Author's Notes: I've decided to have a go at starting an 'Eclipse' fan listing because I've been quite overwhelmed by the support I've been getting for my story over here at FF.Net; in order to make it work, though, I'll need your help, so if anyone has any suggestions of what they'd like to see on a fan listing website for this fic, please tell me in either your review or in an email – for example, would you like to read my notes, have spoilers, see my rough fan art? Would you like a page to post your own reviews, or to submit your own ideas or suggestions for future chapters? Please get back to me ASAP so that I can sort it out – if I get this site going, remember, it's for you guys, not for me! I have 4 weeks and counting to get it up and running!
Apologies for the delay of this chapter, too – I'm in the middle of my exam period at school, so things are hectic, and I need to work hard for these exams because they could mean my getting into university or not! But I still managed to crank this up to well over 6000 words! Enough compensation for you? I've tried my best to spell check it, but again, I can't guarantee that everything will be perfectly spelt, or even for that matter make sense! ^_~
Anyway, thanks again for your support, guys, and see you all around! - Jurious
PadawanMage: Too right 'Frank' is too obvious! And, no offence to the great man or his parents, but I hate the name! 0_o Heh. And as far as Jinn goes, he may pop up…though I'm not saying in person, maybe just in name. ^_^ I'll see where my writing takes me. And the novel I referred to before wasn't 'The Last Unicorn', though good guess – I'll give you a clue as to what it is: the number 3. ^_~ Heh.
Strider's Girl: I've just come up with a good scene between Ani and Dooku, but it could take me several chapters to get there – and even then it won't be the ultimate 'butt-kicking' that you want – not yet!
Diabla: Thankyou! u_u You flatter me! I admit, even I sat there blinking after I wrote the infamous Chapter 9 – but after 5 drafts and constant re-workings, what can you expect? ^_~ It's original, if nothing else! And I'm so glad that you're enjoying my story – I'm enjoying writing it, despite its warped-ness, and hope that I can continue to entertain you all!
Disclaimer: It's not mine, okay? I'm just playing with it for a while! I'll put it all back where I found it once I've finished! ^_^
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"ECLIPSE"
Part 13
Stars twinkled in the serene, dark sky above; Padmé had never seen such vivid stars on any world except Naboo and Tatooine, sparsely populated planets where the illuminations of overcrowded, urbanised cities hadn't drained away the beauty of the dark. She sighed heavily, sat out on the steps of the veranda at the rear of the mansion; the stars used to soothe her as a child, used to inspire her and leave her in awe. She was hoping for them to work this same kind of magic on her now, to calm her ravaged, anxious body. But it wasn't working; she'd been sat here for well over three hours now, since the twilight had succumbed to full nightfall, waiting for some kind of relief or solace to wash over her. Her perseverance in this humble matter was now starting to wane – the wind had become chill, and the strange howls of unseen creatures were starting to emit eerily from the darkened, distant woods. Yet she felt more comfortable being out here than being within the walls of the manor; she felt claustrophobic in there, and very, very alone.
As she exhaled, she saw her breath briefly hang in a pale mist before her mouth; the temperature had indeed dropped. She hugged herself tightly, shuddering in the cool; she was again clad in her white jumpsuit, having no change of clothing with her; it didn't accommodate her need for insulation well on this planet, which had an atmosphere completely unlike both Geonosis and Tatooine, the other planets on which she'd worn it recently.
She'd lost track of time today; she felt numb and empty. She was so upset, so lost, that she was beyond tears now. All day, she'd moped about the gardens, breathing in the fresh air, and watching the equines in the far paddocks of the estate go ignorantly and apathetically about their simple lives, chomping away at the grass and trotting about the fields.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
Padmé's heart jumped suddenly as she heard the steady and ominously familiar approach of heavy action boots against the permacrete behind her. She swallowed, her pulse racing and the hairs standing erect on the back of her neck; she didn't have to turn to know who was there.
The entity halted behind her, out of her view, yet she felt the enormity of his presence, a solid mass of dread that profoundly weighed down her heart; she felt sick – she didn't know what to do, or how to react, or anything!
"Will you not come indoors, milady?" Dooku asked her mildly, now returned from his day's venture, "It is getting cold out here."
