Author's Notes: Sorry the chapter's late, everyone! My excuses are: a) school coursework due in by Easter, so in less than 5 weeks (Argh! Nightmare!) and b) my getting addicted to reading Dumas' The Three Musketeers. The reading spree has lead me on to reading all of Conan Doyle's Hound of the Baskervilles, and I've now got my teeth into (excuse the pun) Dracula by Stoker. I just can't stop! ^_^ It should do my imagination some good, though… or not.

This is very much a talking, getting-over-the-war-and-onto-the-next-thing chapter… and it just kept going! o_0 Again, take it as you will. The next chapter is probably going to be a bit riské… but I've come this far, and I have my BETA reader to consult, so it should go all right. She says.

Skywalker-Blue: I'm glad you enjoyed the mêlée – it was a difficult one to write out! And it wasn't a typo – careering is the word I wanted. ^_^ Things are going to be a bit bleak for the next two or three chapters – I'm just hoping, once they're done, I know what to put in-between that and the end! I think I have a conclusion sorted out, but the middle's a bit blank currently! Oh well… I'll see how it goes!

Alex: Thankyou very much for reading so far! I'm glad you've enjoyed the ride.

Darth T-Rex: Oh, Dooku's dangerous no doubt. ^_^ I just wanted to show it. Thankyou for your comments!

Merrymoll: It is only going to get worse (and I mean the scenario, hopefully not my writing! ^_~). And you can't beat an evil Dooku! And he's only gonna get worse…

Shadow-Angel: I'll do my best to keep going but, like I've said, finishing stories isn't my greatest skill as a writer! I think of new ideas faster than I can type them! Hope you keep reading!

Heather Wan: Am I evil, or is the story evil, or both…? That's alotta evil in your review! ^_^ Just admit it – you've been seduced by the Dark side! LOL

Ami: I call it writing, but typing technically is right… but who cares? :) Keep reading…if you dare.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, or any of the characters, scenarios, etc, etc… but I do have a license to my own free will and imagination, and they belong to me alone! Which, incidentally, is probably a very good thing! I probably should have thought about it before sharing them, however…^_^ LOL

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"ECLIPSE"

Part 8

'When he touches me…puts a hand on my shoulder, I mean…I feel a chill spread through my body; I feel cold inside, and scared…I've never felt like it before. I know that I want to break away from him, but I can't – something stops me! I can't!'

'I don't know what's wrong with me…but when I'm around him, I…I can't control myself…'

'I can't seem to do what I want to when he's near me…I can't feel what I know I should be feeling…'

'I just don't get it, Ani…I can usually remain strong under pressure for so long, but he just got to me so quickly'

'Anakin, I'm just so frightened! How does he do it?'

'I don't know Padmé…But I'm gonna make him pay if he's hurting you!'

"I'll make him pay…some day," Anakin murmured as he slowly opened his eyes. His vision gradually focused, and he swallowed, his throat dry and his head pounding. Blinking hard in the dimness, he groaned quietly – wherever he was, it was dark.

"I'll make him pay…?" he asked himself in a hoarse whisper, unsure of who or what he'd been talking about; his memory had gone blank.

He looked around himself cautiously and realised that he was laid back on a bed in the gloom of a small room. There were various pieces of bleeping apparatus stood by his bedside, linked up to parts of his body with wires and thin, transparent conduits, and perched upon a far wall unit was a glass vase, filled with fresh flowers; their scent filled the room with a pleasant aroma, but it only proved an irritant for Anakin's headache. He groaned once more, pushing himself up into a sitting position, before then placing his head into his hands, careful not to pull any of the tubes fastened to him loose.

He abruptly frowned as his fingers touched his face; one hand was warm and soft, but the other was 'hard' and 'cold'. He hesitantly pulled his hands away and looked at them in disbelief; his face contorted in horror, and he shook his head in denial, stammering, "No" over and over again.

It now all began to flood back in vicious flashes – manacled hands, an unfair trial, Geonosian soldiers, Republic troops; a red lightsabre, a dark warrior, a vicious battle…

"No…" he sighed yet again as he looked hard at his right hand, hoping – no demanding – that this was but a delusion! His right arm was completely metallic from the elbow down, his flesh and blood, skin and bones replaced by its aesthetically displeasing form.

