Chapter 10: Shroud of Darkness

Merlin felt his heart tremble with fear when he saw the dark man that had injured Master Gaius appear on the door. Remembering the questions of the Jedi Council, though, he tried to control his feelings — Master Gaius had been old and grey, a man for conversation and politics, while Master Nimueh was young and trained to battle. She would be fine, and so would Mordred and Morgana.

The noise of something rolling on the marble floor brought his attention to the other side of the room. Three wheeled droids had just rolled in, and were about to transform into their battle position. The I2 unit that had been ready to help the fallen pilot to fly the fighter where he was sitting chirped to him, and there was nothing much he could say back to the droid.

He saw as Arthur and the two knights ran for cover, unsure of what to do now — if there we more coming. The corner of Merlin's eyes caught the brightness of lightsabers being turned on — Azure and blue against Red. The droids were firing now, while the knights and the king held their shields close to each other, trying to keep safe, while Morgana's yellow blade seemed ready to meet each shot, reflecting them back at the two droids that had singled her out.

It stood to reason that a fighter like this would have weapons — not precise enough that he might help the Jedi, but the droids had probably already learnt that coming too close to a knight of Camelot would mean their inevitable demise, and kept their distance. It should be hard to blast them, if only he could find out where.

Looking around the console, he flipped the switch that turned the systems on. Within a fraction of a second, they were levitating, and the droid in his ship whistled a reply — they had never met before, but Merlin had the distinct impression that this one was a woman, of sorts, and had quite a temper.

"I'm trying to do something!" He said, hoping it'd understand. "I just don't know where the trigger is."

He pushed a red button, but it only brought him forward — in the correct direction, yes, his left hand had never left the tiny half-wheel, but still not what he was aiming for. He pulled a lever, hoping it would charge, but the only result was that the cockpit sealed over his head.

The next one did the trick: it was almost too easy — he simply pressed the buttons in the top of his wheel and it aimed and fired at the droids, destroying all them. He saw Arthur's surprised face at the same time as the droid chirped happily.

The king lost no time in nodding to him in thanks and leaving through a smaller corridor than the one they had came from. The moment of distraction was all Merlin couldn't have afforded. I2 beeped again and he noticed he was still going forward. He tried all the controls — including the one that had turned on the navigation — but it was useless.

"Oh, we're on automatic pilot!" he told the droid.

In a moment, they were being flown out of the hangar and flying high into the sky, higher than Merlin had ever flown before. He held the wheel tightly, knowing there was little else he could do for now.

A part of Arthur — a heroic, stupid, loyal part of him — wanted nothing more than to join the Jedi in battle. If he was, indeed, a Sith, this man was a menace not only to himself or Camelot, but to the whole Republic, to everything it upheld. Another part of him — the commander, king and strategist — knew better than to get in the middle of a combat like that. He might be good, even exceptional, as a duellist, but he'd never be able to truly face someone who had knowledge of the Force — Light or Dark — to draw upon. That fight was to be handled by others — there were things that he alone could accomplish.

Along with his sister, Lancelot and Leon, he started towards the servant's hallway, but his dash was interrupted when four droids rolled in, blocking their path — two aimed at Morgana, and the other two at them. What they intended to do what as obvious as their lack of free will, so it was a habit, not true need, that led him to speak.

"On me!" he called to his knights, turning on his shield, and the Pendragon Dragon on the red field came to his protection.

The three of them had trained together, worked together, fought together so many times before that they were almost an oiled machine; parts blending seamlessly into a whole. Their arms joined with practised ease, creating a wall to defend them from the shooting. As one, they stepped forward, and the droids scurried back in the same measure, keeping their distance.

This was good — it meant they had learnt enough that they wouldn't want to get too close to them — which could only mean that they did not have shields to protect against their attack. It would take a while — longer than he had expected to take to leave the hangar — but, eventually, in his dance, they'd be able to push them back to the hallways and finish them — the close quarters complicating their flight and working in the knights' advantage; as long as more droids didn't come while they were in the open space that had been occupied by ships. Arthur rose his head, trying to discern if there was movement in the hallway they had come from, but the sound of clashing lightsabers was almost deafening as it rang through the air. To complete the chaos, now, the ship that had been left without a pilot was moving towards them — and fast.