She shook her head, her eyes glaring forward, her mind a flutter; her movements were jumpy and stunted. She never usually succumbed to nervousness, but she couldn't help it now; "I'd rather stay here, thanks," she hastily and fretfully replied. She hugged herself tighter in a subconsciously protective gesture, keeping her eyes on the skies above; her stomach was doing somersaults – Dooku was acting as though all was well. Was it? Or was he covering up what she thought may have transpired yesterday, at this similar hour?
"I insist that you come indoors," he pressed.
Padmé heard him take a step toward her, then stop again. She resolved to hold her position – but she didn't know whether her inaction was out of strength or an immobilising fear.
"I like it out here, on my own," she stuttered quickly, "It gives me a chance to think."
" 'Think?' " he asked, his tone seeming trusting and accommodating; he slowly stepped round to her side and sat by her on the step, "About what?"
Padmé inhaled sharply, and shuffled along the wall away from him, unable to bring herself to look him in the eyes, or have him so close to her, "Things…" she rejoined bluntly, her voice thin and taut.
The Count opted not to pursue her down the wall; he sat perfectly still, at complete ease, and gazed up to the heavens with a bemused smiled, " 'Things' is a bland word, my dear," he replied calmly.
Padmé stole a brief glance at him whilst his eyes searched the glittering stars above; he seemed so relaxed, almost hospitable – but she didn't trust him at all. She never would trust him again; he'd betrayed her too many times already.
She turned away again as he leisurely glanced back to her; she knew she should be asking him things, standing up for herself, doing something, but she couldn't – she just couldn't.
His eyes studied her meticulously in the ensuing silence; she felt uncomfortable, and half wished that she had gone indoors, and locked herself in her room. She suddenly wondered whether she could get far if she upped and ran off over the grounds now, toward the woods, but, besides that being a reckless notion that only panic could inspire, she was certain that the Count would have some way of holding her back; infact, she wouldn't be surprised if he could even run faster than her and catch her effortlessly.
"You're shaking," he said after the pause.
She inhaled deeply, and forced her head about to look at him; he didn't look menacing, he barely looked threatening, and he just stared at her openly. And she was trembling – she hadn't really noticed it until now.
"What are you afraid of?" he asked her in a low tone.
She frowned, unsure of his angle, and found herself inching further away from him.
He smirked at her, shaking his head a little in a discreet gesture to himself; "If you're not afraid, then you're merely cold. I ask you again to come indoors."
"You go in," she suddenly insisted, "I'm perfectly happy out here. I'm sure catching a cold would much more affect a man of your age."
His smirk widened, and he chuckled benignly under his breath, "Oh, but of course… I am a vulnerable old soul, aren't I? I ought to take care of my poor self."
He was mocking her but in a perfectly amiable way. And that made her really uncomfortable.
He rose to his feet, "Please, my lady, come inside."
"I don't want to," she retorted obstinately, looking away across the fields, draped in an inky blackness, "You can go in, but I don't wish to. Not yet."
He sighed softly, then said, "As you wish, milady," bowing to her before turning about and re-entering his home. Padmé breathed ruggedly, wondering what that had all been about; at least he had gone, which was a massive relief to her. However, her own stubbornness meant that she was sat out in the cold, and despite her wish to be warm, she refused to follow the Count back into his manor yet.
Dooku paced down the hallway from the veranda, having silently shut the door onto the porch behind him; he ran his hand back over his hair, before walking steadily on down the corridor, this one lit by dimly glowing lamps, mounted upon the walls. It wasn't long before he came across Bhade in the hallway.
"Won't the young lady come in, sir?" he asked him, propping up a broom on the wall, having just given parts of the ground floor a good sweep.
Serenn shook his head, "No, she won't. She'll come in eventually, though."
"She'll have to unless she wants to freeze, sir," Bhade added dryly.
The Count walked onward languidly, still half within his own thoughts; Bhade tagged on behind him, taking his broom back up in his hand, "Does she strike you as being unwell at all, sir?" he continued.
Serenn's eyes glanced to Bhade briefly, his brow slightly knotting, "A little…" he mused.
"You see, sir, she's been quite – what's the word? – er, 'listless' today; she's wandered about the grounds, spoken very little, even when I've tried to make general conversation with her, and –"
"Your point, Bhade?"
"Well, sir, I guess I'm just a little concerned for the poor girl. She is our guest after all, and it is our duty to make sure she's comfortable."
