Invictus
A collaborative effort between Fernénji and Shiñoraa Inardescari
Chapter Two
In Limine
On the Threshold
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the Master of my fate;
I am the captain of my soul.
-William Ernest Henley
By all accounts, the temple was definitely as modern and cosmopolitan a structure as any to be found on Coruscant in terms of its amenities. It stood in stark contrast to the seemingly endless durasteel forms of the residential and commercial towers surrounding the Senate District. With its impressive turrets and towering size, it was no less impressive than the dome-shaped building that housed the Galactic Senate.
Anakin was glad that the Jedi Temple did not appear to be as lavish as the Senatorial offices or the guest suite the royal convoy of Naboo had occupied. Simple origins were not as easy to shake off as some people thought, and the baroque way the Naboo had lived, though pleasant, was nevertheless constricting in many ways.
As the trio of humans made their way further into the heart of the Temple, silence gave way to vague, distant chimes and a steady, comforting hum. Anakin blinked and paused quickly, backtracking his steps as a differently pitched drone hummed into existence. Looking to see that Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were about to round a corner, Anakin half-ran towards the pair of durasteel doors, eyes darting back to the two Jedi's retreating backs.
'Just one look,' he promised himself, and pushed them open.
The Jedi was old – almost as old as Jira, even – but there was a bizarrely compelling vitality about him. Anakin didn't notice that he had stopped walking; he continued to watch the silver-haired human flow from one lightsabre kata to the next, his orange ('Orange?' Anakin wondered briefly) blade spinning as its wielder executed a graceful turn. Anakin had witnessed Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan spar before, both Master and Padawan whirling, leaping, spinning so that their blue and green blades were almost blurs to Anakin's sight. That had been awing in a more... well, flashy manner.
This man, however, did not sweep or slash about so much as thrust and flick and make almost delicate, precise cuts. Anakin could see how this particular warrior might outlast either Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan, or even both, the way he conserved his strength.
"Ani?"
"Sir," the addressed murmured automatically. "Master Jinn," he corrected himself, looking up at Qui-Gon. "You can – you and Obi-Wan can fight like that too, right?"
Qui-Gon smiled, looking over his shoulder at a bored-looking Obi-Wan, who was standing further down the hall. "We do tolerably well, wouldn't you say, Padawan Kenobi?"
"Oh, I suppose, Master Jinn," Obi-Wan answered mock-carelessly, crossing over to them. He addressed his next words to the silver-haired Jedi, who had ceased his practice to listen to the duo's banter. "Though I do believe Master Dooku would have something to say about our ineptitude should our skills ever falter."
"Your skills should hardly leave much to be desired, considering the two of you have managed to rid us of a Sith Lord," the stranger commented, and his dark eyes rested a moment on a slightly confused Anakin before turning to Qui-Gon. "It is good to see you safe, both of you," he added, looking at Obi-Wan, who coloured a little at the attention.
"It is good to see you also, Master Dooku," Qui-Gon replied warmly, a smile touching his mouth. "I see news travels fast," he observed.
"Jedi are the only sentient beings that can spread gossip faster than the holonet vultures can report," Dooku said dryly.
"And just how much do they know?" Qui-Gon inquired, suddenly wary as he placed a hand on his apprentice's shoulder.
Dooku chuckled darkly. "No more than they should – knowledge of Padawan Kenobi's actions against the Sith has been made known to the Masters in the temple, but no further. You need not worry about tongues wagging more than they should be..."
"'Than they should be?'" Obi-Wan echoed, somewhat aghast.
"I do believe there have been some rather... wild rumours." Dooku smiled pleasantly, moving back into the centre of the training room and reigniting his lightsabre. "Perhaps you will join me for dinner, after all your... business with the Council has been resolved." The Jedi Master cast Anakin another unreadable look before his sun-hued lightsabre thrummed through the air again.
It was an obvious dismissal, and Anakin looked somewhat confusedly at Qui-Gon. Who was this haughty man who teased Obi-Wan and dismissed the three of them in one breath? The nine-year-old did not take his gaze off the now-shut durasteel doors until he and his companions had turned the corner.
"Master Dooku can be rather abrupt," Qui-Gon explained fondly, and Anakin realised that the elder Jedi had been talking to him. "He, unlike most of the Jedi who have come through this Temple, knows his heritage; he is from Serenno, and his parents left him the aristocratic title of 'Count'."
Anakin wasn't quite sure what a 'Count' was, but it sounded important, so he kept his peace. Besides, if Master Jinn allowed Master Dooku to push him around because of it, then it almost certainly was.
"Master Qui-Gon was Master Dooku's old Padawan," Obi-Wan said quietly, nudging Anakin. When the boy looked up at the young Jedi, Obi-Wan let out an uncharacteristic smirk. "Be mindful of your thoughts, Anakin Skywalker," he chided. "Jedi do not let themselves get 'pushed around' without good reason, and hereditary titles are hardly such an example."
Anakin flushed. 'Being here seems to agree with him,' he thought, 'I haven't seen him smile so many times since I saw him on Padmé's ship. He was like Watto, but even Watto smiled when he saw a lot of money.'
"If you would stop broadcasting your thoughts so strongly," Qui-Gon advised, "perhaps you will reverse the attractive shade of rouge my Padawan has just turned."
Chagrined and a little embarrassed, Anakin trailed after the chuckling duo.