"Reverse!" he yelled at Leon and Lancelot, and the three of them stepped back just in time t avoid the fighter's nose, while Morgana, having finished the first of the droids, had done a somersault, moving towards the other end of the room and slashing at her second attacker with her yellow lightsaber. They now could see into the cockpit and Arthur, at least, wasn't that surprised to find Merlin inside it. It figured that, when asked to hide by Nimueh, he'd have chosen to sit inside a ship.

More shocking was the explosion that followed, wiping away the droids in their way. Arthur turned back to the child, in awe and gratefulness, acknowledging the help with a nod before rushing into the open path that would lead him towards Alined and, hopefully, an end to the conflict.

"I feel like we're missing a hell of a fight," he commented to Lancelot, coming behind him.

"We have our own trials to face," Morgana reminded them, and Arthur barked out a laugh.

"Yes — let's beat them."

It was easier said than done, as everything in life. They had been right in thinking that the Trade Federation, with this illusions of grandeur, wouldn't be patrolling the spaces in which only those who were considered invisible threaded. For people who put so much faith into droids to protect them, they were quick to dismiss those whose labour was seen as more menial. That, allied with the fact that he and Leon had grown up on the Castle, playing and hiding into each nook and corner, gave them the high ground on the battle.

Still wasn't enough to guarantee a victory.

They had come out as stealthily as they could through the back of the Throne Room, and the voice of the Vice-Roy could be clearly heard.

"It was supposed to be further away from us," he complained, "this battle is too close!"

"Don't worry, master," said the man by his side. "They're savages, and won't stand against the droids for long — they'll break, specially since their King ran away."

Arthur had wanted to show himself immediately after it, to show them that he hadn't abandoned his people — that he never would.

"You've heard him, Trickler!" Alined shook his head. "King Arthur is back in Camelot — that is why he's sent Darth Muirden."

"Yes," the second man agreed, and seemed worried. "But — a Sith Lord — that is more than enough to guarantee he is killed."

"Let's hope so, for your sake." The Vice-Roy said, his voice threatening.

Leon and Lancelot had been moving slowly, in the shadow, getting ready to approach from the opposite side of the room while Arthur and Morgana attacked from the left, and the two man were still completely oblivious to them, and even the droids weren't smarter.

That was, until Morgana froze, her eyes unfixing, stopping mid-movement, before a wail left her lips.

"Mordred! Nimueh!" she called into nothing, barely more than a whisper, but coupled with the movement from her robes as she spun around quickly, it was enough.

One of the battle droids — the newest model, not the one that they had deployed en mass to attack the Camelotians — caught their movement and fired immediately, while Morgana ran back through the door they came from, mindless of their shooting. Alined and Trickler were standing as soon as they could, and chaos erupted again. There were over twenty droids in the room, and all the three of them could do was to use the cover of the pillars along with their shields to stop being hit — and at first, it was overwhelming enough that the two man managed to run towards the door in the back that led to the council chamber.

Lancelot tried to catch them, but a shot came too close to him, and in halting to avoid it, he missed them. The huge wooden doors closed with a loud bang, even in the midst of the shooting — but their safety meant nothing to the battle droids, that kept trying to hit their mark. They would not stop while they breathed — which could be for little enough time unless some miracle happened soon.

The miracle's name was Leon.

Tumbling through the ground, he came to a halt next to the sovereign seat and pushed up the hidden button under the right arm. The effect was almost immediate, the last resource his father had envisioned — and that Arthur had called useless and neurotic — now came to save them. An energy shield separated the two meters ahead of the throne from the rest of the room, where most droids were.

Three of them remained inside with them, but three battle droids were no match for a Knight of Camelot. Leon rose, his sword in the air and cut through the knee of the closest one, while Arthur swirled his sword in his hand before throwing his arm into a long arc, cutting of the head of the nearest one. Lancelot was as graceful as always as he pushed himself in two quick strides to stab another through the armour and into it's mechanical heart.

Arthur was pushing the council door immediately, but it didn't budge.

