FicWad

Additional Author's Note: Lengthy pieces in italics either denote information being passed on through the Force directly via memory-impressions (in which case some memories will, necessarily, be a bit repetitive, so please bear with me!) or else they are the words/thoughts of Force spirits.



He has to hand it to him: Palpatine plays his helpless-hostage role perfectly. "Get help!" The edge of panic in that hoarse half whisper sounds shockingly real even to Dooku. "You must get help. Neither of you is any match for a Sith Lord!"

Now Skywalker turns, meeting Dooku's direct gaze for the first time since the abandoned hangar on Geonosis. His reply is clearly intended as much for Dooku as it is for Palpatine. "Tell that to the one Obi-Wan left in pieces on Naboo. Obi-Wan is renown the galaxy over as the Sith-Killer: Sith Lords are our speciality, Chancellor."

Dooku's mouth twists scornfully. Humph. Empty bravado. Maul had been nothing more than an animal, barely worthy of the appellation Darth. A skilled animal, yes, and certainly clever enough and brutal enough to carry out a few simple tasks, including several assassinations needed to further Sidious' plans, but a beast nonetheless.

"Anakin - " In the Force, Dooku can feel Obi-Wan's quiet disapproval for Skywalker's boast in Obi-Wan's name, just as he can also feel Obi-Wan's effortless self-restraint in focusing on the matter at hand. "This time, we do it together."

Dooku's sharp eye picks up the tightening of Skywalker's droid hand on his lightsaber's grip. "I was about to say exactly that, Master." The boy sounds almost hurt! Dooku shakes his head, frowning, as Obi-Wan turns his head slightly to one side, momentarily, and looks at Anakin with a smile that can only be described as lovingly reassuring. Startlingly, Skywalker settles immediately, an aura of almost joyful serenity descending upon him, his stormy presence within the Force calming. Dooku's eyes widen and his frown deepens. There is something about the relationship between these two . . .

Ah, well. No time to puzzle over such things now.

Dooku leans forward, his cloak of armorweave spreading out around him like dark wings, and he lifts gently into the air, descending to the main level in a slow, dignified Force-glide. Touching down at the head of the situation table, he regards the two Jedi from under one mildly lifted elegant brow. "Your weapons, please, gentlemen. Let's not make a mess of this in front of the Chancellor."

Obi-Wan lifts his lightsaber into the familiar balanced two-handed guard of Ataro: Qui-Gon's style, and Yoda's. His blade crackles into existence, a slightly deeper shade of blue than Skywalker's, and the air suddenly smells of lightning. "You won't escape us this time, Dooku," he says quietly, warningly.

"Escape you? Please." Dooku allows his customary mild smile to spread. "Do you think I orchestrated this entire operation with the intent to escape? I could have taken the Chancellor outsystem hours ago. But I have better things to do with my life than to babysit him while I wait for the pair of you to attempt a rescue."

Skywalker brings his lightsaber to a Shien ready, the hand of black-gloved durasteel cocked high at his shoulder, blade angling upward and away. His words, when he speaks, are oddly certain. "This is a little more than an attempt."

"And a little less than a rescue." With a flourish, Dooku casts his cloak back from his right shoulder, clearing his sword arm - which he uses to gesture with almost languid idleness at the pair of super battle droids still on the entrance balcony above. "Now please, gentlemen. Must I order the droids to open fire? That becomes so untidy, what with blaster bolts bouncing about at random. There would be little danger to the three of us, of course, but I should certainly hate for any harm to come to the Chancellor."

Kenobi moves towards him with a slow, hypnotic grace, as though he were floating upon an invisible repulsor plate. His eyes, strangely, appear to be smiling. "Why do I find that difficult to believe?"

Skywalker mirrors him, swinging wide towards Dooku's flank. "You weren't nearly so particular about bloodshed on Geonosis," he notes quietly.

"Ah." Dooku's smile spreads even farther. "And how is Senator Amidala?"

"Don't - " The thunderstorm that, only moments ago, had been Skywalker within the Force boils back into existence with a sudden furious power. "Don't even speak her name."

Dooku waves this aside. The lad's personal issues are much too tiresome to pursue; he knows far too much already about Skywalker's incredibly messy private life. "I bear Chancellor Palpatine no ill will, you foolish boy. He is neither soldier nor spy, whereas you and your friend here are both. It is only an unfortunate accident of history that he has chosen to defend a corrupt Republic against my endeavor to reform it."

"You mean destroy it."

"The Chancellor is a civilian. You and General Kenobi, on the other hand, are legitimate military targets. It is up to you whether you will accompany me as captives - " a twitch of the Force brings his lightsaber to his hand with invisible speed, its brilliant scarlet blade angled downward at his side " - or as corpses."

"Now, there's a coincidence," Kenobi replies dryly as he swings around Dooku to place the Count precisely between Skywalker and himself. "You face the identical choice."

Dooku regards each of them in turn with impregnable calm. He lifts his blade in the Makashi salute before sweeping it into a low guard again. "Just because there are two of you, do not presume you have the advantage."

"Oh, we know," Skywalker smiles slowly. "Because there are two of you."

Dooku barely manages to restrain a jolt of surprise. Have these two somehow managed to discover the truth - ?

"Or maybe I should say there were/ two of you," the young Jedi continues, teeth flashing in what almost appears to be a snarl rather than a smile. "We're on to your partner /Sidious; we tracked him all over the galaxy. He's probably in Jedi custody right now."

"Is he?" Dooku relaxes again. He is, for a moment, terribly, terribly tempted to wink at Palpatine, but of course that would never do. "How very . . . fortunate for you," he finally simply smiles at them.

"Surrender." Obi-Wan's voice resounds with finality. "You will be given no further chance, Dooku."

Dooku merely lifts an eyebrow. "Unless one of you happens to be carrying Yoda in his pocket, I hardly think I shall need one."

The Force crackles between them for another heartbeat, and then the ship is pitching and bucking under a new turbolaser barrage, and Dooku decides that the time has come. He flicks a false glance over his shoulder - a hint of distraction to draw the attack -

And all three of them move at once.

The ship shudders and when Dooku gives the slightest glance of concern over his left shoulder, as if distracted, for half an instant, Skywalker simply cannot wait anymore. He springs, his lightsaber angled for the kill.

Obi-Wan leaps from Dooku's far side, somehow effortlessly managing to act in perfect coordination with Skywalker's precipitous spring - and then the two Jedi meet in midair, for the Sith Lord is no longer between them.

