"Makashi."

Yoda blinks, not entirely surprised, but not exactly pleased either. He has watched young Dooku thrive with a blade in his hand for well over six years, and has always known the boy to be something of a traditionalist. Not to mention a perfectionist as well.

No. Yoda is not in favor of Dooku practicing Makashi. Things are growing tenuous in the Senate and distant planets are becoming unsettled. Something is brewing, and should it spark a war, Yoda knows that Makashi will bring many disadvantages in sprawling battles. "An interesting choice, that is," he says, opting for a neutral reply.

Yan sees straight through it, naturally. The youth does not openly frown at him, but his lips thin a bit when he responds. "You disapprove."

Yoda sighs, hopping down from the chair he's perched on. He wanders over to some cupboards, aware that Yan's eyes are following his every move, observing, assessing, and formulating conclusions. It's something his boy has always been good at. Reading others.

A cupboard opens with a wave of his hand, prompting a slightly disgusted sniff to sound from their table. He can't help the small smile that wrinkles his features. "Uncivilized, it may be, but convenient it is when small stature, one has."

"Fair enough." A pause follows, but it doesn't last long. "Why do you not approve, master?"

A small jar of tea hovers smoothly through the air and lands softly in his outstretched hand. Even through the glass he can smell the spicy herbs, both bitter and sweet, that make up his favorite blend. He savors it for a moment before turning to grant full attention to his padawan. "A disadvantage, Makashi is, when fighting in a war, you are."

The boy openly frowns now, his dark eyes glinting with something that's not quite anger. Disdain, perhaps? Yan has begun to take his noble heritage quite seriously and it has begun to hinder the progress Yoda had made in quelling the child's fierce pride. Despite this, Yan does not act on his obvious irritation. Not at first. "War? Did you have a vision, master?"

"Observe the circumstances, I have. Vision, I do not need, when already brewing, war is."

At this, Yan looks down, studying his hands and the surface of the table. "All due respect, master, but if we are going to be fighting in a war, it's most likely decades from now, right?"

"A vision, did you have?" Yoda asks pointedly, though he smiles a little, teasing.

This draws a light smirk from the youth. "I pay attention to politics, master."

"Know this, I do," Yoda says, chuckling. "Now sense, I do, that you have an argument for Makashi."

Yan doesn't hesitate. "It is a classic form, master. You know I'm good with a lightsaber and you know how hard I've worked and studied to get to where I'm at. And you know I don't make decisions without thinking them through."

Yoda snorts lightly and turns away once more, heading for their small boiler, suddenly aching for a good brew of his precious tea. "Tell me what I know, you do not have to, padawan."

"This war, whenever it happens, will be dark."

Yoda stops moving, frozen in time, struck with a deep sense of foreboding. It feels much longer, but it's only a couple of seconds and then he is moving again, measuring out water for the boiler… "Dark, mph. All wars, dark they are. The Force, one does not need, to know this." Surely his padawan was just being symbolic, describing the death and suffering that wars always bring. Surely nothing… deeper. Stronger. More potent.

"I know you sense it, master."

Yan has never lacked for confidence, and Yoda truly despises it at times. Times like this when the youth says whatever he pleases while sugar-coating it with his natural charm and exquisite manners.

Unfortunately, Yan is right. "A darkness in the Force, you speak of, hm? Yes, sense this, I do. Darkness I have felt many times before, young one. New to me, this is not. Something different, you speak of."

He hears the youth stand and tracks the almost imperceptible footfalls until they stop close behind him. Another cupboard opens and he turns to watch, almost ruefully, as Yan very deliberately reaches in with both hands and withdraws two simple mugs, both a dark forest green. "Very civilized, you are," he deadpans.

Yan doesn't smile, though a warm tendril of silent amusement drifts over their bond. From someone of young Dooku's character, it qualifies as genuine laughter.

