Fic: cares we travail to content us (2/6)
Title: cares we travail to content us (2/6)
Author: angelqueen04
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 30,430 (this part 6,505)
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Arthur, Gwen/Morgause, Merlin, Nimueh, and a host of supporting characters
Beta: uranus_ge (to whom I owe many, many thanks)
Warnings: hints of femslash, implications of torture (nothing graphic), eventual character death
Summary: It is a dark time for the galaxy. Emperor Uther has held much of known space in a violent chokehold for over two decades now. He ordered the annihilation of the Jedi Order, and demands that any person exhibiting Jedi abilities be executed for treason. His goddaughter, Princess Morgana of Alderaan, will do anything to see freedom restored to the galaxy, and serves as a spy for the Rebel Alliance. When she is captured by the Emperor’s agents, she is eventually brought into contact with Arthur Pendragon, Captain of the Excalibur. Their meeting alone will bring about changes unforeseen, as there are other, mysterious forces at work, and secrets locked away for years are about to come out. Of course, they’ll have to keep from killing each other as well.
Author's Notes: This story is a fusion of the Merlin and Star Wars universes, with the characters and a few other names/places/things all being fitted into a Star Wars setting. It was initially written for the Morgana/Arthur Big Bang, which, sadly, did not come about due to a myriad of factors. So, I'm posting this for you now. The title comes from Sir Thomas Heneage, in a poem he wrote for Elizabeth I.
Part One
Imperial Year Twenty-One
An explosion, the third of its kind, rocked the Tantive IV. Security members staggered under the blow, many of them falling against the bulkheads before righting themselves again and hurrying on their way. They raced toward the ship’s main access point while the crew continued to manage their stations as best they could.
A single woman, dressed in a simple lavender traveling gown and a blue cloak over it, also hurried through the consular ship’s corridors. She was not deaf to the mutterings of some of the more frightened people.
“We’re doomed…”
“There’ll be no escape for her Highness this time…”
She tightened her lips grimly, but said nothing and kept moving. Eventually she made it to the very bowels of the ship, near the escape pods and storage areas. “My lady?” she called softly into the dimly lit area.
“I’m here, Gwen.” Out of the shadows stepped a dark-haired young woman, her intense green eyes shadowed. She wore a dark blue traveling gown, much more elaborate than Gwen’s, its hood drawn up over her head. “Do you have it?” she asked.
“I just finished its construction,” Gwen said. She pulled a small device out of the folds of her cloak and handed it to her mistress. “I did not have time to test it, though.” She shot Morgana a sardonic look. “Our pursuers timed their arrival most ill.”
The seventeen-year-old princess took the device from her handmaiden and pressed a few of its controls. It immediately whirred to life, several lights appearing on its face. Turning it over in her hands, she examined it for several moments before finally nodded. “It seems to be working well enough,” she concluded. “You inherited your father’s talents, Gwen, and I doubt your abilities will let me down now. I -”
Morgana was abruptly cut off by another jolt to the ship. Both she and Gwen stumbled a little and Morgana nearly dropped the device. Just as soon as they both got their feet back under them, a strange series of clicking sounds poured through the hallways.
“What is that?” Gwen asked, her dark eyes widening.
Morgana straightened. “They must have put a tractor on us and are pulling us in.” She gave her handmaiden a grim look. “The Emperor’s representative must want to speak to me very badly. Come, we haven’t much time.”
She led Gwen further down the cramped corridor, finally stopping at a wall section where two escape pods were open and awaiting occupants. Morgana pulled a datapad from her robes and held it out to Gwen. “Here is where we part ways,” she told her.
Gwen froze, staring at her mistress in shock, taking the datapad merely out of habit. “What?” she sputtered. “But… my lady, surely you should be the one to go.” She glanced upward. “The Emperor’s people -”
“The Emperor’s people are precisely the reason why I cannot go, Gwen,” Morgana cut her off urgently. “They are looking for the Princess of Alderaan, and if I am not here, the Force only knows what they’ll do to the crew if they don’t find me.” She smiled bitterly. “I am Alderaan’s heir and the Emperor’s goddaughter. I doubt they’ll harm me. What’s more, they won’t miss you.”
Gwen nodded reluctantly. “No one will notice the absence of a handmaiden.”
“Exactly.” Another violent nudge of the ship kept Morgana from saying anything else, as did the sound of blaster-shots. She stiffened, glancing over her shoulder in mild alarm, and then turned back to the handmaiden. “Besides, the device only covers the presence of one person. Now, in you go.”
Gwen eyed her with concern, but did as she was told. Before she could open her mouth again, Morgana tossed Gwen’s device into the escape pod after her and then hit the controls next to the pod’s entrance. The hatch immediately slid shut, leaving Gwen alone. Moments later, Gwen could feel the pod release from the ship and knew she was on her way. Staring out the way she had come from the tiny porthole, she could see the Tantive IV dwarfed by the royal destroyer. She could faintly make out the enormous ship’s canons, and eyed them warily. These would be the moments that Gwen would find out if her life-sign suppressor actually worked.
The seconds passed in an agonizingly slow manner, but no shot came to blow her out of Tatooine’s orbit. Gwen sighed in relief as her pod was caught in the planet’s gravity and began to fall toward the surface. She worried for her mistress, but Gwen also knew that what Morgana had asked her to relay was of just as much importance as Morgana’s safety.
Morgause sat on a large bolder overlooking the Junland Wastes, her eyes glued to the sky above her. She was supposed to be meditating, working on the techniques her adoptive mother had instructed her in, but she was far too distracted. Even in the light of Tatooine’s twin suns, Morgause could see the lights and colors that made up the battle going on above the atmosphere.
It wasn’t the first time she had come out to this spot to watch ships take potshots at one another. Hardly a season went by without there being numerous instances of ships under control of different Hutt factions picking fights with one another over their shipments, who had the right to land in what hangar in what city, or just because one crew member from one ship looked at another crew member from another ship in a manner considered ‘offensive’.
Still, this conflict was different. Even without visual aides to help her see more clearly, she could still make out the ships, thanks to her own Force abilities. She could see the large triangular ship bearing down on the much smaller one, firing efficiently to disable, not destroy.
A wave of frustration went through Morgause, a familiar feeling these days. Tatooine was a desolate dustball, and nothing interesting or important had ever happened here, nor would it ever. She did not understand why her mother had chosen this place of all places to live.
Granted, it offered her anonymity from those who would hunt her down, but still, to be so far away from everything? She - they - could be doing something important, something to strike a blow against those who had destroyed her people. Morgause could be doing something to help her family, the parents who had sent her away to safety when she was but hours old and the sister she had never met. She could be helping to throw off the yoke of a monster who held the whole galaxy in his grip. Instead, Nimueh, once a great Jedi Master, was languishing away on an insignificant sandbox of a planet, doing nothing, and Morgause was irrevocably tied here as well.
Not nothing, child. I consider raising a child in the ways of the Jedi quite something. Our traditions continue on, despite Uther’s persistent efforts to wipe us out and everything we represent from the galaxy. As long as even one person remembers, then he has failed.
Now, I distinctly remember telling you to meditate.
Morgause scowled, but nodded. Yes, Mother. Closing her eyes, she began the mental exercises she had been taught as a child, submerging herself in the currents of the Force, letting it guide her thoughts.
Sparks flew on the console, which prompted a long stream of Corellian curses, followed by a distinctly annoyed bellow, “Merlin!” If anyone had been in Mos Eisley Docking Bay Ninety-Four, few would have batted an eye. Nearly anyone who knew of the Captain and the First Mate of the Excalibur knew about their rocky relationship. Arthur Pendragon constantly called his co-pilot and first mate an incompetent buffoon - or worse - and since Merlin Emrys was hardly the type to pale at insults, the younger man would snap right back.
In the cockpit of the derelict-looking ship, Merlin looked up from his diagnostics. “What?” he shouted back, perfectly composed against the ire in Arthur’s voice.
“The kriffing negative power couplings are out again!”