He closed his eyes, flashbacks coming at him fast and fiercely – a lightsabre fizzled, burning through his clothes, scorching his skin…he recalled the pain, the agony, the torment. It came down on his arm, came down, unstoppable, and sliced through his flesh, bone and sinew, cauterising his tissue and instantaneously drying his blood; it was his fault, the warrior's, the man whom he had fought! It was his fault!!

"The bastard!" he cried, his face tensing up with rage as his memory finally clicked back into place, and all the fragments of recollection formed into a coherent whole; he'd battled with Count Dooku, that poor excuse for a former Jedi, that insolent cur who had dared to stand against him, who had dared to touch the woman that was his.

The woman…?

Anakin paused, his mind all a flutter – Padmé!! Where was Padmé? What had happened to her? Was she safe? Did she get away?

Footsteps echoed outside his chamber and a light came on in the outer hall; someone had heard his cries.

"I'll kill him," Anakin growled wildly, his eyes darting about the small room in a panic-stricken rage, "I'll tear his head from his neck, I'll pull his insides out, I'll –"

The door abruptly swung open, and some kind of nurse walked in. And then Anakin realised where he was – the medical base within the Jedi Temple.

"Master Skywalker, you're awake," she said gently, stepping to his bedside, "Please, don't get up…you need your rest." She lightly put a hand onto his shoulder, and urged him to lie back down.

"Padmé! Where's Padmé?" he asked frantically.

"Master Skywalker, please," she insisted, "Rest."

"I need to know! If that bastard has her –"

"Language, Anakin!"

Anakin's eyes darted over to the doorway and beheld Kenobi in its frame; for a moment, the Jedi Knight just held his apprentice's gaze, and tried to silently soothe Anakin's wrath and pain, before he then entered into the dark room and switched on the light above. Ani felt that Obi-Wan looked incredibly weary, his savage wounds now plastered over in bacta bindings, but, regardless, took little heed of his Master's fatigue, and demanded, "Where is she Master? What happened?"

"Master Kenobi, your Padawan needs rest, please! Don't let him excite himself like this," the nurse recommended directly, "His body needs to get accustomed to his new arm, and –"

"Master, tell me about Padmé! I don't care about me!" he ordered again, interrupting the nurse irately, sweat beading his brow as he denied his weary body the rest it needed.

"Anakin, pay heed to the nurse," Kenobi said quietly, taking a careful seat on the end of Anakin's bedside, "You've suffered a horrific injury, and you're not going to be ready for anything – especially a jaunt across the galaxy – any time soon."

Anakin could barely believe the calmness of his Masters' tone, "I need to see Padmé! Where is she, Master?" he continued.

Obi-Wan's blue eyes slowly shifted away, a look of defeat, sadness and sore emptiness in their cobalt depths, "I'm glad to see you're awake," he said, disregarding Anakin's pleas momentarily, "I feared that you'd lapse into a coma, or something…it's amazing that you weren't further affected by shock after taking such a vicious wound."

Anakin remained silent, his Master enfolded with a most poignant melancholy; the aura about Kenobi was strange to him, and it immediately caught his attention, and calmed the raging storm within his head.

Obi-Wan briefly gestured to the nurse to depart, and she swiftly obeyed, leaving Kenobi and his protégé alone; "I warned you, Anakin," Obi continued as the nurse closed the door behind her, a severe edge to his soft voice, "But you didn't listen. We could have taken him together, but you had to go at it alone…"

"It's too late to tell me this, now, Master," Anakin said sourly.

"I told you plenty before it was 'too late', Anakin, but you paid no heed! See where you're recklessness gets you?"

"I could have taken him," Anakin retorted bitterly, recollections of his fight with the Count flashing through his mind, "He wasn't so great. I injured him, didn't I?"

"And he injured you thrice as seriously back, Anakin," Kenobi reminded the Padawan; he cared deeply for the boy, but he could be so trying to his patience sometimes, and it wasn't helpful; "You're a fine swordsman, Anakin, " he continued, "But you're not the best. And don't ever lose sight of that."

