Chapter 4: All-in

Arthur knew of a number of rulers that would have considered beneath them to walk back and forth under the sun to fetch ship parts in a planet that could scarcely be called civilised — that should even be called a planet as much as it was a meeting place for all sorts of criminals: smugglers, the mafia, paid assassins and so on; but he didn't count himself as one of those. If anything, the exertion helped, taking his mind off worrying for his people, even if he knew he had laid the plans as well as he could to ensure they were as safe as they could be under an invasion.

Still, he was more than eager to be on his way, to speak to the Senate and to end that damned blockade once and for all. As life always found a way to complicate his plans, though, he knew he shouldn't be surprised to find the shop empty when they entered it the following morning. Nimueh instructed him to stay back while the rest of them made enquires around — reminding him once again that his safety was paramount for this whole mission. It was but a minor setback — the door had been open, so it stood to reason that Kanen wasn't too far.

Arthur heard some noises in the back, and damn probably the boy had been left alone and was busy playing with something and hadn't heard them entering. He went out, ready to complain, only to find a podracer floating on it — it was a weird thing, unlike the few models Arthur had seen in his life (as such pursuits were forbidden in Camelot, and their people weren't particular found of speeders one way or another) this one didn't look like a machine that had been carefully designed to beat all others, but rather a conjunction of spare parts put together in a way that made it both ungainly and sturdy.

There was a boy tinkering with the screws of the propeller in the back of the pod, but it wasn't the one they had seen the day before. This one was taller, sturdy, with broader shoulders than the sorry skinny thing they had met. The pimples in his face gave away the fact that he had left childhood, and his brown hair was flat against his head as sweat poured out of him. Arthur had no idea how many employees Kanen had, but he also didn't come across as a man that would leave his shop unless he knew it was well guarded.

"Hey!" he called, bothered that the boy still hadn't noticed him. "There are costumers waiting for you!"

The teenager rose his head, but his expression was bored as faced Arthur for a second before going back to his screwdriver.

"Shop's closed, come tomorrow," he groaned, going back to work on the pod.

"The door is open," Arthur argued, but he just shrugged.

"Yeah, but the shop is closed — so get yourself out and come back tomorrow."

"I have urgent need of —"

"Mate, I've said the shop is closed — and I don't even work here — so…"

"Look, I know you want to be left alone to play with your toy there, but…"

"Toy?" the boy laughed. "This is a feat of engineering, a true racer, not that some posh prat like you would recognise it — it takes a real man to drive that thing, not some pounce…"

"Excuse me!" Arthur bristled. "Are you implying that…"

"That you are a posh prat that probably wouldn't know what to do if it got their clothes dirty, yeah" the boy answered, and Arthur stepped up to him, using his bigger size to try and intimidate the little shit.

"Oh really?" he asked, with a smirk of his own. "Wanna bet?"

Arthur didn't really mean to do anything, but then the boy's eyes light up with rage and he threw a punch at him. Arthur avoided it easily, and held up the boy by his wrist, twisting his arm. He didn't give up, kicking and hitting with his free hand, so he shifted his stance, stepping forward and pressing the boys body against the dirt. The boy was still squirming and kicking, and Arthur laughed, amused against his better judgement.

"Ooh, why are you so bothered? I thought real man liked getting their clothes dirty…"

"Come on, that's enough," said a voice behind them. It was firm and strong, but it hadn't yet been broken by manhood.

Arthur turned to see the same boy from the previous day, looking quite as insolent as this one, in his brown trousers and red tunic, a blue cloth tied around his thin neck. The king hadn't truly noticed him the day before, but he was struck anew by how much he looked like Mordred — well, and like Morgana and Nimueh, too, as if they were all different models of the same peculiar species, that seemed to be a bit more graceful than the natural human. This boy, though, had rather large ears that made him look more ordinary than the pale beauty he had seen on the Jedi. He also seemed to be fighting not to be amused by the scene, something he couldn't really picture the others doing upon finding him in such a position, and Arthur stepped back, suddenly conscious of how childish it had been to tease the boy that way.