"She's a fully grown woman, and a politician at that; I'm sure she can take care of both herself and her own affairs," Dooku retorted sharply.
"Perhaps you're right, sir…" Bhade dithered, stopping in his tracks, and holding his broom tightly before him.
Serenn halted and wheeled about, "I'm going to do some training for a while, Bhade. If you see your wife before I do, tell her to have breakfast ready smartly tomorrow morning for both myself and our guest; I've heard from all but the blasted Trade Federation, and I need to have a swift meeting as early as possible, and get things rolling again."
"Oh, of course, sir," he nodded obediently, "And be careful not to tear your wounds in your exercises, sir. I know I shouldn't dictate to you, but they're nasty things."
There was a brief pause.
"You're right," Serenn then agreed placidly; Bhade nodded gently in response, assuming his advice had been heeded, but suddenly, as the Count stepped passed him, he added menacingly, "You shouldn't dictate to me."
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Obi-Wan frowned as he entered the Jedi Training hall – he'd left Anakin there several hours earlier, having found him training hard and in want of his own company (all of which was understandable, in Kenobi's opinion; Anakin had lost his arm in combat and needed to redeem his confidence and prove himself to himself again) but he had hadn't, however, bargained on finding his Padawan still training hard when he returned some hours later, with his arm still causing him obvious discomfort.
"Anakin," Kenobi said, walking into the large, empty chamber, hands clasped beneath his Jedi robes, "What are you still doing here?"
Many Padawans and their Jedi mentors had been here earlier, taking part in their own lessons, but besides the young Chosen One, the hall was now completely empty and becoming dark, with only the light of Anakin's training sabre adding anything of a faint glow to its shadowy corners.
Anakin didn't seem to hear Kenobi; either that or he just decided to ignore him. Holding the training sabre tight in his hand, he continued to push on with his exercises, putting his body through many tight and difficult manoeuvres, which seemed unsettlingly close to the basics of Form II combat – but that was not Kenobi's worry at the moment.
Obi paced right up to his apprentice, realising that he'd need to take a firmer approach with the boy, and grabbed his metallic arm securely in his hand, "Anakin!" he barked at him, hoping that he would take notice of what he was saying in closer range.
Ani halted abruptly, his fiery eyes sparking as he jolted them round to face his master, "What?" he snapped in return, irritated by the interference of his Jedi tutor.
Obi felt himself hesitate, and paused for a moment, shocked by the sheer veracity of his Padawan's response; loosening his grip on Anakin's arm, he dropped his hand to his side, and went on in a much more soft and gentle voice, "Anakin, it's very late; you've been training all day – please, give it a rest."
Anakin stared hard at his master, "I'm not tired – I want to train some more," he replied blandly, his voice a stern monotone.
"You need rest, Anakin," Kenobi insisted, patting the young man on the shoulder briefly, "You need to allow your body to recuperate some more – bacta may be able to heal my injuries in but a few hours, but it can't work wonder for new limbs of the likes of yours. Please be sensible – go and get some well needed rest."
Anakin's eyes bore increasingly harder into his master's; inhaling deeply, he repeated adamantly, "I want to train." He then turned away from his master, no question in his tone, and went on with his sabre practise.
Kenobi felt a deep frustration wind up within him – he couldn't control Anakin anymore, and he didn't know what to do or how to deal with it; "Dooku didn't become one of our greatest swordsmen overnight you know," he affirmed loudly toward his unruly protégé; Anakin halted as suddenly as he'd started again, and wheeled about to face his mentor – Obi-Wan had targeted, with fine precision, the source of the Padawan's frustration and the impetus for his strenuous training; "Don't think that you'll become one overnight, because you won't," Obi added.
Anakin swung his sabre out to his left in an angry gesture, "Thanks for your confidence in me, master," he hissed, his eyes telling of the hurt he felt at such a rebuking remark.
Kenobi sighed with exasperation, "Anakin, please forget him!" he implored – he was only telling Anakin these things because he cared for him; he was worried about this fire of blind determination that had suddenly engulfed his protégé's mind, and hoped that he could cool it before it grew into an uncontrollable conflagration, "You won't be able to defeat him anytime soon…"
"You're wrong!" Anakin retorted rapidly, to Kenobi's surprise; Obi-Wan had expected, or rather hoped to have gotten something of a compromise from his Padawan now, but it would seem that the fire within him had already grown beyond the boundaries of that civil sentiment.
