Chapter 6: Challenging Call
After the chaos of battles, races and escapes, space felt too quiet. The vastness between stars and planets felt empty of life in a way he had never felt before.
How strange it was that twenty-four hours ago he had felt somewhat carefree, cheering on someone else's life, his problems not forgotten — he could never truly forget them — but not so staggering that made it impossible to breath.
And now — now — Arthur felt as if he had failed them all.
It made no sense, of course: those were not his people, but they wouldn't be in such a situation if it weren't for him. Guilt ate him away every time he heard the low, almost faint tones of Master Gaius voice.
Many people said that Jedi Consulars were not as brave as the rest, but Arthur couldn't believe it — and the old man was facing his injury with as much courage as any warrior. He didn't complain, not ever, and seemed at peace with his loss.
Arthur couldn't imagine ever going through such loss, specially with the same amount of grace.
It had affected all of them in different ways — Master Nimueh looked grim, worried, as if the weight of the universe rest on her shoulders. Gone was her smirk, replaced by a frightening stare. Her voice had gone sharper, too, as if she no longer had the strength to play nice (or, at least, what passed up for nice in her case).
Morgana had become softer than he had ever imagined possible, helping the old man with everything she could, tending to his wound with both regular supplies and whatever powers the Force has granted her. Her face looked pale all along, so completely opposite from the fierce woman he had seen on Tatooine.
Mordred had grown quiet, his face as blank as his master's. He had taken over Gaius place in piloting the ship, and all his skills were turned towards driving them as fast as they could.
Percival had grown restless, tired of the confines of the ship, and kept to himself. Arthur suspected he blamed himself for not pulling Gaius up faster, for allowing it to happen at all.
Lance looked as guilty as Arthur felt — they would never be completely able to handle the idea that a man old enough to be their grandparent had been injured and hurt in trying to protect them. It made them feel helpless, like some sort of damsel in distress, and this was a very uncomfortable feeling for a knight.
They were all worried and ragged, and it burned with their problems, and it took a while for Arthur to notice what it truly meant.
There was no one there for Merlin. They had plucked the boy from his home, from his mother, from his life and now none of them had the time or the right frame of mind to worry about him.
It made Arthur feel guilty all over again, even if he had done nothing to put the boy in such a situation.
Arthur found Merlin huddled on a seat in the living area, a thick duvet around him.
"Are you okay?" he asked, not knowing what else he could say.
Merlin just shrugged.
"Is he going to be okay?"
There was no need for names, they all knew who he was talking about. Arthur wondered, not for the first time, how terrible it was for someone so sensitive to witness such pain. He sat down next to the boy, resting his elbows on his knees and sighed, trying to make himself be both honest and confident.
"Probably," he answered, finally. Merlin looked at him as if he didn't truly believe him, and Arthur sighed. "I don't… I'm not an expert. A injure like that, from a regular blade, would cause heavy bleeding, and that generally makes for a quick death — but that was a lightsaber, so…" he shrugged. "I don't know nearly enough about lightsabers, but I think that the fact that they sear skin means they'd avoid bleeding, so there is that — it's what we do, on my planet, when someone suffers an injury like that — we burn the area up first, to keep it clean, then we sew the skin back up."
Merlin nodded, slowly.
"I've seen it done," he said, simply, and even he, who had been trained to be a knight from an early age, felt like he wasn't able to handle watching it. The boy was brave, they had to give him that. "Old Simmons — he was another slave, but not Kanen's, Halig's. — his leg got stuck in the machinery on the moist farm he worked at, and it had to be cut. Matthew — he was always the one to take care of all of us — he needed man to hold Simmons down while he burned it down, and he needed help with the rags," Merlin shuddered. "It was awful."
"Well, mercifully, in this case, it was quick," Arthur replied, there was nothing much he could say other than that. "When we get to Coruscant, he'll be properly looked at, and they might even need to cut a bit more, but… He'll be fine."
"He won't get his leg back, though," Merlin sounded sad about it.
"No," he agreed. "But he'll be fitted for a mechno-leg in the Capital. It's not the same thing, but… It'll be alright. After a while, they say you can't even notice the difference."
Merlin's grimace showed what he thought of that, and Arthur couldn't fully disagree. They remained in silence for a while before the boy moved again, pulling the cloth closer to his body.
"Are you cold?" Arthur asked, then, feeling sorry all over again. Tatooine was a warm planet, scalding hot, even, being under two suns, and space could feel cold even for those accustomed to it.
"Sort of," he answered, shuffling a bit. "It is… It isn't like flying," he said, finally. "It's… uncomfortable. Quiet. Weird."
Arthur gave the boy a sad smile.