Merlin rolled his eyes and stood up. Leaving the cockpit, he entered the main hold to find Arthur working in the secondary control room, where much of the ship’s power stations were situated. “I told you they were on the fritz a month ago,” Merlin said. “They needed replacing then.”
Arthur turned and glared at him. “Are you saying ‘I told you so’?”
Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t I just say that?”
“I can shoot you, you know.”
“Mother would never forgive you.”
Arthur hummed skeptically, but said nothing more about it. Merlin knew that Arthur loved his mother as much as Merlin did. Arthur’s own mother was a complete mystery to him, having died giving birth to him. He didn’t even know the woman’s name. All Hunith would ever tell either of them was that a lady had brought Arthur to her when she was carrying Merlin, asking her to look after Arthur in his mother’s place. While that statement had made Arthur crow about being older than Merlin - and therefore wiser than him - when they were boys, they both knew that there was far more to the story than Hunith’s simple statements.
Merlin watched Arthur turn back to his work, and then looked over to the nearby table. Seeing the datapad lying there, he held out a hand to it. With barely a thought, the datapad skittered off the table and flew across the room, right into his hand.
Arthur didn’t even look up, but still said, “Stop showing off, Merlin.”
Merlin grinned a little and rolled his eyes. He then pulled up the list of equipment and parts they needed to purchase, and added the negative power couplings. Of course, he thought, they wouldn’t be buying anything unless they were hired for something, and that was going to be a challenge. He and Arthur were well-known for being choosy about what they’d do for people. They refused to haul spice and other drugs for the Hutts, and would not become killers who sold their blasters to the highest bidder. More often than not, they took to transporting passengers and cargo, though they always checked to make sure said passengers and cargo did not carry anything that was illegal. Arthur had his own strict code of honor, and refused to deviate from it in the name of profit. It was that attitude that always served as a reminder to Merlin that beneath the pratish behavior of his foster brother and closest friend, there really was a good heart.
As a result of their behavior, the two of them had gained something of a reputation. On the one hand, it was good because the honest travelers and business dealers were more inclined to come to them before any of the other ship captains that frequented Mos Eisley. On the other, the dishonest severely outnumbered the honest, and as such they did not see as much business as their competitors. They weren’t about to take out a loan, as the only people with the kind of money they needed were the Hutts. If they did, they’d be in debt for the rest of their lives.
What money they currently had in their accounts would keep them fed for a few more weeks, but after that, things were going to get hard. It wasn’t like Merlin could use his own abilities to make money for them in between jobs. Not with the state of the galaxy or with the ever-increasing presence of Imperial stormtroopers on Tatooine. To even hint at having such abilities would be a death sentence for him, and Merlin doubted that Arthur would be spared either.
Merlin sighed. He knew, down to his bones, that Arthur was meant for a life greater than this. Merlin just had to make sure that Arthur lived to see it.
After seeing Gwen safely off the ship, Morgana went hunting. The blaster fire that she and her handmaid had heard could still be heard in sporadic bursts, which led her to think that the invaders of the Tantive IV were slowly pushing her security team back. It was only a matter of time before she stumbled upon stormtroopers seeking any people who tried to hide from them.
She was right. Not twenty minutes of quiet stalking saw her come upon a group of five stormtroopers, poking about the escape pods. Morgana slid into the shadows, watching them and feeling grateful that the ship was running now only on emergency power. It made it much easier to hide.
However, one misstep proved her undoing. While trying to shift closer to her quarry, Morgana brushed against several loose containers, and the shifting of the objects caught the stormtroopers attention.
“There’s one,” the leader of the group said, his voice unattractively mechanical beneath his ugly white helmet. “Set for stun.”
Morgana didn’t give the man a chance to say anything else. She raised her blaster pistol and opened fire. Her shot hit the leader straight in the chest, piercing his armor. She fired a few more times, but that only caused the others to take whatever cover they could. Morgana quickly found herself in a disadvantaged position and knew she had to fall back, find a new spot from which to attack from. She began to retreat back down the corridor, but that was when her opponents received reinforcements. She kept firing at them, but it was a matter of sheer numbers. She hit one or two, but one was able to get a clear shot at her - and it only took one.
Blue light raced toward her, so different from her own lethal red blasterbolts, and Morgana fell into darkness, cursing her ill-luck.
Falling. Falling. Stopping. Hatch opening. The harsh, glaring sun. Dismal surroundings. Walking. Little relief in the rocky area. Little water left. So tired. Attack! Horrid creatures wrapped in rags! What -
Nimueh’s eyes shot open. Instinctively, she leapt to her feet and moved toward the small chest she kept at the foot of her small bed. Lifting it open, she reached in and took out the two lightsabers enclosed in there. “Morgause!” she called urgently.
Her fosterling’s eyes shot open across the room, and she peered up at her. “What is it?”
“Come,” she ordered, tossing one of the lightsabers at her. Nimueh did not even look in her direction to see if Morgause caught it or it smacked into her forehead. “We are needed.”
Gwen was fairly certain she was going to die. She’d lost count of how long she had been walking under the relentless suns of this Force-forsaken planet, lost count of how long ago it had been since she’d been separated from her mistress and friend. She’d found a rocky, more mountainous area, but it had provided little in the way of shade from the suns’ rays. The water that had been in the escape pod was down to all but a few drops.
She finally could not walk any further, and collapsed against an area of the cliff-face that offered some moderate shade. Slowly, her knees began to bend, and she crumbled to the ground.
She had to get up, Gwen told herself. The message had to be delivered. Morgana was counting on her, the Alliance was counting on her. She had to find Jedi Master Nimueh. Still, her legs would not cooperate.
The creatures seemingly came out of nowhere, screeching in some guttural language, howling battle cries, and waving strange, menacing, black sticks at her. Gwen reacted instinctively, adrenaline restoring energy to her limbs. She rolled, avoiding a blow to the head and instead was only struck in the hip. One of them tried to stomp her into the dust, literally, but Gwen remembered enough of her self-defense instruction to lash out with her arm and knock it off its feet.
She was not quick enough, however, to avoid the blow of the third creature. All went black.
Morgana groaned as she came back to consciousness, her body aching as though she had done a multi-kilometer hike through Alderaan’s mountain footpaths. She did not have long to catalog the pains of her body, as a sharp, mechanical voice assaulted her ears.
“Come on, lady, on your feet.” Hard, indifferent hands tugged on her arms, pulling her off the deck on which she had been sprawled. Before Morgana fully knew what she was about, she was surrounded by at least four stormtroopers and her hands were bound in front of her by magnetic cuffs, standard Imperial issue.
They hustled her out of the area and into the main corridors of the ship. Once she had regained her bearings, Morgana saw that they were marching toward the main hatch. Within minutes, they had arrived there, and she saw that the hatch was indeed wide open, giving her an unobstructed view of the docking bay beyond. It was filled with Imperial troops and droids. Escape was impossible.
However, a figure just inside the hatch soon caught Morgana’s attention. She peered at the figure as she was guided closer, and then pursed her lips as she recognized him. Strightening up to her fullest height, she said haughtily, “Lord Ector, I had no idea you could be so impudent!”
Lord Ector was a man of some influence within the Imperial court, being one of the Emperor’s closest friends and supporters. His acquaintance with the Emperor went back decades, and as the Emperor had made sweeping changes to the galaxy, Lord Ector’s fortunes and that of his family’s had risen alongside those changes. Lord Ector’s son, Kay, had even fancied himself an appropriate suitor for her, as she was the Emperor’s goddaughter and the only one who could even remotely be considered any kind of heir for him. Kay, however, was filled with only fanciful ideas; it had not taken much for both Morgana and her father to deter him.
Glaring at the man before her, Morgana continued. “The royal court and not to mention my parents will not stand for this! When they hear you have attacked the private ship of the Princess and future Queen of Alderaan -”
Lord Ector peered down at her with cold, distant eyes, quite the opposite of his usual expression. In her many past visits to the Imperial court on Coruscant, she had often found him to be a respectful, even sometimes warm figure, but there was no trace of that man here. He interrupted her tirade with a wave of his hand, “Do not behave as though you are surprised or outraged, Your Highness. You can be at no loss as to why I am here.”
