Author's Notes: Uh-oh…doomsday! OK, here's the deal: I had enough trouble in the first place getting myself to publish this story, never mind publish the likes of this chapter! It's mostly down to your imagination on how intense, or disturbing, or whatever, you find this instalment, because, frankly, if you were dull and unimaginative enough, you could probably argue that nothing happens. It all depends on personal interpretation. I'm not going to say anymore about the story, but to 'dilute' this chapter, I decided to leave it a while, and get the next chapter published with it. Try and 'enjoy' it – I did write over five drafts all in all, and spent a long time trying to make it work. And (it's a sin to mention) I find it strangely 'Draculean'.
And also, I've taken the risk of leaving this as a 'PG-13' – I thought about raising the rating to an 'R', but I considered the content and, although many of the themes in this story are more mature and considerably adult, I thought about what "James Bond" gets away with in his films, rated at '12' (PG-13' in the US), and have refused to budge the classification. If you are 13 years old, or around that age, I hope you're fairly mature – I think most 13 year olds are, and just aren't given credit for it. Anyway, I'm shutting up now…if anyone's incredibly offended by my keeping this a 'PG-13' once they've read it, tell me in your review, and I'll up it to an 'R' – but I don't think it's that graphic or ought, to be honest. Read at your own peril. It's the ultimate in 'twisted-ness' – (a very scared) Jurious
NB #1: 'Nemesis' (chapter title) means 'inevitable retribution', BTW. It's almost a clue, so just think about it as you read. And if anyone wants to read a lil about Eclipse, go to my FF.Net profile and click on my Homepage. Once there (make sure you're at Imperial Palace) go to the Fanfic section, and take a gander under 'Eclipse'. There's no a lot there, but enough.
Skywalker-Blue: Here's more! I'm sure you'll have summit to say here…dark it is, indeed. o_0 I'm a bit scared about this one. I took a lot of care with it, though!
Heather Wan: Thankies! ^_^ I'm sure Ani has something in store – we all know he's not one to be idle!
Shadow Angel: Glad you like! I'm guessing you're a bit of a Darksider, too, with that name!
Disclaimer: Thank God I don't own anything! ^_^ LOL
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"ECLIPSE"
Part 9
There was a silence between Dooku and Padmé as the Count guided the Senator through the dark, empty halls of his mansion. It was night time, and the corridors were eerily lit by a piercing crystal moonlight, which beamed intensely through the large windows; it highlighted the marble pillars and pale, stonewalls with a sinister beauty, giving the hallways a cold and frosty edge.
Padmé sighed quietly, her eyes darting around her nervously, as though she expected a sudden ambush by some entity from behind the pillars or from out of a side door. Her footsteps pattered against the solid floor, drowned out by the heavy tread of the Count's feet; he didn't have physical hold of her, but she felt a subconscious fetter between them, a sensation within her, drawing her to him and encouraging her to follow wherever he paced; his consistent control over her had risen and fallen in its strength since their first ominous meeting on Geonosis, but he had made sure never to dispose of it completely. She didn't understand what he was getting out of it all, and wished he'd have the decency to let her go. She felt almost as though she had become a spectator to her own body, 'watching' it do things she did not wish to do, having not the capacity to defy the Count's supernatural control.
They ascended a stairway, a wide, open one, which had the most beautifully carved banisters; their splendour seemed to speak silently of a rich and cultural past. Padmé frowned as they reached the top of it, endeavouring to imagine what kind of people had once lived here in this incredible residence, trying to put men, women and children of an older era into the varied chambers and passageways. She continued to follow Serenn whilst she contemplated, the Count turning and walking on across the upper storey, guiding her down a more enclosed corridor; this one was lined with antiquated paintings, similar to the one that hung above the fireside in the capacious parlour from which she had just departed. Looking up at them, Padmé saw women and men of old, with sternly set visages, staring austerely upon her. Many of them had the eyes she knew too well, those hard-set, unforgiving orbs alike the Count's, that seemed to pile a pressurising weight upon her head.