Anakin for the moment stopped, and looked firmly at his tired and disgruntled teacher; the day had been hard on everyone, and they'd all encountered troubles, but Kenobi's words, for some reason, offended him. Was his Master continuing to put him down, and continuing to try and prevent him from reaching his full potential?

'It's all Obi-Wans' fault! He's jealous! He's holding me back!'

Anakin felt his frustration toward his mentor resurface: Obi-Wan hadn't even managed to put a scratch on the Count, but he had – he'd cut his arm, and gashed his chest! Some great swordsman the 'infamous' Dooku had turned out to be. Perhaps Obi-Wan was jealous, and wanted to make sure that he wasn't upstaged by his Padawan, so was trying to hinder his confidence in his fighting ability. Anakin's lip curled up moodily, certain that his Master was in the wrong here.

"And as far as Padmé goes," Kenobi went on, immediately catching Anakin's attention, "Well, I'm afraid that she's out of our hands."

"What are you saying?" Anakin asked in horror, "Has that –" He hesitated, struggling to find a word that he felt was fitting to name Dooku. Luckily, Kenobi cut him off before the carnage emerged from his Padawan's lips; "Anakin, please, calm down…" he said soothingly, looking at the boy hard with his gentle, azure eyes;

"How can I calm down, Master? Are you saying we've just gotta sit here and leave her with that…that –"

"I'll have no more of your foul mouth, Anakin!" Kenobi snapped, anticipating the following utterances that were about to materialize from Ani's lips once more; his weariness had made his patience unusually short, and though he understood his Padawan's anger and impatience, he knew when the boundaries were being pushed a bit too far.

He sighed, and looked firmly at Anakin with a considerably harsh gaze; "Padmé has signed herself to the Separatists – you know this?" he asked him gently. Anakin swallowed reluctantly, before giving Obi-Wan a gruff nod of acknowledgment. Kenobi lightly nodded in return, before continuing calmly, "Therefore, there is little we can do for her. Dooku, as far as we know, still has her, and is in his rights to have her. She is an ally of his, now, not of us."

This hurt Anakin, and Kenobi could see that it did, as he turned away, unable to control his feelings of hatred and betrayal.

"Please, Anakin, rest," Kenobi finally insisted, feeling that enough had been said for now. He patted his apprentice on the shoulder paternally; "We've all been dealt a blow," he went on, trying to comfort him, "But rushing out blindly and rashly, whilst still wounded, and without having any idea of where you're going, or what you're going to do if you get there, isn't going to help anyone…in the least bit you."

"Then what can I do?" Anakin asked, his tone low, "Padmé's in trouble, I can feel it! He made her join him, Master, he made her! I can't let him get away with that!"

"Do you want to get her back for Republican justice, Anakin, or do you want to get her back for your own desires?" Kenobi asked him seriously, "Think about it…"

The Jedi gave his apprentice one more friendly tap on the shoulder, before returning shakily to his weary feet and limping out of the room, switching off the above lamp as he left.

Anakin watched him go, unsure of exactly what his Master had meant, and of how much he knew about he and Padmé's feelings for one-another. After a long pause where he stared into space, he sighed, laying back down, and looked to the ceiling above, alone in the darkness once more. He felt numb and helpless, and was sure that this must be how Padmé was feeling, wherever she was.

He sighed again, feeling his severed elbow throb a little – his new metallic appendage felt uncomfortable and wrong. Though he wanted to deny his tiredness and his need for respite, he couldn't prevent it from taking a hold of him. His eyes felt heavy with fatigue, and he felt himself drift off into an uneasy sleep…

'Anakin, I'm just so frightened! How does he do it?'

'I don't know Padmé…But I'm gonna make him pay if he's hurting you!'

'…I'm gonna make him pay if he's hurting you!