"First time I went to Coruscant, I was eight," he told him. "I had been so excited, I had dreamed of seeing the Capital, of travelling through space, ever since I was this size." Arthur gestured to show the table's height, and Merlin smiled a bit at it, as if he found the idea of tiny Arthur amusing. "Then my father finally thought I was old enough — grown enough — to be presentable. And, of course, I had thought it would be an adventure — but, no. It was just boring — a long time of boring, with adults all around, no one to give me any attention and I was scolded often for wandering through the ship when I was meant to be a good boy and stay on my cabin until we reached Coruscant."
"I bet it was awful," Merlin agreed, and Arthur doubted he would have fared much better in the circumstances, the boy was clearly wilful.
"It was — and my father — he just seemed to be sucking on a lemon every time he saw me outside of my room. He said I was humiliating him, and decided I couldn't be trusted to attend the ceremony we were going to watch after all — so I left the ship only to be left with servants in the apartment. Nothing like I had imagined — I was so angry. And my father, of course, didn't care at all about my temper. He was just disappointed all over again. He was never a very patient man, my father," Merlin giggled a bit at this, "Nothing like your mother."
That made the boy grow serious again, and Arthur could have hit himself for his stupidity. It was not the time to talk of such things, not with them being apart for the first time in their lives, and possibly forever.
"I miss my mom," he confessed, after a long silence.
"I never knew mine," Arthur replied, without thinking. "So I wouldn't even know what to miss."
That made Merlin stare at him with wide eyes, seeming even sadder.
"That's… Terrible!" He seemed a bit at loss of what to say, and that made two of them. Arthur couldn't understand what he had been thinking to even mention it, it wouldn't help at all. "At least… At least I can see my mother again, right? In the future?"
"Yes," Arthur agreed, hoping this would cheer the boy up, though he wasn't sure the Jedi Order would approve of it.
"And you can come with me — and I'll tell her you never knew your mom — and she'll care for you, just like she does for Will," Merlin vowed, and in that moment, Arthur didn't doubt him. He looked so fierce. His caring touched Arthur's heart, and reacted the only way he knew how.
"She'll like me better, though," he teased, trying to get himself to control his feelings, to change the moment "because I'm a king and a knight."
"I'll be a knight too," Merlin countered, swatting away his hand. "A Jedi Knight, so she'll still like me better."
"Yeah — but I'm charming," Arthur replied, trying to amuse the boy again.
"You're a clotpole, that's what you are!"
"That's not a word — not in this language at least," he was amused at the boy's sass, and it was so easy to tease him.
"It's a word in Hut,t" Merlin's face was serious. "It means big-headed-king."
Arthur let out a laugh and rubbed Merlin's head forcefully, making the boy giggle again.
"Thank you," Merlin said, once he stopped, and Arthur looked away, not wanting his face to betray the softness growing around his heart.
"Any time," he answered, truthfully, even though they both knew that probably there wouldn't be a next time.
Nimueh had been arrived to Coruscant in defeat before. She had arrived in Coruscant with bad news. With hurt comrades. She had arrived at Coruscant in many, many ways, so many times she had even lost count, but never before had she arrived with such a heavy heart.
Because there was no doubt of what the man attacking Gaius had been.
And now — now it'd fall to her to inform the Council that their greatest enemy had returned from the shadows.
She took a deep breath before she got things in order to leave. Her eyes moved towards Arthur for one last time.
"Can you…" she stopped again, hating that she even had to ask. "Can you keep Merlin for me for a while? I need… The council needs to be informed about what happened in Tatooine and — with Gaius hurt — we might need…"
"It'll be a pleasure," he answered, and he was clearly being honest. "Come on, Merlin — you'll stay with us at first, alright?"
"Thank you," Morgana said, still pale, and holding her brother's arm with tenderness. Her hand moved to cup Merlin's cheek in turn. "Be good, will you?"
"I'll try," the kid was honest, that much was clear. At any other moment, Nimueh would have laughed at it.
Then Mordred was lowering the ramp, and it was time to face the trials of the day.
Unsurprisingly, Uther was waiting for them at the hangar, his face grim. Senator Aredian, the Junior Representative for Camelot, was behind them, looking concerned. Nimueh was glad she didn't need to deal with either of them, as they had never seen eye to eye on anything. Her job was to just stand there and wait for her leave to go. The one thing she hadn't been expecting was for Chancellor Annis to be there too, her face stern. Those who didn't know her well would say she was proud or even cold, but Nimueh had never known a nicer and more just woman — she believed in the Republic like few people did, and always accepted the vote of the majority even when she didn't agree with the actions herself. The way she had looked — sad, defeated, disappointed — when she had instructed them on their mission to end the Huk War had left a lasting impression with Nimueh, who disliked politicians on principle.