Noticing out of the corner of his eyes the interest that Amidala applied to the images, Dooku suddenly asked, "You admire the portraits, or the people within them?" Padmé jumped at the sound of his voice as it resonated through the vacant, labyrinthine halls, bringing her attention back to her subjugator. He went on, seeing her hesitate to speak to him, "My ancestors…I'm sure you can tell." He nodded toward the pictures, opening his hand to a few as he past them, "Not that I knew any of them. I didn't even know my own parents!" He laughed half-heartedly, making light of the matter to cover his acrimony, smirking emptily as he spoke.
Padmé looked to his visage as he said this, half shocked that he had never had any parental influence; she was unable to imagine never knowing her own devoted parents, and the very thought of not knowing them or ever seeing them made her melancholic. He had, however, been a Jedi – all Jedi were taken from their parents when young. It was a brutal, but apparently obligatory practice.
"This immense mansion has housed the line of the Dookus for centuries," he continued, staring ahead down the yawning corridor; the halls had become significantly darker as they now entered into the heart of the building, where there were no windows opening onto the outside; "It would have, in those times past, housed generations of my kin, the Count and Countess and their progeny, plus several branches of siblings, grandparents, and whoever else they may have wished to have housed here…but, alas, no more."
He stopped in his tracks, and, folding his arms over his torso, looked firmly upon her, "Now only I remain. And, being without issue – in the right sense – I am the last of this ancient line, and the name will die with me."
Padmé sensed a certain bitter indifference in his voice, as though he was uncaring for his past, a past that had presumably not cared for him. She felt a natural chill from the draughtiness of the bare halls brush her, and she rubbed her arms in an attempt to gain some warmth whilst she warily studied Dooku's face in the gloom.
"And it was the Jedi who made sure of that when they took me into the confines of their Order," he added sourly, staring at her for a while; "The way of life of a Jedi is not one that you are accustomed to, now, is it? And I'm sure you can see why, in many ways, I feel that my life has been wasted by such an Order; I sacrificed too many years for their petty causes, and all for them to ultimately fail me."
Padmé didn't like the odium within his tone, and she turned around to escape his turbulent eyes, and looked at the people in the portraits about her; they were all so lifelike in their appearance, obviously painted by the most skilled hand in that old-fashioned art, and although their gazes were not real, she felt pressurised by them. They all seemed to stare critically upon her, passing their own silent judgements over her, and whispering words of contempt to one another; she couldn't escape an intimidating, unwelcoming pair of eyes wherever she turned in this dark corridor!
Suddenly, Padmé felt that horrible, claustrophobic sensation ignite within her once more, and the walls around her seemed to begin to spin; whispers materialised in her head, and eyes followed her everywhere. She breathed fast, looking around for some kind of respite, her nerve slipping.
She jumped as, abruptly, the Count grabbed her from behind and held her still, pulling her tightly backwards into his chest; he let a moment's silence pass to give Padmé time to calm down, whilst he allowed himself a moment to cringe as his chest wound stung where the Senator's body had struck it. He then lowered his head to her ear, and said, "They can't hurt you."
She swallowed, giving the portrait of a man in front of her a determined stare; "I know," she replied bluntly in a low voice. What was wrong with her?
Dooku resumed his recent practice of rubbing her shoulders, before he said, "Fatigue leads to delusion," tightening his already rigid hold on her, "Didn't I warn you?"
She swallowed, looking down – she was beginning to lose faith in her own mind now, feeling unable to trust herself, and this scared her. But then she thought back to what had happened so far today, and all that had transpired at Dooku's malicious hands; was he manipulating her to think that she couldn't trust herself? Or was she really delusional and tired, and just in want of rest? She just didn't know…
"I admit, they are frightening folk," the Count went on somewhat light-heartedly, "But no one in this hallway can hurt you, or even touch you." His hands suddenly tightened further, and she winced a little at the severity of his grip; "No one except me," he added threateningly.
At least that wasn't a lie; but it didn't comfort her at all.
He snickered gently under his breath, and drew his head back, sliding his hands off her shoulders, "Shall we find you a room?" he asked her, though his question was more rhetoric than open. He wheeled about before her, and opened his arm down the darkened hallway, continuing to lead her down the shadowy passage. The paintings continued to line the hall, the whites of the people's eyes seeming to stand out more than anything, continuing to haunt her.