"They must have locked it" he muttered, going for the panel and trying to override the code, but the alarm indicated that nothing had been locked.

Arthur frowned, while Leon laughed.

"Well, they must have used savage methods to keep it closed."

The old bar was kept mostly as a decoration, but it seemed to have been put to its proper usage now, after centuries. Well, it was ironic that after dismissing their culture as barbaric they would choose to use something as simple as a bar to keep themselves safe..

"On the bright side," Lancelot's voice was as calm as ever. "There is no way for them to get out unless they fancy a really high jump — and somehow I don't think they do."

Arthur turned around, looking at the throne room. More droids had come inside — new battle droids, Droidekas, and what not, all shooting at the shield.

"Leon," he said, turning to the older man. "How long is this thing supposed to last for?"

The red haired man looked at his wristwatch for a moment before replying, his face grim.

"Twenty minutes."

The shield was but a temporary measure. Either they found a way in the room and arrested the two representatives of the Trade Federation, or they'd soon have a whole army of droids to deal with.

"Well," he sighed, hating the feeling that there was nothing he could do. "Let's hope that Elyan can work his magic fast enough then."

If the pilots hadn't managed to finish up the droid control in twenty minutes, they'd be completely screwed.

To an astromech, this I2 unit surely was talkative. Through their whole rise to space, it had kept chirping and whistling and screaming. It was not really understandable, but the screen-panel translated much of it — or at least tried to. Merlin had the feeling that if he got locked inside the ship for 3 days, he'd become fluent in… Well, whatever language that was. I2-SA was very fierce in her disapproval of their flying out of the planet, and soon it became clear why.

There was a full battle going on. All fighters he had seen at the hangar were now spread through the sky, closing in to the huge ship that Mordred had said that was controlling the droids. Once they were out in open space, their communications came on, and Merlin could hear them talking. The huge ship was firing, and the pilots were trying to dodge, but it was clear that their autopilot had already locked in and would carry them forward either way.

"Their shield is too strong!" Someone said over the comms.

One of the fighters was hit, right behind him, and Merlin jumped on his seat.

He pulled in the helmet as soon as he could, talking to I2-SA at the same time.

"Get us out of this autopilot — this will get us both killed."

Chirps and yells came through as a response, while he fastened the helmet under his jaw, and once his hands came back to the steering wheel, it already felt different.

"You did it!" he exclaimed, happily, and the droid seemed to be excited about it too. He tried turning left, and the ship responded easily.

Freedom to fly, at least.

I2-SA, on the other hand, seemed to think this was freedom to run.

"I'm not going back." Merlin told it, his voice firm. "Nimueh told me to stay in the cockpit, and I'm doing exactly that."

The astromech voiced the idea that this was the opposite of what she had intended, but Merlin paid it no mind. He was more focused on the fighters the enemies were sending his way. He knew how to fire now, but didn't want to — not when he could just rush ahead.

This was better than running.

More risky, too.

He tried to evade the two fighters that were now on his tail, but it they seemed to know what he was doing well enough to fall for it.

"Let's try something more radical," he told I2-SA, and rolled the ship, spinning wildly, 360, 720, 1080 degrees at once, and they just couldn't hit him through the irregular movement, their shots going wide and closer to the ship they were meant to be defending than to the one they had been attacking.

I2-SA was not amused. Not even slightly.

"I know we're in trouble," he answered, annoyed. "Just hang on."

Pushing the accelerator, he tried to get closer to the ship. It was the only way to end all this.

It was not the sort of battle he had prepared for all his life. Droids, soulless and with little understanding, stood ahead of them. There would be no honour in this combat — but Percival would do what needed to be done.

He had positioned his troops long before the droids had managed to arrive, and he did have the high ground — how much that was worth against blasters was yet to be seen.

"Archers!" He shouted, the wind carrying his voice, and they stepped ahead. "On my count," he warned, but it was pure form. Even having come from a dozen different places, they knew what they had to do. "One — Two — Three."