Qui-Gon's quarters were simple and practical, much as the home Anakin had shared with his mother on Tatooine had been, though it lacked the level of 'hearth and home' that Shmi had instilled in their own dwelling.
There were two sparsely-decorated bedrooms and a spacious common room possessing a food preparation centre to the right and a pair of uncomfortable-looking, steel-framed chairs arranged neatly about a glass-topped dining table. At the far end of the room, Anakin recognised an internal communication unit and another set of chairs, these ones looking a little more accommodating than the previous ones, and a rather ugly couch.
"I'm afraid you will have to make do with a pallet on the floor for now, Ani, unless you'd like to take the settee?"
Anakin eyed the tartan affair with a dubious expression as the two Jedi hid smiles. "I'd rather have the floor, Master Jinn," the youngling murmured.
"I deny all accusations that I should have such terrible taste as to have selected that particular piece, Ani," Qui-Gon gestured grandly, prompting a smile from the youngling, "it was there when I moved in."
Obi-Wan's snort could be heard from his room, where he had deposited his own bag of travel gear. "It isn't that bad," he offered lamely as he re-entered the common room.
In reply, Anakin's stomach rumbled loudly, and he looked sheepishly up at Qui-Gon's shrewd stare.
"Obi-Wan, I have a few things to do; perhaps you can concoct something palatable for breakfast? It seems I am not the only one who is hungry."
"Can I come?" Anakin asked hopefully. Qui-Gon paused, his hand already keying in the main door's opening sequence.
"Not now," the Jedi Master answered. "Perhaps you can help Obi-Wan with the food. I won't be too long."
The Padawan's mouth was still open in protest when his Master left.
Obi-Wan sighed and stared distrustfully at a bemused Anakin. "Tell me," he said as he waited for the stove to warm, "have you ever cooked before?"
The youngling smiled disarmingly. "How hard can it be?" He asked rhetorically, pressing a random button and starting as several sharp utensils shot upwards with a muted hiss, narrowly missing his hand. "Oops."
"Anakin –"
"No, no, I promise I won't touch anything else... hey, Mom never had this!"
"Anakin – wait, no!"
Despite Obi-Wan's best efforts, the explosive 'BOOM!' that echoed throughout the entire left residential wing of the Temple shook the quarters of every Jedi housed within twenty-three floors of Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi's apartment.
The heat of rush-hour traffic had hit the byways of Coruscant. A steady stream of speeders and other various short-range transport vehicles almost directly outside the large transparisteel windows produced an inconsistent flicker of shadow that played across Mace Windu's living quarters.
"Our friendship will not alter the Council's decision," Windu said quietly, steepling his fingers. "Thank you," he added, accepting the steaming cup of tea Qui-Gon had just poured.
"I understand," Qui-Gon said mildly. "Your position as a Council Elder disallows you to take sides merely because an acquaintance wills it so... and that includes no bribes." He looked over from stirring nerf milk into his own cup. "Sugar?"
"Three cubes, please," Windu grinned, white teeth flashing in his dark face. "And I'm glad you understand."
"I don't really; I despise sweetened tea. Perhaps it is from the inordinate amount of sucrose a day you consume that you take your energy."
Windu laughed softly, blowing on his tea and tasting it gingerly before shooting Qui-Gon a mock-surreptitious look and stealing another two cubes from the sugar bowl, plunking it in the hot drink and stirring busily. Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows mock-knowingly as if to say 'see?' and settled further back into his armchair to regard the younger Jedi Master.
The dark-skinned human set his own cup aside, resuming his trademark 'thinking' pose; fingers steepled, gaze intense, brow faintly furrowed. "I should have expected your visit," Mace said thoughtfully, "especially considering as how the entire Council has been mired in discussion since your return to Naboo."
"Has the Council's deliberation involved the Sith Lord?" Qui-Gon asked, taking a sip of tea.
"As a matter of fact, it has," his friend replied. "We have come to the conclusion that whether the Sith was the Master or the Apprentice, it would still spell Darkness for the Force; there are always two. If he still lives Master would train another follower, and if it is the Apprentice who has survived, then he would do the same.
"When one takes into consideration that his appearance is in direct conjunction to that of the Sith, the Chosen One's emergence is cause for worry – perhaps it is the Time now, or soon," Windu mused quietly.
Qui-Gon opened his mouth to speak – to argue, really, perhaps even say I told you so, but so far they had followed the usual script that dictated most of their encounters. Their friendship was one of routine and normalcy – sometimes they would meet and say virtually nothing, the tea and the idle pleasantries holding no ulterior significance. Most of the time, however, more things remained unsaid than spoken.
He would not deviate from the agenda this time, Qui-Gon decided – they had already wandered far from their usual path. He was surprised when Mace was the one to step further from their usual path.
"The Force speaks to us in different ways, Qui-Gon," Windu offered, "and I would be a fool to deny feeling something of what troubles you now." The younger Jedi shook his head, his dark eyes troubled. "I just don't know what to make of it."
Qui-Gon turned to look at his companion, waiting patiently for him to continue. Mace Windu had the rare gift of observing shatterpoints; that is, he possessed the ability to see how living sentients fit together in the eye of the Force. From what the other Jedi understood of this talent, shatterpoints resembled fault lines that ran deep into the hearts of people and situations.
