Hello everyone! My most recent fics have been two series of one-shots centered on Dooku, Yoda, and Qui-gon, and while I am slowly updating those every now and then, I have been toying with the idea of writing a full-fledged Dooku-centered fic. This is a single chapter that occurs early in the fic, but I thought I would throw it out here and test the waters, so to speak. See if anyone is interested... (wink wink)
Anyways, this fic-in-progress is currently untitled, but I'll lay out a brief summary for you: After the events recounted in Dark Rendezvous, Yan Dooku leaves Sidious and the dark side and returns to the Jedi Temple months later, seeking asylum and hoping for forgiveness. He finds a friend in Jocasta Nu, Keeper of the Archives, but the rest of the Order are not as quick to forgive. Despite their opinions and suspicions of the former Sith, the Council agrees to allow him to stay in the hopes that they can keep an eye on him and use his knowledge to defeat the Sith once and for all. Meanwhile, Dooku seeks redemption and a better way than the Code in a small group of people located in the Bogden System. He gets more than he bargained for and uncovers something far stronger than the Sith and potentially more dangerous. Features Yoda, Mace, Obi-wan, Anakin, Ventress, Sidious, and more... (Angst, Drama, Adventure, and Family all rolled into one. Strong Christian themes are at the center.)
Warning: Dooku might seem a little out of character here, as in warmer and less rigid and emotionless. His usual self will be more than present during the rest of the fic, but he shares a unique relationship with Jocasta Nu (not romantic in any way), so he's not quite his usual self here.
When former Jedi Master Yan Dooku enters the Archives, it is a quiet, inconspicuous, and easily forgettable moment. He and Yoda had both agreed that he should make himself as scarce as possible during the first couple weeks of his return and he had determined, after a thorough study of the Academy's scheduled classes and free times, that early morning was the best time to visit the Order's vaunted collection of information. Early, as in two hours before Coruscant's sun would even begin to show the edges of its brilliant rays.
He remembers from the years prior to his apprenticeship to Yoda the mornings spent with Master Nu over a cup of her favored sweet tea. She had been in her mid-forties then, a middle-aged woman with eyes that hinted at a wisdom far greater than her years. Yan smiles slightly as he opens one of the doors. Jocasta has always had a love for antique artistry, and the ornate doors to her beloved collections show it. The hinges are oiled to perfection, betraying not even the slightest whisper of noise at his entrance.
He wonders what sort of welcome he will receive from her. None but fond memories remain of the warm librarian, but he did turn his back on the Order she served and still serves, and he harbors no illusions about her views on the Sith.
The Archives are dimly lit and it seems that he is their only visitor at this hour. To his left, aisles of sleek datapads and holobooks glow a soft blue. On his right, dusty books, ancient scrolls, and records from hundreds of civilizations sit comfortably in shadow. Oddly enough he, like Jocasta, finds comfort among those dusty aisles. Those shadows have only ever been warm, beckoning, and mostly innocent. Mostly. The darkest part of the library, back in a semi-forgotten corner where the books and holocrons are restricted, carries a more sinister air.
With a shudder and a sigh, he ruthlessly shoves those memories back into the deepest parts of his mind, determined to keep them under control for at least today. He will begin dealing with them tomorrow. Today begins something entirely different.
Yan settles himself and squares his shoulders, allowing the door to close soundlessly behind him. Jocasta's desk sits empty, hardly a surprise. The Archives technically aren't open yet. In an hour they will be, but by that time he will have settled himself in another of the library's semi-forgotten sections, hopefully hidden from any curious eyes. The younger generations no doubt have heard of him, but he is sure that most of them are not familiar with his appearance. He is banking on that hope. Research is always done best in silence and solitude with only the occasional companion to bounce thoughts off of.
Striding forward, mind racing with the aching familiarity of this scene, he glances absently at the neatly organized rows of information. It is not difficult for him to remember exactly which records he deleted and which he stole when he allied himself with the Separatist factions. A few of them belonged in this First Hall. At the time, he had deemed himself supremely clever. Not many could say that they had successfully infiltrated the legendary Archives and gotten away with it.
Now it's just another fault added to his admittedly long list. Mouth drawn in a flat line, Yan directs his gaze forward. It takes more than a few minutes to walk the length of the First Hall, but he finally arrives at the Rotunda that sits at the center of the great library and stops. He is consumed once more, as he always is in this place, with a sense of awestruck wonder. The architecture is magnificent: curved arches reaching dozens of feet towards the ceiling, elegant carvings tracing patterns into the woodwork, busts of former Jedi lining the walls. He had thought of it as beautiful at one time, and he still does see some beauty in it. What draws his attention more than anything, however, is the distinct appearance of depth. It is here that the second story of this vast labyrinth is visible and it is here that he is reminded of exactly how much knowledge is catalogued in this place, how many years are represented here, and how many lives have been dedicated towards collecting and organizing it all.
