Splintered Path

Written by LuvEwan

PG

By now, I think you can guess what happens when I'm stuck on my other stories. I write a new one!

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

Count Dooku is reminded of his past-and most recent-betrayals.

O

The wine stood as dark velvet in the chalice, flawless at its surface, then ripened beyond that supple perfection as it slid from glass to throat. The flavor merely teased his tongue at first, an almost sensuous hinting that gave way to well-aged and carefully cultivated taste. The bottle had come at the expense of more than a few coins—some would warn this wasn't the time to throw away money in frivolity, but all men came with at least one weakness that begged, no, fairly demanded indulgence.

Count Dooku leaned back in his chair, and with a deeper swallow, thought himself fortunate that his weakness was easily and harmlessly fulfilled.

Others sacrificed far more.

The Palace of Yujia was decadent, but in a somber tone of ebony and darkly stained crystal. The King of the newest addition to the widely gaining Separatist movement had been quite generous, lending the Count use of the spacious guest wing. Yet, for all his grateful speeches and hospitality, the Dark leader would not have been able to relay the name of the man, not even under pain of death. It was of little consequence: 'Your Royal Highness' would bode well as a title. However generic, it would still stir a ready wealth of pride.

The fire reflected in dark, languorously watchful eyes. Shadows cast over to the wall in fevered flickers and sharp leaps, exaggerating, as though mocking the conflagration from which it was born.

A dryness tingled in the man's throat and he rested his lips on the cool edge of the chalice, inhaling the fine scent of the fading wine before he partook of another drink, his senses savoring the moment.

"You so enjoy it, one would think it was really blood."

The lively jolt of the flames appeared to cower in the heated face of the words.

But Dooku's face was smoothed of any reaction. "I fear blood would linger too long on the palate." He drawled.

There was a pregnant pause, during which the absence of laughter was palpable. "No, my Master, it lingers longer on the hands."

The comment managed to carve away a sliver of the man's reserve. A smile twitched at the corner of his slender mouth. "And what blood do you detect on my skin, old Padawan?"

For the first time in many years, Dooku sat before his former apprentice in physical audience. The ethereal, azure glow flooded the room and chased off the darkness. The features were restored, untouchable. And though he was mildly irritated by the accusations thrust at him, he could not deny his pleasure at seeing the form of his slain comrade again.

Qui-Gon Jinn's eyes were steady, piercing as they had been in life, reduced none by the very slight blur to the lines of his powerful, grace-blessed body. No time was reserved for peaceful ruminations or warm exchanges. There was anger pounding in that gaze. "You would have killed him."

Hard lines were worn in the Count's face. He didn't require clarification. "I would have done what was necessary."

The ire of a caged beast was present in Qui-Gon, for he could not throttle the man for his cold indifference. "Murder is never necessary. Especially when the victim is one of complete innocence."

"Your memory has softened, friend. He has not been innocent for a long while."

"Whatever crimes you perceived him to commit…they belong to me." The baritone was low and harsh with self-incrimination. "I paved his path for him, and gave him no choice but to follow it."

"He had a choice," Dooku argued, "I offered him another option, a different path."

"You tried to feed him lies!" The ghost of the Jedi Master barked in outright contempt, "It was only his inherent good sense that saved him then."

"He would be safe in league with me, Qui-Gon. You know this. My influence has a far reach."

"And painful consequence." Qui-Gon added.

"A softened and selective memory, you have then." Dooku stared into the crackling flush contained by the sleek, cold, stainless obsidian fire pit. He leaned his chin into the crook of a finger. "Don't forget that I saved him, once."

For a brief moment, the rage spiraled down and was replaced by gentle acknowledgment. "I remember." Qui-Gon murmured.

He stood in the foreign room and breathed in both air and a light perfume. The scent had floated from the first floor, fresh and unobtrusive. The hotel was extremely top-tier, massive, designed in the spare way that somehow enhanced the notion of wealth. The seating was sparse and drawn out in harsh lines, narrow and shaded by pooling amber illumination.