Windu gestured languidly with his hands, his gaze somewhat distant. "Everything leads from order to chaos, every soul entangled in darkness, though not of it – the fate-lines' paths are so haphazard that it is near impossible to determine each one's significance. I have never seen chaos – or potential chaos – of this magnitude before.
"As for the Skywalker youngling, I do not doubt your guess; the very elements of darkness and light bend and refract about him. He could be none other than the Chosen one, but there are those who have grave reservations in allowing his entrance into this order."
"They might very well be right to do so – Anakin will require delicate handling, but what must be remembered by all of us is that he is not a tool; he is a person. Being raised outside our Order, he will not be able to be trained to fit a mould he will never love. You, and I were raised to be Jedi from the beginning, and to love our life as it is..." Qui-Gon trailed off and sighed again. "Anakin has his faults, Master, but he is not beyond hope."
"Perhaps not," Windu said non-committally. "In any case, I am bound to silence until the Council decides as a whole when to reveal his fate." In response to Qui-Gon's resigned droop, Mace offered him a smile and the empty pot. His spirits rising slightly as he watched his friend stir yet another cube of sugar into his half-empty cup, Qui-Gon withdrew a small pouch from his belt and sprinkled more tea leaves into the kettle before setting it to boil. There was no point in worrying his head off about it now, Qui-Gon reasoned with himself. What would come, would come. In the meantime, leaving his friend with a little gesture of goodwill – the extra pot of tea, that is – wouldn't hurt either party.
"Where did you get this?" Windu inquired curiously, "I don't believe I have ever experienced such a flavour..."
"It's Nabooan," Qui-Gon answered, offering the little bag and its contents for inspection. "It's extremely strong, so a small pinch suffices for a large pot."
"Extremely expensive too, I'll wager," Mace shot Qui-Gon a reproving look. "Have you been squandering our Temple's resources on comforts like this?"
Making a large show of retrieving the bag and taking his leave of the laughing Windu, Qui-Gon pretended not to hear.
Anakin Skywalker was bored.
He'd done his best to alleviate boredom through labour, choosing the most charred area of wall and scrubbing busily until only a few lingering remnants of darkened showed, before allowing the cleaning 'droids to take care of the rest. He'd even attempted to repair the thermal unit – unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do when the main circuitry systems had been melted beyond recognition. Who knew cooking could be so dangerous? he reflected ruefully.
Master Jinn, in a tone that brooked no argument, had commanded Anakin to stay within his quarters. 'That must've been hours ago!'
The boy looked hopefully at the doors as if the Jedi in question would appear through mere force of desire. When the hallway outside remained silent, Anakin threw up his hands in disgust as he looked about for something else to do. He could take apart one of the 'droids and rebuild it again – his tools were in his pack... but he didn't think he'd impress Master Jinn if he went about taking everything apart and putting them together again – especially if he messed up somehow.
Anakin sat limply in the chair, not responding when more 'droids came in to install another thermal unit. He'd already tried talking to them, and they responded either in monosyllabic answers or not at all. In the end, he gave up on distracting himself in conversation with the unresponsive robots. He found he was beginning to miss See Threepio more and more.
It was with faint regret that Anakin contemplated one of his more significant mechanical accomplishments – besides the racing pod, of course. Threepio could always be counted on to fill any silence with aimless chatter. Anakin had wired him that way, of course – he found it distinctly amusing, and had stuffed the protocol 'droid's memory with all the chips on useless knowledge he could find.
Shifting again, the boy chewed on the inside of his lip. Master Jinn, Obi-Wan and he were supposed to go to Master Dooku's quarters for supper. Though Anakin wasn't quite sure just when the Jedi at their last meal of the day, surely there would be enough time to explore his surroundings a bit?
And, just maybe, if he took one of those wasteful water showers, Master Jinn wouldn't be quite so upset with him if he found out Anakin'd disobeyed an outright order.
Well... the last time he'd kept a promise, he'd flown right into the middle of a space battle. Perhaps his luck would be better this time. Having convinced himself enough to go through with his disobedience, Anakin scooped up his pack and made his way to the 'fresher.
The Jedi Archives were the heart of all Galactic Knowledge, containing twenty-one millennia of Jedi Wisdom, and Jocasta Nu was Master.
Hand-slapper, thorn-tongued, Calamari fish-wife... she had been named all those and more by the louder visitors, the disruptive visitors, the overly curious visitors – like the one she was now swooping down upon – who entered her vast library.
Dooku watched in vague amusement as the bright-eyed youngling touched one of the busts of the Lost Nineteen, obviously impressed by the lifelike rendition. Jocasta Nu, however, was not so taken by the inquisitive boy leaving fingermarks on Chon Actrion's ear. He was crouched on the pedestal and using the besalisk's crest to support himself as he leaned forward in order to read the name plaque properly, though how he was about to do it upside-down, Dooku did not know.
"Might I help you with something, young one?" the Master of the Jedi Archives inquired dryly, gliding serenely to the youngling's side. Dooku felt his own curiosity stir as he suddenly recognised the boy as the one keeping Qui-Gon and Padawan Kenobi's company just that morning.
"I'm fine, thanks," the youngling refused, obliviously examining the bronze besalisk Master's frozen features with obvious fascination. Dooku held in a laugh as the flames of Sullust gleamed in Jocasta Nu's eyes. Perhaps it was time he intervened – it would not do to have his old Padawan not talk to him merely because he had allowed the Temple's firebrand of a librarian disembowel the overly curious youngling.