"Arthur!" Uther's voice rang through the place, and Nimueh stood back, waiting for their reunion. "I was so worried."
It surprised her, the way the senator threw his arms around his son's shoulders, and by the look in his face, she wasn't the only one to think it an odd action. There was something undeniably regal about him from when they first met, but on that moment, he looked as young as he was, a boy left alone in a terrible situation, taking comfort in the arms of his parent.
"Those are dark times," Aredian declared in his soft but powerful voice. "When corporations like the Trade Federation think they can limit planetarian rights — I shudder to think that they would go this far."
"Yes," agreed Uther, letting go of his child, as if first noticing they were in public. "Yes — it is an outrage."
"I hope we can solve this once and for all," Arthur replied, once again every inch the king. "The people of Camelot should not be subjected to such a illegal measure — and with no good cause other than rightfully denouncing the greed of the Trade Federation."
Aredian cleared his throat, and Uther looked around for a second, before returning to his son, his face pinched.
"Arthur, may I introduce you Chancellor Annis?" he said, looking as if he would prefer doing anything but that.
"It's unfortunate that we meet under such circumstances," the woman said, offering her hand to Arthur, who shook it vigorously. "I have heard many good things about your rule, Your Majesty."
"Thank you, your Honor," Arthur answered. "And thank you for being so kind as to send us Jedi help," he gestured to them.
Uther's face was more pinched than ever before as he glanced towards them, but there was little he could do about it.
"They were invaluable in our escape," Arthur continued, and that gave Uther a pause.
"Yes — and were is Gaius?" he asked, looking for his old friend. "And Morgana, for that matter?"
Arthur's face was transformed in a grimace.
"There has been an incident."
Uther grew pale, looking from Arthur to them, searching for a clue.
"Master Gaius has been somewhat gravely injured," he continued, trying to keep some control of the situation. "Morgana is attending to him inside the ship as they wait for the arrival of a medical team."
"How unfortunate," Aredian said, but there was no emotion in his voice. "Nothing life-threatening, I assume?"
"There's no reason not to believe he will make a good recovery," Arthur answered, tersely. "Still, Morgana thought it better…"
"Nonsense," Uther dismissed at once, turning then to Lancelot. "Go and fetch my daughter, boy."
The nerve of the man! As if Morgana were a stick to be fetched by a dog and not a whole person, with her own duties. As if Gaius hadn't been Uther's true friend even when he least deserved it, and allowed him more liberty than he ought to have, as if his injuries gotten in the service of Camelot's crown were unimportant when compared to Uther's wishes. She bristled to say something, but Mordred put his hand on her arm, stilling her.
"I'll go, Master, and I'll stay with him."
She gave him a grateful look, and Mordred walked back to the ship, in step with Lancelot.
"I don't think we would ever had managed to escape if not for the actions of Master Nimueh," the king continued, ignoring his father's antics and directing his words straight to the chancellor. "Her help was invaluable."
Nimueh wished he had said nothing, because now it was inevitable — she had pulled up her hood in the hope of passing unnoticed, but there was little point in it as Uther and Aredian both stared right at her. She allowed it to fall and her face to become visible. In spite of his long career and all political intelligence Uther had learnt, he still couldn't control himself at the sight of her.
"You," he spit, but Nimueh paid him no mind.
"Your Honor," she said, directing her words straight to the Supreme Chancellor. "I must report to the council immediately. Matters have become far more complicated than we expected."
"How so?" Uther demanded to know, but she had never bowed to his authority before, she wouldn't do so now.
"You have my leave to go," Annis said, paying him no more attention than Nimueh had, and from the corner of her eye, she saw his face close with the insult. "The Republic thanks your for your service, Master."
Nimueh leaned her head forward, accepting the dismissal, before turning to Percival.
"If you may — tell my padawan to meet me at the temple. The matter is much too urgent."
"I'll make sure Mordred and Morgana are over as soon as Gaius is in capable hands," Arthur guaranteed, completely ignoring his father's expression of anger. "There is much you will need to discuss," he turned back towards Annis. "Now, about the situation in Camelot…"
Nimueh turned to leave, but before she could reach the small shuttle that was meant to take her over, she could hear Annis voice.
"I have called a special session of the Senate to hear your plight — you know how worried…"
The blockade had been a considerable issue when they had left, but, somehow, it didn't seem nearly as important now. There was more that the council needed to hear.
When Mordred and Morgana finally managed to arrive at the Temple, Nimueh was already inside the Council chambers. They were admitted inside immediately by the Temple Security Force, but none of the masters took notice of their arrival. Mordred could see their serious faces as they heard Nimueh's words. Master Deaton looked pensive, as usual. Master Alator face was completely impassive. Master Kilgharrah's face was as hard to read as usual, his reptilian features bore little resemblance to their human counterparts; the long snout and sharp teeth making him seem almost wild. His clawed hands were intertwined in his common resting position, and nothing betrayed anything but perfect peace. The most stark difference was on his wings: while most species would have small, butterfly like wings or even feathered ones, his seemed to be made of hard leather. There, the passage of time could be seen: in the dry skin and lustreless scales.