Qui-Gon shifted his feet, unable to settle in one stance. He had been told to come here, an establishment far from the clusters of main cities, deep into thick forest below a starless sky. The hotel was exclusive. When he went bounding inside, he was thrown surprised looks by guests and staff alike. No doubt, he now realized, they thought his dusty, weathered boots would press permanent prints of filth into the creamy ivory carpet. He was allowed access to the front desk by a man of rigid posture and skeletal, strained form-the head of this place of ultimate extravagance-who flickered beady black eyes at him once before nodding to the clerk.

They had known he was coming.

He wasn't worried how haggard he must have appeared to them, nor how frenzied. He simply spoke his name, and had to hope it would be enough.

It was. They ushered him to the lift and showed him to his suite. It was the largest suite of the hotel, the manager boasted, and had been paid for in advance. There were countless chambers interwoven by art-lined halls, but he had never gone beyond the main room. He had been standing barely ten feet from the door for nearly an hour, his heart excited to a sick pounding.

There were several calming techniques performed by the Jedi Order to regain mental, physical—emotional center. As a Master of the Order, he should have been able to recall at least a scrap of them. But his thoughts were twisting in a maelstrom that tunneled to his gut. He didn't know how much longer he could wait. Dark scenarios were playing continuously in his head, of why it was taking so long, if the plan had failed.

His breath caught at the morbid notion and he pressed a hand over his eyes. Whispered, fervent prayers slipped from his lips.

It couldn't fail. Gods, it just couldn't.

Eternities stretched out in empty minutes as he stood there, searching his mind for recognition of any new arrivals in the hotel. It wouldn't be long now, he assured himself, it wouldn't be much longer. Anytime. Any moment.

But that moment seemed pitched far beyond him. He was bound in the murk of his loneliness, and though he wanted it more than life, he still couldn't imagine that sterling patch of time.

So when it finally came, and the door slid open, he wasn't surprised by the tears that hurdled to the forefront. They stood as warm deluge in his eyes and stole the strength from his voice.

"Obi-Wan."

There was a rush of movement, arms pulling and fabric rustling. He didn't waste energy on formalities, but took the limp form of his Padawan from the strange cradle of his own former Master's arms.

Coherency fled as he embraced his student, a palm cupping the back of Obi-Wan's head. He squeezed tightly, totally overcome. The rapture welled to a lump in his throat, thankfulness kissed cool the searing wound of his soul.

His entire being was filled and surrounded by the precious aura of Obi-Wan, and it took several minutes for him to traipse over into reality, where Dooku stood, waiting to be addressed.

Qui-Gon blinked the moisture back, looking at the refined figure over Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Thank you." He rasped. He could think of nothing else to say. "Thank you, my Master."

Raven-dark eyes stayed on him. "Perhaps you should put him in bed."

Qui-Gon braced the young face with a hand. The features were slack, eyes closed and bruised by shadow. "But I need—"

"He needs to rest. His has been quite the ordeal."

The comment drove an icy spike of pain into Qui-Gon's recovering heart and he acquiesced to his Master's word, carrying Obi-Wan through the darkened corridors to the nearest room. Luckily, when he switched on the lights, the room happened to be a bedroom. In the maze of halls and chambers, he couldn't be sure what he would find.

It was elegantly draped in a palate of varying blues, the curtains edging on black while the bedclothes were brilliant cerulean. Pillows were packed at the head of the enormous bed. As he moved closer, Qui-Gon saw they were beaded with small jewels, and probably cost more than his combined possessions. He sat on the side of the bed, but was unable to release Obi-Wan to the lavishness of the thick duvet and satin sheets.

He ran his hand along the curve of his Padawan's back, and suddenly realized he wasn't wearing his pale tunics, but a black robe that seemed to swallow his compact body. It was Dooku's, his mind supplied. Beneath it, he wore only slashed leggings.

Gingerly, he slid Obi-Wan out of the finely woven cloak and handed it out to the one-time Jedi. "Thank you." When the long fingers grasped around it, he let go and removed his own robe, to wrap around Obi-Wan's half-bare form.

They were joined in silence for awhile. Qui-Gon checked his Padawan for injuries and was relieved to find his deep slumber was the result of exhaustion. The temptation thrummed up in him again to wake the youth, to see those eyes flash with their radiance and hear that dulcet voice, but with a sense of responsibility and not a small amount of regret, he let the boy sleep on, head tucked under his chin.