"You've had your fun, my friend," he continued, stepping closer and with a tight smile.

"I don't even know you," he said, bristling from his own poor judgement, that failed him once again, letting him take it out on the child.

"I'm Merlin," the second boy said, while the first one rose, massaging his arm.

"Yes — but I don't know you — and you call me friend."

This made the boy snort and raise an eyebrow at him, and Arthur wanted to hit himself for insisting on saying things that were definitely not appropriate for a grown up and a king to be saying.

"My bad," the boy apologised, but he didn't seem sorry at all. "I would never have a friend who could be such an ass!"

Arthur gasped for a second before letting out a guffaw — he didn't think anyone had ever quite spoke to him that way. It was strangely freeing, then, not to be known — to shed away the cloak of sovereignty and be simply a young man.

"Or I one that could be so stupid!" He answered back, and Merlin laughed, good naturedly.

"This is Will," Merlin introduced, gesturing towards the other boy as if he hadn't just said that they could never be friends. "And he is helping me getting the pod ready for this afternoon — was there anything in particular I could help you with?"

"We came to get the parts for our ship," Arthur started, and the boy frowned.

"Oh — I see. I'm sorry but — we're closed."

"I've told him," Will said, glaring at Arthur. "Told him he had to come back tomorrow, but he insisted he is too important to —"

Whatever tirade Will was about to go into was interrupted by the sound of Morgana's voice ringing in the front of the shop. She walked outside, seemed relieved to find him.

"Woooooah!" Will said, letting out a low whistle at the sight of her, and Arthur didn't know if he should feel queasy or amused at this kid was eyeing the woman that was supposed to be his sister like that.

"Arthur!" she said, not minding him the slightest. "Don't do that, I thought someone had taken you."

"Why would someone want to take him?" Will asked, but Merlin eyed from one to the other with eyes that understood far too much for a child.

"The shop are all closed," she continued, to which Will once again reaffirmed that he was trying to tell him just that. "There is a podracer happening in a couple hours, and it seems that they just won't open in race days until the race is over."

"Oh, there you are," Mordred said, as he walked in with Nimueh. "It seems we'll have to wait the damn race out."

"Everyone is probably already at the arena," Merlin said, eyeing them carefully. "I would be there too, but I needed to make a few repairs before taking the pod…"

"Are you telling me this thing actually runs?" Arthur asked, surprised, and Merlin shrugged, his face red.

"Hey, I've built it from scratch — I know it runs!" He answered seeming offended on the behalf of the pod before continuing, looking at his feet. "I'll be running with it today"

"You are running?" Arthur asked, surprised. Humans didn't generally run podraces, the sort of flying it required went far beyond the skills and reflexes of a regular human. He noticed that his three companions shared a look upon hearing it, and suspicion nudged in him.

"Merlin's brilliant," Will said, throwing his arm around the other boy's shoulders. "He flies like no one else!"

"I'm alright," Merlin replied, still not facing him. "But — yeah. I'm running. Kanen always makes me run — it gives him money, even if I don't win, or whatever. So I run."

"There is always a lot of money and profit on podraces," Nimueh agreed, with a serious expression. "Though normally not the kind of money one would call 'clean'".

"But it is awesome!" Merlin answered, his eyes shining with excitement. "There is nothing quite like flying in it — the speed, the skill it takes, the emotion…"

His eyes were still bright when he stopped, as if he noticed how everyone was paying attention to him, so he kept quiet. Mordred and Morgana were smiling at him.

"I bet you are amazing," Mordred said, kindly.

"I'd love to see you run," his sister agreed, her voice softer than he would have imagined possible.

"Well — you can," Merlin said, looking at them from under his eyelashes. "There are always individual boxes for the group of workers of runners and — it's generally just Will, mom and Kanen, but there can be a lot more people in it. I don't think Kanen would mind — he was waiting for some Issori family, but they aren't coming, so…" He shrugged yet again. "You can come with us, if you want."