"I know I haven't really confronted the dark side before, but master… I've sensed it in Senate hearings. The majority of people who attend them are not even mildly Force-sensitive, but there is still a distinct aura of… darkness. It's not obvious. It's sneaky. Clever, almost. A bit…" Yan trails off, searching for an apt description. Yoda is surprised he can't find one in his extensive vocabulary.

Well, Yoda is always happy to teach. Even the small things. "Sinister," he provides, carefully eyeing his young charge.

Yan meets his gaze. "Something like that."

They both look away at the same time, Yoda to the boiler, Yan to another cupboard. Sugar is what the boy is after. Yoda has yet to decide if he uses it simply because he hasn't grown out of his sweet tooth or if it's because he can't tolerate the bitterness of the tea. Regardless, Yan has never asked him to stock their place with another blend. He makes do.

"So," he continues, "Makashi, you have chosen, to counter this new darkness."

"It's a serious form, master. I mean no disrespect to the others, but they just aren't as focused. Makashi counters something specific."

"Which is?" Yoda prompts, truly curious.

"Other duelers." A pause. "Force-users, specifically."

And now it comes to a head. The tea is almost forgotten… almost, because Yoda now knows that he absolutely needs something to calm him.

"Speak plainly, padawan," he practically snaps.

The Force is drawn tightly around Yan now, like a thunderhead just itching to toss out a few bolts of lightning just to see what sort of reaction it will draw.

Fittingly, Yan tosses one out. "Sith."

"Sith," he echoes, almost before his boy finishes saying the single, short word. It's a heavy word, one that dredges up memories he would rather forget and emotions that carried him to the breaking point more than once. Yoda has never denied that living centuries has provided him with many, many experiences, not all of them pleasant.

"Yes, Sith," Yan repeats. "This darkness has a personal quality to it, master. It's alive. Sometimes I think I almost hear it…" He trails off, reaching for the water that is now boiling. Unscrewing the lid, Yan reaches into the jar with two fingers and pulls out a pinch of the herbs. He crushes them even more before sprinkling them in his water and setting it aside to steep.

Yoda doesn't miss the barely visible tremor shaking the youth's fingers. "This darkness, young Dooku, is to be refused. Heard it also, I have. Cold it is. Tempting it is. Deadly it is."

The boy lets out a shuddering breath. He is barely sixteen, yet he carries the maturity of a man decades older than himself. Yoda has always marveled at this quality. There are times, however, when Yan truly acts his age. Right now, Yan is hesitant. Afraid.

The ancient master takes no pleasure in Yan's fear, but he appreciates it. The boy is still afraid of the darkness, and Yoda hopes he always will be.

"I know," Yan says. "That's why Makashi can counter it. It doesn't rely on emotion. It's cold, methodical, and deadly… just like the darkness."

Yoda simply does not agree. "Sprout from emotion, darkness does." Yan opens his mouth, probably to press his point, but Yoda doesn't let him. "Thrive on emotion… light does."

And now Yan is gaping at him, or at least the slight opening of his mouth (very obviously in disbelief) is equal to a jaw-dropping gape on any other human being. Yoda glances at his tea to gauge its readiness, and smiles. "Lived many seasons, I have, and seen much. Learned, I have, that emotions drive all beings. Darkness and light, defined by emotions they are."

"But, but… the Code…" Yan stammers, back to being a normal teenager.

"No emotion, but peace? No passion, but serenity? Taking it literally, you are. Surprised by this, I am."

At this, his padawan bristles a little. "How else am I supposed to take it?"

Yoda sighs and shrugs. "Vague, our Code is, hm? Wonder I do, if darkness lives because our code does not allow us to live in the light. Passionate, you are, about justice and truth, honor and civility. I have come to learn that a good thing, this is. Feed this passion, you should." His boy blinks, stunned or put off, Yoda can't tell. No matter. "If pursue Makashi, you will, then infuse it with this kind of passion, you should, hm?"