Skywalker manages to look up just in time to glimpse the bottom of Dooku's black rancor-leather boot as it comes down onto his face and throws him tumbling towards the floor. The boy automatically reaches into the Force to effortlessly right himself and touches down in perfect balance to spring again, out towards the lightning flares, scarlet against sky blue, that spray from clashing lightsabers as Dooku presses Obi-Wan away with a succession of weaving, flourishing thrusts that drive the Jedi Master's blade out of line while they also appear to reach for his heart. Skywalker launches himself at Dooku's back - and the Count half turns, gesturing casually while holding Obi-Wan at bay with an elegant one-handed bind. Chairs leap up from the situation table and whirl towards Anakin's head. He slashes the first one in half contemptuously, but the second catches him across the knees and the third batters his shoulder and knocks him down. Skywalker snarls to himself and reaches through the Force to pick up some chairs of his own, only to have the situation table itself slam into him and drive him back to crush him against the wall. His lightsaber comes loose from his slackening fingers and clatters across the tabletop to drop to the floor on the far side. Dooku barely even seems to be paying attention to the young Jedi Knight, instead focusing on effortlessly deflecting a rain of blue-streaking cuts from Obi-Wan. Pinned, breathless, Skywalker snarls again and shoves.

Dooku feels the Force shove the situation table away from the wall and send it hurtling towards his back with astonishing speed; he barely manages to lift himself enough that he can backroll over it instead of having it shatter his spine. "My, my," he notes, chuckling. "The boy has some power after all." His backroll brings him to his feet directly in front of the lad, who is charging, headlong and unarmed, after the table he has tossed, and is already thoroughly red in the face.

"I'm twice the Jedi I was last time!"

Ah, /Dooku thinks. /Such a fragile little ego. Sidious likely has much to do with it. Obi-Wan will have to work with him to overcome it. He will never reach his true potential while he remains so unsure of himself. But until then -

The grip of Skywalker's lightsaber whistles through the air to meet his hand in perfect synchrony with a sweeping slash. "My powers have doubled since we last met - "

"How very lovely for you," Dooku remarks dryly as he neatly sidesteps the blow, cutting at the boy's leg, yet Skywalker's blade meets the cut as he passes and he manages to sweep his blade behind his head to slap aside the casual thrust Dooku aims at the back of his neck - but his clumsy charge has put him directly into Obi-Wan's path, so that the Jedi Master has to Force-roll over his partner's head.

Directly at Dooku's upraised blade.

Kenobi drives a slash at the scarlet blade while he pivots effortlessly in the air, and again Dooku sidesteps so that now it is Kenobi in Skywalker's way. "Really," Dooku half laughs and half scolds, "this is pathetic."

Oh, they are certainly energetic enough, leaping and whirling, raining blows almost at random, cutting chairs to pieces and Force-hurling them in every conceivable direction, while Dooku continues, in his gracefully methodical way, to out-maneuver them so thoroughly it is all he can to do keep from laughing out loud. It is a simple matter of countering their tactics, which are depressingly straightforward; Skywalker is the swift one, whooshing here and there like a spastic hawk-bat - attempting a Jedi variant of neek-in-the-middle so that they can come at him from both sides - while Kenobi comes on in a measured Shii-Cho cadence, deliberate as a lumberdroid, moving step by step, cutting off the angles, clumsy but relentlessly dogged as he tries to chivvy Dooku into a corner. All Dooku ever need do is to slip from one side to another - and occasionally flip over a head here and there - so that he can fight each of them in turn, rather than both of them at the same time. He supposes that, in their own milieu, they might have actually proved reasonably effective; it is quite clear that their style has been developed by fighting as a team against large numbers of opponents. They are, however, clearly not prepared to fight together against a single Force-user, and certainly not one of Dooku's power, while Dooku, on the other hand, has always fought alone. It is laughably easy to keep the Jedi tripping and stumbling and getting in each others way. They don't even display the faintest inkling of comprehending how utterly Dooku is dominating the combat. Because they fight as they have been trained, by releasing all desire and allowing the Force to flow through them, they have no hope of countering Dooku's mastery of Sith techniques. They seem to have learned nothing at all since the day he bested them on Geonosis.

It is . . . disappointing, strangely.

Kenobi and Skywalker allow the Force to direct them; Dooku, meanwhile, directs the Force. He draws their strikes to his parries and drives his own ripostes with thrusts of power - drawn from an ever-present connection the Dark Side - that subtly alter the Jedi's balance and disrupts their timing. The entire process of stringing them along and allowing them to continue to think that they have a chance of defeating him is . . . tiresome. Not to mention tiring. The Dark power that serves him only goes so far, after all, and he is not a young man any longer. Resisting a strong urge to scowl, Dooku leans into a thrust at Kenobi's gut that the Jedi Master deflects with a rising parry, bringing them chest-to-chest, blades flaring, locked together a handbreadth from each other's throats. "Your moves are too slow, Kenobi. Too predictable. You'll have to do better," Dooku quietly promises.

Obi-Wan's response to this friendly word of advice is to regard him with a twinkle of gentle amusement in his eye. "Very well, then," the Jedi smiles, and then shoots straight upward over Dooku's head so fast it seems as if he's vanished.

In the space where Obi-Wan Kenobi's chest had been is now only the blue lightning of Skywalker's blade driving straight for Dooku's heart.

Only a desperate whirl to one side makes what would have been a smoking hole in his chest into a line of scorch through his armorweave cloak.

Dooku blinks, shocked. What the - ?

He throws himself spinning up and away from the two Jedi to land on the situation table, disengaging for a moment to recover his composure - that last trick of their had been entirely too close - but by the time his boots touch down Obi-Wan is there to meet him, his blade weaving through a defensive velocity so bewilderingly fast that Dooku dares not even try a strike. Instead, he throws a feint towards the young Jedi Master's face and then drops and spins in a reverse ankle-sweep -

But not only does Obi-Wan easily overleap this attack, Dooku nearly loses his own foot to a slash from Skywalker, who has again come out of nowhere and immediately carves his way through the table so that it collapses under Dooku's weight and dumps the Sith Lord gracelessly, unceremoniously, into the floor.

This is not in the plan.

Skywalker slams his following strike down so hard that the shock of deflecting it buckles Dooku's elbows. Dooku throws himself into a backroll that brings him to his feet - and Obi-Wan's blade is there to meet his neck. Only a desperate whirling slashblock, coupled with a wheel-kick that catches Kenobi on the thigh, buys him enough time to leap away again, and when he touches down this time Skywalker is already there. The first overhand chop of Skywalker's blue blade slides off of Dooku's instinctive guard. The second bends Dooku's wrist. The third flash of blue lightning forces Dooku's scarlet blade so far to the inside that his own lightsaber scorches his shoulder and Dooku is forced to give ground to avoid having his own blade driven deep into the meat of his shoulder. Dooku feels himself blanch. Where has this suddenly come from? Young Skywalker comes on, mechanically inexorable, impossibly powerful, a destroyer droid with a lightsaber: each step is a blow and each blow is a step. Dooku backs away as fast as he dares and Skywalker stays right on top of him. Soon, Dooku's breath goes short and hard. He no longer tries to block Skywalker's strikes but only to guide them so that they will slant away; he cannot meet Skywalker strength-to-strength - not only does the boy wield tremendous reserves of Force energy, but his sheer physical power is astonishing -

And only then does Dooku understand that he's been suckered.