Finally, after another awkwardly silent leg of the journey, they reached a stop, and the Count grasped her arm firmly, sending shards of ice into her skin as he touched her. She shuddered in response to such frigidity, her teeth chattering together – there was something ill-omened about his chilly touch this time, something which she couldn't help but feel uneasy about. She suddenly felt worryingly nauseous.
He led her to a door off to the left, one of many that lined the hall at odd intervals, and pushed it open, leading her into the chamber beyond. She stepped ahead of him, and looked about the room, immediately knowing that something wasn't right – she felt 'cold', but, moreover, she felt that something was amiss, or even 'wrong'.
'Wrong'? Was 'wrong' even the right word?
She looked back at the Count tensely. He just leant in the doorframe casually, staring at her, "Will this do you?" he asked her, giving a slight wave toward the inner sanctum.
She turned back to the chamber, having paid little heed to it at all yet, and glanced around it; she was in a glorious bedroom, furnished, like the rest of the manor, to the highest quality in that old-fashioned décor. At the far end of the room was a large set of windows, the central one serving as a door, that led out onto a small balcony overlooking the estate. A thin set of ghostly white curtains covered these, and gave the room a slightly unsettling edge. Along the left wall, at the far end, was a small door, leading to what Padmé guessed was an en suite, and closer to her were several units, including a luxurious bureau, which somehow gave her the impression that this had once been a lady's room. Along the right wall was an opulent-looking bed, upholstered in pale blue, with small units flanking either side of its head. There were several old tapestries hung on the walls, too, giving the chamber a strikingly historic feel, and adding slight warmth to it.
Padmé swallowed, her stomach fluttering with apprehension as another unwelcome chill traversed her body – she hadn't been comfortable since signing that treaty, but she'd never felt more helpless than now, alone in a strange land, with a terrifyingly disingenuous man; there was something about this room she really didn't like.
Dooku's gaze hardened on the vulnerable senator, and he studied her despondent form carefully, noticing the weakness of her posture, and the disquiet of her air; she was a changed person. So far, they had both played something of a 'game', each trying to manipulate the other to their own ends. He'd started it, he wouldn't deny that, when he'd pulled her into his grasp on Geonosis, manipulating her slowly into his embrace and urging her to join his cause; she'd tried a comeback in the corridor up to the arena, and he'd let her get away with it. The fact was, by definition, this wasn't really a fair game – he'd been in control all along. He'd let her influence him in the Geonosian corridor, as she'd pitifully pleaded for one last chance to see her friends alive – and he'd enjoyed watching her struggle, pushing herself to try and overcome him by playing his own cards against him. Only he could play this game, and he was certain that, deep down, the helpless senator knew it. He possessed one overriding factor that she didn't have – a powerful control of the Force, and that automatically meant victory on his part. 'Fair play' never came into the equation.
He stepped silently into the room, and leant back on the door, pushing it to a soundless close, and continued to watch Padmé flit about the chamber nervously; he broodingly played about with the door handle behind him, rubbing it over with his hand, his eyes deep and intense; a playful grin gradually rose on his saturnine countenance, a fire, not gentle but passionate, or even fierce, kindling in the hollows of his fathomless pupils.
When Padmé finally decided to turn back, and set her eyes upon the Count again, she felt an immense shudder plunge down her spine, her stomach somersaulting with an undeniable apprehension; the room seemed to have filled with a hostile air, and the dark hold of the Separatist leader indelicately reinstated itself over her. Her skin prickled and her heart raced; she wanted to run and hide, but she couldn't…she was caught with the nexu in his den. Inhaling a panicky breath, she swung her head back away from him and focused her line of sight on the icy glow of the moonlight that shone hazily onto the floor; she was trying to distract herself from her unwelcome sensations, and trying to ignore Serenn, vainly hoping he would just go away. Perhaps he was merely waiting to see if she would settle?