'…make him pay…'

'pay'

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"My word, sir…the things you've gotten yourself in since going into politics…it's enough to make one's blood curdle…"

"Well don't let your blood curdle; it'll be the end of you…"

Serenn was in no mood to be amused. He stared ahead, his eyes concentrated and wild as the past battle came back to him in unwanted flashes. And he now bore a physical trophy of his shame – wounds across his chest and arm that threatened never to fully heal. How humiliating… And to be given them by a boy, a mere Padawan! Even the fact that this boy could be 'the Chosen One', and therefore extremely talented, was of little consolation to him; he was Dooku, infamous Jedi duellist – never had he been bested by one whose rank didn't surpass Knight!

He hissed suddenly as Bhade dressed his chest wound, slapping a load of bacta onto it before covering it with a large swathe. "That'll scar, sir, unless you get yourself sharply to an exceptional infirmary and have it seen to properly…"

Dooku looked down at the large white swathe across his bare chest; "Let it scar…" he snarled, "It'll just be another to add to my memoirs of disgrace." He slipped off the bench on which he sat, in one of his mansion's many chambers, and picked up his discarded shirt; he wouldn't be wearing that again now that it had fine tears seared across the breast and sleeve.

Bhade nodded obediently and without question, "As you wish, sir" he said, before beginning to pack up his medical kit; Bhade was one of two servants Dooku had at his home on Serenno, both of whom took care of his overly large home. Now mature in years, Bhade had served in the military as a young man, being qualified, amongst many things, in medical care; this came in handy when his master rolled back home covered in brutal cauterisations. Short in stature – and quite literally dwarfed by Serenn – Bhade had a bald head, though his eyebrows ironically remained thick and bristly, and had a considerably stocky figure which had come from his years in service. He was primarily responsible for the upkeep of the huge gardens of the established Dooku family manor, whilst his wife took pride in the catering and housework; it was a time-honoured set-up on a planet that preferred to keep the traditions of the eras of old.

Having been a Jedi for most of his life, living on the urbanised and technologically advanced world of Coruscant, the ways of Serenno had come as something of a culture shock to the Count when he had finally renounced his Jedi code and reclaimed his inheritance. Serenno was a planet still thriving off agriculture, and was sparsely populated; its crime levels were exceedingly low, in fact almost non-existent, and the standard of living was good. Their only exports were their famed spices and various metal ores, neither of which the planet had much interest in itself. Serenno wasn't an Outer Rim planet, in spite of all this; often likened to Alderaan, it was a peaceful place, a 'quiet village' in comparison to its thriving 'city' counterparts.

Dooku, however, was rarely found residing in his mansion, so he didn't feel the need to try and modernise the old-fashioned ways of his homeland; he had better things to do more than anything else; why should he bother to waste his time? Being the infamous political activist that he was, staying at home all day wasn't an option, and, despite his age, he had absolutely no inclination to be so idle.

"I recommend you take a week's rest, sir," Bhade continued, throwing some bloodied wipes into a nearby bin carefully, before removing the liner so that he could go and safely discard it, "Those wounds are bad by any standards, but for a man your age –"

"You don't have to lecture me, Bhade, I've been around long enough to know how to take care of myself," Dooku snapped, gesticulating angrily with his hand, "And if I choose to ignore your advice, then it is because of my own choice, not stupidity."

"I never asserted that you were stu –"

"Bhade, shut up! I'm in a foul mood, as you can probably muster, and would rather be left to my own thoughts," the Count retorted tersely, loudening his authoritative voice; he dropped his torn shirt onto Bhades' refuse bag, "Dispose of your litter and retire for the night. The hours are fast waning, and I don't wish to keep you up on my account."

"And what of the young lady, sir?"

Dooku paused for a moment's thought before he casually replied, "I'll see to her…"

"As you wish, sir," Bhade replied, stepping away toward the door, and making a fleeting look back to his master; "Good night, sir," he added swiftly, before he hobbled out of the room and closed the door gently behind him, leaving the Count stood motionless, alone in the shadows.