Skywalker's Shien ready-stance had been a ruse, as had his Ataro gymnastics; the boy is a Djem So stylist, and as fine a one as Dooku has ever seen. His own elegant Makashi simply does not and cannot generate the kinetic power necessary to meet Djem So head-to-head. Especially not while also defending against a second attacker.

It is time to alter his own tactics.

He drops low and spins into another reverse ankle-sweep - the weakness of Djem So is its lack of mobility - that slaps Skywalker's boot sharply enough to throw the young Jedi Knight off balance, giving Dooku the opportunity to leap away -

Only to find himself again facing the wheel of bright blue lightning that is Obi-Wan Kenobi's lightsaber blade.

Obi-Wan's Master had been Qui-Gon Jinn, Dooku's own Padawan: Dooku fenced with Qui-Gon thousands of times, and he knows every weakness of the Ataro form, with its ridiculous acrobatics. He drives a series of flashing thrusts towards Kenobi's legs to draw the Jedi Master into a flipping overhead leap so that Dooku can incapacitate him and create the illusion of a death-blow by burning just past his spine from behind his kidneys up to his shoulder blades - a painful and dangerous wound, yes, but not truly a life-threatening one, when angled in such a manner - and this image, this plan, is so clear in Dooku's mind that he almost fails to notice that Obi-Wan has met every one of his thrusts without so much as once moving his feet, staying perfectly centered, perfectly balanced, blade never moving a millimeter more than is necessary, deflecting without effort, riposting with flickering strikes and stabs swifter than the tongue of a Garollian ghost viper, and when Dooku feels Skywalker regain his feet and stride once more towards his back, he finally registers the source of that blinding defensive velocity Kenobi had used just a moment ago, and only then, belatedly, does he understand that Obi-Wan's Ataro and Shii-Cho have been ploys, as well.

Kenobi has become a master of Soresu.

Dooku finds himself having a sudden, overpowering, unexpected, and entirely distressing bad feeling about this . . .

The farce has suddenly, inexplicably, spun from humorous to deadly serious and is tumbling rapidly toward terrifying. Realization bursts through Dooku's consciousness like the blossoming fireballs of the dying ships outside: this pair of Jedi fools have somehow managed to become entirely dangerous. In fact, these clowns might - just possibly - actually be able to honestly best him.

Stunned, Dooku automatically gathers the Force in a single indrawn breath that summons power from all throughout the universe, gathering it to himself and wrapping himself in it until he breathes in power and holds it whirling within his heart, clenching down upon it until he can feel the spin of the universe all around him; the slightest whipcrack of that power, negligent as a flick of his wrist, sends Obi-Wan flying backwards to crash hard against the wall, but Dooku doesn't have time to enjoy the respite from Kenobi's shockingly dangerous blade. Skywalker is already all over him. The palely shining blue lightsaber whirls and spits and every powerful overhand chop crashes against Dooku's defense with the unstoppable momentum of a meteor strike. The Sith Lord is forced to spend lavishly of his reserve of the Force merely to meet these attacks without being cut in half, and Skywalker -

Skywalker is getting stronger.

Each parry costs Dooku more power than he'd had to use to throw Obi-Wan Kenobi across the entire room; each block ages him a decade. He decides he'd best revise his strategy once again - and quickly.

Dooku no longer even tries to strike back. Force-exhaustion begins to close down his perceptions, drawing his consciousness back down to his physical form, trapping him within his own skull until he can barely even feel the contours of the room around him; he dimly senses stairs at his back, stairs that lead up to the entrance balcony. He retreats up them, using the higher ground for leverage, but Skywalker just keeps on coming, tirelessly ferocious. That pale blue blade is everywhere, flashing and whirling faster and faster until Dooku sees the room through an electric haze and now Obi-Wan is back in the picture: with a shout of the Force, he shoots like a torpedo up the stairs behind Skywalker, and Dooku decides that, under these rather extreme circumstances, it is at least arguably permissible for a gentleman to cheat. "Guards!" he snarls to the pair of super battle droids that still stand at attention to either side of the entrance. "Open fire!"

Instantly the two droids spring forward and lift their hands. Energy hammers out from the heavy blasters built into their arms; Skywalker whirls and his blade bats every blast back at the droids, whose mirror-polished carapace armor deflect the bolts back out again. Galvanized particle beams screech through the room in blinding ricochets. Then Kenobi reaches the top of the stairs and a single slash of his lightsaber dismantles both droids. But Dooku is in motion before their pieces can even hit the floor, landing a spinning side-stamp that folds Skywalker in half; he uses his last burst of Dark power to continue his spin into a blindingly fast wheel-kick that brings his heel against the point of Kenobi's chin - Obi-Wan having been so distracted by his partner's fall that he instinctively turns to cover him, for an instant neglecting his own defense - with a crack like the report of a huge-bore slugthrower, knocking the Jedi Master back down the stairs with a sound as if he has broken his neck - a noise that hopefully ought to convince Sidious that Dooku is indeed trying to kill Obi-Wan Kenobi. In the confusion, however, no one notices as Dooku shoves a small object into Obi-Wan's robes even as he is completing the kick. Nor does anyone notice the surge of Force-energy that Dooku sends rushing after Kenobi's bonelessly limp body as it is still tumbling towards the floor far below, simultaneously cushioning and protecting his body even as it causes his fall to suddenly accelerate like a missile burning off the last of its drives before impact, making the Jedi Master strike the floor at a steep angle, skid along it, and slam into the far wall so hard that the hydrofoamed permacrete buckles and collapses down onto him. Through all of this, the light of Obi-Wan Kenobi's life remains steadily bright in the Force, something that Dooku finds exceedingly gratifying.

Now, as for Skywalker -

Which is as far as Dooku manages to get, because by the time his attention returns to the younger Jedi, his vision is already being rather completely obstructed by the sole of a black boot approaching his face with something resembling terminal velocity.