Padmé knew that her thoughts were being falsely optimistic, but she could still cling onto hope; pacing carefully across the carpet, she sat herself down on the edge of the bed, and dropped her head dejectedly into her hands. Shutting herself from the world around her, she suddenly realised how torn she felt inside; Anakin was alive, she was certain, but so far away. And look at how she'd betrayed him! Why had she joined the Separatists? Why? Regret flooded her mind, and thoughts of 'what if?' took their hold, each one condescendingly promising that, had she taken their route, things would be better now. She just wanted everything to be okay; she wanted the blissful peace of the meadow on Naboo to come back to her; she wanted to go back to that innocent picnic that she'd shared with her true love.
Serenn's face tightened as he impolitely began to draw Padmé's feelings into his head – her mind was inundated with thoughts of Anakin once more. He remained stationary for the moment, picking up on her memoirs of the idealistic meadow picnic that she'd shared with that brat, and the joy and ease that she had felt at being in such bliss with him alone. The Count was intrigued as he watched her reminiscences through his mind's eye like some sort of slideshow, seeing her laughter when Anakin played about on the Shaaks, her embarrassment at discussing past loves with him, her fondness of the fresh air and glorious Nubian surroundings…he could see that she would like nothing better than to go back to that innocent, glorious moment now. But reality was a harsh thing, and she very well knew that she couldn't go back to it; her beloved 'Ani' was both lost and injured, on the other side of the conflicts and of the galaxy, whilst she was trapped with him, the infamous Dooku, in his own home, on his own planet. And there was nothing she could do about it.
Slowly, Dooku permitted a deep grin to etch into his face – how delicious was this? What sweeter revenge had he on that unruly Padawan, Skywalker, than having the woman the crazed apprentice deemed as his own trapped in his clutches? His thoughts halted, and he dropped his link to Padmé's mind for a moment; "What sweeter revenge…?" he murmured to himself discreetly, subconsciously rubbing the door handle even harder behind him whilst he continued to monitor Padmé's disconsolate posture, feeling the extreme gravity of her dispirited emotions and the profundity of her distress through his heightened senses; the disheartening events that had transpired today were coming back to haunt her, and pushing her to the edge – she was about to break, everything too much for her to cope with. And that meant that she was as good as his.
"I trust this chamber suits you?" he asked her, his voice shattering the fragile and deadly silence.
She jumped, looking across to him, her long hair loosely hanging by the sides of her forlorn face, "I'm sorry?" she asked, not hearing what he had said, so deep had she been in her reflections.
He began to pace lightly toward her; "The room," he said, gesturing about him with his hand, a frightening smirk impressed on his face, "Is it adequate for you, my lady?" He stopped short of her and made a bow that Padmé took as completely mocking. She was in no frame of mind to snap at him, however, feeling utterly empty within; "Yes, thank you," she nodded coyly, her voice quiet and timid, echoing her atypical state of mind.
Dooku grinned complacently, nodding in acknowledgment to her; Padmé watched him stand there, it seeming evident to her that he had no intention of leaving. Swallowing once more, she lowered her head back into her hands as tears threatened to break loose from her anxious eyes; she felt increasingly queasy, sure her nerves were playing her up. 'Go away, please go away…' was all she could think to herself, over and over again, 'Please go away…'
"Go away?" Dooku asked aloud, abusing his powers and insolently reading her cowed thoughts, "My, how rude of you. Am I so offensive a character?"
Padmé looked up at him in shock – what was she supposed to do when even her thoughts weren't sacred?
The Count smiled widely, his teeth tightly knitted together, "Forgive me, my dear, I have no intention of intimidating you," he went on, "Please, don't let yourself be troubled on my account." He walked right up to her and knelt before her upon one knee, looking hard into her eyes. Her breath jarred in her throat as his stare seemed to seize her – it made her feel even more cold and fearful.
"You're most traumatised," he noted, placing an outwardly affectionate hand onto her shoulder, his voice mesmerising and hypnotic, "Please, feel free to sleep it off. You need your rest, after all."
"I've told you already," she said quietly, her voice coming out in jumpy starts, "You can't expect me to sleep here."