He is still standing there staring when he hears just the slightest whisper of movement off to his right. Turning, he watches as Jocasta Nu, old and looking more fragile than he remembers, emerges from her private quarters. Her white hair is pulled up and neatly pinned at the back of her head with some type of utensil and her light brown robes, as ornately patterned as the door he had entered through, are purposely wrinkle-free. Despite himself, despite his unexpected return and dark past, he smiles at her. He can't help it.
Upon finally noticing his presence, Jocasta stills. "Yan…" she whispers, and his heart warms at hearing it.
For the first time in a long, long time, he hears his name said with something other than fear attached to it. Or disdain, or disgust, or rage, or hatred, or oily respect. Even Yoda has yet to say his name without a slight undercurrent of suspicion.
Without moving, he offers her a shallow bow. It's barely a slight bend at the waist, but it's more than he's granted any other Order member he's interacted with recently. "Good morning, master." She, more than many, deserves that title. "I am wondering if you might help me with something…" He glances to his right, looking down the Third Hall, and starts moving in that direction.
"Yan, my dear boy, where have you been?"
Her voice stops him in his tracks. He had been hoping to avoid discussing his past, his present, or his unknown future. He had been hoping to keep this quick and professional… my dear boy? Blinking rapidly, he finds that his throat is suddenly constricting almost painfully. Furiously, he shoves down the rising emotions, even when a feather-light touch lands on his right arm. He looks down and sees a gnarled hand, knobby and spotted with age. "Growing old, the same as you," he replies, choosing to hide behind sharp wit and sarcasm.
Jocasta does what he cannot and slowly pads around so that she can face him directly. Determined not to fidget under her scrutiny, he glances once again down the Third Hall and nods in its direction. "I am looking for all of your records on the Bogden System."
"You foolish man," she says, almost gently. "Look at me."
He does, and what he finds there startles him. Yes, she has aged, but her eyes are as blue as ever and as sharp as they've always been. Right now, they are looking at him with an odd mixture of pity, sadness, and joy. He blinks. "Master, what –"
"I daresay you have grown older than I," she states. "Now, before I repeat my question, how about I brew us some tea?" Not waiting for a reply, she turns and walks back towards the door to her home.
Yan is speechless, something he hasn't experienced for quite some time. He turns and watches her, noting the slight limp in her steps, the way her feet don't quite make it off of the floor so that she is shuffling rather than walking. There is a barely noticeable tilt in her back and her breaths are audible now, especially in the silence of these halls. Jocasta Nu is old. He himself is in his early eighties which means that she is upwards of one hundred and twenty, and at that realization he marvels. The shuffle is distinguished, the bent back is more than straight enough, and when she turns with a gentle smile to beckon him into her tiny abode, he can't help but follow.
It is as he remembers. The sight makes him smirk. Those that never entered her living space would assume it to be just as neat and organized as the rest of the library, but oh how wrong they would be. Coziness, at least to Jocasta, is defined by heaps of partially-read books, old-fashioned crockery stuffed with writing utensils, and no less than four empty caf mugs strewn about the two-bedroom apartment. A small, worn desk sits in the corner to the right of the door, its surface covered with datapads, stacks of flimsy, and more than a few handwritten notes. Straight ahead of him, two shelving units, at least seven feet tall, are lined with all sorts of books. To his left, a tiny kitchen takes up another corner. There is no oven, but there is a stove, a cooling unit, and a few cupboards. A teapot, having already been filled and heated, begins to whistle as it spews steam. Jocasta is flitting about the space, deftly collecting two mugs, a container of herbs, and what look to be freshly-baked rolls of some sort. Yan inhales the scent with an appreciative sniff even as he wonders exactly how she baked them without the services of an oven.
"Take a seat, dear," she insists even as she busily pours water into mugs and separates the rolls onto two plates. Yan takes one more look around the space and then moves forward towards the only two seats available. There is a third seat, but it stands behind her desk smothered in a pile of articles. "I wasn't expecting company," he hears her mutter, almost to herself.
He quirks a hesitant – and since when is he ever hesitant? – smile in her direction. "Even if you had been, would you have deemed it necessary to tidy up?"