The impact is a rapid explosion of white fire, blasting though his head and temporarily annihilating all thought, a shock that is swiftly followed by a second impact against his back, this time from the balcony rail. Then the room is turning upside down and Dooku is tumbling rapidly towards the ceiling - although he isn't really, of course. It only feels that way because he has flipped over the rail and he is falling headfirst towards the floor, and neither his arms nor his legs are paying any attention whatsoever to what he is trying to make them do. The Force seems to be fully occupied elsewhere, and really, the whole process is entirely mortifying. He is barely able to gather up enough of his scattered wits to summon a last surge of Dark power before what would have otherwise been a disabling impact. Reassuringly, this time the Force responds to his call promptly and appropriately, by cradling him, cushioning his fall and setting him easily - if somewhat inelegantly - on his feet. Rattled by the wholly unexpected experience of being caught so entirely off guard, Dooku takes a moment to dust himself off before fixing a supercilious gaze on Skywalker, who is simply standing upon the balcony looking down at him. Shockingly, though, he finds that he cannot hold the stare.

The reversal of their original positions is . . . oddly unsettling. There is something . . . troublesomely appropriate about it, about seeing Skywalker standing where Dooku himself had been standing only moments ago. It is almost as though he were trying to remember a dream he has never actually had . . . a dream, or a nightmare, that he has only ever dreamed of having . . .

Confounded by the role reversal implied by Skywalker's sudden ability to so easily throw him down and confused by his own reaction to the unsettling event, Dooku shakes his head once, firmly. Pushing all thought regarding this recent unexpected event rapidly aside, he once again draws on the certain knowledge of his own personal invincibility to open a channel to the Force. Power flows into him, and the weight of his years once again drops away. Ready to resume the battle, he lifts his blade, and beckons.

Skywalker obligingly leaps from the balcony. Even as the boy hurtles downward, though, Dooku feels a new twist in the currents of the Force between them, and it is then that he finally understands. He understands how Skywalker has been getting stronger. Why he no longer speaks. How the boy has become a machine of battle. Dooku even understands, finally and completely, just why Sidious has been so interested in him for so long.

Skywalker is a natural.

There is a thermonuclear furnace where his heart should be, and it is burning inexorably through the firewalls of his Jedi training. He holds the Force captive to his will in the clench of an unyielding white-hot fist. The boy is at least/ half Sith already - he must be, to successfully be calling upon and channeling so much of the Force - and yet somehow /he doesn't even know it!

This mere boy has the gift of fury.

And even now, he is holding himself back; even now, as he lands at Dooku's flank and rapidly begins raining punishing blows upon the Sith Lord's defenses, even as he drives Dooku inexorably backward, step after painful step, Dooku can feel how Skywalker is keeping his fury banked behind walls of will - walls that are hardened and shored by some uncontrollable dread. Dread, Dooku surmises, of himself. Of what might happen if he should ever allow that furnace he uses for a heart to go supercritical.

Torn between shock at this sudden revelation, an almost indignant fury at the irrefutable proof of the level to which the Jedi Order has fallen - in essentially giving up all control over the Order's destiny by placing the ultimate responsibility for the Jedi's fate directly into this little Sithling's hands, by naming him/ their Chosen One - and outright vindictive glee at the power that Skywalker's fear has placed squarely into his hands, Dooku slips gracefully aside from an overhand chop and springs back away from Skywalker. "I sense great fear in you. You are consumed by it. Hero With No Fear, indeed!" Dooku snorts contemptuously. "Why, you're little more than a posturing child, motivated to feats of supposedly impossible bravery by the fear that others might discover your secret, otherwise. You are nothing more than a/ fraud, Skywalker." He points his lightsaber at the young Jedi like an accusing finger, the scarlet shine of the blade staining the boy like a mark of shame, only through a force of sheer will keeping himself from laughing at the boy, whose face has turned a color reminiscent of spoiled milk and is now beginning to flush an ugly, mottled purplish-red. Unable to resist one more taunt, Dooku mockingly demands, "Aren't you a little old to be afraid of the dark, child?"

Skywalker leaps for him again, at that, but this time Dooku meets the boy's charge easily. They stand nearly toe-to-toe, blades flashing faster than the unaided eye could ever hope to follow, but Skywalker has lost his edge: a simple taunt is all that has been required to shift the focus of his attention from winning the fight to controlling his own emotions. The angrier he gets, the more afraid he becomes, and the fear feeds his anger in turn; like the proverbial Corellian multipede, now that he has started thinking about what he is doing, he is no longer able to walk. Thoroughly satisfied with his accomplishment and certain that the outcome of the battle is once again entirely under his control, solely a matter to be decided by him, Dooku allows himself to relax. He even feels that spirit of earlier playfulness begin to come back over him again as he and Skywalker spin 'round and around each other in their seemingly lethal but ultimately static dance. Whatever fun is to be had, he should enjoy it while he can.

But then Sidious, for some reason, decides to intervene.

"Don't fear what you're feeling, Anakin, use/ it!" he barks in Palpatine's voice. "Call upon your fury. Focus it, and he cannot stand against you. Rage is your weapon. Strike now! /Strike! Kill him!"

Shocked by the sudden unheralded intrusion of Sidious' voice and stunned by the venomous intent within those words, Dooku is only able to think blankly, uncomprehendingly, What in - ! Kill me?

He and Skywalker pause for one single, final moment, then, their blades locked together, staring at each other past a sizzling cross of lurid crimson thrown up against frozen blue, and in that instant Dooku finds himself wondering in bewildered astonishment if Sidious has suddenly lost his mind. Doesn't the man understand the nature of the advice - not to mention the extent of the possible ramifications, should Skywalker choose to take it - that he's just given? Kenobi is /still alive! Even if Skywalker were to defeat him now, even if he were to cut Dooku down in cold blood, the boy, despite his fury, is still so obviously grounded in the Light through Kenobi, his former Master in the Jedi Order and his current partner within the Force, that Sidious would gain nothing from the act but the loss of Darth Tyranus. In fact, Sidious would potentially stand to lose everything he has been working towards, regarding the boy! Shocked and likely sickened by his own actions, Skywalker would immediately flee back to Kenobi's side, and the inexplicable yet nonetheless seemingly unshakable hold that the remarkable young Jedi Master has over the boy would doubtlessly increase a hundred-fold. A thousand-fold, even! What can Sidious /possibly be thinking? What can he be hoping for? Even if Dooku has failed to perform as expected, given the fact of Kenobi's continued presence, without the Count of Serenno present and intact to act as a goad and a focus for Skywalker's rage, Sidious has no hope of a reason sufficient to make the boy willingly choose to embrace the totality of the Dark Side. In fact, Dooku's death might very well provide the impetus needed to turn Skywalker finally and completely back to the Light!

Just whose side is Sidious on, anyway? What face of the Force has guided him in this decision, the familiar power of the Dark Side, or . . . ?

But then, through the cross of their blades, he sees in Skywalker's suddenly righteously blazing eyes the promise of hell - or of martyrdom - and he feels a sickening presentiment that he already knows the answer to that question.

