Chapter 11: Shadow's Mark
Arthur felt high on excitement and success — though not without a hitch, their planned campaign had been a success. There had been losses, sure, but every battle meant losing someone and, from the reports Percival had just given him, their losses had been very small. Not half a dozen warriors had died though many — warriors, nobles and peasants alike — had had their lives claimed by the invasion.
The destruction of the ship had also meant that communications were back on; and an urgent message from his father had been awaiting for him. For all his words on how he was proud of Arthur for returning to fight, it was clear in his face how worried he was. It was almost heart-warming.
"Arthur!" His voice had an urgent tone to it in the recorded message. "Arthur — good news — the Senate has elected me. If you haven't reached Camelot yet — wait for me. I'll be leaving in a few hours with a strong force — some Jedi are coming too — we're in no position to deny their help. The Trade Federation will pay for this. And keep your sister safe. I'll be with you soon."
It was almost funny that he would receive that now that everything was done. Surely it meant that they would reach Camelot in less than a day. He didn't even want to imagine how angry Uther would be when he saw the damage to the Castle, he had often babbled about how important each piece of it was, its history and what not. Arthur did not envy the Trade Federation on this, for he was sure his father would make sure they paid for every single damage with interest. It made him almost giddy.
As all good things, it didn't last.
Arthur was reacquainting himself with his throne, listening to Percival's report on the injured, when Mordred showed up under the door. There were guards back in it, but they made no move to stop or help him — and the burden he carried made Arthur's heart froze. In the midst of it all, he had forgotten about the Jedi and the Sith they were facing, forgotten about Morgana sudden disappearance, and now it made him feel stupid and irresponsible for not seeing to it right away.
There was no mistaking the body he carried — not in her sand-coloured robes, not in the dark, shaved hair that mimicked his, her long padawan braid falling to the floor. It was clear in Mordred's eyes that he had been crying, and he couldn't move; couldn't think; couldn't do anything other than to pray, against all logic, that this was not the price of his victory — not Morgana's life. Uther may never forgive him if it was. He would never forgive himself if it was.
Although he had walked with his head high so far, upon facing Arthur, Mordred's knees trembled. He almost let Morgana fall to the floor and Percival, with his long stride, walked towards him and relieved him of his burden. It wasn't done easily — Mordred seemed to cling to her stubbornly, and Arthur was reminded, once again, that it had been Mordred and not him who had grown up with her, sharing everything with her, and was, in many ways, more her brother than Arthur, with their shared blood, would ever be.
"She lives," Percival said, gathering her in his big arms. Mordred's answer was more a jerk of his head than a proper nod, as he let go of her.
A hand touched his arm, calling his attention, and he saw Gwen's worried face, her lower lip chewed.
"Sire, if I may," she whispered, looking between him and Morgana's unconscious form in Percival's arms. "The Queen's Chambers can be made ready for her, if you allow it."
He merely nodded, still too stunned to properly speak, and Mordred merely observed, something dead in his eyes, as the pair of them started to walk away.
"What happened?" Arthur finally managed to ask, and the padawan merely shook his head.
"The Sith — touched her — I don't know what he did, I couldn't see… She started screaming and fainted."
It was clear in his eyes that he was still haunted by it, whatever it was, and Arthur could barely nod to acknowledge the information.
"The new Supreme Chancellor has dispatched a group of people — many Jedi, I believe — to help us. They should be here in a few hours — tomorrow at most, I trust. Maybe one of them will be able to access what was truly done to her. Meanwhile, Guinevere will see that she's taken care of."
Mordred lowered his head, and seemed thankful, but still shaken. Arthur needed another second to adjust his thoughts and notice what was wrong.
"Where's Master Nimueh?" he asked, but he feared the answer; for it was written in the padawan's face, on the new marks of pain around his mouth and in the raw red of his eyes.
Mordred just shook his head, silent and a new wave of tears threatened to spill from his eyes. Arthur's heart broke a little more for him.
"She has passed into the Force," he finally said, his voice faint. "And the Sith is no longer a threat."
"Did she…?" Arthur wondered, trying to imagine how it had happened.
"No," Mordred shook his head. "I did."
Most men Arthur knew would have taken pride in such a feat, but Morded barely seemed aware he had killed something that should not even exist; it was clear that whatever glory it brought, it would never be enough to pay for what he had two of them remained in silence for another second. Nobody moved or spoke, although over a dozen knights were in the room with them. Standing up, Arthur walked towards the padawan that seemed to be using all his strength to just keep standing, and clapped his back for a second, before squeezing his shoulder, trying to demonstrate how much he appreciated all of it.
"You were all incredibly brave," he told Mordred, his voice low, and the smaller man shuddered at it, as if he didn't think he was worthy of the comment. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mordred, I really am. She was a remarkable woman, and a great Jedi. I will make sure she has a funeral worth of the hero she was."