An annoyed flick of her eyes is directed over her shoulder. "It is the thought that counts, is it not?"
This draws an awkward chuckle from him and he again averts his eyes. She is so inviting he can hardly keep himself from jumping up and escaping as quickly as he can. He is dangerous, dark, tainted… he is poisonous to her, for Force's sake! He'll hurt her if he stays; he knows this.
At that thought, he rises to his feet again and stares her down when she cocks a brow at him. "I'm sorry, master. I don't belong here… but I thank you for your kind, if misplaced, welcome," he bites out, before turning to leave.
"Yan."
It stops him again, the way she says his name without all of the edgy emotions that have attached themselves to it over the years. "Yes?"
"I would not invite a Sith into my home."
Those blue eyes draw his own dark gaze to them against his will and he's stuck. No, he's not a Sith any longer. He's not. But he is no Jedi and he is anything but safe. So why does she insist on him staying? "I know."
Despite his frenzied thoughts and emotions, it truly is infuriating when she simply smiles and turns back to making tea, as if she knows she's beaten him in mere seconds of conversation. He growls under his breath when she beckons him back to the two-person table. Once he is seated again she turns, a steaming mug in each gnarled hand, and proceeds to serve him tea and breakfast. She is serving him. He picks at the rolls and absently sips his tea in the awkward silence that follows. He can feel her studying him, but he valiantly refuses to look at her.
Until she speaks again, the blasted woman.
"Is he dead?"
They stare at one another for a moment, one of them incomprehensibly forgiving and the other utterly flummoxed by it. Finally, Yan gives a curt shake of his head. "No. I am not nearly powerful enough to accomplish that." He takes another sip of his tea. "But the Confederacy has lost a significant number of members and the Separatist Army should be easily defeated within the next five months. Many of their bases have been recently revealed to leaders of the Republic and their resources have taken large hits during the past weeks." He says all of this as calmly as if he were discussing the ins and outs of droid manufacturing.
Jocasta's eyes are gleaming in amusement, but she only nods. "I see. And just how do you know this?"
"That is a pointless discussion that we need not pursue," he quips, frowning as the gleam in her eyes transforms into an obnoxious twinkle. "Just trust me when I say that it is a proven fact that the easiest way to destroy a well-oiled machine is from within. Consequently, I am now a traitor to both sides of this conflict and haven't the slightest clue of what my miserable future holds." The twinkle disappears. He has to look away yet again. That had been a bit more than he'd wanted to reveal, but he can only keep his bitterness contained for so long. "Yoda is arranging for all sitting Council members to return to the Temple so that they may be present for my… interrogation. Once that is finished I will have some sense of direction, I suppose."
Jocasta sniffs, drawing his attention. When she has it, she points a bony finger at him. "You, my dear boy, used to at least be a hopeful cynic. Now you are simply another bitter one. I will not ask what changed, because your unfortunate past explains most of it. What I will ask is why you deem your future so miserable, especially considering your inquiry into every record I currently have on Bogden."
He jolts in surprise, yet another first. What is it about this woman that keeps catching him off guard? But he knows. She's always been different. When he recovers, he narrows his eyes at her. "And just what do you know of Bogden?"
She dares to smirk at him. "Enough to know why you are asking about it. I serve this Order, Yan. My loyalty has never been in question, and that is why the Council keeps me on staff. I love my job and I am good at it, but Yoda would be the first to tell you that my loyalty to the Jedi Code is severely lacking." Yan blinks and she smiles at him. "I have had decades to search through this collection of knowledge and just as long to study it. Truth is precious, Yan. I think we can agree that it is not found in the Code."
There is a sudden flare of hope. Perhaps he is not as alone in this massive stone building as he thought. "We can," he says slowly, studying her with newfound purpose. With newfound and solidified direction. There is at least one more that sees what he is trying to see, and he remembers quite clearly reading that having one ally is exponentially greater than having only yourself. Two is not twice one; it is ten thousand times one, and in this it seems even greater.
He finally relaxes, content in this cluttered yet welcoming place. Shooting her a wry look while simultaneously taking a long swig of his tea – it tastes so much sweeter now – he drums his fingers on the table. "That is a discussion for another time, I think." When her eyes narrow, clearly in the beginnings of a protest, he smiles. "I did say another time, master Nu. I am merely postponing it, not eliminating it." This seems to take her off guard, finally, and his smile widens. "It's about time that you felt just as disoriented as I've been feeling," he says.