Arthur was ready to say no — that it was barbaric and not civilised, but Mordred was faster than him.

"Well — it's not as if we could do anything before the race ends…"

"I'd die to see something like it," his sister replied, excited, and honestly he didn't think he could deny her anything when she looked that happy.

Clearly, he wasn't the only one that suffered from that exact problem.

"We'll go then," Nimueh declared, not even bothering to check with him. "Let's see what we've got here."

The cheerfulness of the boys and the clear enthusiasm of the padawans made Nimueh feel as if she were as old as Master Kilgharrah. It had bee decades since she had last felt this particular sort of thrill — the anxiety brought on by the unknown.

In contrast, Arthur's face was pinched, as if the whole trip to the stadium was beneath him, as if he needed to be serious and unyielding to maintain his dignity. If on the previous days he had made her think of Ygraine, now he was completely Uther's child — unbowed and unbent. The bright gleam in Morgana's eyes and the kindness of her voice as she spoke to young Merlin reminded her yet again that Arthur was not her late friend's only child.

It hadn't been easy, dealing with Ygraine's loss and even less facing Uther's burning rage. It had felt like a blessing when she — visiting by chance, in between assignments, trying to be kind and reporting what she knew about the child they had given up to the Order — was by Ygraine's side when her second labour started. Camelot's culture was an odd one for them both, and it had filled childbirth — a process that was meant to be natural and instinctual even when heavily aided by technology — into something hidden, mysterious, even shameful. There, the women didn't have the common luxury across the Republic of giving birth in a medical environment, and while it was undeniable that the midwives were specialists, they didn't have at hand none of the most advanced equipments that might have helped. Pregnant women weren't, usually, sent to hospitals unless the case was known to be grave beforehand.

Even if they had been attended at the hospital, after 20 years of war and just slowly starting to rebuild, Camelot's facilities didn't have the things she would have required — almost two decades later, Nimueh could finally admit that probably nothing would have saved her friend.

Nimueh, who had been born and raised at the Jedi temple didn't have enough experience or knowledge to see that something was deeply wrong until it was too late. Her friend suffered, in pain, for days while she could do little to help. And then the baby was coming out, crying, bloodied and kicking, but the hemorrhaging didn't diminish, thick and bright red, gushing out and tainting the bedclothes, drenching the towels, running out fast with Ygraine's life in it's drops.

The queen had been deathly pale and Nimueh — who had passed her trials, fought a war, escapade death by a hair's breadth a million times — discovered she had never truly know fear until that moment — not until she tried and couldn't make the Force help her, fix it, keep her alive. She cried and raged and and kept fighting against all logic, she had yelled and sweat and done everything in her power to avoid death.

There had been no peace, only emotion.

She didn't stop as the midwife caved in to Ygraine's last requests and gave the queen her little boy to hold. She didn't stop as her friend called her name in a whisper, a goodbye, saying it was ok. She didn't stop even as her heart stop beating. Nimueh had just kept trying, crying, vying with the inevitable.

Gaius had been the one to pull her out of it — they had been good friends back then — out of the room, as she sobbed and tried to return, blaming everything and everyone for her loss, thinking that nothing could be worse than this.

She had been wrong, of course, because when Uther walked into the room, once he learnt of Ygraine's demise, he had broken down in a million pieces. His reaction on that exact moment wasn't very different from Nimueh's, and it torn her apart once again, a fresh wave of sobs racking through her body, seeing so proud a man, who had always despised her and wished her away, would allow himself to be reduced to such a state in front of her, uncaring if she became a testimony to his grief.

Then came anger — a fury she even dared to imagine, far more than she could comprehend. It was as if he had all dark powers gathering around him (though he was not sensitive to The Force) as he yelled, cursed and blamed her — them — for not saving Ygraine. He forsaked all relationships to the Order, including his own child. Uther had banned all Jedi from coming to Camelot on pain of death, and hadn't they escaped quickly, he might have even claimed their lives, caring nothing for the repercussions or for the terrible retribution it would bring.