Morgana sniffed. “I cannot fathom any reason at all for your unjustified -”
“It was perfectly justified,” he cut her off again. “A set of confidential plans were transmitted aboard this ship by Rebel spies. I demand that they be returned, immediately.”
She gave away nothing in her outward expression, but inwardly her mind raced. The plans were gone with Gwen, so there was no chance of Lord Ector’s technicians ever finding them in the Tantive IV’s databases. Still, it was alarming how quickly they had traced the transmissions to her ship and had pursued her to this point. How had they discovered her activities so fast? Had the Alliance’s spies been betrayed? Did she have a traitor among her own crew?
There was no way to answer any of these questions at the moment, so Morgana decided that the best course of action was to simply deny everything. “I have no idea of what you are talking about, my lord. I am a member of the Imperial court, Alderaan’s representative in that body, and am on my way home!”
Fury clouded the older man’s grey eyes and he loomed close to her. “You, my lady,” he sneered, his contempt obvious, “are a part of the Rebel Alliance and a traitor to His Majesty, the Emperor, your own godfather!” He gestured to her guards, roaring, “Get her out of my sight!”
One of the stormtroopers promptly shoved her toward the hatch. She managed a glimpse or two over her shoulder before she was too far away, but Morgana could see Lord Ector speaking to a black-clad officer. There had been no sign of her security forces - if any remained alive after the invasion of the ship - or her personal staff. She had no idea if any of them survived, or if they were, how long they would remain alive.
Morgana had no illusions about Uther having mercy on any of them.
She could only hope that Gwen had made it to the surface unscathed and would be able to find Jedi Master Nimueh.
When Arthur and Merlin returned to the docking bay, Merlin instantly sensed that something was off. The main entrance to the docking bay was always left closed and locked tightly when both he and Arthur were not going to be onboard the Exalibur. Mos Eisley was notorious for theft and organized crime, and it was unbelievable what they could remove from a ship or docking space in a short amount of time if given half the chance. So when Merlin saw that the door was open, he grabbed Arthur’s shoulder, bringing them both to an abrupt halt.
“What, Merlin?” Arthur asked irritably. “I still have plenty to -”
“Look,” Merlin hissed, nodding to the door in front of them.
Arthur’s reaction - pulling his blaster from the holster at his hip - was enough of an indication that he had done so. Merlin pulled his own weapon as well. He had little use for any blaster, preferring to use his own natural abilities - it was remarkable, how often one object or another would be in the perfect position to drop on an opponent’s head - but if the situation they were walking into was a bad one, then having his blaster out and ready to fire would still be a boon for both him and Arthur. Hopefully it would be enough to get them onboard the Excalibur and out of the docking bay, if need be.
They took up positions on either side of the door before peeking inside. After ensuring that no one was going to try and jump them upon coming in, they slid into the docking bay. As they came closer to the Excalibur, they saw who had infiltrated the place. Merlin grimaced at the revolting sight in front of them.
Jabba the Hutt had come calling, bringing a few of his hired guns with him.
“Pendragon!” the disgusting slug was calling toward the ship. “Emrys!”
Merlin and Arthur had no intention of replying at once, but instead continued to watch the tableau unfold. When they did not respond, Jabba turned to one of his lackeys and said, “Any chance of opening it up and dragging them out?”
Merlin snorted under his breath, earning an elbow to his side from Arthur. Nevertheless, the lackey replied, “No way, Boss. I heard that the last person who tried got fried by whatever Emrys installed on the ship, and that Pendragon shot the guy afterward and tossed his corpse on his boss’ table while he was eatin’ his supper. I’m not keen on followin’ in that guy’s footsteps.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. So the story had grown with retellings, it seemed. Granted, specially designed security system had singed the man - a thief - quite a bit. The lasting effects of the lightning defense had made Arthur stun him, just to stop the man’s cries of pain. They’d then taken the guy to his boss and left him sprawled in front of the man’s table, with the warning that trying to get his hands on their ship was probably not the best idea, possibly even a fatal one.
So now, to a fair few of the criminal underworld, both he and Arthur were vicious killers. Hardly a reputation either of them actually wanted, but it kept most of the various crime lords of the Outer Rim off their backs. Jabba was one of the more persistent ones.
Once Jabba resumed shouting their names at the ship, Arthur seemed to have had enough. Stepping out of the shadows, he demanded of the intruders’ backs, “What do you want, Jabba?”
The others whirled, many of them going for their blasters. Arthur, however, already had his out and pointed at them. Merlin stepped out of the shadows and stood at his foster brother’s shoulder, his own blaster raised and ready to fire. He also took note of several storage containers, ready to fling them at their adversaries if necessary.
Jabba ignored the potential hostilities and raised his pudgy arms. “Arthur!” he cried jubilantly. “Merlin! Excellent! Glad you’re here!” He waved a hand at his men, and they slowly lowered their weapons. After a moment, Merlin and Arthur did the same.
“Again,” Arthur drawled, “what do you want, Jabba? This is hardly your part of town.”
“Oh, I’d just heard a few things,” the Hutt said. “Thought I’d check them out for myself.”
“Heard what?” Merlin spoke up. He couldn’t read the Hutt’s intentions, unlike the rest of his hired help, and it bothered him. Jabba had always been a little too interested in Arthur, in wanting him under his thumb. Merlin had no intention of letting that happen, had indeed thwarted it more than once.
“… cash-strapped, to start with,” Jabba was saying. “I thought I’d offer you a bit of help, given how popular you are with a lot of the businesses around here. We could all be a big help to each other.”
“You mean haul your spice?” Arthur asked. He shook his head. “We’ve said it before, Jabba, we don’t touch the stuff, and we won’t have it on our ship. You’ve got plenty of smugglers who will deal with it, so let them have it.” He folded his arms. “Merlin and I have had rough patches before. We’ll get by.”
The Hutt didn’t respond right away, just stared at them. Merlin wondered if it was an attempt to intimidate them, but couldn’t be sure about it.
“Don’t be hasty, boys,” Jabba said at last. “Business for pilots and their ships is going through a big dry spell with no end in sight. You keep this up and you won’t have any money left. Mommy on Corellia certainly can’t spare you guys any.”
It was sheer willpower that kept Merlin from stiffening at the mention of his mother. Arthur, it seemed, had done the same, but he also seemed to grow taller as he stepped closer to the slug. “Don’t. Make. Threats, Jabba,” he said slowly in a low, biting tone.
If it was possible, the Hutt probably would have smirked at them. “Like I said,” he said evenly, showing no indication that he was bothered by the distinct menace in Arthur’s body language, “don’t be hasty. Think it over. I’ll be back in a few days. We can talk then.”
Jabba slithered away, moving toward the door with his goons following him. When the door slid shut behind them, Arthur let out a shout and kicked a storage container. “Slag it!”
Merlin could relate. It wasn’t pleasant, having the precarious nature of their current position thrown in their faces, as well as the fact that someone was making threats, even discrete ones, against the woman who had raised them both.
“Too bad we just can’t kill him and be done with it,” Merlin muttered. “It’d be great for our reputation. Remind everyone not to screw around with us.”
Arthur took a deep breath, visibly struggling to calm himself down. “No. We’d just have every other crime lord breathing down our necks. We kill one of their own, and they all come after us.”
Merlin didn’t say it out loud, but he had a feeling that they were both thinking it - shooting and killing Jabba might not be smart, but it would definitely make them feel better.
It was imperative that they get themselves a job. They needed to get away from Tatooine and Jabba’s probes and cajoling for a while.
Their trek across the sands and into the Jundland Wastes was a familiar one to Morgause, one she had used multiple times. It was good for physical training as well as her Jedi instruction. With the aid of the Force, both she and her mother were swift in their movements.
Nimueh finally came to a halt amid the cliffs, and Morgause stopped beside her. Peering around one jagged edge, Morgause bit back a curse. She could see three Sand People, all gathered around a crumpled form. She could not see the person’s face, but she could see the dark curls being jerked repeatedly by one of the Sand People as he and his fellows conversed in their guttural tongue.