It is, after all, a conclusion that he has reached before, one whose seemingly inevitable fulfillment Dooku had lashed out against, earlier, by planting a link of chain taken from the clasp of his cloak - wrapped about and layered with his knowledge, in direct support of that conclusion - on Obi-Wan Kenobi.

First and foremost, treachery/ is the way of the Sith, it is true. However, as the Jedi very well know, even the most powerful Force-adept is, in the end, nothing more than/ an instrument of the Force's will . . .

***

Obi-Wan is gasping for breath, shuddering, as the flow of memory finally stops. Anakin is wrapped so tightly around him that it should hurt, but the feeling of being held is comforting, instead, helping to calm his pounding heart. Dimly, he gradually becomes aware that Anakin is actually rocking him and crooning a running litany of his name and "Master," interspersed with comments such as "I know, love," and "Don't fight it so hard," and "I'm so sorry," and "Please, please, let go and come back to me."

"Love!" Obi-Wan feels as if he were drowning in the sorrow of it, choking upon the horror of it, as he struggles to push past the tearing agony in his chest, forcing himself to speak, to explain what he's seen and, more importantly, what he's understood. "It was love that Dooku was feeling! And he - he never - " He is suffocating under the weight of this terrible knowledge, shaking uncontrollably, eyes blinded with tears.

Both Jedi are so preoccupied that neither one immediately notices the growing power of the Force gathering in the room, focused around the spot where the two have so recently been swallowed up by the Force, reemerging an eternity or an instant later crowned in a corona of blindingly white light. In fact, it is not until after the rising whirlwind of highly concentrated Force power has evidently reached a breaking point and a voice calmly emerges from within it that either one actually notices what's happening.

"I never understood what it was that I was feeling because I had no frame of reference by which to made sense of it."

The voice is shockingly familiar. The timbre is the same, the pitch is the same, even the intensity and the strength are the same, and yet there is also some quality about it, something in its tone - a casual warmth and openness that were lacking before - that is so wholly different that it almost renders the voice entirely new. Still, Anakin and Obi-Wan both recognize it instantly, so much that Anakin's right hand automatically finds his lightsaber hilt and Obi-Wan automatically supplely twists his body about on the couch until he has managed to place a great deal of his mass between Anakin and the source of that voice. In the next moment, though, they are both on their feet, eyes wide and all but disbelieving, identical looks of incredulity spreading across their faces.

The image is shockingly clear, almost razor-edged, somehow realer/, more truly /there than a form of merely mortal flesh would have been. The same weirdly blue eldritch fire from the far-sight visions of the future that had shown Qui-Gon Jinn's form striding purposefully just behind and to the center of Anakin and Obi-Wan as they led that gargantuan army to battle both forms, penetrates, and illuminates this image, a steadily if coolly burning torch of the Force appearing almost blindingly bright when perceived solely with Force-senses and yet also only slightly and certainly not painfully luminescent when taken in with the eyes alone. This image - as in the far-sight visions of Qui-Gon - is not quite opaque and not quite transparent, translucent as if made of some strange semi-solid, semi-liquid matter. And this weird matter, this eldritch blue fire, clearly forms the shape of Jedi Master Dooku, hereditary Count of Serenno, not as he was in life when Obi-Wan and Anakin knew him, but rather as he once was, when his soul burned bright and pure with utter acceptance of the Force. He is not precisely handsome, per se - at least not in the most widely accepted or classic sense of the word, this hawk-visaged and raven-haired young Dooku - but he is oddly beautiful, in the same compelling manner than a gleaming bare blade is beautiful.

This vision of Dooku - of a vigorous man obviously in his prime - smiles at them, his dark eyes openly warm and utterly transparent with affection. Wearing neither the traditional garb of a Jedi nor the same kind of forbidding dark costume that he had vanished out of bodily upon the Invisible Hand but instead some odd hybrid of the two - indistinctly and yet somehow still obviously fairly light colored tunics and trousers and obviously much darker tall boots, yes, but also an elegantly flowing dark full-length cloak rather than a robe. And even though his belt supports the familiar shape of an old-fashioned, elegantly curved lightsaber hilt, somehow both Jedi instinctively know, just by looking upon it, that the blade of this lightsaber is most assuredly not the sanguine bloodshine of a Sith blade but rather a deeply verdant green, darker and richer in tone than most green lightsabers and yet still obviously the color most closely associated with Jedi Consulars - he stands calmly before them, hands open and relaxed at his sides, unbowed and undiminished by the weight and cares of recent years of dark deeds and difficult decisions so that he is more robust and noticeably just the slightest bit taller and seemingly larger all over than he was in life, when Anakin and Obi-Wan knew him. If either one of them squints, it is possible to see every detail of the furnishings of the room behind him just as if they were looking through a pane of transparent glass, an exercise that causes an oddly disconcerting feeling.

Obi-Wan and Anakin are still unabashedly staring at this unexpected image when there is a second sudden surge of the Force, centered around a point just to Dooku's left. Moments later, the blue corona of a much broader-shouldered and more obviously larger-boned and powerfully muscled figure - one whose rangy bulk lends itself to the illusion of even greater height and size, though he is, if one looks closely, actually just a little bit shorter than the slender, young, and incredibly athletic-looking image of Dooku - is standing at Dooku's side, smiling at the two Jedi with such brilliant warmth that both feel as if they are being bathed in the gentle warmth of an early summer sun.

"M-Master - ?"

"Qui-Gon, sir - ?"

The two questions are breathed at the same moment, but whereas Anakin is rooted to the floor in shock, Obi-Wan is propelled with shocking swiftness over to this second form, where he is immediately engulfed in an embrace that is as blessedly well known and as deeply missed as the man whose image is giving it, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan just as if they were nothing more than ordinary limbs of flesh and bone. Obi-Wan is crying, joyfully and unashamedly, as an equally familiar and much beloved lilting low baritone voice rumbles, "Oh, Padawan-mine, my Obi-Wan, son of my soul, I am so incredibly /proud of you!"/

Anakin Skywalker stands in stunned and rejoicing silence as his former Master is caught and swept effortlessly up off of his feet to be swung in a joyous circle before being crushed up against a familiar broad chest, cradled in strong arms that don't even seem to notice the weight of the full-grown man they are suspending several inches off of the ground - elevated so that his head can fall down over Qui-Gon's left shoulder, Obi-Wan's toes don't even brush the ground, Qui-Gon is so much taller than Obi-Wan is, about two finger-widths taller even than Anakin has grown to be. While Anakin's eyes continue to gratefully drink in the sight of Jedi Masters Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi reunited, Obi-Wan's slighter form all but swallowed whole within the sweep of Qui-Gon's robe, Master Dooku continues to speak, the fondness and appreciation in his voice rendering his words captivating. "Obi-Wan Kenobi: bright-souled and luminous beautiful young one; former Padawan learner of own my former Padawan learner; brave warrior-spirit with a philosopher's wise heart; venerated Jedi Master Bendu and highly esteemed - even to the point of exalted reverence - enforcing guardian of galactic peace and justice; best-beloved son of the heart of the best-beloved of my own heart; and loving soul-mate of young Anakin Skywalker. I always knew that there was something rare and different and truly remarkable about you, Obi-Wan. Chosen One, you have tamed the Sith'ari with your love, and together the two of you shall recast the shape of reality, refashioning it in the minds of countless sentient beings." Dooku has his head tilted slightly so that his eyes are on both Obi-Wan - who remains securely cradled within Qui-Gon Jinn's strong arms - and Anakin as he says these things, a look of such love and such awe on his face that it is transformed, radiant in a way that has nothing to do with the semi-solid, translucent blue fire of the pure Force-power that seems to be the refined essence of his being, now that he is free of the limitations of the flesh.