Dooku inhaled slowly, his chest rising then falling steadily as his eyes scoured the walls of the room, a tiny box, more like a closet than a chamber – his thoughts drifted away from him and he stared into space for some time; the pain of his chest wound was slowly subsiding as the soothing bacta cooled and healed it, but pain did not bother him – pain was power, it gave him strength – it was the mental pain, the mortification of the day that occupied his mind. Yes, for the most part, he'd achieved success, but not completely; he had been wounded by a Padawan – a meagre boy! That factor alone stung more than any searing abrasion. His Master would surely rebuke him for such carelessness. On the other hand, the conflicts between the Separatists and Republic had been sparked into activation, and he had the plans for the 'ultimate weapon' safely at hand; plus, he had drawn Senator Amidala effortlessly into his grasp. Perhaps things were not so bad.

He could tell himself that, but it didn't prevent him from feeling uncomfortably petulant.

He took his own leave of the room, and, taking a right turn, walked quickly down the outer corridor, his boots clanking against the marble floor. Through the large windows, the red light of the waning sun shone, lashing his body with its wild, crimson glow – it was passing twilight outside the mansion. The halls were quiet and still – they always were; it had been centuries since a sizeable family had resided here.

The Count reached the end of the passageway, and entered into a room, swiftly pulling the door open, before slamming it aggressively behind him. He curled up his lip, slinging his arm back and belting the door firmly with his hand, yelling briefly in antagonism as his inner frustration got too much to bear; "A boy… a mere boy!" he hissed to himself, glaring lividly into space. He couldn't get Anakin's smug countenance out of his head, and despite the fact that he'd gained an obvious victory over the apprentice Jedi, there was something about young Skywalker that unnerved him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. He wasn't one to scare easily – it took something dire to unsettle him – and he wasn't even sure if it was fear that he felt, but still…

"A feeble boy…" he growled indistinctly.

Whatever it was, he felt that he had something of a score to settle with this 'boy' now; Anakin would pay for the wounds that had disgraced his pride.

He remained still for a moment, calming himself with deep, steady breaths, before he stood straight from off the door and walked across the dull chamber. The room was dark and sinister, void of virtually any furniture, bar one sheet-covered unit, with the windows hidden behind blackened blinds and a mere tattered rug sprawled out haphazardly upon the floor. Approaching the lone unit, he pulled the sheet from it, and revealed some kind of communication console beneath, a dull metallic grey in colour, with a small projection plate on top, and various switches dotted about it. He swept his hand across it to knock off some dust, shaking his head at the amount of the stuff that had somehow managed to accumulate upon the console, and then proceeded to flick the switches about and input various codes, bringing the mechanism to life. He then stepped back onto another plate, on the floor, (a receptor one this time) and waited.

The main console whirred gently, and bleeped several times, the buttons upon it flashing briefly and the rims of both the plates glowing softly. The Count watched the projector plate earnestly, swallowing, waiting for it to come to life as he stood stark still.

Bleep.

Bleep.

Bleep.

Bleep.

Cling.

Dooku's back straightened to attention, and both plates actively hummed, the receptor transmitting his image, whilst the projector sent the image of he or she at the other end of the communication to him.

A hologram of a hooded figure – a man – suddenly materialised, projected on top of the console, at about a sixth of its natural size. The figure's head raised slightly, his entire body encompassed in a heavy, ghostly robe, and his visage overshadowed by the protrusion of his hood. His mouth, just visible, was tight and unforgiving, and his voice, as he spoke, was even more unnerving; "Lord Tyranus," he hissed insipidly in greeting, a strange yet unmistakable air of dominance about his frail tone. It was the Sith Master.

Dooku made a short nod, "Master Sidious," he said, his normally vociferous tone dwindling slightly to a reverential level, "The Force is with us. I'm sure you have by now discovered that the conflicts have begun."

"Yes, indeed," Sidious replied, his tone unemotional, his face unmoved, "And the plans, do you have them?"

"Yes, my master. I will bring them to you tomorrow morning."

"'Tomorrow morning'?" Sidious echoed brusquely, his mouth seeming to go taut, "Why not tonight?"

Dooku looked at his Master hard, a slight frustration flashing across his face, "My Master, I would have come to you immediately after the battle, but, as I'm sure you've heard, I've successfully drafted Senator Amidala to my cause, and have her here with me. I cannot afford to abruptly abandon her here and leave for Coruscant – it'll more than likely rouse her suspicions, and I need to maintain what faith she does have in me for the time being."