The droids were still finishing their position, but it didn't matter. The plasma arrows flew through the air, making it shimmer with their heat, and found their marks. Percival watched impassively as dozens of droids fell down — but droids were not like men. It didn't discourage them at all. He felt the air vibrate as the second and third volley rushed past his head, and most found their marks, although sometimes two or three would hit the same droid. A waste, but it couldn't be helped.

Blood and bones and sinew he was ready to face — but there was something that made him almost queasy in the trembling blue electricity that ran through the droids bodies as they, for a lack of a better word, died.

Although they could not think like humans did, droids — specially battle droids — were not stupid. They caught up pretty quick with their strategy and retreated beyond the reach of the arches bows that were taller than most men. Percival needed a moment only to understand what they meant to do, the forms rolling forward recognisable even in their rapid movement.

"To the rear!" He called to archers, stepping back into the line. "Raise shields!"

It was a manoeuvre they had practised for days, and not an easy one. Each man on the first five or six lines brought their shields to their body, the ones on the lines behind covering the upper chest, shoulders and head being protected by the man behind them. It went on and on until the end, each man protecting his peer. The coloured motifs diminished visibility, but it was better than the alternative. The cortosi metal on their greaves kept them from most of the laser shots, but they couldn't be used on helmets — the particles in them poisoning the wearer — so the formation guaranteed that the warriors would be protected from the blasters even though there were many unprotected spaces between the vambrace and the breastplate. Most of them could not afford gorgets.

"Wedge!" he called, then, and he felt although he could not see when the lines behind him curved on themselves, turning into a powerful blade. "And march!"

Progress was slow, but continuous, and there was nothing the Droidekas could do but to keep shooting from behind their shields, the rest of their army doing the same, looking for spaces, but Percival knew how well trained the warriors there were.

"Let's see how much this damn shields work against real blades!" he told his comrades, and as one they moved ahead.

Nimueh lived in the Force — that how she knew, deep inside her heart, that this man in front of them was a Sith. It was more than being enamoured by the Dark Side, the man was consumed. He lived in it as much as she did not. The man turned on his lightsaber, blocking the left side of the door with his red light — and it didn't matter how good he was, one against two was a fight that could not be lost.

Then a second blade came out out of the other side of his handler.

It was a weapon fashioned to create fear in lesser hearts, but it was as traitorous as it was impressive. The young Sith might think it would give him the advantage, but he adidn't count on how it affect his mobility, and certainly didn't expect one of his opponents to be using the same. His reach would have been longer, but the benefit was lost against her, and there were but a few ways to move it, compared to the myriad of possibilities a single blade offered.

Nimueh lost no time in turning on both blades on her saber, showing him they were evenly matched — discounting Mordred. She moved ahead, clashing her azure lightsaber against the red flash of light, pushing him away. The man was talented, because he seemed well prepared for the possibility, adjusting his body almost immediately and sweeping the other side where Mordred had been a moment ago. Mordred hit the other side, too, while Morgana seemed to be doing just fine with the droids.

If they could coordinate well, they could leave his body open for her sure thrust while Mordred distracted him.

The man seemed to notice the possibility as soon as it crossed their heads, and stepped sideways, moving the fight — Mordred was now on his back, while Nimueh kept parrying with him. The Sith's eyes never met hers — just instinct reacted to her slashes, his eyes were on Morgana.

The man kept on walking backwards, and they kept pushing their advantage — if it could be so called. He was light on his feet, jumping at Mordred's attempts to hit his feet, back flips coming as easily as breathing.

Nimueh had always hated the Ataru style, but she couldn't deny it took a lot of ability to use it with a doublesaber.

Removing one hand from the blade, the man did a force thrust towards one of the doors on the left side of the room, and it opened up to show a large power plant — the generator for the whole Castle. It was clear that he was trying to take them inside, and she hated the feeling of being lured — on the other hand, it'd take them further away from Arthur — which was always a good thing.

The place was filled with catwalks in different levels, narrow and slippery, a mere way for the rare droids that served in Camelot to check on the machinery inside. The sound of the lightsabers crashing echoed on the empty walls, reverberating back at them, and for a second, it seemed as if there were dozens of Jedi fighting.