Anakin falls naturally, gracefully, to his knees, still joyfully drinking in the sight of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan but filled also with an awareness of the responsibility that he alone bears for the presence of the other form of blue fire in the room. "I ask for forgiveness, Master Dooku. I was not strong enough to overcome Sidious' hold on my mind. I have done you a great wrong," he admits unflinchingly.

His smile is blindingly bright as Dooku shifts his attention ever so slightly more fully to Anakin. "Do not seek forgiveness from me, young one. What you did was justice, regardless of Sidious' intent. I willingly caused many souls to experience much suffering, and yet the Force was still willing to welcome me home. Your actions freed me, allowing me to more fully embrace and be embraced by the Force. And I cannot thank you enough for the gift that you have given me, Anakin Skywalker. I was able to join Qui-Gon Jinn again, because of you. And because of the acceptance and the knowledge that I took with me, I have been able to give Qui-Gon the fondest wish of his heart. I have given him back his Obi-Wan." Dooku's hands are shockingly solid and surprisingly gentle on Anakin's shoulders as the Jedi Master bends to raise the young Knight up to his feet. "Come, former Padawan of the former Padawan of my own former Padawan learner. I would enjoy the chance to speak with you, Anakin. Shall we step aside for a moment and allow them some privacy? I fear Qui-Gon left far too many things unsaid between him and Obi-Wan."

Anakin nods silently, though his face clearly reveals his longing.

"Fear not, young one. There will be time for us all to speak together, and soon."

"Yes, Master Dooku. I would ask you to step onto the terrace, but I fear it would defeat the purpose of the darkened transparisteel. Shall we step into the kitchen? I can make Obi-Wan some tea while we talk," Anakin offers, his manner and words carefully polite and formal.

"That would be most agreeable." Dooku inclines his head graciously, smiling.

With one last longing look at the Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, Anakin turns and allows Dooku to pass in front of him, preceding him out into the hallway.

***

The bond is like a river of light. It has been so long since Obi-Wan has felt its comforting presence that he is giddy, intoxicated with the pure joy of it. He knows he is laughing, knows he is weeping, knows he is making a spectacle of himself, and yet he cannot bring himself to care as his arms twine around Qui-Gon's neck and he rains kisses on his beloved Master's face - the face of Qui-Gon Jinn not quite as Obi-Wan ever knew it, in life, but instead more as he remembers it from the few rare dreams he has had of his former Master since Qui-Gon's untimely death, a face that is younger and much more serenely joyful than Obi-Wan recalls, framed by a thick waterfall of lustrous dark hair untouched by silver, the expressive leonine features smoothed entirely free of the fine lines of worry and care that Obi-Wan remembers, trust and love and joy writ so large upon them that the glow on Qui-Gon's face seems more a product of that love than of the eldritch light that makes up his unbodied form within the Force. If he were not so utterly stunned with the enormity of his own joy, his own love, Obi-Wan would wonder how this moment could possibly be - how he could be wrapped safely within the arms of a man who had perished over a decade ago, his broken body cradled close in Obi-Wan's arms as the life fled his body; how he could so plainly feel the presence of the old bond in the love that was flooding his mind, his soul, with its warmth, flowing naturally along the old pathways of the unasked for and never formally implemented bond that they had both finally accepted as the Master-Padawan bond meant to tie them together, paths that had been entirely severed, or so Obi-Wan had thought, with Qui-Gon's bodily death - but at the moment he is simply too overwhelmed with love and with thankfulness to think of questioning this miracle.

"Forgive me, Obi-Wan. I wronged you. I am ashamed of how deeply I wronged you!"

"Master - "

"No, Padawan-mine. Please, let me say this. My heart has been aching for over thirteen years now with the need to find a way to make myself be heard, so that I might say this to you. I have deeply wronged you, Obi-Wan, and it is only right that I should beg for your forgiveness."