The Count's grip tightened, and she watched him nervously as he replied in a subdued tone, "Perhaps I can help you sleep…" It wasn't a question; it was more a statement. She inhaled sharply, some 'force' compelling her to keep her eyes on him as a cold sweat broke forth on her forehead. Her rate of breathing became increasingly faster, and the control he held over her continued to present nothing but torment to her oppressed mind; she was utterly terrified, and had again become the helpless spectator to her body. She did, however, manage to rejoin diffidently, "No, you couldn't."
Dooku scoffed under his breath, apparently mildly amused by her answer. Removing his hands, he suddenly leant onto the edge of the bed upon his elbow, by her right side, his posture frighteningly informal, and he looked up to her, bluntly asking, "You feel guilty, don't you?" She just frowned in response, unable to follow his train of thought.
"About Anakin and company, I mean," he added.
Padmé continued to look at him with slight disorientation, realising to some extent that he had again penetrated her thoughts; she did feel guilty – how couldn't she?
"You shouldn't feel guilty for what you've done today," he continued, his voice low, his gaze intense, "I mean, who is more at fault? You, who have the fortitude to turn for the good of the galaxy's future, or your Jedi friends, who continue to blindly serve Darth Sidious, the Sith Master?"
Padmé looked upon him uncertainly; if she accepted his words, they would be a relieving salvation for her fraught mind, but part of her still made her too wary of whatever he uttered to accept what he said. She felt so burdened; she just wanted Anakin, and for him to hold her in his arms.
Dooku sensed this, and resolved to turn this to his advantage; he leant closer to her, making sure her eyes stayed on him, and whispered; "Let go, Padmé. Let yourself go. Don't lock yourself up."
She breathed out ruggedly in a rising panic; anxiety fizzed in her blood and trembled in her stomach. She could feel his dark, invisible powers taking yet a firmer hold of her, numbing her free will, and she knew without a doubt that she was helplessly trapped.
Dooku watched Padmé quake, and looked into her wide, misty eyes, recognising the considerable qualms that she felt towards him; "What's wrong?" he asked her mockingly, "We're not frightened of the old Count, are we?"
Padmé inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself and control the rapid feeling of terror that thundered within her. Keeping her eyes tightly shut, she inhaled sharply and clutched the duvet below her in an attempt to maintain some form of composure. Whatever she tried, though, she just couldn't escape her unrelenting trepidation.
Dooku leant nearer to her; "We were brave enough to stoke my chest and peck my cheek earlier, weren't we?" he asked her quietly, with a triumphant edge to his tone, reminding her of what she had previously done, back on Geonosis. Padmé's eyes opened slowly, and she looked back at him in horror, silently denying the candour of her earlier actions; Dooku, of course, was well aware of the motives behind her behaviour in the Geonosian corridor, knowing that her friendliness had been false; but he wittingly disregarded that. Making an expression of feigned realisation, he leant even closer to her; "Oh, wait, were you only acting…?" he snickered callously, watching Padmé swallow in further fear, and shake her head in alarm, before he added, "Forgive me if I pretend that you weren't."
The Count could almost hear the pelting of her fretful heart as her body tightened in tension. He pushed off his elbow, and rose up to sit by her side; she was unable to break away from his dark hold, and she was struggling within, striving to break free; all this was making her suffer, and the Count took an undeniable pleasure from it. Scoffing again grimly, he put his hand to her face and rubbed her cheek gently with his thumb, feeling her continue to shake beneath his intoxicating touch, his intangible powers cradling her with ease.
Padmé swallowed with some difficulty, feeling her clothes damp with a confounded cold sweat; she forced herself to show strength enough to look upon Serenn, and turned to him, feeling the fervent power beneath his hand on her face. A magnetism framed her eyes once more upon his visage, and she was therefore forced to stare at him, monitoring how his chiselled facial features stood out starkly in the dim light, and noticing how his eyes seemed more zealous than ever. She opened her mouth to speak and, after several failed attempts that came out like nervous gasps for air, she finally managed to utter, "P-P-Please…" though her fright and nerves made her following words fail to emerge. She was trying to tell him to stop, but she failed miserably.