She saw the man smirk, the burnt side of his face twisting in a evil look before he jumped back. Nimueh tried for a slash, but missed the leg by inches. He landed a few meters back, on another catwalk, his black robes meshing easily with the metal under his feet.

Mordred and her didn't need to even share a look to jump ahead, using the Force to propel them to the other side. Her padawan already landed with his blade crashing the Sith's above their heads, and it gave her a moment to check on Morgana — left on the other side of the door. It had been a wise decision to send her with Arthur; there was no way she could follow them — the catwalk was not wide enough, and between the three blades, the risk was just too big. She had to follow her own trial, find her own way, not follow theirs. It was what the council had warned her about.

She knew she couldn't allow her mind to be taken by such matters, or she would be risking too much in a fight. She moved her blade up to attack, but the Sith just forced Mordred's down while the second part of his blade moved up to meet hers. She kept on pushing, the Sith now locked between the two of them, and now the double blade was working against him. He could not move, nor attack, only react to their thrusts and stabs. Clearly, he noticed it, and his eyes widened as he tried to figure out a way to get rid of them.

Analytically, it was a beautiful movement — although too full of hatred to be completely effective. The Sith waited until Mordred threw his weight against the blade, trying to unbalance him, and simple turned the side not facing Nimueh off, jumping and pressing against her. Mordred lost his balance with it, and the Sith used the opportunity to turn in a sidekick, causing him to fall from the platform.

From far away, she heard Morgana's voice yelling for Mordred — through the Force, as an echo in her mind, far away and not immediate — but her eyes were still on the dark lord, trying to find any opening. His defence was far more effective than she would have expected from someone so full of hatred, and it left her little option but to use his own movement against him. As he jumped again towards her, using his bigger size to his advantage, she merely jumped back to the initial platform, leaving him to fall under his own momentum.

The man's luck was that he had landed in a platform right underneath the one they had been standing — she could see Mordred trying to return, having fallen a few levels bellow. Still, the Sith's reflexes were quick and he ran from her view, going under the place she was.

She was not going to wait for an attack. Nimueh jumped down, landing in the platform bellow, and the Sith was immediately ready for her — both sides turned on again, using it to defend and attack at the same time. Alone with her, the double blade was more effective, though not as much as if would have been if he had been alone with Mordred and his single blade. Still he kept walking backwards, into another small door. Undoubtedly he meant to use the old divide and conquer strategy, but she could hear the padawan approaching and didn't worry too much.

It was a perilous way that he had decided to follow — not only in becoming what he was, but in the very place he had decided to hide. Nimueh could see the rays that came on and off in a pulsing pattern, and she knew they'd be deadly to the touch. Around once a minute, they'd all lock in, before opening again in turn — like a heart, contracting and relaxing to feed the body. Over a hundred hives stood on the long corridor that they were now entering in their battle.

His timing was good, and he managed to walk through over half of the hives, Nimueh pushing at every second, blade against blade in a clash of power. She could hear Mordred approaching. The Sith made a swift movement backwards just in time, and managed to keep himself in a different hive than her when it locked again. He looked particularly angry at this turn of events.

Two hives separated her from the dark lord — a quick probing showed that around forty separated her from Mordred. The woman went quiet, while the men paced — the Sith using his blade to hit the wall and causing short circuits. Kneeling on the floor, Nimueh allowed the Force to take control of her.

Emotion, yet peace.
Ignorance, yet knowledge.
Passion, yet serenity.
Chaos, yet harmony.
Death, yet the Force.

This was all that mattered. This was all that existed. This was the reality.

In the Force, she waited.

All the manoeuvres he had learnt to avoid crashing and trying to finish podraces were almost useless now — with no limits in space, it was harder to avoid the enemies that continued to pour to their pursuit. The Camelot pilots kept trying, shooting and aiming, but nothing they did seemed to be enough to get the shield off.

I2-SA was right — this was no place for him. Still, he could not return and just let them here — Arthur and his knights were fighting in the palace, the army was engaged in battle on the field, Morgana, Mordred and Nimueh were facing pure darkness. Merlin was no longer so much of a child that he would be able to live with himself if he didn't do anything to help.

He was, regardless of what others said, not a child at all.