Obi-Wan makes an incoherent noise of protest as he is lowered back to the ground and those powerful arms gently but firmly disengage from his desperate embrace. But Qui-Gon slips so swiftly, so effortlessly, down to the ground, gracefully curling his enormous frame into the humblest of positions, a posture of such absolute supplication and utter submission - not only upon his knees but actually prostrate before Obi-Wan, his forehead pressing against the floor only a hairbreadth from Obi-Wan's toes, hands flat to the floor either side of his head, his lightsaber not only removed but placed gently on the floor beside him, symbolically representing Qui-Gon's utter willingness to abide by the decision of the man whose grace he is begging, even if it means that he is forever stripped of his lightsaber - that all of the words of protest Obi-Wan wants to say dry in his throat and lodge there, sticking, until Obi-Wan is speechless with shock.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi, I, Qui-Gon Jinn, most humbly offer to you my sincerest apology, and I earnestly beg you for your forgiveness. I have no right to ask for your understanding and even less right to entreat you for compassion, as I am well aware that there is nothing that can excuse my unbelievably bad judgment and unspeakably horrible behavior. Yet, I trust in your wisdom, and so I cast myself willingly upon your mercy. I have not only wronged you greatly, I have failed you as a Master, and the sorrow that this knowledge brings me is unending." Qui-Gon pauses for a few moments here, as if gathering his courage, before continuing. "My first Padawan learner, Xanatos, wounded me deeply. I do not seek to excuse myself in saying this: I only wish to explain. I loved Xanatos unconditionally, and because my own fit within the Order has always been . . . somewhat problematic, given my strong connection to the Living Force and my tendency to listen to it rather than to the edicts of the Council, I would not hear a word against him, nor would I heed the warnings of those who could more clearly see the truth of the matter. Xanatos should not have been trained as a Padawan - at least not by the likes of me. He was too proud, too hungry for power, too desperate for attention and the adoration of others, and too impatient to truly and selflessly serve the Republic, as Jedi are meant to do. When he fell to the Dark Side, I was caught unaware, and I could not bring myself to let go of my pain, my fear, or my perceived failing. I turned away from you, Obi-Wan, not because of any flaw or fault in you, but because I felt I was unworthy to be your Master and I was afraid that I could never again willingly offer to another the amount of trust that must be present in order for a Master-Padawan bond to function. Master Yoda's ability with far-sight had convinced him that we belonged together, and so he, in his wisdom, would not allow any other Jedi to take you on as a Padawan learner, Obi-Wan. And there were many, many Jedi, Obi-Wan, who sought unsuccessfully to petition the Council for you to become their Padawan. Forgive me for not telling you of this. Yoda did not inform me of this willingly: I had to learn the truth of the matter from Knight Tahl and Mace Windu. I did not tell you of this before because I feared that it would make you prideful. My judgment was clouded by the memory of Xanatos and my own pain. Forgive me, Obi-Wan. I wronged you greatly, time and time again, because of that fear. I turned away from you, time and again, because of this fear. I failed in my duty as a Jedi and I treated you in a despicable manner. My behavior is a stain upon the Jedi Order. I am ashamed of myself. I refused to take you on as my Padawan, even though the Force clearly told me that I must, and even though I accepted you as my Padawan learner after the Force had overridden my will and instigated a bond between us and I knew, because of your selfless actions, that you were more than worthy of being chosen as a Padawan and trained to be a Jedi, I remained cold and untrusting towards you, because of my fear and my pain. I taught you to be mistrustful of your own instincts, your own abilities, your own worth, Obi-Wan, and then I had the unremitting gall to chide you, for wanting to please me too much. Yet, you never turned away from me. You took my coldness, my harshness, and gave me in return your total devotion and your unstinting love, as if I deserved such gifts. You healed my heart and my soul with your selfless love and devotion, and in return I all but crippled your connection with the Living Force and scarred you to the point whereby you have never been able to willingly displease the figures of authority in your life. You did not deserve to be treated so badly, not by anyone. The fact that it was I, who was your Master and should have died rather than hurt you willingly, who did these things to you is unpardonable. I never trusted you with my thoughts regarding the danger of the increasing arrogance of the High Council and the power accruing to the Council and the Order itself because of the growing unrest in the Republic and the increasingly obvious corruption and incompetency among the Senate. I did not trust you with my thoughts on Anakin and my worries about him, should he remain untrained and either willingly give in to the temptation of the Dark Side or fall unwillingly into the hands of the Sith. You felt the danger that surrounded his power and yet I did not trust you. Instead, I not only disregarded the fear that was so great that it had made you speak out against me, I became angry at you for daring to question me. I made you feel that you were being cast aside in favor of a stronger Force-adept, as if you were unwanted and unworthy of my training, and even when your pain drove you to apologize to me for seeking to protect me from the danger that you could sense surrounding Anakin and the weight of the High Council's displeasure, I still did not trust you enough to seek to explain myself. Then, like a fool, I got myself killed and placed a burden on you that you were far too young, far too uncertain of yourself and your position within the Order - because of my mistreatment of you - to be asked to shoulder. And yet still you shouldered it, because of your love for me and your compassion for Anakin. Obi-Wan, you have far outstripped me with your wisdom, your compassion, and your ability as a Jedi. You are a far greater Jedi than I have ever been. And a far greater man than I."

"Master, don't." Obi-Wan crouches down next to Qui-Gon helplessly, his hands hovering uncertainly over his former Master's shoulders. He has never even so much as seen an example of this most highly ritualized formal apology - an ancient ritual meant to publically acknowledge a wrong worthy of dismissal from the Jedi Order, as indicated by the supplicant's utter prostration and the surrender of the lightsaber - and he has no idea what he should do. He simply knows that it tears at his heart, to see Qui-Gon like this, on the ground before him. Even so much as a day before, it is entirely possible that he would have been angry, to hear Qui-Gon say such things to him. It is entirely possible that he might have even borrowed one of Anakin's favorite complaints (mainly issued in connection with the war and the decisions of the High Council) and snapped bitterly about such an apology being a parsec late and a credit short. But knowing what he does now, anger is the furthest thing from his mind. All he feels is a vast sorrow. "You shouldn't - "

"I am no longer your Master, Obi-Wan. I think of you as my Padawan, though I certainly was not a good Master to you. But you are assuredly not my Padawan. If anything, I should be as an apprentice to you, Obi-Wan, begging to share in your wisdom and your compassion. As it is, I have no right to claim anything of you. I only wish to give you my apology, though it comes far too late - almost entirely too late, because of my folly and my inability, before now, to make myself heard. You are the Chosen One, Obi-Wan. You have always been the Chosen One. Like my fellow Jedi, I was simply too blind to see it while I was yet living. We all expected wonders and signs and disregarded the true value of your endlessly generous and selflessly giving heart, never thinking to appreciate your quiet strength or to sound the depths your tightly leashed power. There are, as yet, none who are fully aware of the true magnitude of your power within the Force - not even you, yourself, Obi-Wan, thanks to my bungling of an already precarious situation and the cruelty I carelessly chose to respond with to your unstinting love and unwavering devotion - but that will soon change. Obi-Wan, you have not only gentled the Sith'ari with your love: you have claimed him utterly as the mate of your heart and the mirror of your soul. Together, the two of you are but one being in spirit, one far greater than prophecies alone can tell. Master Dooku is right. You and Anakin will shake the galaxy and reshape reality as we have known it. No thanks to the likes of arrogant old fools like me, who've tried to destroy everything that is good and pure within the both of you."