"Rouse her 'suspicions'?" Sidious repeated slowly, "How can departing in the morn leave her any less suspicious than in the eve?"

"I can leave early, whilst she sleeps, and –"

"You honestly think she'll rest under your roof at all?" Sidious interrupted with an evident scoff, knowing Padmé and her attributes well.

Dooku cam close to rolling his eyes, "Master, please – I know what I'm doing!" he retorted.

Sidious paused for a long and awkward moment, and even though Serenn could not see his Master's face, he could feel his sharp, penetrating eyes upon him. The silence was exceedingly uncomfortable, and Dooku felt the need to shift a little on the spot, transferring his weight from one leg to the other as he uneasily waited for Sidious' response.

Sidious finally made a move, lightly wafting his frail hand toward his protégé, "Fine, Tyranus…have it your way."

Dooku nodded slowly, eyeing his Master hard, "Then I will see you tomorrow, my Lord."

"Yes, tomorrow…" the Sith Master echoed in a menacing tone, his image abruptly fading. The console clicked again, before the plates both deactivated, and the transmission terminated, Sidious' small image fading from view. Dooku's face contorted in further wrath – injuries, unruly Padawans, whining Neimoidians, and then this…it was just one of those days.

He deactivated the console, and flung the sheet untidily back over it – he despised being treated as second best. Sidious didn't always treat him with inferiority, but when he did, he loathed it.

Dooku turned and approached the door, about to walk out of the dismal chamber, but came to a halt as he reached it. He slowly leant upon the door, respiring heavily, his mind filled with an irksome wrath; he knew that he was in more than just a foul mood today, as he could have usually endured Sidious' caustic tongue, or even turned it against him, as he often did when spirits were good. But today…today he had let it cut him to the quick with too much ease. Anything that would usually just irritate him was enraging him due to his volatile state of mind. He needed to calm down.

Taking one final deep breath, he opened the door and left the room with his thoughts.

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Something about the Count's splendid abode reminded Padmé of the palace back on Naboo; it wasn't quite as warm or homely, but it shared the regal edge and old-fashioned décor, with marble pillars adorning the corridors, large windows reaching down the tall walls, and a beautiful garden stretching in all directions around it. If nothing else it was a marvellous place, yet unmistakably lonely.

She was sat in a gigantic sitting room, in a large, cushioned armchair – the chamber's traditional and out-of-date edge was at the same time both haunting and soothing. Before her was a large, stone fireplace, in which some flames crackled gently, and a large rug covered the floor before the hearth. Opposite her was an identical armchair to the one in which she sat – both bottle-green in colour – and beyond them, around the room, were various pieces of old wooden furniture – a desk, a table, and various other units. Above the fireside was a large, imposing portrait of some man; paintings in themselves were rare enough, since long had the holo-picture come in to replace them, but on a planet like Serenno, Padmé guessed that anything considered archaic went. The gentleman in this portrait looked familiar, though he clearly wasn't the Count; she guessed that he was one of his ancestors. His hair was dark, his clothing from a gone era, but his eyes were the most stirring – they were exactly the same as Dooku's: deep, intense and overbearing. Such eyes must be a genetic trait of the family.

Darkness was falling outside, and was creeping into the corners of the chamber now. Padmé looked about herself warily, the silence only penetrated by the gentle crackling of the fire, and the room only illuminated by its ruby glow. It sent flickering shadows dancing across the walls, which were most unnerving, especially when you were in the home of someone you weren't particularly comfortable with. She ceased looking about her, and curled up in her chair, her body weary, and her spirits low. She didn't know where the Count had gone – 'Take a seat. I'll be back soon' was all he'd said. She presumed he'd gone to get those ghastly wounds seen to.

She yawned, feeling tired, but not too inclined to sleep; she'd never liked slumbering in strange places anyway, but this topped them all off.