For half a decade nothing the diplomacy of the Republic could change or bend his decree — he always pulled the local sovereignty card — and no pressure from the Senate, no threats of expulsion, no formal parley moved him. For five years, no Jedi had stepped on the planet, not until Gaius, along with Master Deaton and Master Kilgharrah himself had gone over, hidden, and showed up unannounced to demand his compliance. Uther had accepted — begrudgingly — but in turn required guarantee that Nimueh herself wouldn't be allowed in his sector for the rest of his kingship.

Not that she had wanted to go to Camelot — in fact, even after those early years, much of her peace and continued path in the Force depended on keeping Uther at bay. None of them had considered it an issue — and probably she wouldn't have stepped into Camelot even without this request. If it had worked to give Uther the false sense that he had more leverage than he truly did, so much the better. In fact, even without Uther's presence, Camelot meant too many memories and too many pains she was not eager to relive. She would even have declined this assignment, if the council hadn't made it clear that it was a mandatory step in her full recovery.

Because it hadn't been only Uther who had crossed all lines after the death of the woman he (they) loved; in her own way, Nimueh had followed his suit and, as a Jedi, it was a much more dangerous path. She had blamed Uther as much as he had blamed her, and often prayed for his second child to be sensitive as well, and to be taken, the gold boy whose coming had been Ygraine's joy and, ultimately, her death. And had someone asked, she wouldn't be able to say if she wanted to have the child near her to care for or to kill alongside his father, who had never truly valued the wonderful, talented, special wife he had until she was dead and gone.

Many had tried to help her — to bring her back to her path, to the peace, to remind her that there was no death, but losing Ygraine had made her cynical and she shunned them all. She had stopped believing in the Republic, in the Order, in their mission. Her relationship with Gaius was just one of the many that had disintegrated into dust and anger. No words had been enough to quell her pain, and she walked away from duty, cutting corners and choosing always to travel far in order to let go, claiming it was justice and help when what she did was truly barely better than outright murder.

They had called her back to the temple many times, but she didn't return until she was brought back — by force — to explain herself to the council. She had been sure she'd be expelled and disgraced, and even then, she couldn't care. Apathy took hold with as much force as anger had before, and not until the sound of children's laughter pulled her away from her thoughts, had she even considered her actions.

It must have been a rare free moment in their day, and thee were a few younglings playing on one of the inner courts, but one pair in particular caught her eyes — a boy and a girl, both human, who shared the same pale complexion and dark hair, their eye-colours complementing each other like the different shades of the sea. They seemed to be engaged in some sort of tickling war, their training swords forgotten on the floor as they ran around using their hands to bright laughter to each other. Their joys sounded like silver bells tingling and in the grace and sweetness of the girl — who was, perhaps, seven — she recognised Ygraine's first born.

Her heart had ached, then, in guilty and shame — what nothing that had been told her before had managed to bring. What would her friend have said, had she seen what Nimueh had become? What would Ygraine have thought she, who put so much value in family and in bonds that were chosen, if she knew that Nimueh had left her child completely alone in a world they both knew from experience could be cold and unwelcoming?

Letting go of her pride and her rage, she had put herself in the council's mercy, ready to accept whatever judgement they passed — and knowing in her heart that it mattered not, for she was guilty regardless of the outcome; that no punishment they could give would be worse than the knowledge in her heart of the enormity of her failures. Nimueh would mend her ways even if they didn't want her anymore, even if she was sent away to live in solitude and reflect on her mistakes. She would reform herself in Ygraine's memory even if she had nothing to lose, for her friend had left the temple for another life — not even by choice — but hadn't forgotten its teachings or the compassion that should guide them, not even for a day.