"He was well trained in the use of The Force and in Jedi Arts," Nimueh was saying, her face grim. "I believe — and Master Gaius agrees with me on it — that this man was a Sith Lord."
"Impossible!" Declared Master Alator, shaking his long, conical head. It made the tattoos in his face look like tears or drops of blood. "The Sith have been extinct for over thousand years."
Nimueh's raised eyebrow showed what she thought of it, but she didn't counter his argument.
"Have they, though?" the smooth voice of Master Peter, Nimueh's former mentor, rang through the room. "Their knowledge was not lost — and it isn't against all possibility that someone might have stumbled on it."
It was clear that his former student was grateful for the support, but Master Deaton was quick to speak as well.
"It might be the case — the dark side is always calling, and there are often those who are weak-willed enough to be seduced by it," He took a deep breath, and Mordred could feel how it cost Nimueh to keep her calm in the face of the barbed comment. "Still, not all who succumb to the dark side may be called true Siths. A true Sith — I don't believe they could have returned without us knowing."
"Maybe you are right, Master Deaton," Kilgharrah said finally, his powerful voice carring through them all. "But the Dark Side clouds everything — it isn't always easy to see through it. It may well be that the Siths have never been vanquished, but that they merely hid themselves from us."
The Master's yellow eyes were calculating as he turned towards Nimueh once again.
"We will do everything in our power to discover the truth behind these events and learn the true identity of Gaius' attacker."
Mordred turned to leave, reading the words for what they were — a dismissal. Nimueh, however, just stood her ground, staring at them.
"Is there more you'd like to say, Nimueh?" asked Master Peter.
"There are two other things I would like the council to consider," she said, her voice almost metallic. "First, there is the matter of Master Gaius — his recovery will take some time."
"A very unfortunate event, for sure," Master Deaton said, but it was clear he saw no point in the conversation. "But nothing to be concerned about, considering what we've heard. He will be back to the full of his abilities soon."
"Yes — in the mean time — I would request that his padawan would remain in the mission, under my guidance, if need be."
The silence rang through the chambers, and it was clear that the council didn't like the suggestion. Mordred should have expected it. A look to Morgana showed she very much liked the idea, and that she hoped, against all logic, that it would be allowed.
"Morgana may remain in the mission," Kilgharrah said, finally. "But she must learn to be alone, now, if she ever hopes to pass her trials. It is an important part of a padawan's training to be able to face missions alone. We might have been remiss in it and allowed Gaius to keep her close for far too long — it is time that she had her own mission." His eyes turned towards Morgana, then, carefully assessing her. "Are you ready to comply with our wishes?"
"Yes," she said, her voice firm. "As a matter of politics, the blockade in Camelot will still need a Consular."
Kilgharrah gave her a regal nod, before turning towards Nimueh once again.
"And the other matter?" he asked, and Mordred could tell he was curious even if his features were smooth.
"I found a vergence in the Force," she declared, finally.
"A vergence?" he echoed, his eyes pining her down.
"Around one person?" Deaton asked, and all the room was clearly hanging to her every word.
"A boy, yes." She nodded firmly. "His cells… They have the highest concentration of midichlorians I have ever seen in a life form."
"Interesting," Peter said, his green eyes narrowing. "Did you find out who his father was?"
She shook her head, and Mordred waited for the rest.
"Her mother guarantees there was no father — it is possible that he was conceived by the midichlorians."
"You refer to the prophesy of the one who will bring balance to the Force — the one who is made of it alone," Deaton said, frowning slightly. "You believe it to refer to this boy?"
"I don't presume…" She started, but Peter let out a small laughter at that.
"Ah, but you do, my dear student — Your opinion on the matter is clear."
For once, Nimueh didn't bother engaging with her mentor, her eyes still on Master Kilgharrah, knowing that he was the one that needed to be convinced.
"I merely request the boy be tested, Master."
The rest of the council, all ten of them, looked at each other, but the Grand Master didn't move his eyes from Nimueh.
"You want the boy to be trained as a Jedi?"
Nimueh's face was open and earnest as she replied.
"Finding him — the chain of events leading to it — it was the will of the Force, I have no doubt. I might have had my missteps along the way, but they have only made me more keen to separate my own hopes and desires to those of The Force. There is something about the boy… He shows far more talent than one untrained should, and it has been a hindrance in his life, far more than a blessing — and shouldn't we, in our infinite compassion, want to help those people? I believed it was our duty to offer to those children the chance to follow the path we consider to be the one towards balance, and keep them in light even if they, ultimately, are not meant to be Jedi. Isn't this the whole point of having an Academy? Making sure that children are raised in the path of righteousness and serve The Force instead of trying to make it serve them, even if they don't become knights?"