The journey from Geonosis to Serenno had been quite a long one, though she expected that her personal unease and despair had prolonged the journey in her mind. She'd felt more than claustrophobic sat in the tiny cockpit with the less than ecstatic Count, who had seemed to be in an invariably abominable mood throughout – though she could hardly blame him for not feeling some rage or distress as far as his horrid wounds went. Didn't he deserve them, though?

She didn't know what to feel at the moment. She was horrified by what she knew the Count was capable of – that lightning had been terrifying – and she longed to know how Anakin was. Dooku had been certain that Skywalker lived, and she didn't doubt him; if Anakin had have been killed – may the Force forbid it – then she would undoubtedly have not heard the end of it from the former Jedi.

She swallowed, holding herself tighter – her mind was imprinted with the sight of Anakin when he'd lost his arm. She felt so bad, having just stood idly and helplessly by, not doing a thing to help him when he'd needed help most. The moment continued to replay itself over and over in her mind, his awful cry echoing through her head, constantly jabbing at her conscience, jeering at her and telling her that it had been her fault. She felt tears within, but forced herself not to show them; she couldn't afford to lose strength now. She knew that it hadn't been her fault – her inactivity had been Dooku's doing – and yet even knowing that didn't alleviate the potent feeling of guilt and shame that throbbed violently within her.

She suddenly became aware of the loud clanking of boots in the corridors without, entering into the chamber, and closing in behind her. She looked to her side edgily, though she didn't move her body; the entire room, though glowing dimly from the fire, suddenly lost its warm edge, and might as well have been dark. It was from the impetus of a sudden chill throughout her body that she knew the Count had returned.

He finally came into her view, calmly pacing by and taking a seat opposite her; his eyes were held steadily upon her, his facial expression somewhat grim. Padmé thought that he looked weary and aggravated, but couldn't read further into his emotions – he wasn't of that kind of 'transparent' nature. The wounds he had sustained were thankfully now hidden beneath a slack, pale-blue shirt, replacing his ruined black one – if anything, the colour of the garment seemed out of place for a man of such a dark nature. She stared at him warily.

He continued to hold her eyes, waiting her out, and relaxed back in his seat, his hands laid across the arms in a cavalier manner. Padmé didn't like his 'unruffled' state of mind; as much as she wished to deny it, it was unsettling. She tried to hold her own against him, and attempted to play him at his own game, staring straight back into his gaze as he looked upon her.

The fire crackled and spluttered in the silence between them, the atmosphere tense.

It took but a few more minutes before Padmé gave up the little game, blinking and turning away with an ill-tempered sigh. The Count just grinned calmly, and continued to carefully monitor her; he recognised the young Senator's fatigue and inner distress, every miserable event of the day having accumulated into a heavy weight on her mind, a weight that even she was finding hard to cope with; he'd found her weakness through this kind of weight earlier, and he knew he could find it effortlessly again.

"Are you tired, milady?" he asked her gently, his voice low and rasping, "Exhaustion will do you no good."

Her eyes suddenly became fiery and sharp; "Are you expecting me to rest here?" she asked him incredulously, her disposition dancing on the line between antagonism and trepidation.

Dooku was encouraged by her heated response, "You can't deny your body rest, milady. Denying it will lead to delirium."

"Thankyou for your advice, 'doctor', but I can take care of myself," she scorned, her distress seeming to empower her. Despair and sorrow did strange things to people.

Dooku recognised how Padmé's words almost echoed his own from his recent encounter with Bhade, and it captivated him. He smiled with mild amusement, keeping his cool, "Calm down, milady. I'm only trying to be reasonable."

She just scowled silently at him, resolving to say nothing at all – it was sometimes best when your opponent was a master of words. She turned away, exhaling loudly, and watched the flames flicker on the hearth.

Serenn studied her face carefully as the yellow light of the fire illuminated it angelically, trying to see into her mind. All he could get from her at current were pictures of that blasted Padawan, Anakin; she obviously loved him deeply. He scoffed lightly to himself – how could such an iron-willed Senator fall for such a reckless boy? It seemed so unlike her, or at least unlike what her reputation suggested.

"I'm intrigued," he smoothly said, placing his fingertips together before him, "How exactly were you and your 'Padawan lover' planning on exposing your relationship to the public eye? It wasn't something you could hide forever."