The Count dropped his hand from her face back to his side, and brought his head closer to hers; " 'Please'?" he queried derisively, lightly brushing his nose against hers and exhaling slowly over her countenance, " 'Please' what…?" He looked at her hard, a playful, wicked grin flashing across his face.
Padmé inhaled unsteadily, unable to get herself to respond, her voice dead, and her self-control eclipsed; she felt a tear roll down her face in distress, and her body tremor in terror. Dooku was stationary, and merely responded to her silence with another proud grin, watching her continue to shiver in response to his conduct.
Padmé just didn't understand how he was doing this manipulative act; she knew, underneath, that she wanted desperately to pull away and run, but she couldn't, even though she feared him so much.
Continuing to smile, Serenn raised his hands to either of her shoulders, before he began to rub them again; "Cry it out, Padmé," he purred, breathing down her neck, "Let go."
Padmé felt his dominance over her further strengthen, and she felt two conflicting emotions burst forth within her, one telling her not to break, the other wanting her to; his voice was just so trusting, so comforting, and part of her longed to cry out her day's troubles and concerns upon him. Her lip trembled and she felt a tear escape her as he successfully began to get to her.
"You're only human, my dear," he reminded her with a reassuring, although false, support, "You're only human."
And then she broke; tears began seeping uncontrollably down her face as all of the day's woes and losses hit her. Serenn took one of his hands from her shoulders, and slowly stroked her flowing hair down her back, listening to her distraught sobs; "Good girl," he whispered into her ear, drawing her onto his chest, "Let yourself go. Let all your troubles out on me."
The sudden contrast in his nature seemed incredulous, but Padmé felt herself fall helplessly into the mesmerising lull of his deep voice. She knew she shouldn't trust him; infact, she knew she couldn't, but she was defenceless, and completely vulnerable to his advances.
"That's my girl," he murmured soothingly, gently planting a kiss on the top of her head.
His touch was no longer cold – it was heated and somewhat ardent, although Padmé could still feel the presence of his invisible control over her. Her tears rolled onto his chest, dampening the loose material of his shirt. He looked down upon her victoriously; "Take all the comfort you want from me," he whispered, grinning wickedly in the dark, watching her continue to comply with his wishes; she was so vulnerable, and had fallen effortlessly into his grasp. He held her to him with one hand, and glided the other over her eyes, lightly placing his fingers over her eyelids, drawing them closed. Continuing to cry out her afflictions, she adhered to his implorations, and drew her eyes shut.
"Let go," he whispered once more, repeating it like some incantation, laying her gently back on the mattress and stroking her hair again, before lightly kissing her forehead, "Give yourself to me." Padmé was lost in the void Serenn had created, trapped in a subconscious-ness where everything seemed right.
"Let it all out," he purred once more to her.
Padmé heard his voice – it reverberated in the darkness of her mind, ringing around her hauntingly.
A short period of darkness elapsed as the words of the Separatist gradually faded to oblivion, and it was some time before Padmé felt the need to open her eyes once more. Groaning a little, she slowly drew her eyelids open, and blinked as a sudden influx of light cascaded upon her retinas, startling her completely. She squinted in the brightness, and waited for her eyes to become accustomed to the intensity of the radiance; once they had, she realised that the sun was shining brilliantly overhead; the birds were chirping, and the gentle patter of far-off waterfalls, accompanied by the lowing of Shaaks, could be heard in the distance.
Peculiarly, all of the sounds came to her in echoes, slurred and unclear, but she didn't seem to take much notice of this – she was caught too much off guard to care! She frowned to herself with the utmost perplexity – what was this? What was going on? Had she just been experiencing a horrid dream?
Turning to her side, Padmé glanced about her; the surroundings all certainly looked real. She was laid back in the grass, the blue sky gleaming overhead as clear as crystal, and, to her right, sat Anakin, looking down upon her with a gentle smile; it was as if she'd never left the meadow and their pleasant picnic!
The wind gently blew over her, making her hair sway a little, and the light folds of her glorious, yellow frock fluttered; "Anakin?" she queried uncertainly, her voice seeming to echo a little about her. She looked at him with disbelief, but almost with elation – was she free? Had it all been a nightmare?