Yan finally seems to regain his voice as well as his composure. "Makashi is not passionate, master. I like it because it is controlled; this darkness will feed off passion. You can't possibly mean to counter it with something as… as… base as emotion!"

Well. An outburst. How… predictable. Yoda crushes a few more herbs and deigns to wait a couple more minutes for the tea to reach his desired level of flavor. Yan has forgotten about his own drink.

Yoda does not smile at this outburst, but neither does he admonish it. He is finding it to be a relief in some ways. "Afraid, you are. Passionate, you also are," he calmly observes, waiting for the rebuttal.

Yan surprises him. "Yes," he stammers, voice losing its cutting edge. "I am afraid, master. This darkness speaks and it's growing, and I don't have a way to defend against it…"

He is pleased that the boy has admitted to the fear he so obviously feels, but to have no defense against darkness? The ancient Jedi is baffled. "Light dispels darkness, padawan," he says. "So long as you dwell in the light, helpless the darkness will be."

Brown eyes bore into his own, simmering with frustration. "You keep telling me that, but I don't know what light is anymore! I obviously have misinterpreted the Code. These feelings that you tell me to embrace are the same feelings that I've grown up with except that I've been taught to control them…" Yan looks away, fingering the tuft at the very end of his thin braid. It's a nervous habit that Yoda has always found a bit endearing. "Everyone around me controls them. Jedi don't get angry, they don't embrace their fear. They just… release it all into the Force. Master, I can't do that. I've tried and I just can't."

Yoda blinks. This is not what he expected to hear, not with this boy that he's practically raised. Yan is not emotional. He has never been emotional. Yoda's simply never seen it. Sure, his padawan has been frustrated before, angry, occasionally filled with mirth. For the most part, though, Yan has always been level-headed. Steady. Stoic. "Act on emotion before, you never have…" he begins, but trails off when his boy turns away with a slight huff.

"Not visibly," Yan snaps. He uses one elegant hand to gesture to his chest as he turns back. "It's all simmering in here. Sometimes it bleeds through, but it's all contained for the most part. I don't know how to release it, so it just stays inside."

The old master scowls. "Tell me, you did not." It sounds like an accusation, but through their bond, Yoda's frustration is directed more at himself than at Yan. "Trust me, you do not?"

The boy's expression instantly crumbles, but there's an understated dignity to it. Yan does not fall apart and he is never reduced to tears. The only sign that Yoda's question has broken through is the barely perceptible upturn of his dark brows. A miniscule sign of distress. Yoda notices, because he knows him too well to look for anything obvious. "You're the only one I do trust, master."

"Hmph," the green Jedi grunts. The gimer stick taps the floor gently as Yoda smiles. "Afraid to display emotion, you are, for fear of rejection, hm?" Yan begins to protest, but the stick taps the floor again and he falls silent. Yoda takes a sip of his tea, murmuring his pleasure, and then looks full on into Yan's dark gaze. What he finds there is hope. He's happy that this time he can nurture it a bit. "Pursue Makashi, you will. Remain in the light, young Dooku, by driving this form with your fear. With honor. With passion. Stand, a Sith cannot, when passionate about the light, a Jedi is. Do well, you will, padawan."

Yan stares at him a moment, expression turning blank before once more clouding over into a frown. "I told you, master. Makashi is not passionate. It is –"

"Perhaps," Yoda interrupts, staring intently into the youth's eyes, "it should be, hm?"

Yan finally falls silent, yielding at last. The young Jedi turns away, his dark eyes coming to rest on his cooled tea. A soft sigh escapes him as he grasps the mug and turns towards their small heating element. Yoda watches in silence, and he continues to watch the boy until he disappears with his hot tea into his small room just off the common area. The Force is unexpectedly silent this time, and the old master is left alone with his thoughts and his own fast-cooling drink.


I know it's been a while, but I've got at least two more chapters already written, so I'll update at least the next two weeks! The writing bug is back for now. :) Thanks for your patience and please review if you can spare a few moments.