With a small shake, Mordred denied it.
"If I may, sire, I think the Order could prefer to take the funeral into our own hands," He pressed his lips into a thin line. "There are traditions…"
"Of course," he agreed, not wanting to press on it; even if Nimueh had been a hero to Camelot — in the past as in the present. It didn't matter.
He didn't let go of Mordred, but the other man didn't seem uncomfortable about it — if possible, he seemed to crave any sort of comfort that might be given to him. It was an odd look on him, so subdued, looking at his own feet. Mordred might have been shy, but he had nerve and seeing him so defeated was painful. Arthur's eyes ran through the front of his head, cropped close to the skull, and the long braid, reaching a bit past his shoulder, and the tiny ponytail where the curls that would have naturally grew all around were tied together. It was shorter than Morgana's by a few inches, and it made him remember something.
"Morgana called both of your names before running back to you," he told Mordred, unsure of what it meant, if it was helpful or hurtful. All he could do was try.
"She did?" he asked, looking at Arthur from under his eyelashes.
"She seemed a bit out of it," he explained. "Then called your names and ran away — back to you."
"A vision," Mordred said, frowning. "She has been having many of these lately — I don't know — maybe…" he shook his head, at loss. "I can't help her."
Helplessness matched Mordred as poorly as it matched Arthur. He wanted to say something — anything — to help, but he didn't know why, and in a flash, the moment was broken by a new appearance.
Merlin was running inside the room, grinning widely, Elyan with a fond smile behind.
"MORDRED! ARTHUR!" he roared, with the enthusiasm of the child he seemed to be. "I'VE DID IT — I EXPLODED THE SHIP! WE'RE SAFE!"
Arthur couldn't help but mirror Elyan's expression, although it was just a tug at his lips.
"Well done," he said, but quietly, hand still in Mordred's shoulder.
"Wait until Master Nimueh hears!" he seemed excited, then looked around, shocked and wondering. "Where is Master Nimueh?"
His eyes bore into Mordred's, and seemed to read the whole of his body expression, all his feelings, the fresh grief and pain.
"Oh," Merlin said, at loss for a second, before he threw himself against the padawan, enveloping him in a hug. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, and Arthur let go of them, wanting to give them as much privacy as he could.
"So am I, chikra" he heard Mordred reply, holding him back after a moment of surprise. "So am I."
And by now the victory tasted like ashes in his mouth.
The atmosphere in front of the castle was joyful, but Mordred didn't feel like he belonged in it. The large cruiser of the Supreme Chancellor was about to land in the courtyard of the main hangar, and the secondary entrance to the palace was as beautifully crafted as the main one, towards the city and the plains in which the battle had happened.
Leon, Lancelot, Percival and another twenty knights guarded the two representatives from the Trade Federation, while the rest was spread behind Arthur in a semi-circle, facing the ship. Mordred supposed such a heavy guard wasn't really needed, but a show of strength would be exactly to Uther's taste, from what he had gathered about the man during the years.
He stood his place beside Arthur, as the king had insisted, Merlin on his other side. He didn't feel as if he had any reason to be there, but he wasn't in a good state to argue it. As the prisoners got close, Arthur turned towards them, his face dark with righteous anger.
"Now, Vice-Roy Alined, you'll need to go back to the Senate and explain your actions," he said, and it was clear he expected the consequences to be dire.
"I have the impression you can kiss your Trade franchise goodbye," Leon jabbed, and even Lancelot snickered at this.
The main ramp of the cruiser lowered, and Mordred followed the knights in leading the two accused men towards the ship. Justice would be served to them soon enough, and a new pang of pain crossed his head to think this should have been Morgana's moment of glory in front of her peers and her dominating father. It was not fair.
Uther came down, followed by Senator Aredian and three score of Republic Guards. It was clear he had come for battle, and arrived too late for it. Behind him, half a dozen Jedi came — one padawan among five Masters, three council members. Mordred was quick to recognise them all: Master Gaius, still limping slightly as he adjusted to his new mechno-leg; Master Deaton and his former padawan, Master Jen-Fer — two powerful Guardians in their own right; Master Alator, whose experience as a Shadow might have prevented the whole tragedy, came followed by his padawan, Alis-Sen; and Master An-hor-ra, his white hair floating in the wind, and it was a relief that such a skilled healer was present to care for Morgana.
The Supreme Chancellor walked right towards him and Merlin, and the two of them bowed in respect.
"The Republic is indebted to you for your bravery, Mordred," he said, his face somewhat dour in the midst of the celebration. "And I, personally, am grateful for your saving of my daughter's life." Mordred grimaced at it, but it was better than the accusations he had been expecting. Perhaps the three years at Coruscant, learning the job of a Senator since his brother's death, had taught him something. "And you, young Merlin," Uther gave a child a smile that looked out of place in his stern face. "We will watch your career with a great interest."