Striding forward quickly, Dooku hailed them, careful not to shout. "There you are!" he said, his mind thinking up a suitable lie, "My having left the room does not mean you are excused from cleaning the mess you made there." Dooku, his back to a startled Jocasta, sent the confused youngling a surreptitious wink. The sudden, relieved smile on the boy's face sent an unexpected jolt of gratification through the older Jedi, and Dooku signalled that the youngling come down as he turned again to deal with Jocasta.
"I hope he has not caused you too much trouble, Master; I will deal with him shortly," he turned back to the boy, giving him a gentle push. "Come along, now."
The boy didn't need a second nudge from Dooku to break into a half-trot, and Jocasta sniffed disparagingly before disappearing into another section of the archive to harass a pair of giggling Padawans. Dooku shook his head, his amusement growing, and lengthened his stride so that he might catch up with the excited miscreant.
Any scolding he might have formed in his head was immediately disintegrated when the youngling smiled enthusiastically at him. "She's some krayt dragon," he said cheerfully, "Got eyes like one, too!"
Dooku found himself more and more entertained by this odd youngling – the boy's Masters must not have squashed the humour and excitement from him. "And I suppose you've seen one up close?" the silver-haired Jedi Master inquired dryly, deciding to humour him for now.
"'Course I have. They're pretty common, like to nest near settlements. Not like rancors; you'd have to go pretty far into caves to find them..."
'Settlements?' Dooku wondered incredulously. 'Common?' "There aren't many settlements on the City Planet," he reminded the boy. 'Lesson One,' the Jedi thought, hiding a smile, 'never get caught in your own lies. You have much to learn, young one.'
"Well... it wasn't here," the youngling said, sounding a little confused. Dooku folded his hands inside the sleeves of his robes and nudging the boy around another corner. His companion obeyed without fuss, not even seeming to realise that they'd changed directions.
"Where was it, then?" Dooku prompted him. He didn't think he'd encountered such an interesting youngling for a good while. That morning he had looked up from his morning katas when he had felt a blazing presence in the Force. He could think of no other person that it could have been other than Master Yoda and had slowed his katas before halting so he could greet the Senior Consulate Master with appropriate respect. Imagine his surprise when it had been not Master Yoda or Windu or any other Master, but a snip of human boy with eyes made huge by wonder.
To think that the pleasant chatter filling the silence was being spoken by a child who shone like a firestorm among sparks in the Force; to think that Dooku had judged him as introverted. Most Temple younglings were, but it seemed he had found the exception to the rule.
"Tatooine, of course," the youngling said simply.
"Tatooine?" Dooku echoed. "Force's Sight, what were you doing on Tatooine of all places?"
"I was born there, I think," the pale eyes were smiling as much as the generous mouth was. "Master Jinn told me where you were born, too. You're from Serry-no, right?"
"Serenno," the Jedi corrected, his amusement giving way to bafflement. What was this boy on about now? Dooku shrugged internally, deciding to take it in stride. He could question Qui-Gon about this later; his former Padawan seemed rather acquainted with this child.
"You used to be Master Jinn's teacher, right?" the boy said now.
"Yes, he was my most talented protégé," Dooku answered. "And I suppose you are his?" It would not do to refer to the boy as one of his old apprentice's various charity cases; Qui-Gon always did have a soft spot for the underdogs.
"Uh... my name is Anakin Skywalker," the youngling answered hopefully. It was quite obvious he had no idea what the question addressed to him had really meant.
"An unusual name," Dooku commented, making another turn, now with intent to make his way to one of the more unused practice rooms so that he might judge Anakin's abilities for himself. "Do you know any lightsabre velocities? I believe your class should have finished covering the basic ones a month ago."
"My class?" Anakin echoed thoughtfully. A moment later, the confusion cleared from his expression and he let out a rueful laugh. "Master Dooku, I'm not from the Temple," he said quietly. "Qui-Gon found me on Tatooine, but the Council – I'm too old."
Dooku sighed irritably – the Council again. This boy shone like a nova in the Force – surely they could bend the rules this one time? 'Stubborn.' "Qui-Gon is meeting with the Council at this very moment; I am sure he will plead you case further. 'And if he does not, then I will.'
It was another sign of the debilitating state of affairs within the Jedi Order if even its High Council, supposedly the eldest in experience and wisdom, could be so wasteful as to cast out a youngling like Skywalker, no matter his age. 'He may be old enough to sound set in his ways, but if one allows gradual change, then it will not be too difficult to alter his perception until he has been trained to our own way of thinking. Lazy, that's what they are. Slothful, wasteful...' Dooku sighed, releasing his frustration to the Force.
"When was the last time you ate, Anakin?" the Jedi asked calmly in response to a complaining gurgle from his companion's abdominal region. 'What is Qui-Gon thinking?' Dooku wondered, 'is the debriefing so urgent that Obi-Wan could not spare a few minutes to feed the child?' Now that he was aware of it, he could feel Anakin's hunger – one that had the feel of being suppressed over a long period of time. Doing an abrupt turn, he walked back to the last fork in the hallway, waiting for Anakin to catch up before stepping into the turbolift.
"Last night, I think," the boy answered vaguely. "And it wasn't Master Jinn's fault!" he said hurriedly, as if sensing Dooku's disapproval. "It's mine – I kind of had an... an accident with the thermal unit."