"I'll show you all! You're all wrong!" Anakin went on certainly, before then storming away again into a frightening fit of incredible flips and somersaults, whizzing over the floor at an incredible and anger-driven speed, his lightsabre a blue blur in his capable hands; he wouldn't stop until he wanted to, and Kenobi knew that he could do nothing to stop him; all he'd managed to do was further excite and enrage his physically and mentally wounded apprentice.
"And why should I rest?" the boy screamed on, glancing to his master once with his ravaged eyes as he danced across the room, "I can't sleep, anyway – you know I don't sleep well – I may as well be training."
"Have you not tried sleeping?" Kenobi replied, keeping his voice hush in order not to further enliven his already agitated student, "I mean, your mother –"
"It's not about my mother that I now dream!" Anakin shouted, throwing down his lightsabre and turning to Kenobi harshly, seeming to have expected Obi-Wan to know such a fact; he strode across the floor back toward his teacher, a look of pure incensement on his visage, "It's about Padmé."
Obi continued to keep his cool; he lightly folded his arms over his chest, rejoining with. "Didn't you once say that you'd rather dream about Padmé?"
Anakin looked offended, and turned away, scoffing, "Don't be so cruel, master! I didn't want to dream about her like this!"
A frown knitted Kenobi's brow slowly; he regarded his troubled Padawan with further anxiety, the anger and torment evidently bottled within him not being an encouraging sign at all.
Anakin walked up to his mentor, and fixed him with another hard glare, "Do you know how I saw her last time I dreamt?" he growled, his voice jumpy with a deep-set grief and anguish, "Do you know who I saw her with and what he was doing? Do you?"
Obi-Wan paused again, remaining quiet for a long moment, before he slowly shook his head, and whispered hoarsely in reply, "No, Anakin, I don't."
"Then I'll tell you, master," Anakin said austerely, "It was with him that I saw her, that Separatist bastard, and if you'd have seen what I had, then you'd know that we need to get Padmé back as soon as possible – she's not safe with him!"
"Anakin, don't get me wrong," Obi quickly rejoined, "I don't want anything bad to befall Padmé, either, but –"
"It's too late, master!" Ani interrupted vehemently, "We've been too slow already! If you'd just have let me go before I could have saved her from him by now!"
"You're talking nonsense, Anakin! Besides the fact that you couldn't have gone anywhere before in your current state of health – and you still shouldn't be going anywhere now – and, also, besides the fact that you haven't got a clue where Count Dooku is at the moment – who I presume is this 'bastard' of which you uncouthly speak – you don't even know if what you are 'seeing' is current and true! You've been through a lot lately – the mind can play tricks on one."
Anakin shook his head with an utmost confidence in his abilities, "You don't understand, master; I know that what I saw happened. When I dreamt about my mother, I left it too late to save her – I didn't act quick enough – but, mark my words, I do not plan to leave it too late to save Padmé…my senses are telling me that she needs help, and I will help her, I promise you."
The mad determination that was burning in Anakin's eyes and voice was unsettling for Kenobi – he shook his head discreetly to himself, not having a clue how to calm the boy down, or how to help him resolve his problems – he wouldn't find Padmé easily, and what he planned to do when he did find her, he didn't even want to think about – Obi-Wan just hoped that his protégé wasn't daft enough to just run blindly, without any plan or strategy, back into the grasping hold of Count Dooku; if he planned to do so, then he'd more than likely come away without his other arm.
That is, if he came away at all.
"I want to save Padmé, too, Anakin," Kenobi repeated quietly, not wanting to seem the villain to his protégé, "But she has made a decision to join the Separatist forces. I know that she's in the wrong place, and that she should be back here with the Republic, but we have a wider scope of people to think about now. We're protectors of the peace, and cannot put the lives of the entire population of the Republic on the line for the sake of one life of another person, no matter how much we may care for that person. We're at war, Anakin – I'm sorry, but that's how it is."
"But she needs our help," Anakin pressed assertively, "I can't sit back and let her suffer under the…the…assaults of that man; master, I must help her!"