There was nothing they could say, but bow again and with the whole exchange, the knights had already led Alined and Trickler to the ship. The other Jedi nodded at him, and he found his place in their line, beside Alis-Sen, Merlin still trailing behind him. He watched without emotion as father and son met.
"Congratulations on your election, Father." The king said, his voice firm but political.
"Your boldness saved our people, Arthur," reminded the older man. "It is you who should be congratulated — showing the true spirit of Camelot to everyone in the galaxy." He patted the king's back, clearly proud. "In spite of everything, I was glad to hear you had fought and won by your own merit."
Arthur lowered his head, without a single word, suddenly no longer a king, but a young man who still craved a father's approval. It was a weird sight to Mordred, but not an unexpected one. He wished for nothing more than to be able to hear again Nimueh's quiet appraisal of his work; and yet, he knew it was more than time to allow her to pass.
"There is an old prophecy, coming from our planet and recorded by the Jedi;" Senator Aredian said, his voice soft, but carrying far. "It talks about the Once and Future King, who will unite all people under one equal rule, serving justice for all. Seeing your father now, I am sure that our prophesied King is among us — and the whole Republic will benefit from it."
"I put no stock in such things," dismissed Uther, quickly, his eyes still on his child. "But this I do believe: together; we shall bring peace and prosperity to the Republic."
"May the gods hear you, Father," was all Arthur said, and, together, they walked back into the palace.
Each of them had their own role to play, but Gaius would not worry with business before his padawan was taken care of. Seeing Morgana on the queen's bed, so perfectly still, all her fire gone, was almost something of a nightmare. Almost twenty years had passed, but he could still see her mother standing on the same place, her life ebbing away just as her son's started. She had none of Ygraine's golden hair, but much of her delicate beauty. In sleep, she looked almost peaceful.
An-hor-ra was checking on her, with his eyebrows knit together.
"Tell me what happened," the Healer asked to the padawan who had been the only witness.
"He held her arm, and she screamed then fell." Mordred said, economical on his words. "She hasn't woken up since."
An-hor-ra looked back at her, sighing.
"Anything else that might be important, child?"
Mordred started shaking his head, but stopped.
"Arthur — King Arthur, that is — said she called our names before leaving her post and going to us. I believe she had a vision. In fact, Master, now that you mention it — since leaving to this mission, she has had a number of them — all quite strong and mostly accurate. She knew Merlin would win the race, although he had never even finished before. She seemed to know that Nimueh would be killed. She seemed to know we'd be attacked in Tatooine, she was very agitated and calling for Gaius to return."
This was news for him, and made his heart ache a bit, made him feel guilty for every moment he had ever been exasperated with her.
"Hmmm," the other man nodded, slowly. "Interesting."
"Master?" Mordred asked, anxious as most young men were.
"I haven't seen this in a long time," continued the healer.
"So you know what ails her." Gaius said, a bit impatient himself.
An-hor-ra's eyes were a bit sad when they turned towards Gaius.
"I think she has been target by a very specific mind attack — one aimed to demolish the barriers of the mind to time. It would cause a lesser effect, if she wasn't already so talented in Seeing. In Morgana's case… There is nothing to be done, but wait. She will wake up soon — a few more hours. Her brain needs resting after the flood of visions. She will never be fully the same — those doors cannot be closed again; and those who show promise as Seers in their early age spend over a decade as padawans, training to reach this stage — but physically, she should be fine. With training and focus, we may still turn this tragic acts into a great asset to the Order. But Gaius, my old friend…" he mouth twisted in a sad smile. "I fear you will loose your padawan."
Gaius took a deep breath at this — not unexpected. If what An-hor-ra said was true, Morgana would need a strong Seer to guide her, and they had been painfully inadequated match from the start, only Uther's continuous insistence had led him to take her for training; now this would prove impossible. Part of his heart felt sad at the prospect, because, for all their differences, he had grown used to her presence in his life — almost ten years, she had been his padawan — and on his own way, he loved her as if she had been his own child. Now, it was time to let her go — let her grow — into the Jedi she was meant to become.
"It'll be as the Force wills it — and as the council decides. I am only glad she will be OK."
With a nod to Gaius, An-hor-ra left to check on the other injured. Sighing, he turned towards the padawan, who looked as if he carried the weight of the whole galaxy in his shoulders.
"Come on, Mordred," he said, kindly. "There's much work for us yet to do."
They took another moment to just look at Morgana's sleeping form before leaving her under Guinevere's care. There was much they had to clear about these last events.