Anakin continued to smile back at her, nodding slowly in response – not slow on purpose, but slow as if time was not flowing at the normal rate. He approached her unhurriedly, crawling over on his knees, and lay by her side, looking upon her with his boyish charm. His Padawan braid bobbed next to his head, and he raised his hand, stroking her forehead warmly.
"I don't understand," Padmé admitted as she felt Anakin's hand caress her brow; everything seemed so dreamlike.
"Relax," Anakin smiled, his voice again eerily resonating, "Everything's –
~~
–going to be all right."
Serenn looked down at Padmé through the darkness, a smirk of further accomplishment on his face as he lay by her side; he continued to stroke her forehead, running his fingers tenderly over her brow. Padmé was looking at him, but she didn't see him – not as he was. It was then that he realised how beautiful she was, and how innocent and pure; why had she decided to take the rough road of politics? It had certainly never appealed to him until he felt that he could actually achieve something through it, but it almost seemed cruelty to draft such young people into its web of lies and deceit. What a waste of life – it would squander hers as much as the Jedi regime had wasted his.
It had been her choice, though; no one but her was accountable for it, unlike he, who'd had no choice in his vocation.
Padmé looked up at…
~~
…Anakin thankfully, "I'm glad," she smiled faintly, raising her hand and running it through the spikes of the Padawan's hair, "I was afraid for you, and –" She felt weepy again, and inhaled hard, trying to contain her tears, biting her lip, before continuing tearfully, "I feared–
~~
–the worst."
Serenn grinned as Padmé ran her hand through the fine strands of his colourless hair, and he brought his own hand round from her temple down to her cheek, and rubbed it affectionately, "It's all right," he soothingly purred, "Let out –
~~
–all your woes on me."
Padmé drew her hand from Anakin's hair, and went on to stroke his cheek tenderly; the words he had uttered seemed uncomfortably familiar to her, but she didn't see any reason to doubt him or mistrust her environment; everything was so perfect.
"I'm sorry, Ani," she said sadly. She paused, glancing away from him briefly as profound guilt began flooding her eyes with more sorrow, "Please forgive me for what I've done, please –"
Anakin softly put his hand to her lips, silencing her; "Shh," he insisted smoothly, calming her with his collected aura, "It doesn't matter now. It's all in the past. Don't let it bother you any longer." Padmé looked at Anakin, his blue eyes glowing kindly at her, and she willingly silenced. Seeing her quieten, Ani gradually removed his hand from her lips, and drew it down her chin and neck, stroking over her fine skin with his smooth hand, and washing her with affection and consolation. Padmé gave him a returning smile, thankful for the support he was showing her, and for the firm understanding between them.
Anakin then slowly lowered his head to hers once more and looked at her supportively, "Let go," he said, leaning over her, his braid hanging down over her cheek and tickling it softly. Padmé smiled at him, braving through the tears that had so recently dominated her face, as he lightly placed a kiss on her forehead, her skin tingling where his lips brushed her. As he reluctantly drew his head back away, they stared at one another, their eyes filled with warmth and adoration. As Ani threw her another reassuring smirk, Padmé again raised her fingers to his face, and slowly stroked his cheek once more, before she then took his face tenderly in both of her hands, and drew him down to her, kissing him lightly on the lips with…
~~
…a firm devotion.
Serenn let her caress him, allowing her to hold her mouth to his, letting her bestow a love upon him that belonged rightfully to another; he was quite surprised himself at how well his deception was working, and the mendacity of it all enthralled him. Slowly breaking away from her amorous embrace, he brushed his nose against hers again and watched her relax down once more beneath him; she affectionately rubbed the rear of his head with her hands, before running them a little over his back, as he held himself above her.
He suddenly winced, hissing sharply, as she brushed the tender, bruised skin across his spine, the result of Master Yoda's earlier assault. Padmé looked at him, momentarily unsure as to what was wrong.