Spinning, he avoided yet another pursuer, who ended up crashing against their own ship — and then, someone got lucky.

I2-SA beeped a high alert, and the whole ship shook as someone managed to hit their rear. Merlin tried without success to keep a hold of the fighter, but it was no use — the controls were not responding. A electricity shot, it seemed — not laser. The most he could do was throw his whole wheel sideways as they lost height, sliding right inside the very place where their enemies were being deployed to fight them back.

There fighter skidded ahead in the smooth floor, throwing dozens of droids away. I2 screamed in alarm, but there was little he could do.

"I'm trying to stop, I'm trying!" He answered, annoyed at her continuous beeps.

Pulling the reverse thrusters completely, he managed to stop their insane spinning for a moment. Of course, it was also helped by the sheer continuous friction of the ground. The panel turned red, as if they were completely out of fuel, but the arrow indicated that they were okay in that aspect.

I2 yelled yet again — the droids that hadn't been thrown away were approaching, but at least, so far, none of the double doors in the end of the room showed signs of movement. Kanen had had many sayings about the old things they bought and resold, but three he had always repeated — first being that most of the times, restarting fixed the problem immediately. He tried that, but it was no use. Reseting would be his next suggestion, but it wasn't as if he had any idea how to reset this fighter. His last one had always given him the creeps: that machines often and against all logic reacted well to some minor beating.

There was nothing he could do, he was completely trapped. Merlin hit the panels in frustration: he had not left Tatooine to be killed by droids in his first battle. It was not fair. And, just according to his old owner's beliefs, it was exactly what made the panel turn back green. It made him shudder for a second before yelling at I2

"WE HAVE POWER — SHIELDS UP!"

The astromech lost no time in complying, and with a flip of a switch, they were hovering over the ground again, knocking down the approaching captain. The rest immediately fired, but their hand weapons were no match for the ship's shields. Repeating his earlier actions, he turned around and shoot them with his own lasers. One of the doors was suddenly filled with droids and even more came to pour in, and Merlin decided that the best thing he did was using a torpedo. The first one landed with a deafening explosion, and even inside he could smell the burning metal. The second one missed, though, going through the secondary door and exploding inside.

There was something wrong there.

Something very wrong.

When the first torpedo had hit the droids, the fire had come and gone in a second, it's destructive power burning fiercely but quickly. Now, it seemed to increase and last — I2 beeped warning that the temperature inside was spiking. It didn't take a genius to figure out it shouldn't be happening.

A woman's voice came through the comms.

"What is that? It's blowing up from inside!"

"We didn't hit it!" Elyan answered, and the whole structure seemed to be twisting around Merlin.

Wasting no time, he pulled back, under I2's continuous expletives, and with a 180 degree turn, he started speeding back out — just as the fire reached the hangar. It was a mad race, for his own life, trying to be faster than the angry explosion he had unwittingly summoned.

"This is podracing!" He said through the comms as he came back to open space.

"One of ours!" the woman said, again.

"Merlin?" the captain's voice rang again. "Merlin, what are you doing here?"

"Blowing the ship, captain, what does it seem like I'm doing?"

"Speed up!" He ordered, if to him or the whole group, Merlin didn't know or care. "This isn't gonna be pretty."

Together, they rushed away, far from the exploding ship, making a curve towards the side of the planet that was in darkness.

"Entering atmosphere" Elyan warned, and they followed him in a V. "Head to the plains ahead of the White Mountains. Copy?" he told the pilots.

"Copy," they all responded, Merlin among them, although he had no clue where the White Mountains were or how to get there — surely it couldn't be too hard, following a whole group of ships.

"Not you, Merlin!" He chided "You follow me back to the capital — and I don't even want to see what Master Nimueh will do with you when she finds out."

Merlin wanted to be worried, he did, but he couldn't help but laugh. He had done his part — he had helped — and whatever punishment he got, it would be worth it.

Percival was counting on it, but still, it was a shock to see the droids simply fall down at a certain point. They had been in the thick of it, cutting and crushing them, and they had just stopped. Standing for the first time in almost an hour, he looked to the sky — he would have to pay Elyan a drink, later, to thank him for this.