Master Kilgharrah had gone through much in the centuries since he was born, but it was always an emotional moment when a padawan was turned into a Knight. It had been a very long time since they had last elevated someone into a knight without their Trial, but those were exceptional circumstances, however little he liked it.
The Council chamber was dark, light by their lightsabers alone. A myriad of colours and shades shone bright, and Mordred's lowered head in the middle of it all. As Grand Master, it was expected that he would be the one to cut the braid, and, although there was something about the boy that had always disquieted him, he would not balk.
The rest of the council lowered their lightsabers as Mordred knelt in front of him. A dark space was left where his Master should have been, a silent honour of Nimueh's importance in his life. Kilgharrah spoke the words he had said many times before, even with a heavy heart.
"By the right of the council — by the will of the Force, I dub thee Jedi — knight of the Republic."
The claws of his species made holding a lightsaber a tricky thing, but he had practised for longer than many civilisations held, and long since mastered it. Swiftly, he used the tip of his golden blade to cut through the hair, that fell to the ground. He had almost grown insensitive to the burnt smell it produced.
Mordred stood, his face showing none of the glory one could expect from the moment one was knighted; but all things considered, it was not surprising. The lights were back on, and the lightsabers where back in their belts, as Kilgharrah continued.
"We confer on you the level of Knight" he said, his voice heavy. "But we do not agree with you taking this boy as your padawan learner."
Mordred's lips grew thin, considering for a moment before replying.
"Master Nimueh believed in him," he reminded them all, and Kilgharrah could do nothing but nod.
"He may be the Chosen One," he granted, unwillingly. "Nevertheless, I fear grave danger in his training."
Mordred looked at his feet, as a young padawan being scolded, before squaring his shoulders and looking back up.
"Master Kilgharrah, I gave Nimueh my word." The child answered, his voice firm, a true knight and a credit to his former master. "I will train Merlin. Without the approval of the Council, if I must."
He traded a look with the other council members, but, in the end, it was left in his hands. He held on a sigh.
"I sense Nimueh's defiance in you," he said, finally, a bit sad for it. Nimueh — like Peter, before her — could have been some of the greatest Jedi in the Order, if only they weren't always so close to choosing the wrong path. Ironic that his own training line should be the one always causing them grief. "You don't need it." He shook his head minutely, before giving his final word. "We will accept it. You may take Merlin as your apprentice, but be mindful of your responsibilities — to him and to us all."
Mordred bowed to them, and Master Peter was the one to speak. He had looked quite grim since learning of his former apprentice's fate.
"Now go, Mordred, and tell him the good news."
There was no need to say it twice, and it was clear that Mordred looked forward to leaving the chamber. As the doors closed behind their newest knight, Alator addressed them, his face hard.
"There is no doubt. The mysterious warrior was a Sith — Darth Muirden, seemed to be his name."
Kilgharrah had already known, but it didn't make him easier.
"There are always two," he reminded them. "No more — no less. A master and an apprentice."
"But which one we destroyed?" wondered Deaton, his dark face worried. "The master or the apprentice?"
And this question, none of them could answer.
Nimueh's Kal'buir was held at the Temple. All the Council, many other knights, padawans and younglings were in attendance — almost all but Morgana and the young Seers that were in isolation. Young Stiles was there, and Mordred felt a small pang for all things that he had imagined and would never come to pass — he'd have to speak to the boy soon. Still, nothing was more important than following his word to Nimueh and maybe — maybe — by the time he was ready… But it was useless to consider it now. The future was not where his mind was meant to be, specially not when he was meant to be honouring the woman that had taught him so much.
An honourable goodbye, but his Master had never cared for such things.
Together, they repeated the mantra and the fires engulfed her body. He could now barely see her white skin, or the dark hair that had grown long and wild. Drums rolled, and doves were released. They stood, silent, as the shell of the Master Jedi was consumed by the fire, until nothing remained of her but the lightsaber in his belt.
Soon, it would follow her.
"What will happen to me now?" Merlin whispered, his eyes big and so sad that might break Mordred's heart alone, if there was anything left to break.
"The Council has granted me permission to train you," he explained, and in the light of Nimueh's funeral pyre, he felt duty bound to repeat his promise to her. "You will be a Jedi, I promise."
Merlin just answered with a firm now, his jaw firm, and stood a little bit taller now that he belonged somewhere. His sorrow was turned into peace, in true Jedi fashion, even if it was not what Mordred had expected.
Maybe there was hope for them, after all.
Author Note:
Right! Here we are! :D
I have no words to express how much I loved writing this fic - how deeply I loved this 'verse. It has been keeping me up at night for over two years now.
Thank you all for bearing with me until here and I hope you'll stay on the ride!
You can find the sequel here: s/12761104/1/The-Oncoming-Storm
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