships had landed safely, to ten ships shot — but that was almost half an hour ago, and since even internal communication was impossible, he had no way to know how much he was facing here. Worse — he had heard explosions, but there was no way to say what had caused them, or even if his hitters were still alive.

Then — it hit him — the sounds approaching were far too odd — it was the running of human feet, not metal against stone, and far too light to belong to his knights.

Not that the Knights of Camelot would run — they were trained and ready to die in service. He felt a ripple of worry as it got closer, but he wouldn't break formation.

There was something of an explosion, and dust hid their view for a moment, but some things couldn't be mistaken — the glow of lightsabers in the midst of the rubble that seemed to have fallen. His body eased infinitesimally — in spite of anything his father might say, Jedi were good news at this moment.

"Hello" said a woman, before hitting back a shot with her blue blade. "I'm sorry — it seems we have caused some damage to your ceiling here."

"The least of our worries," he answered with a grin, but nobody moved out of place; they were far too disciplined to break ranks merely because help had arrived.

The sound of a fresh group of droids approaching made her bit her lip.

"Ah — those should be the last for a while — the other ships are further away. Gentlemen — if you may help?"

"On me!" Arthur said, stepping ahead. It was still hard to see outside, but he could see the other two Jedi were no longer around.

"Hold the corridor" the woman said, gesturing towards it. "We'll make sure the way out is clear."

"We're not…" Arthur started, but it was pointless, since she was already disappearing into a corner. He shook his head, and turned his attention to his men. "Let's do this — shields up!"

There was the unmistakable thrum as they turned their shields at once, each man covering part of the following one. Their armours might be mostly crafted from the cortosis mined in Nemeth, but too much damage would ruin it — while their shields reflected the blasts back at the shooter. Some might consider the people of Albion primitives for using direct contact, blades and armours instead of exchanging them for the same guns that were commonplace all through the galaxy, but there was no honour in using an automatic weapon. They were warriors, not soldiers, and would behave as such.

It was but a few seconds before the first wave of droids came, all aiming to their middle and most were caught by the reverse blast, but the second wave wouldn't be fooled — they could be seen, now, and the formation would be a hindrance instead of a guarantee.

"Engage" he said, pulling his shield back from where it was protecting Lancelot's body. Arthur tightened the grip in his swords isolated hilt and stepped ahead, swinging wide.

It was somewhat easy then — droids were not expecting to be attacked by regular swords, he could see, and their weapons were mostly useless this close. Through the corner of his eye, he saw as Percival just pushed a whole gag of them out of the window with his massive arms, but there was no time to waste in watching his knights as one enemy came after another to be cut down. It was easier than with humans — for all that their body was metal, their joints were weak and the circuits broke far more easily than muscle and sinew. There was no blood to make his blade slick, and no fat for it to get stuck.

There was but a moment of silence as Lancelot stuck down the last of the droids, parts spread carelessly through the corridor, before they heard new steps. Someone was striding towards them, Arthur heard without seeing how their knights went back into battle stance. He saw a figure coming from the same place where the droids had been, face covered by their clothing, and for a second he worried at what else had been sent along with the droids before the person dropped the hood of their vest and smiled at them.

"Hello, little brother," There was a blinding smile in her face, and she looked a bit like the woman who had spoke to her before, and in spite of the clear irony in her words, she seemed softer than the previous Jedi, somehow, and clearly younger. Her smile became a smirk and she rose her eyebrow, studying Percival standing on his left side. "That is not the welcome I was expecting, I should say."

"At ease," Arthur commanded, and they all lowered their blades. From up closer, they could see that she had the robes of a Jedi, and that had also not been how he had expected for them to meet. He gave her a small bow. "My lady."

Morgana laughed at this, shaking her head.

"I see you have been well taught, but now is not the time — they're waiting for us." She didn't wait for his reply to start walking, clearly guiding them through the corridor where the other Jedi had disappeared before. The whole not waiting seemed to be a Jedi trait. "Come on!"