The shield was already starting to shimmer, as if it was about to fade, when the droids fell down in the throne room. Lancelot, Leon and Arthur just stared, unsure of how to react.

When they kept on not moving, Arthur gestured towards Lancelot.

"Turn it off" he said, walking to where the shield ended.

The knight complied immediately, and as soon as Arthur was free, he walked on, picking up a blaster from one of the droids. It was weird and ungainly, and while he was a decent shot, he didn't know if he'd ever get used to it. At the moment, though, it was the best that they could do.

Turning around, he aimed at the wooden door that had sealed the council chamber and pulled the trigger. One blast burned it a bit, but after a couple more turns, the handles cracked under the pressure and Leon pulled them open.

Inside, Vice-Roy Alined and Trickler where crouching — they looked more like rats than men, and Arthur felt disgusted. Throwing the damned weapon back down and picking up his sword again, he walked through the doors his knights were guarding.

"Now, Vice-Roy, we will discuss a new treaty."

Under his gaze, Lancelot and Leon let go of their shields, took hold of the men, holding them by their arms, swords ready in the opposite hand, and turned to leave. Arthur followed behind, so he couldn't see Leon's face, but years of knowing each other were enough that he was able to imagine it as he looked at the scorch marks on the throne room, the debris, the damaged pillars and doors.

"This will cost a fortune in renovations!" He bemoaned, and Arthur could truly, honestly, laugh without a care in the world for the first time in weeks.

It was not too late.

Morgana arrived at the power plant, and the sounds of lightsaber clashing led her towards the corridor she had seen in her vision — running as fast as she could, she watched as Mordred did the same, Nimueh quite ahead, slashing and thrusting with a ferocity she had never seen before as they walked out of the corridor and into the melting pit room. This was not her normal style, this was controlled passion, full fluidity, something Morgana herself could never achieve.

She would never reach them in time, but Mordred was still far ahead of her — if he could make it in, all would be fine. That wouldn't happen and she would have abandoned her own mission for nothing, but it would be worth it. She sent him her thoughts, pleading for him to be quick.

When the electron ray gates begun to close, he was one hive from entering the room where Nimueh and Darth Muirden battled. Morgana was still fifteen gates behind. Exactly like she had seen.

Mordred leaned against the metal on the left side, and she got a good view of the room ahead — at least where the Guardian and the Sith were fighting. It was worse, worse than anything she had been through before, and even if she knew what was coming, nothing could have prepared her for it.

Nimueh was, for all intents and purposes, winning. She was pressing him hard, and the double blade flew away from her hand in swift spins that could have ripped a lesser fighter in half. The Sith lord could do nothing but parry it away, trying to keep safe, using the long light rays to protect his body from the merciless onslaught. She was just about to use one of his blades to tip him towards the opening, when he made a quick move, bashing his double handle in her chin. She wobbled behind, out of balance for a second — but a second was all the Sith needed: both his hands firmly on his handle, and pulling back for a millisecond, he buried the lightsaber deep in her belly, the blood-red blade showing through her back.

Mordred was screaming even before she tumbled and fell to the floor. Darth Muirden took his time into pulling it back from her still body and turning to face Mordred where he stood. For a second, his eyes met hers through the red lights, and she could have sworn he was glad to see her again, if Siths were capable of such things. It did cause Mordred to turn around, catching the sight of her, but he was too lost in misery to truly care, as immediately returned to face the dark warrior that was ahead of them.

The gates opened again, and while she ran ahead, ignoring the tears that seemed to be rolling off her eyes without her noticing, she could see that Mordred was attacking him relentlessly, righteous fury fuelling his movements. She saw as her friend sliced the middle of double sword, making half of it fall down, dead. The Sith jumped back, giving himself time to adapt to the change in his weapon, and the ray came back on, trapping Morgana where Mordred had been trapped before.

This was worse, worse than watching him hit Nimueh — as much as Morgana liked her, Mordred was like a brother to her. She fought to control her feelings — her despair — but it was useless as Mordred missed a spar, his blade coming too low to keep a good balance and Darth Muirden turned, kicking Mordred on his chest hard enough to make him stumble. The next second, he used the Force to throw him into the melting pit.