"Look what happened when the two of you tried to rescue me," Obi reminded him, pointing a hard finger at him sharply, "Everything went wrong!"
"At least we cared enough to try," Ani hissed, tightening his metal, right hand into a tight fist, the joints whirring in their own mechanical way.
Kenobi looked at Anakin carefully, feeling unfairly treated – he did care, but things weren't as simple as Anakin wanted them to be; he shook his head and was about to turn away and leave Anakin to simmer in his own juices, when his protégé suddenly asked, "And why didn't you tell me before about Dooku? I thought I could trust you."
Obi-Wan frowned, "Excuse me?" he asked quietly, stopping in his tracks.
"Dooku," Anakin repeated, "He was Master Qui-Gon's tutor, wasn't he?"
Kenobi frowned – he wasn't sure how Anakin had come by this information; "Yes, he was," he replied openly, "Is it a problem that you haven't been told?"
"It's not nice to keep secrets like that, master," Anakin continued sourly, "I'm almost related to that man and you never once told me – you never once mentioned that he had trained Master Jinn, even when the Separatist movement first gained momentum and that man's name appeared all over the holoproj' news networks; you never once mentioned it."
"Anakin, I don't like it either," Kenobi admitted, "But Dooku trained my master, and he trained him well. The reason I don't like it now is because the Count has betrayed his past, and I never thought he would. He's disappointed me."
"He's disgusted me!" Anakin snarled, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"It was better that you didn't know – what good is it to tell a Padawan that one of their grand-masters left the Order because he didn't believe in the Republic that this same Padawan is being raised to serve? It's not a good influence, and I never thought it necessary. In fact, I didn't even think you'd mind not knowing."
"Well you were wrong!" he assured his mentor, "You were wrong."
"It wouldn't have helped keep Padmé on our side, anyway, Anakin," Obi-Wan replied with his own degree of confidence, "She's done what she's done out of her own free will, as I've already said, and there's little we can do about it right now. The fact that Qui-Gon was a charge of Dooku is of no consequence at all to the current matters at hand."
Anakin couldn't believe the composure of his mentor toward this matter – of course Jinn's being Dooku's apprentice was important – it meant that the teachings of that man had passed down to him – and of course they could do something to save Padmé – they had to! If Kenobi had only seen what he had in his dreams, then the former pupil of Qui-Gon would understand – if Obi only knew how much Padmé needed them, then he'd agree to go and help her, Anakin was certain.
Obi-Wan could see that Anakin had withdrawn into his own thoughts for a moment or two, and, seeing as though he wasn't getting anywhere with the boy, he thought that now would be a good time to leave and let Anakin be alone again; he knew that he'd probably only dig himself a deeper hole by trying to improve the matter, and staying longer with him in fruitless conversation, "Anakin, just please do as your told this time," he asked him as calmly as he could, exasperated by the way the Padawan was being, "And things may actually turn out for the better."
He turned about and slowly left the boy alone; Anakin made no verbal response to his mentor, and let him go, tiring of his company.
Kenobi sighed once he exited the chamber, and put a hand to the wall outside, exhaling hard; he had a real bad feeling about the way things were going, and he had the sudden impulse to run to his master for help.
'The boy is dangerous. They all sense it, why can't you?'
But his master wasn't there anymore.
'His fate is uncertain – and he isn't dangerous'
He wasn't there.
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Padmé had finally decided to return into the manor – the temperature had become severely low outside, and she didn't fancy being out in it all night. Now, she slowly and despondently made her way back toward her chamber – or at least she tried to; the mansion was proving an intimidating maze for her in these darkening hours, and without having got her bearings around this terrible place, she found herself lost somewhere on the ground floor. All she was looking for was a staircase to the first floor, but she couldn't seem to find one anywhere – she thought she'd come back the way she'd originally gone, but she obviously was in error there.
'How hard can it be to find a stairway?' she kept asking herself, pacing gently about the multitude of deserted halls. And, just to add to the convenience, the two servants of the Count, who she'd seen constantly on-and-off all day, weren't around anywhere, just when she really needed them.
She sighed, shaking her heavy, tired head, continuing to walk aimlessly down another faceless corridor; passageways seemed to just spiral off from everywhere in all directions, and she had a deep set feeling that, every time she gambled to take another passage off to one of her sides, she was taking herself only deeper into the heart of this treacherous labyrinth.