"It's nothing," he quickly said, enduring the pain, and channelling it into energy, almost having forgotten about his injuries; this swift answer fortunately convinced her, no suspicions seeming to rouse in her mind, and she promptly eased again. Dooku looked at her tear sodden face whilst he took in another sharp breath to quell the sting of his contusions, and, to clear her suspicions, went on to graze her lips over with his own, making out as though nothing was amiss. She made no rejection to this, and allowed him to go on to caress her eyes and her cheeks; he took up her tears with his lips, and seemed to miraculously consume her woes via this feat.
Padmé exhaled in relief, feeling how…
~~
…Anakin's kiss, or even his mere touch, alleviated her misery and lessened her despair; her woes were drawn out of her body through mere contact with her lover, and this immeasurably relieved the heavy burden on her heart. She smiled widely at him again, laughing a little under her breath, her relief and delight were so great; she couldn't comprehend quite how he was doing it, but he was making her feel so much better, and she couldn't get enough of that.
Anakin pulled away from her, and smiled in return, "Be at peace," he said to her…
~~
…"Relax."
Serenn watched Padmé close her eyes as he ran his fingers through her hair once again; she looked infinitely more serene now, her cheeks more flushed, and her body more peaceful. He smirked once more to himself, before drawing himself up…
~~
…and gently laying atop her.
Padmé felt a strange, dark fire burst around her insides as the heat of Anakin's body clashed against her own…but she took no heed of that. Anakin gave her one last smile before he lowered his head and locked his lips firmly about hers, kissing her ardently. Padmé yielded to him completely, clasping him about his neck; she was surprised by the power and the passion behind his kiss, but she had no inclination to pry him off; she wanted to savour the moment. She had come too close to losing him of late on several different occasions, and she didn't want to waste her time with him ever again…
Anakin briefly pulled away, breathing ruggedly, "Be mine, Padmé "…
~~
…he growled firmly, "Give yourself to me."
Dooku glared at her manically, before grinning wickedly to himself, and locking his lips tightly about hers…
"PADMÉ!!"
Anakin shot up in bed, sweat trickling down his back, and his heart pelting hard in his chest. He breathed rapidly, and thrust his bed sheets off him, the duvet sticking to his heavily perspiring body; "Padmé…" he repeated quietly; it had been a dream.
Once his frenzied eyes focused, the walls of the medical halls met his gaze once again; he cringed, his right elbow aching beneath the strain of his new metallic appendage as his body still yearned for rest, needing many days before it would recuperate fully; but he couldn't just sit here and be idle. He'd just seen Padmé, as clearly in his mind as if she'd been in this room – and he knew immediately that she was suffering. He needed to get out of here now and find her!
He brushed his hand across his forehead, knocking the small curls of sweat-saturated hair away from his brow, and looked at the floor in dread – what was he supposed to do? He'd seen Padmé in his dreams, as clearly as he'd seen his mother in his dreams not so long ago. His dreams of his mother hadn't lied to him, and he'd reacted to them too late to save her, so what about his dreams of Padmé now, dreams of her and that…that iniquitous man?
"I'll save you, Padmé," Anakin whispered to himself, though he was completely unsure as to how he would achieve that end; just seeing her in his dreams, as she fell victim to that fiend, was enough to motivate him to action, though.
His respiration slowed to a more regular pace, until his breathing was almost synchronised with a bleeping apparatus, monitoring his heart rate, by his bedside, "They won't stop me," he added. He monitored the gap under the door, watching to see if anyone would come in response to his loud start; but, after a few moments passed, there was no evidence of anyone stirring in the corridor outside, which he found considerably fortunate.
If Anakin's want of revenge hadn't been bloodthirsty enough throughout the day, it was only more vicious now. He knew what he had to do – he had to track down this man, who had become his archrival, and destroy him, no matter what the cost; yes, he'd been wanting Dooku dead since the moment that devil had taken Padmé from him, and had yet failed to accomplish his desire, but this time…this time he really knew it was serious. Finding the Count was the main problem, but once he had, the rest of his task, he was certain, would not be so difficult.
TBC…
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NB #2: 'Shaaks', for those of you who are unsure, are those massive cow-like things that Anakin rode in the Nubian meadow, during Clones.