"That's not true, Master. You aren't an arrogant fool. And even if you aren't my Master any longer, you are still a Master of the Jedi Order," Obi-Wan protests, hands alighting on Qui-Gon's shoulders - which immediately begin to shiver. Concerned, his hands immediately tighten on Qui-Gon and he tugs upwards, lifting him away from the floor he is so desperately pressing down against. There are actual tears welling from Qui-Gon's anguished eyes as he unresistantly allows Obi-Wan to raise him up, and Obi-Wan instinctively moves to brush away those tears. It is the strangest sensation: he can see the tears falling, see his fingers moving across the luminescent skin to wipe them away, and yet . . . Obi-Wan is certain that while he can feel something sliding over his skin, it is not precisely the correct feeling for falling water. He can see that his physical hands are succeeding in brushing the tears away from Qui-Gon's incorporeal face, but Obi-Wan feels only a tingling warmth against his skin, not the cool slickness of saltwater. The sensation itself would be disconcerting, if he were not already thoroughly distracted and dismayed by the very fact of Qui-Gon's tears. Pushing aside the confusion for the moment, Obi-Wan gently places butterfly-light kisses over each trembling eyelid when Qui-Gon's eyes fall shut at the tenderness of his touch. Then, reaching blindly for the ghostly lightsaber, he scoops it up off of the ground - and it feel entirely solid, the correct familiar weight of Qui-Gon's 'saber, which he himself had carried for years following Qui-Gon's murder, though it is also strangely warm against his skin instead of feeling like a piece of cold, nonliving metal - and presses it back into Qui-Gon's hands before embracing him, Obi-Wan's arms winding tightly, securely, across his former Master's broad back. "And I am proud to think of you as my Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, which I shall indubitably continue to do until my spirit is no more, regardless of anything that you say to me about my having outstripped you. I would not be the man that I am if not for you, Qui-Gon Jinn. And I love you. Whatever faults you think you have, whatever wrongs you feel you've perpetrated against me, I forgive you and I love you. Of course I love you and forgive you! Surely you must know that I would forgive you anything, Master. All you ever need do is ask. Peace, Qui-Gon. It is enough and more enough that you seek to speak to me now of such things, when they are the furthest things from my mind. Do not continue to trouble yourself over such things. The past is the past and we cannot change it, no matter how much we might like to do so. We can only learn from it and continue forward, as best we may. Continue forward with me, at my side, as my friend if not as my Master, please?" Obi-Wan asks, his hold on Qui-Gon tightening as his former Master is wracked with shuddering sobs. "Enough, enough, Qui-Gon, it is alright, I promise that it is, Master," he croons, rubbing soothing circles across the broad expanse of his back. After a time, the storm of grief and relief passes, and Qui-Gon returns his embrace willingly, his arms almost painfully tight around Obi-Wan's smaller form. Smiling, Obi-Wan helps gather him up out of the floor. When they are both standing, Obi-Wan pulls back and presses what he vaguely remembers being referred to as either the kiss of acceptance or of forgiveness in such a ritualized formal apology to Qui-Gon's smiling mouth. "Peace: all is forgiven between us. Dwell upon it no more." Noticing, finally, that Anakin and Dooku are no longer in the room, he grins up at Qui-Gon. "I believe that Anakin has gone to make me some tea. Come into the kitchen where we can all talk?"

"Of course, Obi-Wan. Gratefully. Happily. Thank you, Padawan-mine."

"Peace, Master. You might finally succeed in making me prideful, if you continue to carry on,"Obi-Wan teases gently, startling a rumble of laughter out of Qui-Gon that is music to his ears. "Come. I can smell the tea brewing. They will be waiting for us."

***

Anakin putters around the kitchen, gathering up all the necessities for a pot of Obi-Wan's favorite tea. If he wanted to, he could extend his senses and hear every word being said out in the common room - either by actually eavesdropping or by listening in through his connection with Obi-Wan - but he prefers to allow his former Master and Master Qui-Gon their privacy. He just wishes that this process didn't involve him having to stay alone with Master Dooku. Anakin has no idea what to say to the man and it is vaguely disconcerting to look at him and to realize that he can see the chair that the Jedi Master is currently sitting on plainly through Dooku's blue-chased figure. Despite the fact that Dooku seems to regard what Anakin did to him - and whether or not he was under Sidious' control, in Anakin's mind it still doesn't change the fact that it was Anakin whose body delivered what would have been the killing blow - on the Invisible Hand as a favor, he still can't help but feel a bit guilty. It seems wrong to be so happy to see Qui-Gon again when Dooku apparently had to - well, maybe not die so much as become permanently incorporeal - in order for Qui-Gon to finally figure out how to manifest himself within the physical realm. Dooku seems quite content with the way things have turned out for him, though, and because Anakin has no wish to discomfort Dooku, he attempts to distract himself by focusing on something else. Frowning as he does the mental math, Anakin realizes, with a sudden start, that the difference between Dooku's age and Qui-Gon's is actually less than that between his own and Obi-Wan's.

"Master Dooku, may I ask you a few questions?" Anakin asks, still frowning slightly.

"You may ask me anything that you would like. You are the former Padawan of the former Padawan of my own former Padawan learner. If Obi-Wan is like my grandson in the Order, then technically you are as a great-grandson to me - though frankly I feel you shall both become as sons to me, true sons of my heart, as we truly begin to know one another. If you have questions, then by all means, ask them of me. I shall endeavor to answer everything you wish to know."

"Master, weren't you a bit young to take on Qui-Gon as your Padawan?"

"Yes, Anakin, I was. But then again, I was also Knighted at a very young age, due to the untimely death of my Master, Thame Cerulian. Master Yoda and the High Council deemed that I was ready for my Trials soon after my Master died and I did technically pass them, even though I was only twenty years of age and there were some on the Council who felt that I had failed a significant portion of my Trials and ought to be placed under Yoda's care for another few years before I was shorn of my Padawan braid. Yoda, however, prevailed, and I was Knighted then. I had just over three years to become accustomed to my Knighthood before I took Qui-Gon as my Padawan. And it was with Yoda's particular blessing that I made that decision. I still believe it to be the wisest decision that I have ever made," Dooku explains, nodding once, decisively.

Anakin tries to keep from staring. "You're only a decade older than Qui-Gon?"

"A little over ten years older than he, yes."

"And you love him. I mean, you've loved him the entire time you've known him. You just didn't know it. Right?" Anakin asks, eyes wide.

"Very much so, Knight Skywalker. Qui-Gon is my calm center. He saved me, once, from falling to the Dark Side. If I had but known . . . " Dooku shakes his head after several long moments of silence, eyes returning from the far distances in which they've been lost, focusing on Anakin once again. "But the past is past and we cannot change it. We can only learn from it and take that knowledge with us as we continue on. I consider myself a fortunate man. Against all odds, I have been given another chance, a new beginning, with Qui-Gon at my side. More than that, I have been given the opportunity to join him as he stands with you and young Master Obi-Wan. Indeed, I consider myself fortunate beyond all reason or reckoning for this opportunity."

"You will stand with us against Sidious?" Anakin bluntly asks, just to make sure.

"Yes." There is absolutely no hesitation between the question and the answer and Dooku's voice sounds firm enough to stand against the might of all opponents.

"You will stand with us against the High Council?"

"Gladly." Dooku's smile is not quite predatory, and it is the smile as much as Dooku's affirmation that convinces Anakin.

"Then I am honored to have you as an ally, Master Dooku," Anakin smiles back, sweeping the hereditary Count of Serenno a full bow.

"It is I who am honored to stand with you and Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon," Dooku insists but he also graciously inclines his head, accepting the honor in the spirit it has been made in.

Grinning, his expression as keen and cutting as a knife, Anakin muses, "By the time we're done with them, the High Council won't know what's hit 'em," almost but not quite chuckling.

"Indeed," Dooku agrees, laughing for the both of them.

***