They remained silence at that, and Mordred was shock that she would dare to chastise them that way — why he kept on being surprised by it, he did not know.
"Bring him before us, then," Kilgharrah said, with a small nod. "And we will test the boy."
"Thank you, Masters," she said, with a bow.
Mordred and Morgana did the same, ready to leave. They were already at the door when Kilgharrah's voice rang again.
"You've grown wise, Master Nimueh," he said, and she turned again towards them.
"Thank you," she said, bowing again. "May The Force be with you, Masters."
"And with you, Master Nimueh," he answered, and they with it, they left.
When Arthur was a child, he used to suspect his father made everything harder for him on purpose. As he grew up, he realised that it was only partially true — Uther often made life harder for everyone, it was how he kept the standard of his army, his knights, his planet — and that every time he had done so, was because he knew that he didn't have long to make Arthur into a fitting King. Without a brother or an uncle that could be directed towards the service of the Republic, Uther had but until Arthur's majority to make him ready for the crown he would bear. At the age of fifteen he had been crowned, his father leaving to protect their people and conduct politics from the Senate, far away from the realities of every day in Camelot. Making things difficult — and having Arthur surpass the difficulties — was part of his training as a future King — as a future Senator. It was the price to be paid for things the privilege they had — the weight of responsibility.
Now, on the other hand, he suspected his father was just making everything more complicated because he could.
"To be perfectly honest, I think there is little chance that the Senate will do anything about this invasion," he was saying, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe the short-sightedness of his peers.
"Chancellor Annis seems to think there is every reason to hope," he reminded his father, but Uther gave him a look of disbelief, as if by believing in someone else's words above his own he was betraying him personally.
Arthur suddenly found out that he had not missed Uther at all.
"If I may interrupt, Your Majesty," Aredian said, from his seat, and after Arthur turned his face to him, he continued. "Chancellor Annis holds very little power. She is mired by baseless accusations of corruption — there are those who don't trust her to rule the Senate. Her resolution to the Huk War…" he closed his eyes and shuddered slightly. "It left a bad taste in the mouth of many Senators who believed it was her duty to intervene, instead of bow to the vote of bureaucrats. Alas, the Republic is not what once was."
"Indeed," his father agreed, immediately. "The Senate is full of greedy, squabbling delegates with no interest in the common good — and even less in Justice — Huk War was proof of that. From the way they have been acting, I fear that bringing this invasion to attention will lead to the same outcome — Camelot being considered guilty and forced to comply with terms that would ruin us."
And with that he could not argue, there was something deeply wrong with the Senate of late, from the reports he got — not only from his father, but from his own intelligence men. Arthur loved Uther well, but they had never seen eye to eye on politics, and it had seemed expedient to find someone who was loyal to him first to observe the developments in the Senate, lest his father decided to withhold information "for his own good" — it wouldn't be the first time he did so.
"What other options do we have?" he asked, rubbing his forehead.
"We could take it to the courts…" His father started, seeming as defeated as Arthur felt.
"They take even longer to decide on things than the Senate!" Arthur complained, and the two of them shared a look of despair. "Our people are suffering — maybe dying — once the Trade Federation finds their hideout in the caves — and the outlying villages — we don't have the sort of time the courts would need to hear our plea."
"I'm afraid we might have to simply accept their occupation for the time being," Aredian told them, with a tiny shake of head.
"That is something I cannot do." Arthur answered, and for a moment, he hated how the politics had changed his father. The king he had known wouldn't have bowed his head to the invasion of anyone — he had, indeed, fought a war to guarantee it wouldn't happen — and now…
"You could call for a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Annis," Uther said, finally, squaring his shoulders.
"She has been our strongest supporter!" Arthur was baffled at the suggestion, shocked that his father would use such underhanded methods to get his way — but perhaps, all things considered, he shouldn't have been surprised. Uther had been pragmatic as a King, and there was no hope of gain in the Senate if he wasn't ready to compromise at least some of the values that Arthur, himself, held in highest regard. Camelot — alas, all of Albion — was a universe apart, a culture apart, guided by a strong code of conduct and the values of its Knights; while in Coruscant honour seemed to be discarded as a vice rather than a virtue.
"Which may be causing more harm than good — don't you see?" His father shook his head, and Arthur felt like a boy once again. "She is not well regarded right now, and her support might be exactly what will lead many to side with the Trade Federation."