As she walked, her thoughts could do nothing to console her loneliness and trepidation – they only kept returning to the subject of the Count, the subject that had haunted her mind all day since she'd first awoken; she was trying not to panic, and trying to just keep her cool – if she didn't, she knew that she risked never finding a way out of this dilemma that so thickly fogged her thoughts.
But had something happened? Had something really happened?
She inhaled deeply, running a hand over one of her shoulders, and flinched as she felt the tender skin beneath her clothing – it was covered in contusions, a mark left by Dooku's consistently tight grasping of her yesterday. Part of her hated Serenn so badly that it frightened her…yet another part, the intimidated part, told her to stay low and not to mess with him – and she almost believed that part; this man – old in age, but not at all in physicality – had easily felled Obi-Wan and Anakin in battle; had he 'felled' her as equally easily?
She swallowed; she really felt certain that something had transpired, but if it had, then why? What sick, twisted vantage would he have gained from committing such indecency?
It was a good point – why would he? And even could he? Surely a man of his age, of such high birth, and who had been raised by such an Order as the Jedi, wouldn't have the capacity to do anything of the likes she suspected? He had little to gain by doing such, didn't he? Why should he do anything so extreme? Perhaps she was mistaken…
'You know he's done something, Padmé, stop trying to deny it – stop trying to pretend that everything's all right' she told herself; her eyes were too fatigued from crying to swell any more at the moment. The fact that she felt so certainly that something serious had transpired really made her feel uneasy, and believe that her thoughts weren't unfounded. But she had no proof; she couldn't even remember anything clearly – except entering the bedroom. And entering the bedroom with him, at that.
She sighed again, feeling a deeply nauseous sensation in the pit of her stomach; she was helpless, and had no evidence to back her suspicions, and no friends to help her console her fears. What could she do?
Before she could think any further (and having walked quite a distance whilst being occupied with her own thoughts), she suddenly stopped, her attention grasped by the unanticipated sound of a lightsabre, echoing from down the far reaches of the hallway in which she now stood.
'Thrum – Thrum – Thrum – Clash – Thrum'
For some reason unknown to her, she began to pick up her pace, not stopping at all to think about exactly what she was doing; reason and common sense were taking a brief leave of absence from her mind.
The sound got louder as she trotted down the hall; she passed several doors on both sides of her, and even the odd ancient suit of armour, displayed at infrequent intervals. It didn't take her long to reach the end of the passage. Corridors at the passage's extremity only stretched out to the left or the right, a wall with a window looking out over the Dooku estate now being in front of her. She listened – the sound was coming from the left side corridor – so, still without any contemplation or rationale, she continued on her trail, taking this corridor and following it back into the darkness that now engulfed the manor in the late hours of the day. The passageway became narrow, the illuminations sparse, and the sounds increased in volume, saturating the air around Padmé with their surmounting hum.
She swallowed, apprehension finally beginning to effervesce in her blood – yet still she walked on, pacing lightly down the corridor, her eyes fixated on the now visible door at this hallway's end; the doorway was large, fitted with two doors, of which one was slightly ajar. It was unmistakable – she had definitely reached the room from which the sabre sounds emitted.
When she got to about a three metres distance from the doors, she finally stopped, and she swallowed; the sabre within the inner sanctum hummed and thrummed impatiently, being evidently put through varying intensities of combat manoeuvres, and slight flashes of red could be seen illuminating the otherwise dark walls within.
Padmé gathered her resolve and took a step toward the doors, before she then timidly peered her head around the open door's side, careful not to reveal herself to the individual within; the chamber inside was even more pitch black than she'd first imagined, and looked most menacing in the simple and barely sufficient glow of the red light, emitting from the single, ignited sabre in the room; this was held by the unmistakable form of the Count.
A large, hovering, spherical droid whizzed at an incredible speed about the area, attempting to, at random moments, infiltrate the dark warrior's defences, and zap him with a laser pellet; he was clearly training.
The large chamber itself seemed, from what Padmé could see (which, giving the poor lighting, was very little), mostly empty, with but a few benches and beams shoved to the room's side, and all the windows blacked out by exceptionally dark blinds.