Very little could go undetected by such a group of powerful Jedi, and they had seen the truth of her heart, and kept her among them, though they had reassigned her from her original specialisation to another, more clearly cut. It hadn't been easy — her path had been torturous, painful, but also filled with a sense of purpose, of achievements she wanted to have. When she and Ygraine met again in the Force, she didn't want to have anything to be ashamed of in front of the woman she had adored. It had meant, too, taking her first apprentice — and that had been fun. For eight years she had been a teacher, and helped shape another knight.

By the time she was free to have another one, Morgana was already under Gaius guidance. Nimueh had hoped, in her heart, to be able to have her — teach her — create a bond; but older men had thought it would be better for both to keep them apart. Morgana's path was not that of a Guardian, they had said, even if Nimueh had seen little to prove it. Her eyes had turned to the other child she had seen — the little boy Morgana had been played with — and even if it wasn't what she always dreamed of, Mordred had been a blessing. He was bright, and wise beyond his years, with a rare sensitivity that had nothing to do with midichlorians. They were at once similar and opposite, and for the last six years, it had served them both well, both growing and developing together.

Now that it was almost time to let him go, Nimueh had begun to look forward to the next challenge, and unless she was very much mistaken — and in this matters, at least, she usually wasn't — she was about to watch her next pupil do what was meant to be impossible for his race.

There was a part of Mordred — a part who was fully aware that he was only nineteen and tied to very strict rules — that wanted nothing more than to feel excitement and joy and be reckless. It was not a part he listened too very often, for it offered its own dangers and difficulties, but for now, it seemed to be satiated. They had arrived together at the arena, him helping Merlin to bring the podracer that was on standby, will chatting excitedly next to them. Morgana, too, seemed happier than he had seen her in a long time, and it struck him once again how, in spite of all the circumstances, this was a much better and more pleasant assignment than the last one they had attended together.

He only wished he could forget it — and the things it had made him feel, the ones he had whispered in secret to Morgana during the night, the ones Nimueh had proclaimed loudly when returning, which certainly hadn't endeared her to the council. Then again, he doubted she had ever cared much about that.

The walk to the stadium had given Merlin and Will time to share all sorts of information with them — how the races generally happened, how he lived with his mother, who they were both Kanen slaves, how Will was also one of Kanen's slaves, but without a family to support him; how Hunith had pretty much adopted him; how Will pretended it was fine that his father had died in a careless war and he had been captured; how Hunith made the best food and what not. They found out, too, that Merlin had been living in Tatooine since he was three, but was not from there; that he had been born somewhere else and been captured in the midst of the same confuse war that had claimed Will's father. He couldn't, though, tell them where he had been born or anything about his father; which made sense. Will, it seemed, was fifteen — while Merlin was almost twelve in spite of looking younger. Arthur said they were babbling, but Mordred — and, he suspected, Morgana — welcomed the warm conversation and all the information it gave them.

The place was clearly filled with all sorts of people, all species meshing together and babbling in expectation as the podracers begun to be placed on the field. Mordred wasn't completely unexperienced when it came to the sport — dangerous and insane as it was — and he felt his own mood being influenced by that of the group. It made him giddy like a child, once again. Merlin had gone ahead and talked to Kanen, and the weird dealer had received them with unctuous smiles and protests of joy that they had decided to join him. Such an honour, he said, and Mordred doubted any of them had believed him.

"So, is anyone up for some betting?" he asked, rubbing his hands against each other.

"I wouldn't know even where to start, what would you suggest?" Arthur humoured him, trying as much as he could to pretend to enjoy it.

"Hmm," Kanen rubbed his chin, pretending to think for a moment. "It would be a shame if you didn't bet on the boy — he did bring you here."

"Deal," Arthur said — putting a beautiful silver ring on the table. "This is me — betting on the boy — and you?"

The Baxthrax gave a distinctively unpleasant smile.

"I'll be betting on Sebulba," he said, gesturing towards one of the racers who was being attended by a small gaggle of bootlickers, a Dug. "I mean — I believe in the boy and in his potential, but Sebulba will win."