Padmé turned to look at him brusquely, an expression of hurt upon her visage regarding what she felt was an intrusion on his part; she tried her best to hold her resolve. Dooku saw he was getting a firm reaction and continued, "I know as well as any that love of the kind you two were feeling for one-another is forbidden on the part of a Jedi."

"Does it matter?" she shot back, feeling the need to cut his words short, "It doesn't look likely that I'll ever see him again."

The Count leant forward slightly, "I want to know," he asked her in a low voice, the look of grim amusement resurfacing on his countenance, "You're an intelligent young woman; how did you plan on safeguarding this one? The Senate's bureaucrats – hypocrites though they are – would immediately take it as a scandal, and it'd be just the tittle-tattle your enemies, like our venerable" (he said that with undeniable sarcasm which, had the moment not been so uneasily uptight, Padmé may have applauded) "Viceroy Gunray, would love to get hold of to bring you down. I know as well as you the dangers of being a figure in the public domain. Nothing is sacred."

Padmé shook her head a little, "And you consider an innocent relationship more scandalous than an elderly Count pulling me into his arms and kissing me?" she rejoined.

Dooku wasn't at all discouraged by her efforts; "You should be flattered," he chortled impassively, "Besides, I don't believe it was quite so one-sided…"

Padmé watched his lips rise into a knowing grin, and she could see that he was again toying with her, so she once more neglected to answer him back – it'd only be fanning the flames. She looked down, feeling quite forlorn, and remained silent; why had she left Anakin? Why had she joined this 'man' and his movement? Would things have really been so bad if she'd remained with her friends, and possibly gone to her death in the arena back on Geonosis? Or, if she had survived that, would she have found disaster in the Republic Senate back on Coruscant?

Another sigh passed her lips.

Dooku carefully studied Padmé's visage through the following lull, before he then resolved to go on, "I'll repeat myself: Are you tired, milady?" he asked, his tone more cogent.

Padmé swallowed, looking blankly into the fire – was this a baited question? Abruptly, before she had time to think that over, her blood began to pound in her ears, and an abnormal pressure began to gather within her earlobes. She cringed, grasping her head as the pressure became painful. She heard her own heart pelting in her head, whilst sounds from outside become blurred and echoic. An icy flush then tore through her circulatory system. She flung her line of sight toward the motionless Count, and saw his hard eyes fixed upon her; he was commanding the Force about her and manipulating her to his cruel will. She felt confined and trapped, and the sensation of helplessness re-awoke in her mind…

/I asked if you were tired, milady…do you purposely not answer me?/

Her eyes widened as she heard his voice within her head – this was getting too frightening for her liking.

Dooku monitored her writhing form and her contorting visage, amplifying the amount of pressure on her head until he was certain that she could take no more. As she doubled over, clutching her cranium, and groaned in agony, the Count released her. He then just sat there and waited – he didn't feel the need to say anything; his stunt had said it all.

Padmé felt incredibly dizzy once she was released, the agonising pressure that had pelted around her mind mercifully flushing away from her aching head. She breathed quickly, her heart feeling likely to explode into her throat, and looked down at the floor, keeping a light hold of her head with her hands. She was scared, truly scared now; yes, she had tried to play the Count at his own game several times, but when it came to him playing his combined Force abilities and iron will against her 'mortal' mind, there was no contest. She'd never felt so alone, never felt so isolated, and never felt liable to such defeat as this…

Dooku rose from his seat, and pulled her to her feet, looking upon her with his consistent bleakness; "Tomorrow we both start afresh, yes?" he asked her dryly. Padmé didn't trust his voice, nor his tone – she just didn't trust him, full stop! – but she felt her body only want to adhere to him, her limbs all floppy from his pressure-laden assault, and her mind drained and pounding. She couldn't deny quite how tired she was, or quite how lost. There was nothing she could do to escape him – he held her in his powerful control, and she didn't have the skills to break free.

Oh, how she just wanted Anakin…

TBC…

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Link to my Eclipse page on my website – copy-'n'-paste into your browser if you're interested:

imperial-palace.tripod.com/eclipse/