“What are they saying?” she asked in a whisper. She was fairly well-versed in several languages, but the Sand People’s language had always eluded her. Not so for her mother.
“They’re arguing over who will lay the claim of ownership on their new slave,” Nimueh murmured back, her eyes focused on the group they were observing.
Morgause clenched her teeth. Her mother had taught her that it was paramount as a Jedi not to judge the cultures and customs of other people, but Morgause was a child of Tatooine. She knew of the atrocities committed by the Sand People on the other citizens of the planet. The people of Anchorhead still talked of the farmer’s wife who had been snatched from the edges of her husband’s farm several years ago. Her body had been found some months later, and what was left had shown all too clearly that her time with the Sand People had not been an easy one. There had been multiple forms of abuse on the woman, and Morgause could imagine that this young woman’s life would be horrible if they did not intervene.
She pulled her lightsaber from her belt. “We have to stop them.”
Morgause felt her mother’s fingers clutch her arm, but she shouldered past her, activating her blade and throwing her hood back from her face. She kept moving forward, stalking toward the Sand People. However, she stopped in shock when all three of them let out distinctively frightened shrieks and bolted in the opposite direction, leaving their quarry sprawled on the ground.
“Morgause!” Nimueh barked from behind her. “That was unnecessary.”
She shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it? Bought us enough time to get out of here before they come back with some of their friends and really outnumber us.”
Morgause moved closer to the unconscious woman, ignoring Nimueh’s long-suffering sigh, and knelt down next to her. Brushing her hair from her face, she quickly took note of all of the signs of dehydration present in her face. Grabbing her flask of water, Morgause unscrewed the cap and held the flask to the young woman’s mouth. Pouring a tiny amount into her mouth, she took it away and then closed her mouth and massaged her throat.
A moment later, the young woman coughed and began to stir. Her eyes opened, revealing them to be a dark, sleepy brown. “You’re all right, miss,” Morgause said. “You’re safe.”
The young woman swallowed, savoring the fact that her mouth was no longer dryer than the sands, and nodded weakly.
“Can you tell us your name?” Nimueh asked, having approached and now stood over Morgause’s right shoulder.
She opened her mouth a few times, her lips struggling to form the word. “G… Gwen.” Then her eyes shut and she was still again.
“We need to get her out of the suns,” Nimueh said. “She’ll be more coherent once she’s somewhere cooler.”
Morgause nodded and moved to gently start pulling the woman - Gwen - up. Nimueh grabbed the other arm and together they started back the way they came. Soon a wind picked up and began blowing the sands about, obscuring any sign that anyone - Sand People or otherwise - had ever been there.
Guinevere Antilles had been born to a modest, hard-working family in Aldera, roughly a year after the end of the Mercian War. Her father had been an officer in the Republic’s forces, one of the few to come from Alderaan. Most Alderaani were not warriors by nature, preferring to serve in different areas where they could be more useful, but her father, Thomas Antilles, had felt it his duty to serve as a soldier. He rose to the rank of Captain before being gravely injured in the Battle of Sullest. The wounds ended his military career and sent him back to Alderaan, but Thomas was not one to give up. He continued to put his skills - he was a natural when it came to technology - to use in civilian life.
His work was ultimately brought to the Prince Consort’s attention. Gorlois was hardly one to ignore talent when he saw it, and so hired Thomas. Of course, it probably helped Thomas’ case given that his wife, Anera, was the queen’s trusted chief secretary. Glynis treated Anera more as a beloved friend than an employee, and the two were in each other’s confidences. The queen even stood as godmother for her friend’s child when she was born, less than a year after Glynis had lost her own daughter.
Gwen’s early years were thus spent in Tintagel Palace, surrounded by the staff and even the royal family. She was young, barely three years old, when the queen gave birth to her second child, but by the age of eight, she was a regular visitor to the little Princess Morgana’s nursery. By the age of ten, she was considered the princess’ official companion, and at the age of sixteen, competed for the honor of being her handmaiden. Gwen was not a fool; she knew her close relationship with Morgana had probably tipped the scales in her favor, perhaps even more than they rightfully should have. Still, she had always known that her place was at Morgana’s side.
So when she regained consciousness and found herself in a strange place, her first thoughts were for Morgana. Gwen turned over the recent events in her mind, recalling everything that she was meant to do.
“Ah, you’re awake. Good.”
Gwen turned her head quickly toward the voice and discovered that she was not alone in the room. She winced inwardly, scolding herself for being so unaware of her surroundings. Now was hardly the time to be careless - not when so much depended on her.
“Yes,” she said slowly, taking in the appearance of the young woman seated in the corner of the tiny room. She had tanned skin - not unusual given they were on a planet with two suns - a head of long blonde hair, as well as fierce, steady blue eyes. “I assume I have you to thank for that?” Gwen asked carefully.
The young woman nodded. “You were about to be kidnapped by Sand People when my mother and I came upon you.” She peered at Gwen, her eyes raking over her. Gwen tried not to shiver. She felt like this woman was reading her somehow, measuring her without Gwen having to say a word. “Why were you out there in the Junland Wastes alone? You were asking for trouble. Anyone would know that.”
“I was…” Gwen trailed off, wondering how much to reveal. This woman - and her mother? - had saved her life, but her mission was hardly something to speak to a stranger about. Instead, she settled for, “I was looking for someone.”
“Who?”
Gwen stared back at her, and didn’t respond.
The blonde-haired woman pursed her lips, a sure sign of annoyance. “My mother and I only wish to help, if we can. We -”
“Peace, daughter.”
Both Gwen and the other woman turned to the door. Gwen’s eyes widened briefly. She had seen but one picture of Jedi Master Nimueh, the only one that the royal family had, before Morgana had departed on her mission. Red hair like a halo surrounding pale skin, eyes so blue they almost seemed unnatural. The woman before her had red hair, though it was now streaked with grey. The lines on her face were prominent, no doubt the result of living in such a harsh environment. Her eyes, though… they were the eyes in the photo.
“Nimueh,” Gwen murmured.
The younger woman - Nimueh’s daughter? Gwen had never heard about the Jedi having a child, of all things - stiffened and began to stand up, her posture becoming belligerent. Nimueh, though, merely raised her hand, staying any cross-questioning on her daughter’s part. “Indeed, I am Nimueh,” she stated baldly. “Forgive my daughter’s wariness. Morgause has learned to be cautious of anyone using my true name.”
Gwen nodded slowly, her eyes flicking between them. “Of course.”
Nimueh crossed the tiny room and gracefully sat down on the edge of the bed where Gwen lay. “Why do you seek me, Guinevere Antilles?”
Gwen’s eyes widened. “H-How?” she sputtered.
Nimueh’s lips twitched. “The Force tells me many things.”
“Ah.” Gwen’s education had prepared her for many things, including facts about the mysterious ‘Force’ that the Jedi had served and claimed was the source of their abilities. She wasn’t entirely sure how much she believed, but for the moment, she’d do her best to keep an open mind. Clearing her dry throat, she said, “My mistress sent me to find you. Princess Morgana Organa.”
“Why?”
She didn’t respond immediately, but instead looked around. Her cloak was hung up on the wall next to her bed. Gwen pointed at it. “There is a datapad inside my cloak,” she said. “It has the information you need.”
Nimueh did not move, but Morgause did. She searched through Gwen’s cloak for a few moments before pulling out the datapad and handing it to her mother. Nimueh glanced at it for several moments before pressing a calloused finger on one of the controls. The datapad flared to life, and a faint blue light poured out of the screen, creating a tiny hologram. Gwen instantly recognized the features of Morgana.
“Master Nimueh,” she said, her strong voice distorted by the recording, “years ago, you were an able servant of the Republic, and loyal friend to my parents. Now they beg you to assist them in their struggles against the Emperor. Forgive me for not relaying their request to you in person, but my ship has fallen under attack, and it is only a matter of time before the Emperor’s agents have me in their custody. It is because of this that I have placed information vital to the Rebellion’s mission within this datapad and entrusted it to the care of my handmaiden. My parents will know how to retrieve the information.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “We’ve fallen on desperate times, Master Jedi. Please, help us.”