"You seem awfully sure," Arthur noted, and Mordred disliked the man even more than before.

"Sebulba always wins," was his only answer, with a tiny shrug. "He bought himself from his former master with the winnings of his racing, some twenty years ago — not someone to be trifled with."

Arthur couldn't hide the distaste in his face, but whether it related to the idea of having been led to bet without knowing all the facts or if it was simply the concept of slavery, Mordred couldn't tell.

"I think Merlin will surprise you," said Morgana, her eyes gleaming with mirth. "I'll up my brother's bet with you — a private bet between us — Merlin against Sebulba."

Mordred frowned after hearing this, as far as he knew, Morgana had nothing save her lightsaber to bet with — and putting it on a bet would make them too conspicuous. He raised an eyebrow at her and then at Nimueh, but his master seemed unconcerned as she winked.

"Let's hear it then — what do you have in mind?"

Morgana grinned, her face full of confidence that she seemed to have quickly learnt from Nimueh.

"If Merlin wins — if I win —, I'll have the boy — and his mother," she said, and Kanen didn't show any emotion as he replied.

"What if I win?" he asked, smirking.

Morgana leaned forward with a smile so coquettish that Mordred could never have pictured it in her face, for the first time, he indeed took notice she was a young woman, not only a Jedi or a friend, and seemed to know full well how to use it to her advantage.

"Well — if you win — you get me — one more slave."

"Morgana!" Mordred said, shocked as Kanen licked his lips at the thought.

"I won't allow…" Arthur started, but Morgana shushed him with her hand.

"Tsk, tsk, baby brother" she said, with a coo. "My life, my bet, my rules."

"Nimueh!" the two of men called at once, but the Jedi merely raised her eyebrow.

"Her body, her rules" she agreed. "We will not interfere."

Kanen watched the exchange closely, before answering.

"If I may make an amend to it," he said, and Morgana allowed him with an imperious gesture that betrayed her family connections. "Wonderful as you are, you are not quite worth two slaves."

Mordred could only watch in horror as she bit her lip, pretending to think, because he felt her intent as clear as day.

"The boy, then."

"No," Kanen said, having already predicted it. It was clear that the boy was far more valuable for him than the mother, his talent in building things alone was worth a fortune. "I have a luck dice here — well play for it."

He picked up the object from one pocket, smiling in a threatening manner.

"Blue for the boy, red for his mother," he said, showing all sides so they'd be sure that it was evenly split by both colours. It was chipped and old, clearly overused, but there was no obvious trick in it.

"Fine by me," Morgana answered, with a wave of hand, and Kanen threw it on the table they were sitting on.

Someone else — someone who didn't knew her as well, who didn't have Jedi reflexes and training, might have missed the swift move of fingers that Nimueh did as the dice rolled, but sure enough, it stopped moving with the blue face ahead.

"Bah," Kanen said, with a grimace, clearly not the outcome he had wanted — as if there had ever been any doubt about it — but his smile was back, as a predator, as he looked at Morgana. "It doesn't matter — Sebulba will win, and I'm looking forward to the winnings of this little bet."

"So am I," she agreed, leaning back lazily on the chair, not looking worried at all that she was risking her life for a boy they barely knew.

"Bah," Kanen repeated, before he moved away, clearly off to make nice and pretend to be pleasant with the occupants of another box.

"What were you thinking?" Arthur demanded to know as soon as he was out of the door. "You can't just risk your life — I doubt father — This is why Gaius wanted you to stay back, wasn't it?"

Morgana, naturally, seemed to care nothing for his whole angry rant.

"Merlin will win — I know it," she said, her eyes on Nimueh. "I can — the Force tells me he will win."

As his master nodded, Arthur turned towards her in clear annoyance.

"You were supposed to be responsible for them!" he complained, and Nimueh raised an eyebrow at him.

"If Morgana says he'll win, then he will," she told him with firm finality. "And we will have saved him from a life of slavery or an early death."