"A stronger Supreme Chancellor may indeed help us," Aredian agreed. "A person that is strong-willed enough to take control of the bureaucrats, to give us justice. A person the Senate truly believes in."
"She had helped me — helped us immensely. Without Annis, I wouldn't even be standing here. I don't feel comfortable with simply pretending she did nothing but hindrance us and stab her on the back."
"Then all you — we — can do is to plead our case and hope for the best."
It was little enough, but while there was hope for an honourable resolution, he'd cling to it.
Mordred believed in Merlin's potential, he really did. He had seen with his own eyes — felt with his own mind — the power within him. He tried as much as he could to quell any questions he had about the council seeing it, though, as he went to King Arthur's temporary quarters to retrieve the boy.
"Can I say goodbye?" he asked, and he made such a sorry sight, so clearly overwhelmed by everything that Coruscant was and everything the coming audience represented, that Mordred couldn't say no to him. The Order had been waiting for his arrival for thousands of years, it would wait a few more minutes.
Merlin stood there, on the other side of the glass door, trying to catch Arthur's eye while Uther made a whole speech about something (Mordred had no wish to find out what), twisting his hands, a picture of anxiousness.
"Put your heart at ease," Mordred advised him, resting his hand in the boy's shoulder. "Let it be your first lesson — there is no emotion, there is peace."
Merlin looked at him and frowned a bit, as if he couldn't truly grasp what this meant, but nodded anyway. Some of the tension left his shoulders, and Arthur finally saw them. The young King seemed to have no issue in leaving his father speaking alone, standing up quickly and walking towards the glass door.
"You're going then," he told Merlin, with a kind smile.
"Thank you," the boy said, blushing. "For everything, before."
"Don't mention it," Arthur said, rubbing the top of Merlin's head.
"I think — I hope — I'll stay there and then… We won't meet again." He looked to his feet as he spoke.
"Oh, but you promised, remember?" Arthur answered, his hand on his hip, a smile still in place. "So, we will meet again."
"I guess," Merlin said, looking up again and smiling. "I hope."
"And you, too, Master Mordred," the King turned his eyes to him, raking through him in a clear appraisal — and it happened before in the few days since they first met, but now it made Mordred blush. "I hope we'll meet again."
"Not a Master," he mumbled, unsure of how to react. "But, yes — we probably will — after you have your heirs and come to the Capital to serve."
Arthur grimaced at that, as if the idea was distasteful to him, before shrugging.
"I hope it doesn't take that long — depending on how it goes with the Senate… We'll need good warriors by our side."
Mordred couldn't help but smile, the man was impossibly charismatic.
"We'll serve as well as we can, your majesty, if that's what the Council wills," he answered, softly. "Now, it's time we go."
Arthur offered him a hand, and Mordred shook it firmly.
"Good luck with the Senate," he said, fighting himself to keep in peace when the touch had seemed to awake longings long dormant. "May the Force be with you all."
"Thank you," he said, before turning back towards the boy. "I wish you luck in your trials, Merlin — I'm sure you'll make us all proud."
At that moment, Merlin could have easily light up all of Coruscant with this smile alone.
Nimueh was at ease as Merlin walked inside. She hadn't been invited to join in, as she was not — and probably would never be — a member of the council; but it mattered not. Talents such as Merlin couldn't be denied — indeed, she couldn't remember hearing about such talent before.
"What if he doesn't pass?" Mordred asked, and right then, Nimueh couldn't say if he was worried on the boy's behalf or hers.
"Merlin will become a Jedi, Mordred. I promise you that."
It seemed it was not the sort of response that her padawan needed to ease his heart.
"Don't defy them again, Master," he asked, his face sad. "If they refuse…"
"Mordred," the boy was so good, so compassionate, that it might be his downfall. "I listen to The Force first and to the council only later. I will do what must be done, if it comes to this."
He sighed, tired and having already heard it before.
"If you just stick to the code, you would be on the council," he muttered, his eyes looking outside, at the sunset.
"Oh, Mordred," she exclaimed, her voice low. "If I could do this, my life would have been much, much easier. But there are many paths to the will of The Force, even outside of the Dark Side, and mine goes far beyond strictly following the rules — I have been taught too well to follow it blindly — and if it means walking alone instead of having their full support, if this is what I am supposed so to, I will. I will not allow pure love of tradition stand in the way of helping those in need."
Mordred didn't reply again, but from the quiet, melancholic look in his face, she knew he had understood it all too well.
Merlin had been in many uncomfortable situations in his life, but none of them had been quite so uncomfortable as the one he was in just then. There were twelve Jedi around him, all completely silent and with their faces blank, as they requested him to do a series of activities — find the correct object in a row, move spheres with his mind, and now saying what the dark, bald Jedi was seeing in his screen.
It was at once challenging and silly.