Part Three
Author: angelqueen04
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 30,430 (this part 6,505)
Characters/Pairings: Morgana/Arthur, Gwen/Morgause, Merlin, Nimueh, and a host of supporting characters
Beta: uranus_ge (to whom I owe many, many thanks)
Warnings: hints of femslash, implications of torture (nothing graphic), eventual character death
Summary: It is a dark time for the galaxy. Emperor Uther has held much of known space in a violent chokehold for over two decades now. He ordered the annihilation of the Jedi Order, and demands that any person exhibiting Jedi abilities be executed for treason. His goddaughter, Princess Morgana of Alderaan, will do anything to see freedom restored to the galaxy, and serves as a spy for the Rebel Alliance. When she is captured by the Emperor’s agents, she is eventually brought into contact with Arthur Pendragon, Captain of the Excalibur. Their meeting alone will bring about changes unforeseen, as there are other, mysterious forces at work, and secrets locked away for years are about to come out. Of course, they’ll have to keep from killing each other as well.
Author's Notes: This story is a fusion of the Merlin and Star Wars universes, with the characters and a few other names/places/things all being fitted into a Star Wars setting. It was initially written for the Morgana/Arthur Big Bang, which, sadly, did not come about due to a myriad of factors. So, I'm posting this for you now. The title comes from Sir Thomas Heneage, in a poem he wrote for Elizabeth I.
Part One
Imperial Year Twenty-One
An explosion, the third of its kind, rocked the Tantive IV. Security members staggered under the blow, many of them falling against the bulkheads before righting themselves again and hurrying on their way. They raced toward the ship’s main access point while the crew continued to manage their stations as best they could.
A single woman, dressed in a simple lavender traveling gown and a blue cloak over it, also hurried through the consular ship’s corridors. She was not deaf to the mutterings of some of the more frightened people.
“We’re doomed…”
“There’ll be no escape for her Highness this time…”
She tightened her lips grimly, but said nothing and kept moving. Eventually she made it to the very bowels of the ship, near the escape pods and storage areas. “My lady?” she called softly into the dimly lit area.
“I’m here, Gwen.” Out of the shadows stepped a dark-haired young woman, her intense green eyes shadowed. She wore a dark blue traveling gown, much more elaborate than Gwen’s, its hood drawn up over her head. “Do you have it?” she asked.
“I just finished its construction,” Gwen said. She pulled a small device out of the folds of her cloak and handed it to her mistress. “I did not have time to test it, though.” She shot Morgana a sardonic look. “Our pursuers timed their arrival most ill.”
The seventeen-year-old princess took the device from her handmaiden and pressed a few of its controls. It immediately whirred to life, several lights appearing on its face. Turning it over in her hands, she examined it for several moments before finally nodded. “It seems to be working well enough,” she concluded. “You inherited your father’s talents, Gwen, and I doubt your abilities will let me down now. I -”
Morgana was abruptly cut off by another jolt to the ship. Both she and Gwen stumbled a little and Morgana nearly dropped the device. Just as soon as they both got their feet back under them, a strange series of clicking sounds poured through the hallways.
“What is that?” Gwen asked, her dark eyes widening.
Morgana straightened. “They must have put a tractor on us and are pulling us in.” She gave her handmaiden a grim look. “The Emperor’s representative must want to speak to me very badly. Come, we haven’t much time.”
She led Gwen further down the cramped corridor, finally stopping at a wall section where two escape pods were open and awaiting occupants. Morgana pulled a datapad from her robes and held it out to Gwen. “Here is where we part ways,” she told her.
Gwen froze, staring at her mistress in shock, taking the datapad merely out of habit. “What?” she sputtered. “But… my lady, surely you should be the one to go.” She glanced upward. “The Emperor’s people -”
“The Emperor’s people are precisely the reason why I cannot go, Gwen,” Morgana cut her off urgently. “They are looking for the Princess of Alderaan, and if I am not here, the Force only knows what they’ll do to the crew if they don’t find me.” She smiled bitterly. “I am Alderaan’s heir and the Emperor’s goddaughter. I doubt they’ll harm me. What’s more, they won’t miss you.”
Gwen nodded reluctantly. “No one will notice the absence of a handmaiden.”
“Exactly.” Another violent nudge of the ship kept Morgana from saying anything else, as did the sound of blaster-shots. She stiffened, glancing over her shoulder in mild alarm, and then turned back to the handmaiden. “Besides, the device only covers the presence of one person. Now, in you go.”
Gwen eyed her with concern, but did as she was told. Before she could open her mouth again, Morgana tossed Gwen’s device into the escape pod after her and then hit the controls next to the pod’s entrance. The hatch immediately slid shut, leaving Gwen alone. Moments later, Gwen could feel the pod release from the ship and knew she was on her way. Staring out the way she had come from the tiny porthole, she could see the Tantive IV dwarfed by the royal destroyer. She could faintly make out the enormous ship’s canons, and eyed them warily. These would be the moments that Gwen would find out if her life-sign suppressor actually worked.
The seconds passed in an agonizingly slow manner, but no shot came to blow her out of Tatooine’s orbit. Gwen sighed in relief as her pod was caught in the planet’s gravity and began to fall toward the surface. She worried for her mistress, but Gwen also knew that what Morgana had asked her to relay was of just as much importance as Morgana’s safety.
Morgause sat on a large bolder overlooking the Junland Wastes, her eyes glued to the sky above her. She was supposed to be meditating, working on the techniques her adoptive mother had instructed her in, but she was far too distracted. Even in the light of Tatooine’s twin suns, Morgause could see the lights and colors that made up the battle going on above the atmosphere.
It wasn’t the first time she had come out to this spot to watch ships take potshots at one another. Hardly a season went by without there being numerous instances of ships under control of different Hutt factions picking fights with one another over their shipments, who had the right to land in what hangar in what city, or just because one crew member from one ship looked at another crew member from another ship in a manner considered ‘offensive’.
Still, this conflict was different. Even without visual aides to help her see more clearly, she could still make out the ships, thanks to her own Force abilities. She could see the large triangular ship bearing down on the much smaller one, firing efficiently to disable, not destroy.
A wave of frustration went through Morgause, a familiar feeling these days. Tatooine was a desolate dustball, and nothing interesting or important had ever happened here, nor would it ever. She did not understand why her mother had chosen this place of all places to live.
Granted, it offered her anonymity from those who would hunt her down, but still, to be so far away from everything? She - they - could be doing something important, something to strike a blow against those who had destroyed her people. Morgause could be doing something to help her family, the parents who had sent her away to safety when she was but hours old and the sister she had never met. She could be helping to throw off the yoke of a monster who held the whole galaxy in his grip. Instead, Nimueh, once a great Jedi Master, was languishing away on an insignificant sandbox of a planet, doing nothing, and Morgause was irrevocably tied here as well.
Not nothing, child. I consider raising a child in the ways of the Jedi quite something. Our traditions continue on, despite Uther’s persistent efforts to wipe us out and everything we represent from the galaxy. As long as even one person remembers, then he has failed.
Now, I distinctly remember telling you to meditate.
Morgause scowled, but nodded. Yes, Mother. Closing her eyes, she began the mental exercises she had been taught as a child, submerging herself in the currents of the Force, letting it guide her thoughts.
Sparks flew on the console, which prompted a long stream of Corellian curses, followed by a distinctly annoyed bellow, “Merlin!” If anyone had been in Mos Eisley Docking Bay Ninety-Four, few would have batted an eye. Nearly anyone who knew of the Captain and the First Mate of the Excalibur knew about their rocky relationship. Arthur Pendragon constantly called his co-pilot and first mate an incompetent buffoon - or worse - and since Merlin Emrys was hardly the type to pale at insults, the younger man would snap right back.
In the cockpit of the derelict-looking ship, Merlin looked up from his diagnostics. “What?” he shouted back, perfectly composed against the ire in Arthur’s voice.
“The kriffing negative power couplings are out again!”
Merlin rolled his eyes and stood up. Leaving the cockpit, he entered the main hold to find Arthur working in the secondary control room, where much of the ship’s power stations were situated. “I told you they were on the fritz a month ago,” Merlin said. “They needed replacing then.”