This draws an admonishing frown from her that folds itself into a quick smile. "I suppose. I am glad for you, Yan. Truly." She reaches for his emptied dish and slowly stands, shuffling to the sink. "I missed the ceremony, you know, when they unveiled your bust upstairs. I couldn't believe that you belonged in that group."
A genuine, deep frown cements itself on his face at those words. "Those busts are the epitome of arrogance," he mutters before his brain can register what she's said. His brows rise in surprise. "Why not?"
He gets another gentle smile from her. "I believe your presence here answers that question, does it not?" When he doesn't reply, she turns back to the sink to finish cleaning and drying the dishes. Once she is done, she dries her hands and shuffles to the door. "Let us see about Bogden now."
Grateful that she hasn't pressed him on more personal and painful matters, he follows her. "You were only partially correct in your assumptions of why I am researching the system," he explains as they walk down the Third Hall. At her curious look, he continues. "Depending on how the Council handles my return, I am thinking about requesting a teaching position at the small chapter house there."
Jocasta openly stares. "While I am not necessarily against the idea, I sincerely doubt that even if the Council were to accept you back into the Order, they would allow you to teach the younger generations. Especially alone. That particular house only hosts a small clan, typically the Hawkbat Clan, and requires only one instructor. Do you really think that they will allow that?"
Yan is only mildly hurt by the questions. He can't blame Jocasta, and he knows that she would readily agree that he could teach initiates, but he is not sure that he is ready for the blatant rejection that he is sure to get from the Council. He has to agree with Jocasta on that point. "No," he sighs. "I don't, but I am still going to ask. I have considered submitting myself to a mind probe to convince them."
Her face registers stark horror. "No, Yan, you can't. That is a strictly forbidden practice and it is highly invasive –"
"You think I don't know that?" he snaps. "And it is not forbidden, it is simply frowned upon. Yes, mainly Sith are known to use it, but even as a Sentinel I used it a few times. Yet another thing I must atone for." He tacks on the last sentence with as much venom as he can muster, which is a considerable amount, and she flinches. He's not sorry. This is not a pretty topic. "I am well aware of what it feels like. Don't be so quick to disregard my quite recent past as an apprentice to a Sith Lord. I have endured much worse, I assure you." And here he feels a small pang of guilt when her face twists in obvious grief. "That is also a discussion for another time, if ever," he mutters, relieved when she offers him a shaky smile.
He sighs again. "I have been mulling the idea of teaching over since I returned, master. Being the instructor on Bogden would not only keep me out of the public's notice, but it would provide me with the opportunity to do on the ground research into… other things. I have briefly looked into the Hawkbat Clan as well. They are noted for their somewhat… darker… tendencies." Shooting a sidelong smirk at her, he continues. "I believe I am uniquely suited to counter those tendencies, wouldn't you say?"
Jocasta lets out a faint chuckle. "I suppose you are. Here, you should find some information down here," she says, gesturing to their right. As she peruses the shelves, she glances at him. "If I believed in luck, I would wish you all the luck in the universe."
Yan catches her eyes and holds them, joy and disbelief wrestling with each other in his gut. "Thank you for your help… can I ask you one more thing, before you open your doors?" It is about that time, after all. At her nod, he swallows. "Can you forgive me? For all of the hurt I've caused you, for using your knowledge to meet my own twisted ends, for stealing and deleting information, for –"
"Yan."
He stops rambling, daring to hope.
Her eyes are watery, glistening with unshed tears. "Of course I forgive you, my dear boy." She pats some holobooks in front of them and smiles. "Now make yourself at home. I trust that you still know how to be discreet in this place?"
Still somewhat shocked that she can so easily forgive him for years of evil deeds, he nods, numb. Jocasta reaches forward and pats him on the shoulder. The gesture seems to cement her words in place. Of course I forgive you.
Without another word, she leaves him to his research and he grabs a flimsy-filled book, rifling through its pages. Within minutes he has settled himself into the comfortable patterns of study that he used to be so familiar with. By the time she has opened the doors to the Archives ten minutes later, he has sequestered himself behind two neat stacks of books, holograms, and datapads, comfortably hidden in an old, dusty, warmly shadowed corner of the library.
Well? Like it or not, please provide some feedback so I know whether I'll have enough interest in this story to post it or not. :) Much appreciated!
I would also strongly suggest that if you haven't read Dark Rendezvous by Sean Stewart, you should read it or at least skim it before taking on this story if I do end up posting it. My Generations: Dooku fic is largely inspired by that book and this upcoming fic takes place after those events. If nothing else, you should read it simply to read it. It's a great book. :)