She held her scream of horror, but only just. She had known, after all. He kicked Mordred's lightsaber down the pit. He looked up at her, a creepy smile in his face, as he ran his red blade against the edge of the pit, creating sparks.

Morgana knew she didn't have the combat skills that Nimueh and Mordred had had, but she could not simply not fight, not after they had given their lives. It was not her place, nor her mission, but it didn't matter. If she did nothing, how could she live with herself? If she did nothing, he would certainly leave and kill her brother — something they were all sent to avoid. However small the chance of her being able to defeat him, she needed to try.

Turning on her yellow blade, the waited for the portal to open, and rushed through it. She had mostly trained defencive styles, but she was beyond all training now — there was too much at stake. Entering into deep meditation, she simply let the Force lead her body as they fought, walking around the schism, locked in a deadly dance that she couldn't control.

Then — impossibly, out of nowhere — Mordred reappeared, jumping back from an impossible fall. He was at their three o'clock, but his appearance was enough to throw her out of her state of mind and the Sith took the chance to reach her — not with his lightsaber, but with his hand, grabbing her arm forcefully.

Her mind exploded, dozens of images flashing at once until she didn't know what she was seeing anymore — past, present, future; each and all possibilities, all swirling through her mind and her throat was hurting, she was screaming, until the world turned black and she knew no more.

There had been nothing but rage in his heart when he had started fighting the Sith, and as any Jedi Master would have told him, this had been his downfall. One mistake, and he was hanging on for dear life.

The shower of sparks was just an annoyance, and as the ray gate opened, he was grateful for Morgana ditching Arthur and coming to their aid. As she battled, he concentrated and pushed himself up, jumping back into the platform at the same time he summoned Nimueh's doubleblade to his hand, even though he knew but the basics on how to use it.

His appearance distracted his friend, though, and the Sith caught her arm, making something to her that made her scream — a horrible, haunting sound that echoed in the circular room, drowning them in despair. Mordred didn't bother to think before he jumped through the schism, using his now longer reach to slash through the man before he managed to run Morgana through with is sabre.

For a second, the Sith seemed to not understand what happened. Then, horribly, his upper body fell to the schism, his lower body following right away.

He had never imagined using the Sai Tok, but at this moment, he was glad he had. Morgana fell silent, falling to the floor, unconscious but seemingly unharmed — and he rushed to Nimueh, to the fading heartbeat of his Master.

He knelt, pulling her head to his lap, and her lips — normally red, and often painted to look even more so — were pale under the lipstick.

"It's too late," she whispered, her body trembling. "Too late."

"No!" he denied, shaking his head, fighting against the tears that threatened to overwhelm him.

"Promise me…" she started, then coughed, a shudders running through her almost faded form. "Promise me, Mordred, that you'll train the boy…"

"Yes, Master," he agreed, the first two tears spilling out and falling on her cheeks. It seemed that she was the one crying, but he couldn't imagine ever seeing Nimueh cry. She had seemed impervious to all of had seemed unbeatable, a force of nature. It was like seeing a star fading away into nothing, but her smile was for him alone as she reached up and touched his face.

"Always so dutiful," she teased, but there was clear pride in his eyes. "I know it's not what you had planned…"

"It doesn't matter," Mordred assured her, not a thought to spare to the life he had hoped to lead before this insanity.

"I could always count on you," she agreed, and it seemed to Mordred that his tears were made of fire, burning through his cheeks as he faced his shame.

"I failed you — I wasn't quick enough, I…"

"You did not," Nimueh's smile was almost gone. "You may have saved us all — and I know you can do the same for him — make him as great as he's meant to be."

"Not as well as you could, Master, never as well as…"

"He is the chosen one…" she sighed, almost beyond her strength now. "He will… bring balance," her eyes turned to stare right at his. "Train him!"

"I promise," Mordred could do nothing but nod along his words, and it seemed at his commitment was all that she was waiting for.

Her eyes rolled on their sockets for a second before closing. Her heartbeat slowed to a stop, and Mordred was left alone with his broken heart, as the women the loved were beyond his help.