"If he wins," Arthur grumbled. "Now, if Sebulba wins — that's what I worry about."

"He won't," Nimueh and Morgana declared together, and shared a look. "He won't even finish," Morgana continued.

Mordred frowned. He was no stranger to precognition, but even visions could be misinterpreted. It took a very specific talent to see clearly like this, and he had never known Nimueh to have it — but it seemed clear to him that, at some point, the two women had agreed on this course of action, even if without any communication. He wasn't one to doubt his master, but it was a dangerous game they were playing. He doubted that it would have the approval of the council — hell, he doubted it would have the approval of anyone and he didn't even want to imagine the havoc that would be created if Sebulba did win and it came out that a Jedi had become a slave to a junk dealer, albeit if her tacit approval. In fact, he doubted Uther would care the slightest for what Morgana had said.

"You better be right," Arthur said, his face closed, and Mordred privately agreed with him, but the two women paid him no heed.

If Morgana was ever called into answering what had guided her actions, what sort of logical path she had followed to end up offering herself as a prize, she wouldn't have been able to explain it — it was a surely, a certainty, a peace and a sense of rightness that had put the words in her mouth and emboldened her to such a move. She had heard so often, though never from other Jedi, that there were particular disadvantages in being a female — a human female at that — and much was said of womanly wiles, but it was the first time she had tried to use them. It was notin discordance to The Code, but it would surely raise eyebrows, specially after such drastic measures. Still, few times before she had ever felt so much as if she was one with the Force, as if it was acting through her and not under her hands.

How vividly she had seen it — Merlin, winning; the boy out of his old blue-and-red garbs and into the robes of an initiate; the pod that she had never seen but knew in her heart to be Sebulba's crashing against the ground a few meters before the finishing line. It was not wishful thinking; it had nothing to do with the few moments she had ever allowed herself to think of — a Jedi lives in the now, not in the past or future, not dwelling on what-ifs and what-will-bes.

There was some strong pull in this boy, a thing that was less like the shiver she had felt the year before when first witnessing an untrained and gifted child, and more like a full tingling. She had wondered the if others had felt it too, but it was clear by Nimueh's reaction to her gimmick that she had. Good thing, too, because by herself Morgana had no authority to enlist anyone to the Order. As the master declared her intentions to speak to Merlin and wish him luck before the race, Morgana followed her, Mordred at her heels.

"The boy…" she started, not sure of what to say as the platform took them to ground level.

"Is very gifted," Mordred agreed. "But even then, Morgana, you shouldn't…"

"You did well," disagreed Nimueh, looking at Morgana. "His fate isn't to stay on this forsaken planet, and it is clear that you have not made this decision out of a particular sense of compassion — you were listening to the Force and doing its will. Perhaps I have been too hard on Gaius — all that meditating has helped you."

Morgana felt herself blush slightly, but then they were on the ground and their focus was elsewhere.

Merlin and Will were ending the finishing touches on the racepod when they arrived. The smaller boy gave them a blinding smile, that light his whole face.

"How are you feeling?" asked Mordred, kindly.

"Excited!" Her friend helped the boy to climb on the pod.

"Remember to trust your instincts," Nimueh warned, her face soft and caring. "They will guide you well."

Merlin nodded, before putting on the helmet.

"I'll do my best," he said, and Morgana felt the urge to show him how much they all trusted him to win it.

"Believe in yourself, Merlin" she advised, gripping his hand. "You will win this race."

"Thank you," he said, smiling again. "If you say so, I know I can do it."

It was better than she had expected, and as they walked back, Nimueh regarded her carefully.

"Maybe I was short-sighted," she said, as they rose again. "You will make a wonderful Consular — and a cunning Ambassador."

And while Morgana knew it was meant as a compliment, somehow, it didn't feel like it — not when she remembered some of the terrible missions they had to attend to, working for politics instead of for fairness, and she in spite of everything — of anything that she had heard or learnt — she felt, in her heart, that this was no longer to be her fate.