"You had an accident," Dooku repeated wearily, now keying in the initiation sequence to his quarters.
"Well... it was more that I activated the fry-wall and torched a bag of flour...?"
"Never mind – I am quite certain I do not want to know. Would you prefer nerf or shaak?"
"I've never tried either; you choose," Anakin decided, "We only ever had bantha back on Tatooine."
"Bantha?" Dooku didn't know whether to laugh or ask if Anakin was joking. "I wouldn't feed one of those filthy animals to a nexu."
Anakin shrugged. "I thought it tasted okay," he said. "Mom's a good cook."
"Of course. Come in," Dooku added as the door slid open with a muted hiss.
Anakin entered first and his mouth fell open. He didn't know quite what he'd expected, but the tasteful decoration and comfortable-looking cushions and window seats were not quite what he had in mind. "Wow!" Not at all like Qui-Gon's scruffy couch and generally austere theme.
"I shall assume that is merely an inarticulate compliment and treat it as such," the silver-haired Jedi Master's tone was wry, but Anakin could tell he was pleased. "Nerf stew it is," he called as he disappeared through another door. "Come; you can help set the table."
A short while later, Dooku spooned several ladles-full of the stew into Anakin's bowl and watched with something akin to awe as the boy inhaled the food. His amusement turned to disapproval, however, as he watched Anakin lick both sides of the spoon, clearly enjoying the food perhaps a little too much. "Anakin, you are welcome to second helpings; do not, however, repeat that disgusting act within my presence or out of it."
Smiling sheepishly, Anakin went to get another bowl, but stopped short as an expression of profound horror crossed his young features. Dooku raised a brow in question as Anakin turned back to him. "Yes?"
"Master Jinn!" Anakin moaned in dismay, running to the sink and dumping his utensils there before darting back to the chair and retrieving his poncho. "I'm so sorry, Master Dooku, but I promised him about staying in his quarters but I was so bored and –"
"If this is your idea of a plausible excuse not to do the dishes, I'm not accepting it," Dooku said, keeping a straight face. It took Anakin several more moments to realise the Jedi was joking.
"I don't – oh, no!"
Dooku made a questioning sound in his throat.
"It's not Master Jinn I have to worry about – oh, Obi-Wan is going to kill me! Thanks for the stew, Master Dooku, it was nice talking to you – oof!"
Anakin's flight was halted rudely by the person who had just initiated the door's opening sequence from the hall outside. "Obi-Wan!"
"So this is where you've been hiding, you little heathen," the Padawan scolded him, holding the boy at armslength and inspecting him for any signs of damage. Satisfied, Obi-Wan pushed Anakin back into Dooku's quarters as a chuckling Qui-Gon entered after them. "Good evening, Master."
"I'm afraid we began without you," Dooku apologised politely, "perhaps you will join us now?"
"It would give us no greater pleasure," Qui-Gon smiled. "I'm pleased to see Anakin has been in good company while missing, at the very least." The boy in question cringed; that was probably as close a rebuke as Qui-Gon would give him in front of Dooku, and he supposed he should be grateful for that.
A short while later, the bowls had been scraped clean and the table cleared. Obi-Wan was attempting to teach Anakin how to play holo-chess. The Padawan and the boy were bent over a small set, and Anakin would periodically shake his head in a positive or negative gesture while Obi-Wan's supplementary movements were limited to throwing his arms into the air or rolling his eyes. Dooku and Qui-Gon watched them for a while before conversation engaged them.
"It was good of you to look after him," Qui-Gon said softly, "he is a kind, well-meaning boy, but –"
"Still a boy," Dooku murmured. He looked at his former Padawan sharply. "If I were honest with you, Qui-Gon, I had other hopes in mind for your young charge." Dooku felt the younger man hold in a flinch, and saw him set his jaw. "No, no – clear those suspicious thoughts from that mind of yours, Qui-Gon, I merely wish to help." Dooku paused briefly to gauge Qui-Gon's reaction, and saw most of the tension leave his companion's body. Encouraged, Dooku continued to speak heatedly, though he was careful to keep his voice audible only to his one-time apprentice. "Surely you have felt his vast potential in the Force?"
"Indeed I have," Qui-Gon said wryly, "from the very first moment I laid eyes on him."
"On Tatooine, I presume."
There was a short silence broken only by a shout of indignation coming from Obi-Wan and Anakin's corner; both Jedi Masters swivelled around in alarm only to catch sight of a smug-looking Obi-Wan and red-faced Anakin. Seeing that no harm was done, Dooku's attempt to reinstigate the conversation was nevertheless foiled by a shrill cry from the nine-year-old. "You cheated!" the boy accused, pointing angrily at his still-smirking opponent.
"I most certainly did not," Obi-Wan denied calmly. "This is how holo-chess is played, youngling."
"But –"
"Page four, paragraph two in the game manual says so," the Padawan actually grinned before pulling up a copy of the instruction booklet in question. Anakin leaned forward to squint at the small print before it was snatched away and Obi-Wan grinned again, folding his arms behind his head. "See? Told you," he said almost gleefully.
Dooku shook his head, covering his smile with a hand, and leaning closer to Qui-Gon. "And this is our infamous Sith-killer? May the Force help us all."
Qui-Gon smiled very slightly before sighing and picking up their conversation from where they had left off. "How much has Anakin told you about his past?"