His eyes traveled to Dooku, who still stood near the door. His mentor was the portrait of crisp, noble aloofness, and yet… "You saved him."

"You look rather shocked."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "No. It's not…I just don't quite understand."

"He's your apprentice. And a child, besides. I couldn't allow him to be harmed." Dooku came to stand before him, "Is that so difficult to understand, my old Padawan?"

Qui-Gon's eyes fell to the face of his sleeping protégé and his lungs tightened. "No."

"The group that took the boy couldn't keep their crime a secret. They had a Jedi imprisoned, forget that he was merely a young Learner, and their boasts trickled through into various channels. I have told you before, Qui-Gon; I have increasing influence and power in the Universe. It was with that power that I was able to procure your apprentice." He stepped forward, his gaze bearing down at Qui-Gon. "They were going to kill him."

It certainly wasn't the first time an attempt had been made on Obi-Wan's life, but it always had the effect of a swirling tempest in Qui-Gon's system. He shuddered, exhaled shakily, and secured his arms around the child. 'They were going to kill him.' It echoed. He wondered if he would ever be able to forget the torture those cruel words inflicted.

"They were going to kill him, because their ransom demands were not being meant."

"I couldn't…" Qui-Gon shook his head, swallowed, and had to start again, "I couldn't sacrifice the mission. The Jedi couldn't bend to them."

"And while they were unyielding, your student sat in the cell with admirable stoicism. Before I arranged his release, he collapsed. From what I could tell, he hadn't slept in days."

With sharpened outrage and extra care, Qui-Gon cradled his apprentice's head against a shoulder. "Force." He whispered, so fiercely it seemed to lacerate the very air.

Dooku stared down at him with a severe raise of his ashen brow. "This could have been a tragedy, Qui-Gon. But it wasn't. You were given a chance here, one that you must recognize."

Qui-Gon caught the subtle switch in the tone of the conversation. Over the years, he had become an adept in his former Master's methods of persuasion. "I'm immensely grateful for what you've done. But I won't let you twist this into a reason to abandon the Order."

There was no shock, but bitter shadow slid to the lean curvatures of the Count's face. "You will force yourself to forget it?"

"You KNOW I can't—"

"The fate of the Jedi is sewn, friend. No Knight, Master, and certainly no naïve Padawan will be capable of ripping out those threads. The monsters would have killed him today, but I prevented it. Was it for nothing, Qui-Gon? Should I toss him back into the line of the barrel?"

"Please," Qui-Gon released a steady breath with much difficulty, "You must understand what you're asking of me."

Dooku crossed his arms casually, as if speaking of a half-credit business deal, "I'm asking you to take what you have and start anew. What you have is your lives-you and young Obi-Wan's. At this moment, you have more than you've ever had or ever will. Don't allow the opportunity to elude your capture, Qui-Gon. There's more at stake than your rank in the Jedi Order."

Qui-Gon's voice was low, and he spoke softly, to avoid his slumbering Padawan's detection, "You won't earn favor with me by using my student as a bargaining chip in this ridiculous proposition. You have my gratitude and that is ALL I am willing to give."

Dooku took a step backward, his cloak rustling with the movement and tainting the tense silence. "Very well."

But as he began towards the door, Qui-Gon felt a tired sigh from Obi-Wan spread warmth on his neck, and he realized he didn't want his old Master to go. He'd had enough of steely meetings and angry departures. His Padawan was safe and whole, thanks in total to the man rapidly exiting his life once more.

But no, he couldn't leave these words unsaid. "That's it then?" He called after the Count. "I reject the proposal and you're through with me? Am I nothing more than a potential member of your burgeoning league?"

Dooku paused and turned, folding his arms in front of him. "Are you asking me to stay?"

For all his resentment, Qui-Gon felt a smile tease the corners of his mouth. "On the condition that the talk is comfortable on both sides. Yes, I want you to stay, Master." He glanced at Obi-Wan and the expression was nearly painful, "You've left the Order, but that doesn't change the fact that I enjoy your company."

Dooku held his countenance in perfect balance before he, too, smiled. "That must have been monumentally hard for you to say."