Padmé's attention returned to Dooku; she looked at him hard – he held his sabre tightly before him, effortlessly parrying the laser fire that the training probe showered upon him. His forehead and bare chest glistened with sweat as he moved fluently across the floor, his bare feet pattering over the wooden floorboards. The sabre illuminated the large gash on his chest, that had been inflicted by Anakin, in a gruesome splendour, and showed that his face, though resolutely set, was displaying signs of injury within – despite the fact that he was training hard now, he was still evidently suffering from his battle wounds.
The hovering droid swerved about and behind him, shooting several blows toward his back. Padmé watched the maddened concentration in Serenn's eyes as he swung his sabre behind him, teeth tightly clenched, and deflected the blows, before flipping backwards away from the robot. He landed low like a nexu on his feet and hands, but shuddered at his knees, some hidden, internal wounds markedly bothering him.
Thoughts of what to do filled Padmé's head as she studied him – he was weak, she could surely do something in order to allow her to escape, or just to get some form of word to Anakin that she was all right.
Escape? What was she thinking? She'd joined the Separatists, and signed Naboo over to them – the Republic surely wouldn't want to see her face any time soon. She just hadn't bargained on ending up in a situation like this…
She vacillated, glancing down at her feet.
Dooku meanwhile, oblivious to her presence, rolled forward and leapt up into an uppercut, successfully and mercilessly bisecting the training droid, before landing back on his feet once again. His back was stinging and his shoulder wound broke under the pressure of his exertions, seeping fresh blood to its surface. He breathed heavily to quell his oxygen debt, putting his free hand to his damaged chest whilst he let the other hand, still clutching his curved sabre, droop by his side.
Padmé once again looked over at him, his back facing her, covered in a horrific pattern of repulsive bruises, which showed even through the dull light. Turning her eyes away from him, she spotted close to her, tucked under a nearby bench, a couple of plain sabre hilts, laying by a water bottle and the Count's shirt. Suddenly and rashly, a wild notion sprung forth into her mind, and she ran her tongue lightly across her lower lip in thought – it would be a foolish idea to try and play Dooku at a game that he knew so well, wouldn't it?
Her eyes shot back to him – he was tired and injured; she may manage to sneak up on him, and then –
And then what? And to what avail? What would she do to him, exactly? 'Padmé + Lightsabre' wasn't the most conventional of equations, and the Force knew what the result would be with 'Dooku' added; desperation was taking a firm hold of her and depriving her of her usual rationality. But she felt so angry with him – she felt so violated, so used and abused, and the more she thought about what she was certain had transpired, the more her hand ached to clutch one of the cool, metallic cylinders that lay near by, and run the Count through with one of their bright laser-blades. She had to do something – she had to stick up for herself; this hadn't been in the contract of the Treaty she'd signed.
She made her next move, and crept round the door of the chamber, crawling along the room's edge under the cover of its inky, black shadows. Crouching down, barely making a sound, she reached out and grasped one of the weapons, and lifted it up in her hand; the hilt was cool and smooth – merely holding it sent a feeling of supremacy and control rushing round her veins. She'd always wanted to hold a lightsabre, just to see what it was like, and now that she held one, and considered the immense, fatal power that lurked within it, the skill that was required to use it and the immense responsibility a wielder of this type of weapon bore, she realised exactly why the weapon was regarded so highly by all in the galaxy. Raising the sabre hilt up close to her eyes so that she could make out enough of it in the darkness to determine one end from the other, she clutched it tightly, with more fear than anything, and twisted the handle the right way up in her grasp, before then slowly beginning to pace toward the stationary, flagging form of Serenn in the hall's centre.
She felt her heart tear away at an incredible speed, feeling its incessant, powerful beating within her breast. Her hand was sweating, causing her grip on the weapon to loosen; she kept switching hands and overturning the sabre handle delicately and silently in her palms, hoping that the Count wouldn't hear her before she got to him. Still, it seemed, Dooku's own heavy breaths drowned out her own respiration, and he failed to realise that anything was amiss in the chamber; his head was cast down before him, his red sabre still hung by his side; the entire scene was splashed with its red glow, adding a hellish and dramatic effect to the whole scenario.
Padmé reached a steady halfway point in her trek up behind the elder man, her body beginning to shudder, her grip becoming so lubricated with sweat that she had to use both hands to keep the weapon within her hold, and she suddenly realised that she hadn't a clue what she was going to do – should she merely injure him? Take off his arm, or leg? He did take off Anakin's limb after all; measure for measure.