"A ship — then a cup," he announced, wondering how much longer this would last. "A ball. A mace. A speeder. Sand. A ship again."
The man put down the screen, nodding towards their leader. Master Kilgharrah was impressive, even for a person who had grown in the midst of all sorts of species. His leathered wings seemed huge even closed as they were.
"How are you, youngling?" he asked, and his voice reverberated through the walls.
"I am cold, sir," he answered, honest. "And tired."
"You are afraid," the Jedi announced, and Merlin felt himself blush, part in anger, part in shame.
"You have asked me to do things I spent my whole life being taught to hide in front of an audience," was his reply. "Afraid — yes. And uncomfortable. And cold."
If lizards could smirk, he bet Master Kilgharrah would be smirking, he knew. The Jedi on his left had rolled his eyes and opened up a direct grin, which made his blue eyes crinkle. The dark-skinned one on his right, though, seemed offended at his words.
"You should be mindful of your feelings," the dark-skinned one said, and Merlin immediately thought of his mother, and how she would scold him for the answer he just gave.
"Your mind keeps dwelling on your mother," said a fourth Jedi, whose top of the head was elongated into a conical shape, tattoos marking his cheeks and forehead.
"Are you afraid to loose her, Young One?" Kilgharrah asked, and Merlin couldn't avoid letting out a bitter laugh.
"I've lost her already, sir."
"And yet, you are afraid of losing even more," he told Merlin, who couldn't deny it — it would be useless.
"Right. And what does that mean?"
The reptilian leaned backwards, speaking with his booming voice.
"Fear leads to anger — which leads to hate — which leads to suffering — and that can lead one to the dark side. And I can sense much fear in you."
Merlin bowed his head, for this he could not deny — would not deny.
"Does it always lead to darkness?" he asked, in a whisper.
"I don't know, young one. You gave us much to think about. You may now go."
Merlin bowed to the council, because he had not forgotten his manners, and walked out, unsure of what all of this had meant.
Arthur had awaken as soon as the sun had come up, anxious and eager for his audience with the Senate. The nervous energy seemed to keep him on the move, and he missed his daily drills — nothing worked better to calm a mind than physical exercise, the feeling of a sword acting as the extension of your arm. He worried about their chances of convincing the Senate, he worried about his people, he worried about his friends — and even about Master Gaius.
There was nothing he could to for the latter, though, and little he could do for the others apart from following what had been accorded.
It was not the first time Arthur went to the Senate chamber, but it never failed to take his breath away. The place seemed endless, with thousands of Senators and aids sitting in a cone formation. Each had their own circular lounge, and they stacked one next to the other, above, bellow and to both sides in continuous circles that resembled an immense hive. It had been the intention of the architect, he knew, for here was where the senators, the bees of the Republic, created and maintained their way of life. The Supreme Chancellor's platform stood in the middle, raised high and visible to all. Chancellor Annis looked fierce standing in it, and there was no hint of the dark shadows under her eyes he had seen the day before.
"The Chair recognises the Senator from the sovereign system of Camelot," she said, as soon as the initial formalities were over.
Arthur barely felt as their platform moved, floating to the centre of the house, all eyes upon them. His father stood up, as regal now as he had been when Arthur was a child and he ruled Camelot with an iron fist.
"Supreme Chancellor, Senators," he started, his voice calm. "A tragedy has occurred in our homeland. It started with the over-taxation of trade routes, and has now engulfed out entire planet in the oppression of the Trade Federation."
"This is outrageous!" Yelled Bayard, one of the Trade Federation's most well known barons. Their platform was immediately moved towards the centre, a bit bellow theirs. "I vehemently object to this statements!"
"This is not the moment for your speech, senator," Chancellor Annis admonished Bayard. "Please return to your station."
It was clear to Arthur that Bayard had no respect and no wish to comply, but he couldn't simply gainsay the chancellor, so their platform was taken back.
"I have brought before you today Camelot's current king, my son Arthur, who will speak in our behalf."
Arthur stood up, then, at the same time as his father sat down. There was some warm applause for his presence — young he may be, but he had proved himself in a number of tournaments when growing up, and was well known as a warrior, even if still untried as a ruler.
"Your excellencies. Supreme Chancellor. Representatives of the Republic," he started, with a nod towards the present. "I come here today under the gravest of circumstances. I have travelled here, crossing a hostile blockade that almost destroyed my ship, because Camelot has been invade by the droid armies of the Trade Federation."
"I object!" Bayard yelled again, as if he couldn't keep still and hear the truth being spread to all galaxy. "There is no proof! This is incredible!"
"If you may wait for me to finish, Senator…" Arthur asked, patiently, and but the man paid him no heed.
"I recommend a commission to be sent to Camelot to ascertain the truth behind this claims."