"I'll recover."

And former Master sat at the side of former Padawan, and for a few hours they spoke of ordinary things and extraordinary accomplishments, the latter of which all belonged to Obi-Wan, and were proudly related by Qui-Gon. They reminisced about past missions, both serious and otherwise. It was a rare moment of stillness, carried over from years long tarnished by severed loyalty. It was tranquility, what Qui-Gon wanted most to remember about his mentor.

When the sun was making its first strong threats to banish the darkness, the conversation lulled, and the younger man took the time of quiet to monitor the sleep of his protégé, fading a livid purple bruise on the ivory skin as he did so.

"You were created to teach, Qui-Gon." Dooku said in a hush, burnished rose and orange glowing at the window beyond him, "Failure and insecurity aside, it was what you were made to do. It was the ultimate will of the Force."

Qui-Gon's eyes lifted. He waited for the long shadow of Xanatos to stripe across Dooku's gaze, but it was thoroughly genuine—warm, even. "Thank you, my Master."

Dooku smiled and rested a hand on his shoulder. For an instant, it was perfect, ideal.

Then, "But even the most gifted of teachers cannot always protect their students. I know that you will not shift in your devotion to the Jedi. All I ask is that you allow ME to watch over my student."

Qui-Gon's forehead wrinkled. "What do you mean?"

"I simply mean that, if ever the need arises, I will protect him. He's your legacy, Qui-Gon, as you are mine."

Qui-Gon inhaled, grazing his fingertips along the soft lines of Obi-Wan's hand. Legacy. A word of such weight—he was his Master's legacy, declared plainly by the man himself, and yet it was nothing next to the duty he possessed, his promises to his apprentice.. "I thank you for your kindness, Master. I pray the time never comes." His chest was a crushed disaster of bone and breath, "But, in this moment of incredible generosity, I must ask something of you

"Please, stay away from him."

Still, Dooku was unflappable. The slap to his face left no residual marks in red.

Qui-Gon swallowed. "I don't doubt you will try to come to him, as you've so often come to me, with the promise of power and security. But I ask you now, Master, to leave him alone. I never want you to think of him as the enemy. I don't want him to hate you."

"And do you hate me, Qui-Gon?"

"No, Master," He negated fervently, "But I know you. Obi-Wan is…Obi-Wan is a Jedi. That is the only path for him. He will take no other."

"I saved him from death tonight. I didn't do it to lure him in any direction. I did it for you, Qui-Gon."

A flush was beating at Qui-Gon's cheeks. "And then you turned my pain and fear to your cause. I KNOW YOU, Master. My Padawan doesn't have to."

There was more to be said, but the Count shut it away, giving them a last look before stalking from the room and vanishing in a hard flourish of velvet cape.

"You saved him, but what worth does that have, when you attempt to take the life you rescued?"

Dooku sighed. Through the translucent form of his apprentice, the smoke was drifting. "It was a last resort. I did everything within my power to convince him of the truth, but he just wouldn't have it. Stubborn as his Master."

"I asked you to stay away from him. Gods, you're looking to ravage the entire Order, my people. You couldn't spare him? Must all the good be wiped out of the galaxy before you're sated, Master?"

"You've misinterpreted me, Qui-Gon." He drained the clinging drops from the chalice and gazed deep into the face of Qui-Gon Jinn. "I was, in fact, trying to spare him. I wanted to look out for him, in your stead, but I've never claimed to be a natural teacher. I'm not as gifted as some. I suppose it would have been better of me to chain him to a path he didn't want, with baggage not of his belonging."

The rage was a boiling storm in Qui-Gon's cerulean-tinted visage.

"You accused me of using him as, what was it? Oh, a bargaining chip. But you were willing to trade him in to secure your name as savior of the Chosen One. You'll be the one to kill him in the end." Dooku shook his head with an incredulous smile, "Now, I ask, how are we any different?"

Through his anguish, before he again melded with Force and vapor, Qui-Gon managed to hear, "I'll tell you. I have been far kinder in my methods, old friend." The former Jedi wandered to the fire, and stood at the smoldering lip, "I would have spared him so much more."

The End O