"And by they you mean who exactly?" he asked, rushing to keep up with her. He was taller, and seemed more athletic, and while he knew he couldn't keep up with her reflexes, she seemed to approve his attempt with a look.

"Master Nimueh and Master Gaius," she informed him, seeming at perfect easy although they were pretty much running. "We are going to get you out of here."

"I am not leaving my people!" He bristled — this was not the sort of king he was. He was no coward to simply leave like that.

"Think smart, not fast," Morgana said, in a tone of a person who had heard the same enough times. "Your communications are blocked, the towers from which you were attacking their landing ships have been exploded, last I checked there were 30 ships already on the ground, each of them with thousands of droids. You cannot resist them — and they'll land down and force you to accept this invasion. Your only chance is to get out of here and plead for the Senate to intervene."

As much as Arthur hated to admit it, it made sense. It wasn't as if he hadn't already planned for what would happen to his people in case he was captured. There was a reason Leon wasn't with them — he and Gwen had been left in charge of the actual people of Camelot. The droids were now roaming through a mostly empty town, while the Camelotians where taken through the Darkling Woods to the mazes under the White Mountains, where they would be safe. Part of his knights had followed, and only a handful stayed back with him for a Last Stand.

"How do you plan on getting past the blockade?" he finally asked, focusing on the matter at hand.

"With a little bit of luck," was the reply, along with a wink, as they rushed down the stairs that led to the palace's hangar; and Arthur said a small prayer wishing that it would be as simple as that.

Normally, padawans spent most of their time with their masters — at least during the early years. Lately, he and Nimueh had been parted on occasion, to cover different things sometimes. He was generally glad to have the opportunity to do things on his own — Nimueh was a great teacher, and clearly talented at her job, but she was also headstrong, intimidating, and somewhat given to bursts of activity. She was not one for prolonged planning, and Mordred suspected this was part of the reason why she and Gaius didn't get along. Being on his own made him feel older, more competent somehow.

Clearly being shot down the sky and landing in a place he knew little about and far away from any contact when he was supposed to be with her, on the other hand, wasn't great. Mordred had been ready to leave at a minutes notice when he boarded the cargo ship carrying droids, but for some reason he didn't expect it to be hit while on air. On the other hand, he wasn't the only one not to expect it, if the droids reaction was any clue. Mordred didn't wait to see how this would turn out — he turned up his lightsaber, cut the door open, and looked down.

They were loosing height and far too close to the castle that served as Camelot's central administration. This was not going to end well — and the slanted roofs might be a problem, but at least it wasn't far. Mordred just jumped, trying not to worry too much about the landing. He skidded down the roof, far too fast for his own tranquillity, but luckily the place was decorated with gargoyles — which allowed him to hold himself up and avoid smashing himself on the courtyard bellow. The whole roof shook as the wing of the ship he had been on knocked down half of the tower. Mordred held on for dear life, but spent a second sending his thoughts towards the poor shooter that had most likely blown out of existence. He knew that it'd hit the ground soon and shake everything, so he braced himself for it before the impact came.

Then, there was the question of how to get out of his position and inside the castle. He looked around and saw a ledge in which he could probably hold and lower himself to one of the windows. He concentrated before letting go of one arm and swinging to move. Mordred ignored as his muscle burnt, far too used to the exertion to care, and kicked the glass underneath. In the midst of the sounds of ships descending, shots and minor explosions, it seemed like a very small noise. He kicked twice more just to be sure, and jumped inside.

It seemed to be a room of some sort — perhaps belonging to a noble, if the rich furnishings were anything to go by. Mordred didn't really care about it — right now, he had to focus in finding the King. They had to get him out of there, or he'd be forced to sign something endorsing the invasion and, probably, killed. Mordred didn't even want to imagine how Uther would react if this was the case. Not for the first time, he thanked everything in existence that he didn't share Morgana's gifts; he would've enhanced the power of the Dark Side greatly.