Arthur turned and glared at him. “Are you saying ‘I told you so’?”
Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t I just say that?”
“I can shoot you, you know.”
“Mother would never forgive you.”
Arthur hummed skeptically, but said nothing more about it. Merlin knew that Arthur loved his mother as much as Merlin did. Arthur’s own mother was a complete mystery to him, having died giving birth to him. He didn’t even know the woman’s name. All Hunith would ever tell either of them was that a lady had brought Arthur to her when she was carrying Merlin, asking her to look after Arthur in his mother’s place. While that statement had made Arthur crow about being older than Merlin - and therefore wiser than him - when they were boys, they both knew that there was far more to the story than Hunith’s simple statements.
Merlin watched Arthur turn back to his work, and then looked over to the nearby table. Seeing the datapad lying there, he held out a hand to it. With barely a thought, the datapad skittered off the table and flew across the room, right into his hand.
Arthur didn’t even look up, but still said, “Stop showing off, Merlin.”
Merlin grinned a little and rolled his eyes. He then pulled up the list of equipment and parts they needed to purchase, and added the negative power couplings. Of course, he thought, they wouldn’t be buying anything unless they were hired for something, and that was going to be a challenge. He and Arthur were well-known for being choosy about what they’d do for people. They refused to haul spice and other drugs for the Hutts, and would not become killers who sold their blasters to the highest bidder. More often than not, they took to transporting passengers and cargo, though they always checked to make sure said passengers and cargo did not carry anything that was illegal. Arthur had his own strict code of honor, and refused to deviate from it in the name of profit. It was that attitude that always served as a reminder to Merlin that beneath the pratish behavior of his foster brother and closest friend, there really was a good heart.
As a result of their behavior, the two of them had gained something of a reputation. On the one hand, it was good because the honest travelers and business dealers were more inclined to come to them before any of the other ship captains that frequented Mos Eisley. On the other, the dishonest severely outnumbered the honest, and as such they did not see as much business as their competitors. They weren’t about to take out a loan, as the only people with the kind of money they needed were the Hutts. If they did, they’d be in debt for the rest of their lives.
What money they currently had in their accounts would keep them fed for a few more weeks, but after that, things were going to get hard. It wasn’t like Merlin could use his own abilities to make money for them in between jobs. Not with the state of the galaxy or with the ever-increasing presence of Imperial stormtroopers on Tatooine. To even hint at having such abilities would be a death sentence for him, and Merlin doubted that Arthur would be spared either.
Merlin sighed. He knew, down to his bones, that Arthur was meant for a life greater than this. Merlin just had to make sure that Arthur lived to see it.
After seeing Gwen safely off the ship, Morgana went hunting. The blaster fire that she and her handmaid had heard could still be heard in sporadic bursts, which led her to think that the invaders of the Tantive IV were slowly pushing her security team back. It was only a matter of time before she stumbled upon stormtroopers seeking any people who tried to hide from them.
She was right. Not twenty minutes of quiet stalking saw her come upon a group of five stormtroopers, poking about the escape pods. Morgana slid into the shadows, watching them and feeling grateful that the ship was running now only on emergency power. It made it much easier to hide.
However, one misstep proved her undoing. While trying to shift closer to her quarry, Morgana brushed against several loose containers, and the shifting of the objects caught the stormtroopers attention.
“There’s one,” the leader of the group said, his voice unattractively mechanical beneath his ugly white helmet. “Set for stun.”
Morgana didn’t give the man a chance to say anything else. She raised her blaster pistol and opened fire. Her shot hit the leader straight in the chest, piercing his armor. She fired a few more times, but that only caused the others to take whatever cover they could. Morgana quickly found herself in a disadvantaged position and knew she had to fall back, find a new spot from which to attack from. She began to retreat back down the corridor, but that was when her opponents received reinforcements. She kept firing at them, but it was a matter of sheer numbers. She hit one or two, but one was able to get a clear shot at her - and it only took one.
Blue light raced toward her, so different from her own lethal red blasterbolts, and Morgana fell into darkness, cursing her ill-luck.
Falling. Falling. Stopping. Hatch opening. The harsh, glaring sun. Dismal surroundings. Walking. Little relief in the rocky area. Little water left. So tired. Attack! Horrid creatures wrapped in rags! What -
Nimueh’s eyes shot open. Instinctively, she leapt to her feet and moved toward the small chest she kept at the foot of her small bed. Lifting it open, she reached in and took out the two lightsabers enclosed in there. “Morgause!” she called urgently.
Her fosterling’s eyes shot open across the room, and she peered up at her. “What is it?”
“Come,” she ordered, tossing one of the lightsabers at her. Nimueh did not even look in her direction to see if Morgause caught it or it smacked into her forehead. “We are needed.”
Gwen was fairly certain she was going to die. She’d lost count of how long she had been walking under the relentless suns of this Force-forsaken planet, lost count of how long ago it had been since she’d been separated from her mistress and friend. She’d found a rocky, more mountainous area, but it had provided little in the way of shade from the suns’ rays. The water that had been in the escape pod was down to all but a few drops.
She finally could not walk any further, and collapsed against an area of the cliff-face that offered some moderate shade. Slowly, her knees began to bend, and she crumbled to the ground.
She had to get up, Gwen told herself. The message had to be delivered. Morgana was counting on her, the Alliance was counting on her. She had to find Jedi Master Nimueh. Still, her legs would not cooperate.
The creatures seemingly came out of nowhere, screeching in some guttural language, howling battle cries, and waving strange, menacing, black sticks at her. Gwen reacted instinctively, adrenaline restoring energy to her limbs. She rolled, avoiding a blow to the head and instead was only struck in the hip. One of them tried to stomp her into the dust, literally, but Gwen remembered enough of her self-defense instruction to lash out with her arm and knock it off its feet.
She was not quick enough, however, to avoid the blow of the third creature. All went black.
Morgana groaned as she came back to consciousness, her body aching as though she had done a multi-kilometer hike through Alderaan’s mountain footpaths. She did not have long to catalog the pains of her body, as a sharp, mechanical voice assaulted her ears.
“Come on, lady, on your feet.” Hard, indifferent hands tugged on her arms, pulling her off the deck on which she had been sprawled. Before Morgana fully knew what she was about, she was surrounded by at least four stormtroopers and her hands were bound in front of her by magnetic cuffs, standard Imperial issue.
They hustled her out of the area and into the main corridors of the ship. Once she had regained her bearings, Morgana saw that they were marching toward the main hatch. Within minutes, they had arrived there, and she saw that the hatch was indeed wide open, giving her an unobstructed view of the docking bay beyond. It was filled with Imperial troops and droids. Escape was impossible.
However, a figure just inside the hatch soon caught Morgana’s attention. She peered at the figure as she was guided closer, and then pursed her lips as she recognized him. Strightening up to her fullest height, she said haughtily, “Lord Ector, I had no idea you could be so impudent!”
Lord Ector was a man of some influence within the Imperial court, being one of the Emperor’s closest friends and supporters. His acquaintance with the Emperor went back decades, and as the Emperor had made sweeping changes to the galaxy, Lord Ector’s fortunes and that of his family’s had risen alongside those changes. Lord Ector’s son, Kay, had even fancied himself an appropriate suitor for her, as she was the Emperor’s goddaughter and the only one who could even remotely be considered any kind of heir for him. Kay, however, was filled with only fanciful ideas; it had not taken much for both Morgana and her father to deter him.
Glaring at the man before her, Morgana continued. “The royal court and not to mention my parents will not stand for this! When they hear you have attacked the private ship of the Princess and future Queen of Alderaan -”
Lord Ector peered down at her with cold, distant eyes, quite the opposite of his usual expression. In her many past visits to the Imperial court on Coruscant, she had often found him to be a respectful, even sometimes warm figure, but there was no trace of that man here. He interrupted her tirade with a wave of his hand, “Do not behave as though you are surprised or outraged, Your Highness. You can be at no loss as to why I am here.”