Dooku sobered instantly. "Not much, I'm afraid. I initially thought he was a Temple youngling with an unhealthy habit of lying or simply an extremely active imagination. Nevertheless, his link to the Force – he is bonded to it, Qui-Gon, in a way I never thought possible until I first spotted that youngling half-hiding behind the durasteel doors this morning."
"I did sense some surprise from you," Qui-Gon admitted. "I had considered you may have felt his presence."
"'May have felt' it – Qui-Gon, the boy's potential is as bright as it is unfathomable!" Dooku cast Qui-Gon a shrewd look, "and I believe that is why you pleaded his case to the Council, and also why it was rejected."
"Your observation is most astute, Master," Qui-Gon returned dryly.
"And you should learn to curb your tongue, my old Padawan," Dooku glanced over at Obi-Wan and Anakin, who were now arguing fiercely about the merits of sabaac over holo-chess. "It would not reflect well on either of us should your insolence rub off on the boy."
"I am afraid it is a little too late," Qui-Gon said mildly. His eyes flicked briefly to the arguing duo as well before his gaze returned to Dooku's face. "The Council was particularly firm on this matter; I doubt they would move if a rampaging reek decided to help them along."
'That could be arranged,' Dooku thought caustically, but kept that particular fantasy to himself. "I do not think so," Suddenly seized with a reckless urge that had not controlled his actions since years long gone by, Dooku inhaled deeply. "I wish to train the boy."
The silence next to him reeked of shock. "I beg your pardon?"
"I wish to train the boy," Dooku repeated, a little impatience filtering into his tone. "I know of several other Masters who would agree with me. A youngling of such immense strength should remain amongst the Jedi so that his considerable potential could be reached, or at least assisted, and he himself given the proper direction. If eleven (thirteen, counting you and yours truly) Masters petition for the boy to be trained, he should at the very least be given more consideration."
Qui-Gon relaxed; whether in relief or by forced calm, the reason was hidden behind his shields. "I appreciate your offer to train him, but it is unnecessary," he said. "I have already informed the Council of my own intention to teach him, and they have informed me he is to stay in the Temple under my care, provided it does not interfere with my duties as Master. This rather unprecedented event has given me hope."
"Yes, they have agreed to let him stay, but that is not much progress," Dooku observed. "How old did you say the boy was? How long do they propose we must wait?"
"It does not matter now – if I should speak my mind as freely as I wish, it may very well work against me, as it has in the past. Patience is our only option now."
"The very fact that we have only one option says it all," Dooku said sourly. He was more than a little disappointed, but could not help feeling some relief. Qui-Gon had not bowed to the Council this time – he was still fighting their decision, and Dooku would help him. "But you seem to have forgotten that you already have a Padawan," he added. "Surely that contributes to the Council's arguments that Anakin should not be trained?"
"Obi-Wan is to be knighted," Qui-Gon did not smile, but Dooku could feel his pride. Nevertheless, the silver-haired Jedi could not help but tease a little:
"He is ready for Knighthood, you say? I submit that he be tested for maturity first – he was squabbling with Anakin like a Hutt-babe over a morsel."
The sting did not land, however, as Qui-Gon brushed it aside. "His diplomacy is second to few, and Anakin is..."
Dooku shook his head, and watched as the youngling in question captured one of Obi-Wan's pieces before whooping and punching the unruffled Jedi Padawan triumphantly on the arm. "Gotcha that time!"
Obi-Wan merely arched a brow at him, moved a piece and said, very clearly:
"Checkmate."
"Huh?"
"I think it is time for us to depart," Qui-Gon said quickly before Anakin could start consulting the manual for the legality of such a move. "Master, I thank you for the scrumptious dinner."
"I thank you for washing the dishes," Dooku replied, his smile wry. "And I trust we may continue our discussion at a later date?"
"That would be much preferred, thank you." Qui-Gon got up and began herding his charges (now bickering in spite of all efforts to prevent them doing so) towards the door. "Thank you again, Master."
Dooku replied in kind, and the door closed with a soft sigh.
I guess I don't have to be afraid any more.
It's not so cold – you can't see the stars from Coruscant like you can from Tatooine, and you can't feel them like you can in space, but it's warm here, in the temple.
I like it. Master Yoda can be a little scary, but Master Dooku is wizard, even if he can be a bit snooty at times. He uses big words like Padmé and the Chancellor do...
I still don't know if I'll be a Jedi, but I'm staying with Master Jinn. Padawan Kenobi got Knighted last night, so he's going to move out. He says I can have his room, so long as I didn't burn it own. I said I'd try not to, but I don't think be believed me.
Are you listening to me, father?
I wonder how Mom is doing. Is she going to finish Threepio? I hope so... he's more human than most of the scum in Mos Espa – he'll help her. You will too, won't you, father?
And if you can't help her
(which is stupid, 'cause I know you can)
then you'll tell me
(like you always do)
so I can? I'll go home to Mom if she needs me.
You know I will.
Master Jinn would understand; I did tell you he was kind.
Padawan – knight Kenobi isn't so bad, either. It turns out he can laugh: who would have thought?
(Not me)
But I like it when he smiles at me – he cares, but you don't notice it straight away.
He must get it from Master Jinn.
Are you listening to me, father?...
Easing out of the pleasant daze he had fallen into, Anakin savoured the sweet rush of warmth pulsing comfortably in his blood. His father was comforting, as always, and kind to him – familiar in this foreign place.