Mordred rushed out, and there was absolutely no one around. Well, he'd have to rely on the Force to find the throne room, it wasn't as if there was signs around to help. He walked down the corridor and turned left, going down the stairs until the windows showed he was on the ground floor. He turned back right, imagining it was about the correct place to find the throne room — he was pretty sure this was where the King was — when he felt a nudge on the other direction. Not just some nudge, he'd know that touch anywhere.

Across the courtyard, down the stairs, past the dungeons.

Mordred knew better than to defy Nimueh's instructions, and he knew that she would never redirect him unless it was essential. As he cloaked himself, he heard the sounds of battle coming from the front of the courtyard — sabers and droid blasts — but if she needed any help, she would've asked. She had sent him somewhere else for a reason, and he jumped over the ground-level balcony, dashed across the courtyard and used his hard gained experience unlocking doors to open the one that led to the dungeons. It croaked in it's hinges as he pushed it, but it seemed to be used often. He ran down, and all sounds disappeared save for his feet echoing on the damp stones. It was a grim place, even if it was, compared to some dungeons he had seen, light and airy.

Down the left — follow the steps — make sure everything 's in order.

He really didn't need to be told twice. He followed through a corridor that seemed to have been out of use for a long time, filled with metal shards, blocks of stone and enough dust to choke a man. It ended in row of steps, that seemed to lead towards some sort of cave. Funny, he hadn't pictured a cave underneath the castle, but it was wide — even the landing was not more than a couple meters long before dropping down to… more rocks, really. Mordred wondered for a second what the hell he was meant to do there, when he saw it — low on the cave and almost completely hidden: a ship.

A more careful analysis showed that there were more steps that allowed him to reach the lower levels — he might have done acrobatics, but if this was to be their escape, it needed to be somewhat easy to access by all — and Gaius was old even if he was a Jedi, and he knew nothing about Camelot's King. He rushed down, wondering how Nimueh had known about it, or if they had met the king and he had directed them.

Coming closer, he discarded that second option. It was clear that the ship was old. It seemed to be some sort of military scout vessel, heavily armed, but the design was nothing like the ones Mordred was used to — squared and ungainly, of some dark blue metal that held no shine. The ship stood on four legs, like some gigantic bug. It wasn't particularly big, but could clearly carry at least 50 men with ease. Mordred had no idea how it was supposed to be operated, but a touch on the closest leg caused the door to open and a ramp to be lowered.

Well, that had been easy.

It still didn't mean he had any idea how this was supposed to work. Mordred fancied himself a rather good pilot, but some of this controls were so outdated that they just baffled him. He randomly switched things on, and the whole ship hummed. With the computers on, navigation should be much easier. Should being the operative word here. There was a layer of dust here too, and Mordred wondered how long since the ship had flown, and if it was even capable of flying anymore. He set the computers to scan all features, and opened up all latches to get rid of the stale air.

He had just gotten the readings back — and surprisingly most of it seemed to be in working condition — when he heard noises outside. Nimueh and Gaius were the first in, and Mordred turned to his master immediately.

"All readings seem fine — but I have no idea how to fly…"

"I'll fly it." Both of them said at once, surprising him. "You young people are far too reliant on current technology, you don't…"

"To be fair, this ship has not left the ground since long before he was born," Nimueh interrupted the old man. "I think the supplies are useless, though, so we might have a small problem of hunger…"

"Morgana will bring them," Gaius said, sitting down at the console, and Mordred was shocked to see the old man smile. "Hello, my beauty!" he said, clearly referring to the ship.

"Don't get sentimental now!" Nimueh warned, but she seemed softer around the edges as well. "Not the time to dwell on the past — it's time to leave."

As if on cue, Mordred heard steps running up the ramp, and Gaius was setting the helmet around his head.

"Alright. Let's get you out of here, beauty."

With a gasp and a start, the ship rose and they flew away.