Morgana sniffed. “I cannot fathom any reason at all for your unjustified -”
“It was perfectly justified,” he cut her off again. “A set of confidential plans were transmitted aboard this ship by Rebel spies. I demand that they be returned, immediately.”
She gave away nothing in her outward expression, but inwardly her mind raced. The plans were gone with Gwen, so there was no chance of Lord Ector’s technicians ever finding them in the Tantive IV’s databases. Still, it was alarming how quickly they had traced the transmissions to her ship and had pursued her to this point. How had they discovered her activities so fast? Had the Alliance’s spies been betrayed? Did she have a traitor among her own crew?
There was no way to answer any of these questions at the moment, so Morgana decided that the best course of action was to simply deny everything. “I have no idea of what you are talking about, my lord. I am a member of the Imperial court, Alderaan’s representative in that body, and am on my way home!”
Fury clouded the older man’s grey eyes and he loomed close to her. “You, my lady,” he sneered, his contempt obvious, “are a part of the Rebel Alliance and a traitor to His Majesty, the Emperor, your own godfather!” He gestured to her guards, roaring, “Get her out of my sight!”
One of the stormtroopers promptly shoved her toward the hatch. She managed a glimpse or two over her shoulder before she was too far away, but Morgana could see Lord Ector speaking to a black-clad officer. There had been no sign of her security forces - if any remained alive after the invasion of the ship - or her personal staff. She had no idea if any of them survived, or if they were, how long they would remain alive.
Morgana had no illusions about Uther having mercy on any of them.
She could only hope that Gwen had made it to the surface unscathed and would be able to find Jedi Master Nimueh.
When Arthur and Merlin returned to the docking bay, Merlin instantly sensed that something was off. The main entrance to the docking bay was always left closed and locked tightly when both he and Arthur were not going to be onboard the Exalibur. Mos Eisley was notorious for theft and organized crime, and it was unbelievable what they could remove from a ship or docking space in a short amount of time if given half the chance. So when Merlin saw that the door was open, he grabbed Arthur’s shoulder, bringing them both to an abrupt halt.
“What, Merlin?” Arthur asked irritably. “I still have plenty to -”
“Look,” Merlin hissed, nodding to the door in front of them.
Arthur’s reaction - pulling his blaster from the holster at his hip - was enough of an indication that he had done so. Merlin pulled his own weapon as well. He had little use for any blaster, preferring to use his own natural abilities - it was remarkable, how often one object or another would be in the perfect position to drop on an opponent’s head - but if the situation they were walking into was a bad one, then having his blaster out and ready to fire would still be a boon for both him and Arthur. Hopefully it would be enough to get them onboard the Excalibur and out of the docking bay, if need be.
They took up positions on either side of the door before peeking inside. After ensuring that no one was going to try and jump them upon coming in, they slid into the docking bay. As they came closer to the Excalibur, they saw who had infiltrated the place. Merlin grimaced at the revolting sight in front of them.
Jabba the Hutt had come calling, bringing a few of his hired guns with him.
“Pendragon!” the disgusting slug was calling toward the ship. “Emrys!”
Merlin and Arthur had no intention of replying at once, but instead continued to watch the tableau unfold. When they did not respond, Jabba turned to one of his lackeys and said, “Any chance of opening it up and dragging them out?”
Merlin snorted under his breath, earning an elbow to his side from Arthur. Nevertheless, the lackey replied, “No way, Boss. I heard that the last person who tried got fried by whatever Emrys installed on the ship, and that Pendragon shot the guy afterward and tossed his corpse on his boss’ table while he was eatin’ his supper. I’m not keen on followin’ in that guy’s footsteps.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. So the story had grown with retellings, it seemed. Granted, specially designed security system had singed the man - a thief - quite a bit. The lasting effects of the lightning defense had made Arthur stun him, just to stop the man’s cries of pain. They’d then taken the guy to his boss and left him sprawled in front of the man’s table, with the warning that trying to get his hands on their ship was probably not the best idea, possibly even a fatal one.
So now, to a fair few of the criminal underworld, both he and Arthur were vicious killers. Hardly a reputation either of them actually wanted, but it kept most of the various crime lords of the Outer Rim off their backs. Jabba was one of the more persistent ones.
Once Jabba resumed shouting their names at the ship, Arthur seemed to have had enough. Stepping out of the shadows, he demanded of the intruders’ backs, “What do you want, Jabba?”
The others whirled, many of them going for their blasters. Arthur, however, already had his out and pointed at them. Merlin stepped out of the shadows and stood at his foster brother’s shoulder, his own blaster raised and ready to fire. He also took note of several storage containers, ready to fling them at their adversaries if necessary.
Jabba ignored the potential hostilities and raised his pudgy arms. “Arthur!” he cried jubilantly. “Merlin! Excellent! Glad you’re here!” He waved a hand at his men, and they slowly lowered their weapons. After a moment, Merlin and Arthur did the same.
“Again,” Arthur drawled, “what do you want, Jabba? This is hardly your part of town.”
“Oh, I’d just heard a few things,” the Hutt said. “Thought I’d check them out for myself.”
“Heard what?” Merlin spoke up. He couldn’t read the Hutt’s intentions, unlike the rest of his hired help, and it bothered him. Jabba had always been a little too interested in Arthur, in wanting him under his thumb. Merlin had no intention of letting that happen, had indeed thwarted it more than once.
“… cash-strapped, to start with,” Jabba was saying. “I thought I’d offer you a bit of help, given how popular you are with a lot of the businesses around here. We could all be a big help to each other.”
“You mean haul your spice?” Arthur asked. He shook his head. “We’ve said it before, Jabba, we don’t touch the stuff, and we won’t have it on our ship. You’ve got plenty of smugglers who will deal with it, so let them have it.” He folded his arms. “Merlin and I have had rough patches before. We’ll get by.”
The Hutt didn’t respond right away, just stared at them. Merlin wondered if it was an attempt to intimidate them, but couldn’t be sure about it.
“Don’t be hasty, boys,” Jabba said at last. “Business for pilots and their ships is going through a big dry spell with no end in sight. You keep this up and you won’t have any money left. Mommy on Corellia certainly can’t spare you guys any.”
It was sheer willpower that kept Merlin from stiffening at the mention of his mother. Arthur, it seemed, had done the same, but he also seemed to grow taller as he stepped closer to the slug. “Don’t. Make. Threats, Jabba,” he said slowly in a low, biting tone.
If it was possible, the Hutt probably would have smirked at them. “Like I said,” he said evenly, showing no indication that he was bothered by the distinct menace in Arthur’s body language, “don’t be hasty. Think it over. I’ll be back in a few days. We can talk then.”
Jabba slithered away, moving toward the door with his goons following him. When the door slid shut behind them, Arthur let out a shout and kicked a storage container. “Slag it!”
Merlin could relate. It wasn’t pleasant, having the precarious nature of their current position thrown in their faces, as well as the fact that someone was making threats, even discrete ones, against the woman who had raised them both.
“Too bad we just can’t kill him and be done with it,” Merlin muttered. “It’d be great for our reputation. Remind everyone not to screw around with us.”
Arthur took a deep breath, visibly struggling to calm himself down. “No. We’d just have every other crime lord breathing down our necks. We kill one of their own, and they all come after us.”
Merlin didn’t say it out loud, but he had a feeling that they were both thinking it - shooting and killing Jabba might not be smart, but it would definitely make them feel better.
It was imperative that they get themselves a job. They needed to get away from Tatooine and Jabba’s probes and cajoling for a while.
Their trek across the sands and into the Jundland Wastes was a familiar one to Morgause, one she had used multiple times. It was good for physical training as well as her Jedi instruction. With the aid of the Force, both she and her mother were swift in their movements.
Nimueh finally came to a halt amid the cliffs, and Morgause stopped beside her. Peering around one jagged edge, Morgause bit back a curse. She could see three Sand People, all gathered around a crumpled form. She could not see the person’s face, but she could see the dark curls being jerked repeatedly by one of the Sand People as he and his fellows conversed in their guttural tongue.