Anakin's eyes opened and he looked wistfully out the window from which he had dozed at, but the skies were disappointingly blank. Mom always told him that father was in the stars, and Anakin had vowed to find him someday. In the meantime, however, he would speak to his father in his mind; a pity stars were not visible to the City-Planet. How could people stand being cut from starsong?
Feeling a faint tremor resonating through his surroundings, Anakin blinked, confused for a moment before recognising the distress as what had interrupted his conversation. He sighed, but could not muster any annoyance at the source of the disturbance.
Obi-Wan was having nightmares again.
Feeling a sudden chill as the warmth dissipated abruptly, Anakin wrapped his new robe around his thin sleepwear before making his way to Obi-Wan's door. He paused then, hesitating. He was not even supposed to be awake; the lights had been extinguished a good two standard hours ago. A third wave of anguish decided him, and the youngling slipped into Obi-Wan's room, all the time reflecting on what a deep sleeper Qui-Gon surely was, not to hear his former apprentice's nightmares.
Here smiles the nightmare; the gleam in his eye, the blood-night patterns upon his barbaric face – the ring of horns that crown the hairless head.
Darkness yawns, and Obi-Wan recoils in fear; his hands shake visibly as he draws his sabre, but the familiar sight of the cool blue sooths him, and quiets his racing heart.
And then battle is joined
(here the blades of summer sky, of forest-heart, of ill-spilt blood)
and he is frightened (though Jedi do not fear) and driven near-mad by the roaring and pulsing in his ears.
With desperation he scrabbles for the Light, feels it shy away – reaches again, is thwarted.
He doesn't want to die.
Don't want to die...
Surely Qui-Gon would triumph over the Sith as he always does, but Obi-Wan frets all the same, worrying desperately
(What you do best, Padawan)
and wondering what will happen when I'm not here to watch you, Master?
And then his Master reaches out with ghostly fingers and strokes away Obi-Wan's worries, and Obi-Wan releases a little sigh and opens himself to the Force.
Anakin started back, ripping himself from the dream. The memory was powerful; he had not expected to be drawn in so quickly. He felt suddenly sympathetic to the strained expression Obi-Wan wore as he battled with experiences gone and by. The Padawan – now Knight – had always tried to appear above himself, to cultivate calm, but hiding behind that façade lurked humanity – fear, fear of loss, as Yoda had said. Perhaps they were not so different after all...
The boy stood quickly and ran from Obi-Wan's room, his mouth set in a determined line. The newly-Knighted Jedi would likely dislike him all the more for it later, but for now, Master Jinn would know what to do.
After knocking urgently for several moments, he slipped in when no answer was forthcoming and made out the Jedi Master's dim form curled up on a bed too small for him. Frowning a little at that, Anakin reached out and shook the sleeping Qui-Gon, gently at first before growing more persistent when it was evident it would take more to wake him. "Master Jinn!" he hissed urgently as fear skittered at the edges of his consciousness – was Obi-Wan's dream getting worse? "Master Jinn, wake up!"
To his surprise, Qui-Gon went from sleeping quietly to sitting up in bed and swinging his long legs to the floor within the space of two heartbeats. "Ani?" the grey-haired Master inquired, rubbing sleep from his eyes, "what's the matter?"
"It's Obi-Wan, sir – he's having nightmares," Anakin explained, tugging Qui-Gon to his feet. "Can you help him?"
He looked up at Master Jinn, and Qui-Gon had a gentle, sad smile on his face as they entered Obi-Wan's room. "I can try," the Jedi said after a moment, "but I think I know what he dreams of. If it is as I suspect, then it would be kinder for him to fight his demons and banish them forever... if this continues to occur, however, I will consider sending him to one of the mind-healers."
Anakin nodded silently and hesitated before scrambling onto the bed and settling himself comfortably next to Obi-Wan. "Mom always made me feel better when I had bad dreams," he said to a quietly amused Qui-Gon, who had pulled up a chair. "She'd come in, and hold my hand and stroke my hair, and they'd go away."
"I don't see you doing that to Obi-Wan, though," Qui-Gon observed dryly.
Anakin made a face, curling up in the contorted arch of the unnaturally still Jedi's body. "I'm not going to hold his hand," he said, indignant. "Coming in should be enough." He pulled the corner of Obi-Wan's blanket tight around himself, snuggling into the bed before falling asleep within moments.
Qui-Gon shook his head, smiling slightly, and sank into meditation for what promised to be a long night's vigil.
In sleep, however, Anakin's mind reached out to twine with Obi-Wan's, and he dreamt.
Jedi Padawan Anakin Skywalker had never before faced such an opponent; the Zabrak was immersed deeply in darkness, driven almost purely by the power of anger and hatred. There would be no negotiation; no talk, no compromise.
Anakin knew that there was nothing that would satisfy their enemy save the death of the Padawan and his Master.
Qui-Gon Jinn was one of the most accomplished sabre wielders in the Order, but Anakin could see the strain of the combat on the older Jedi's ageing body. Desperate to aid his Master, the Padawan opened himself to every aspect of the Unifying Force and utilising it to enhance his own strikes and parries. Lessons he had believed forgotten rose up in his mind and various improvisation techniques made themselves known as Anakin used his speed and youth to the best advantage he could.