Her finger fidgeted over the weapon's activation switch as she stepped closer and closer to the Count; she saw vivid, scarlet blood trickle down his left arm from his broken shoulder wound, highlighted to further gruesome lengths by the crimson lighting. His back, now that she was closer, looked frightfully painful, a proof that the strengths of the diminutive Master Yoda should never be underestimated; his back was decorated with more than mere bruises, though – it would seem that he had many a dreadful scar impeded within his flesh, wounds from battles past, his skin telling stories of the brutal life he seemed to have led.
Perhaps he deserved them all.
Angling the sabre up toward his left arm (with no thoughts crossing her mind as to why she shouldn't go for his right arm, with which he held his weapon, an error which told of her erratic state of mind), she inhaled profoundly, yet as silently as she could, before closing her eyes and pushing down on the weapon's activation switch…
In the space of the ensuing second, many things happened: a blue blade shot out of Padmé's sabre hilt and plunged towards the Count's shoulder; sensing both her intrusion and the sudden danger that he was in, Dooku simultaneously wheeled about to face her, pelting his red blade into hers, and sending her weapon flying, whilst forcing Padmé herself to plummet down harshly onto the floor. He then recalled her airborne sabre to his free hand with the power of the Force, locked the two blades he now held over one-another like a giant pair of shears, and, finally, swiftly enveloped her neck in their deadly maw as she lay helpless before him.
After the brief pandemonium, a long pause ensued in which neither said anything; they froze in their positions, both of their chests rising and falling heavily, their eyes locked firmly onto one another. Padmé once again heard her heart pounding in her ears; the warmth of the blades that enclosed about her throat was intense, the beams of deadly, pulsating energy but millimetres away from her exposed skin; any touch would undoubtedly prove fatal. She hardly dared to move, to breathe, or to even swallow in fear that she could cut short her own life by doing so.
She closed her eyes, already feeling the pangs of regret seep into her fluttering, confused mind. The Count now held her life in his firm hands, the lightsabres ready to respond to whatever whim he may have.
The moment seemed to draw out into a lifetime, and, after a while, Padmé felt the need to peel back her eyelids once again; her pupils were filled with dread as she returned her sights to the unwavering Count. Small beads of sweat made their leisurely way down his chest, reflecting shards of the sabres' illumination as they traversed the rises of his torso, having a freedom that Padmé envied desperately at the moment. She felt herself damp with sweat, more from her nerves than her exertions; her breaths picked up pace again, this wait becoming insufferable.
Then, finally, Serenn showed signs of life, "One might say that that was either incredibly brave…" he rasped in a gravely, cold tone, his eyes concentrated and strong; stepping closer to her prostrate form, he glided the mouth of his sabre-shears up over the rim of her neck and encompassed the space just below her jaw within their lethal hold, "Or very stupid," he then added. He watched as Padmé tilted her head back in an attempt to avoid the blades, her heart racing under the excruciating pressure of the situation.
The throbbing beat of the sabres' humming, now so close to her chin that it was petrifying, merged into the thudding of Padmé's heart, and together created an intimidating melody, which echoed and pulsed mercilessly down her ear canals. She closed her eyes yet again, cringing in anguish, hating the vice and cruelty of this man, who was putting her through so much.
She was beginning to wonder exactly what she had been planning to do anyway in this situation with a weapon that she couldn't comprehend, let alone handle, when suddenly, everything went quiet, and the room went dark; Dooku had deactivated the lightsabres, much to Padmé's relief. She could only hear her own respiration, a peace seeming to have now arisen in the void around her, and a cold and empty one at that. Her sweat felt chill on her skin, her head was swimming, and she felt extremely sick. Tentatively deciding to open her eyes once more, feeling her body quaking uncontrollably and her breaths emerging hoarsely from her dry, parched throat, Padmé could just about make out the form of Serenn, still stood before her, from her position on the floor; he was marked only by a hazy line of light that trickled in vainly through the slightly ajar door, through which she had originally entered.
She was curious as to why he hadn't said anything else to her, but didn't have time to dwell on that fact; her head continued to foam violently with nausea and the darkness itself only added to her disorientation, and swiftly, before she knew what was going on, this darkness had taken her…
TBC…