"How can you possibly investigate anything when you haven't let me finish exposing the situation? How, without my whole side, can you have a primary line of enquire?" he asked, shaking his head angrily. "For I came before you today to expose my side of the situation, Senator, not to get into a screaming match with you."
Bayard looked chastised enough, and Arthur continued.
"A week ago, now, on the day the Jedi Ambassadors sent by chancellor Annis were scheduled to arrive to negotiate with the Trade Federation, Lord Alined informed me he didn't know anything about any ambassadors sent by the Republic to promote a parlay between us. Less than an hour after this conversation, our communications were shut down — I was, then, in the midst of a conference between my council and Senator Uther — I am sure the recordings can show that it indeed happened. More than that, not three hours after we were isolated from contact with the Republic, a number of ships started to descend to our soil — Federation ships, filled with droids. Along with the droids, though, came the party sent by the Jedi Council to attend to the matters concerning the blockade — the very same party that Lord Alined claimed to know nothing of. Master Gaius, Master Nimueh and their padawans were to the Trade Federation's main ship, though, and suffered an attempt on their lives in the hands of the Trade Federation."
"Outrageous!" exclaimed Bayard, standing up again. "You would call us not only invaders, but also murderers?"
"The truth of this, I cannot know, Senator Bayard," Arthur answered, tiredly. "But I am sure that if the Senate wants to talk to them, the Jedi Council will create no problems. I am merely reporting what they have told me. If you dislike the claim, you may take it up with the Jedi themselves — I would like to see you try and defend your actions to them."
"Gentleman," Chancellor Annis' voice rang through the room. "This is neither the point, nor the time for such accusations. Please continue talking about the invasion."
The man crossed his arms on his chest, and it was clear that he was as unwilling as Arthur to back down, but there was little he could do at the moment. Bayard whispered to someone next to him, but Arthur paid him no mind.
"With the help of the Jedi, we were able to reach a escape ship," he continued, trying to expose all facts before Bayard's continuous outbursts made others side with him. Arthur, himself, had him not seem with his own eyes, might have doubted that the Trade Federation would go this far. "Upon crossing the blockade, it was heavily damaged, and with the obvious pursuit of the Federation to my royal person, we were forced to search for help in repairing the ship in the Outter Rim — which is why it took me so long to arrive. I did what I could to protect my people, but, from my last count before leaving, more than thirty ships filled with droids had landed on Camelot."
"A very sad tale, undoubtedly fashioned to paint us the villains." Bayard declared. "I insist we should appoint a commission…"
"The Congress of Malastare concurs with the honourable delegate from the Trade Federation. A commission must be appointed."
Chancellor Annis started to speak, but she was soon interrupted by her own aides and from her vice-chairman. From where he stood, Arthur could see how her face closed off, frowning, as if she was about to do something that she much regretted. She tried shaking her head, and answered angrily to the man that stood next to her, but the man insisted, and her shoulders fell in defeat.
"The point is conceded," she announced, finally, but there was no certainty in her voice. "Will you defer your motion and allow a commission to explore the validity of your claims?"
Arthur felt his blood boiling — this was the reason why his father and Aredian had suggested moving against her — this was why they had told him that Annis had little power, that the bureaucrats were the ones truly making the decisions. That they were on the payroll of the Federation no one doubted, and whatever help she might have offered before clearly meant less than he had imagined. He had kept his civility, tried for a reasonable, honourable solution that would allow them all to live in peace and strengthen alliances, but he had been naive in doing so.
"I will not defer!" He announced, angrily. "I have come here today to resolve this attack on our sovereignty, not to wait around while a committee discusses it and my people suffer and die. If this body is not capable of action as it is, it may be lacking leadership." He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, as he grew ready to his next move. "I move for a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Annis leadership."
He had known, even before deciding to do it, that it would create a great stir among the senators; and he had heard attentively to what his father and Aredian had said about Annis sinking popularity, but it didn't make him ready to face the roar of approval, claps and screams of concordance that rang through the air. He had imagined that, if he did it, he would feel like a traitor, but their reaction make him feel like a saviour instead.
"Vote now!" hundreds of voices yelled, and Annis stepped back, stunned speechless by his action. He could see it in her eyes, how betrayed it made her feel, and Arthur would feel bad about it if she hadn't betrayed him first. Her vice-chair stepped ahead, then, claiming for order and ever so slowly, things settled down. Uther stood, stopping next to Arthur as he spoke to him, clapping his back.
"You did well, my son. Now, they will elect a new Chancellor — a strong Chancellor — someone who will not let our tragedy continue and who will not be ruled by bureaucrats."
And while Arthur knew he should feel exultant at the prospect, all he felt was tired and defeated, even though he had, by all accounts, just won.