As the battle raged on, however, the Padawan could not seem to dismiss the growing fear that they might not emerge victorious. Such negative thoughts cost Anakin, inducing faint falters in balance or concentration. Their fierce opponent seized every available opportunity to land a blow – a kick to the ribs that he could not have dodged; a nasty burn to the leg where Anakin had not been fast enough; a loss of footing from an insistent Force push.
On and on they fought, Qui-Gon pressing harder and harder, eventually casting behind exhaustion in favour of the Force and its grace and giving more and more ground.
It is the way of the Jedi to be the slender tree that gives and bends in the storm.
Anakin mouthed the words to himself even as he strengthened his defence. In spite of the fact that four and not three lightsabre blades flashed in the muted light, it was obvious to any, observer or participant, whom the real combatants were. The Padawan's only desire was to lend aid to his Master; defeat of a Sith Lord was well beyond his grasp.
As Qui-Gon's green sabre sliced through one end of the sabre-staff's long handle, Anakin's feet were knocked out from beneath him by a sharp jerk before a Force-shove of immense power sent him flying backwards, his lightsabre spearing the wall several metres away. With the wind knocked out of him, his vision blacked temporarily as he hit the durasteel floor with full force. The Padawan coughed, abused lungs protesting, as he tried desperately to control the pain.
After several agonising moments, he managed to pull himself to his knees. Through white lines continued to swim hazily across his vision, he was relieved to see Qui-Gon yet holding his own against the Sith. To his dismay, however, Anakin realised that the duelling pair were moving farther and farther away from him.
Seeing the timed series of red security lasers that activated and deactivated at precise intervals, Anakin realised that the Jedi Master and the Sith Lord were making their way to the core-reactor. The Force seemed to scream at him to rise to his feet, and quickly, before he got left behind. It carried him swiftly across the walkway and the burning in his muscles seceded from his mind only to be replaced by a dull, throbbing dread.
Anakin fought desperately against his emotions, knowing without any shadow of doubt that if he let them overcome him now, there would be no way he could help Qui-Gon.
Keep your mind in the here and the now where it belongs, Qui-Gon's much-spoken advice hissed to the surface of his apprentice's mind. Trust in the Force, Padawan.
It was surprisingly easy.
...there is
(serenity)
no death...
(no pain)
but the Force.
He did not remember when his lightsabre tore through the control panel, nor did he remember bolting through the first entryway barely milliseconds after the lasers deactivated with a hiss. Only after feeling the searing heat of the reactor core on his skin did he halt abruptly a little behind and to the side of his Master, whose expression spoke of pained surprise.
Having frozen in the grip of whatever vision his unseeing eyes witnessed, Qui-Gon was vulnerable and Anakin only just realising his mistake in not stopping closer to his Master, the heat-shock be damned.
The Zabrak saw his opening and lunged, his yellow eyes crazed as his mouth opened in a victorious roar.
Something inside Anakin snapped and he ran forward with every ounce of strength he possessed; his lightsabre flew through the air and distracted the Sith enough that when Anakin flew forward, his Master's sabre summoned from Qui-Gon's unresisting hand. A broad slash had the two halves of the surprised Dark Lord of the Sith tumbling down the reactor shaft.
Anakin did not watch as the Sith's body was incinerated; rather, he returned to his master's side. Qui-Gon's gaze held surprised confusion, and he looked dazedly around as if not quite believing he was still alive.
"Obi-Wan?"
Anakin frowned. No, that was not his name...?
"Obi-Wan, wake up."
Anakin fell deeper into slumber.
"Mmmm? Master?" With much effort, Obi-Wan endeavoured to crack one eye open before opening the other in surprise as he glimpsed the chronometer hanging on the wall. "What are you doing in here, and at such an inconvenient hour?"
"You might want to ask our little friend here," Qui-Gon gestured at a tightly curled ball of white nightshirt and what may have been recognisable as a boy if one only tilted their head to the side and squinted. "He came to me not two hours ago, claiming you needed help."
Obi-Wan ignored the older Jedi's explanation as his eyes fell upon the Anakin-ball. "I suppose that would be the reason that I cannot feel my legs?"
"Indeed, and for the peace you feel," Qui-Gon smiled fondly at Anakin's huddled form before his brows knitted and he knelt to feel the youngling's forehead. "He's sweating, and his distress levels are quite high." Qui-Gon stroked the sweat-dampened hair from the small face, his expression inscrutable as he looked at his former apprentice. "It seems nightmares are catching tonight."
Obi-Wan, not knowing what to make of that cryptic remark, stayed silent – that is, until Qui-Gon stood again and made as if to leave the room. "Wait – what am I supposed to do with this – him? He's on my bed!"
"You are twenty and five years, Obi-Wan, not two and five. Do with him what you will." The door closed with an abrupt click, and Obi-Wan could hear the Jedi Master's chuckles through it.
Grumbling, Obi-Wan pulled and heaved until Anakin was lying more comfortably under the sheets before pulling the covers up around them both. Nevertheless, he took care to stay as far from the sleeping youngling as the small bed would permit. Sleep was about to claim him when Anakin kicked out abruptly, catching the Knight in the lower stomach.
Wheezing and embarrassed at being put in pain in such a derogatory way, Obi-Wan could only sigh.
'Thank the Force I'm moving out tomorrow.'
A/N: Feedback is appreciated. Thanks for reading!