“What are they saying?” she asked in a whisper. She was fairly well-versed in several languages, but the Sand People’s language had always eluded her. Not so for her mother.
“They’re arguing over who will lay the claim of ownership on their new slave,” Nimueh murmured back, her eyes focused on the group they were observing.
Morgause clenched her teeth. Her mother had taught her that it was paramount as a Jedi not to judge the cultures and customs of other people, but Morgause was a child of Tatooine. She knew of the atrocities committed by the Sand People on the other citizens of the planet. The people of Anchorhead still talked of the farmer’s wife who had been snatched from the edges of her husband’s farm several years ago. Her body had been found some months later, and what was left had shown all too clearly that her time with the Sand People had not been an easy one. There had been multiple forms of abuse on the woman, and Morgause could imagine that this young woman’s life would be horrible if they did not intervene.
She pulled her lightsaber from her belt. “We have to stop them.”
Morgause felt her mother’s fingers clutch her arm, but she shouldered past her, activating her blade and throwing her hood back from her face. She kept moving forward, stalking toward the Sand People. However, she stopped in shock when all three of them let out distinctively frightened shrieks and bolted in the opposite direction, leaving their quarry sprawled on the ground.
“Morgause!” Nimueh barked from behind her. “That was unnecessary.”
She shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it? Bought us enough time to get out of here before they come back with some of their friends and really outnumber us.”
Morgause moved closer to the unconscious woman, ignoring Nimueh’s long-suffering sigh, and knelt down next to her. Brushing her hair from her face, she quickly took note of all of the signs of dehydration present in her face. Grabbing her flask of water, Morgause unscrewed the cap and held the flask to the young woman’s mouth. Pouring a tiny amount into her mouth, she took it away and then closed her mouth and massaged her throat.
A moment later, the young woman coughed and began to stir. Her eyes opened, revealing them to be a dark, sleepy brown. “You’re all right, miss,” Morgause said. “You’re safe.”
The young woman swallowed, savoring the fact that her mouth was no longer dryer than the sands, and nodded weakly.
“Can you tell us your name?” Nimueh asked, having approached and now stood over Morgause’s right shoulder.
She opened her mouth a few times, her lips struggling to form the word. “G… Gwen.” Then her eyes shut and she was still again.
“We need to get her out of the suns,” Nimueh said. “She’ll be more coherent once she’s somewhere cooler.”
Morgause nodded and moved to gently start pulling the woman - Gwen - up. Nimueh grabbed the other arm and together they started back the way they came. Soon a wind picked up and began blowing the sands about, obscuring any sign that anyone - Sand People or otherwise - had ever been there.
Guinevere Antilles had been born to a modest, hard-working family in Aldera, roughly a year after the end of the Mercian War. Her father had been an officer in the Republic’s forces, one of the few to come from Alderaan. Most Alderaani were not warriors by nature, preferring to serve in different areas where they could be more useful, but her father, Thomas Antilles, had felt it his duty to serve as a soldier. He rose to the rank of Captain before being gravely injured in the Battle of Sullest. The wounds ended his military career and sent him back to Alderaan, but Thomas was not one to give up. He continued to put his skills - he was a natural when it came to technology - to use in civilian life.
His work was ultimately brought to the Prince Consort’s attention. Gorlois was hardly one to ignore talent when he saw it, and so hired Thomas. Of course, it probably helped Thomas’ case given that his wife, Anera, was the queen’s trusted chief secretary. Glynis treated Anera more as a beloved friend than an employee, and the two were in each other’s confidences. The queen even stood as godmother for her friend’s child when she was born, less than a year after Glynis had lost her own daughter.
Gwen’s early years were thus spent in Tintagel Palace, surrounded by the staff and even the royal family. She was young, barely three years old, when the queen gave birth to her second child, but by the age of eight, she was a regular visitor to the little Princess Morgana’s nursery. By the age of ten, she was considered the princess’ official companion, and at the age of sixteen, competed for the honor of being her handmaiden. Gwen was not a fool; she knew her close relationship with Morgana had probably tipped the scales in her favor, perhaps even more than they rightfully should have. Still, she had always known that her place was at Morgana’s side.
So when she regained consciousness and found herself in a strange place, her first thoughts were for Morgana. Gwen turned over the recent events in her mind, recalling everything that she was meant to do.
“Ah, you’re awake. Good.”
Gwen turned her head quickly toward the voice and discovered that she was not alone in the room. She winced inwardly, scolding herself for being so unaware of her surroundings. Now was hardly the time to be careless - not when so much depended on her.
“Yes,” she said slowly, taking in the appearance of the young woman seated in the corner of the tiny room. She had tanned skin - not unusual given they were on a planet with two suns - a head of long blonde hair, as well as fierce, steady blue eyes. “I assume I have you to thank for that?” Gwen asked carefully.
The young woman nodded. “You were about to be kidnapped by Sand People when my mother and I came upon you.” She peered at Gwen, her eyes raking over her. Gwen tried not to shiver. She felt like this woman was reading her somehow, measuring her without Gwen having to say a word. “Why were you out there in the Junland Wastes alone? You were asking for trouble. Anyone would know that.”
“I was…” Gwen trailed off, wondering how much to reveal. This woman - and her mother? - had saved her life, but her mission was hardly something to speak to a stranger about. Instead, she settled for, “I was looking for someone.”
“Who?”
Gwen stared back at her, and didn’t respond.
The blonde-haired woman pursed her lips, a sure sign of annoyance. “My mother and I only wish to help, if we can. We -”
“Peace, daughter.”
Both Gwen and the other woman turned to the door. Gwen’s eyes widened briefly. She had seen but one picture of Jedi Master Nimueh, the only one that the royal family had, before Morgana had departed on her mission. Red hair like a halo surrounding pale skin, eyes so blue they almost seemed unnatural. The woman before her had red hair, though it was now streaked with grey. The lines on her face were prominent, no doubt the result of living in such a harsh environment. Her eyes, though… they were the eyes in the photo.
“Nimueh,” Gwen murmured.
The younger woman - Nimueh’s daughter? Gwen had never heard about the Jedi having a child, of all things - stiffened and began to stand up, her posture becoming belligerent. Nimueh, though, merely raised her hand, staying any cross-questioning on her daughter’s part. “Indeed, I am Nimueh,” she stated baldly. “Forgive my daughter’s wariness. Morgause has learned to be cautious of anyone using my true name.”
Gwen nodded slowly, her eyes flicking between them. “Of course.”
Nimueh crossed the tiny room and gracefully sat down on the edge of the bed where Gwen lay. “Why do you seek me, Guinevere Antilles?”
Gwen’s eyes widened. “H-How?” she sputtered.
Nimueh’s lips twitched. “The Force tells me many things.”
“Ah.” Gwen’s education had prepared her for many things, including facts about the mysterious ‘Force’ that the Jedi had served and claimed was the source of their abilities. She wasn’t entirely sure how much she believed, but for the moment, she’d do her best to keep an open mind. Clearing her dry throat, she said, “My mistress sent me to find you. Princess Morgana Organa.”
“Why?”
She didn’t respond immediately, but instead looked around. Her cloak was hung up on the wall next to her bed. Gwen pointed at it. “There is a datapad inside my cloak,” she said. “It has the information you need.”
Nimueh did not move, but Morgause did. She searched through Gwen’s cloak for a few moments before pulling out the datapad and handing it to her mother. Nimueh glanced at it for several moments before pressing a calloused finger on one of the controls. The datapad flared to life, and a faint blue light poured out of the screen, creating a tiny hologram. Gwen instantly recognized the features of Morgana.
“Master Nimueh,” she said, her strong voice distorted by the recording, “years ago, you were an able servant of the Republic, and loyal friend to my parents. Now they beg you to assist them in their struggles against the Emperor. Forgive me for not relaying their request to you in person, but my ship has fallen under attack, and it is only a matter of time before the Emperor’s agents have me in their custody. It is because of this that I have placed information vital to the Rebellion’s mission within this datapad and entrusted it to the care of my handmaiden. My parents will know how to retrieve the information.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “We’ve fallen on desperate times, Master Jedi. Please, help us.”
Part Three