IT's HERE! It's DONE! I FINALLY WROTE IT!

Ok. Enough frenetic squee on my part. Sorry about the excessive delay. I have no excuse (cough) aside from writing Flying and Cherry Mistmas Master Kenobi (cough).

MERRY CHRISTMAS -- or whatever holiday applies... -- to everybody! This is my (gasp) last post of the year! (gasp!)

Enough rambling...

I don't own SW, GL doesn't have anything to do with this (the dialogue would be a lot worse if he did... heh heh heh.)


Chapter 9: Sidious

The spread of evil is the symptom of a vacuum. Whenever evil wins, it is only by default: by the moral failure of those who evade the fact that there can be no compromise on basic principles.

Ayn Rand

----

"Count Dooku?"

He turned at the sound of the timid, rasping voice, tearing his eyes away from the prone figure of the unconscious Obi-Wan Kenobi with some difficulty. The being that had dared to approach him flinched at the Count's piercing gaze, fighting back the urge to scuttle backwards down the hallway.

Dooku sneered faintly, and turned away. "What is it?" It had been a week now and there was still no sign of Skywalker. Day after day, the Count had found himself returning to this cell to stare pensively at the captive Jedi Knight, wondering if Lord Sidious had perhaps misjudged the depth of feeling between Skywalker and Kenobi. He had stared at the Jedi for hours it seemed, trying to figure out what it was that his Padawan, Qui-Gon Jinn, had ever seen in this boy. There was nothing overtly remarkable about him at all, nothing of the paragon of virtue that the HoloNet made him out to be. Dooku frowned. Those ridiculously banal HoloReporters knew nothing about what constituted a true Jedi Knight. All that the Temple had left to offer were children. But the Republic looked at them with awe, and thought that they knew what greatness was.

They had no idea what true greatness was, just as the weakening Jedi Order had no concept of power.

"My Lord?"

That wavering, obsequious voice again. Dooku wanted to crush the trembling being's trachea for daring to interrupt his reverie. He turned slowly, raising one eyebrow imperiously.

"Lord Sidious requests that you contact him immediately, my Lord." Having delivered himself of his message, the Veenatian scurried away swiftly, before Dooku could vent his ire.

Dooku sighed, suppressing the sudden surge of nervousness that rose like bile in his throat. His Master would not be pleased about the way their plans were progressing. All Dooku had to show for his effort was Kenobi, who was useless as anything but bait and who would be dead within the week anyways. Skywalker, in the meantime, was still safely ensconced in the Jedi Temple. So it was with a peevish scowl that Dooku strode back down the hallway. It was all very well for Lord Sidious to be irritated with the way things were going, but wasn't he the one who was closest to Skywalker now? He could certainly give the impressionable child a nudge in the right direction, and allow Dooku to get away from this Sith-forsaken rock.

After being a Master for so long, it was offensive to have to bend his knee to another. It was clearly a waste of his time and talents to be stranded here, with Kenobi as the only other intelligent sentient around – even unconscious, the boy was more intriguing company than the Veenatians. He should have killed the Jedi right away, rather than playing Lord Sidious' game of puuri and womp-rat in an attempt to lure Skywalker to the Dark Side.He should have stabbed Kenobi through the heart, rather than the shoulder. That would have ended this game. Skywalker would have felt Kenobi's death and, filled with that overbearing pride of his, would have hurried to avenge his Master.

And he would have met his own downfall at Dooku's hands.

As a Jedi, Count Dooku had been known for his direct methods – reflected even in his style of lightsabre combat. Simplicity was the most effective and the most efficient way of dealing with tiresome missions. None of this wasting time on convoluted plots and irrelevancies. In as much as Lord Sidious was shrewder about the ways of the Dark Side than Dooku himself was, the man did have a disturbing flair for the dramatic. The Count had learned not to be theatrical; it was nothing but wasteful. Apparently Sidious had never gained that knowledge.

But he allowed none of these feelings to show in his expression as he knelt respectfully before the holocommunicator, shoving his wounded, sneering pride to the back of his mind. A frisson of fear left his mouth dry at the thought of Lord Sidious reading his mind, and learning of his apprentice's insubordination. Schooling his face to impassivity, he waited for his Master to speak. Their plan had failed. There was nothing to do now but hear what his Master had decided, whatever his feelings on the matter.

He would have to trust in the Sith Lord's judgement.

----

Palpatine turned in his chair to face out the broad window overlooking Coruscant. The sunlight was already fading, only to be replaced by the harsher gleam of the electric lights from the buildings and the gleam of speeders rushing by. But it wasn't the stunning vista that concerned him. The Chancellor's eyes were half closed, a malicious smile curving his pouchy lips. Sidious was seeing into the Force, and the display of light and power there was captivating.

Skywalker's anger was an explosion of radiance, shot through with red and black. The power of the Dark Side. The blue-grey gleams of the other Jedi Masters around him were nothing – fireflies flittering around the edges of a sun.

He inhaled slowly, basking in the bloody warmth of this display of anger and despair. His smile widened. Yes. Yes, this was the potential that the blinded Jedi failed to see. Emotions that swirled and raged beyond their ken, generating far more power then their pitiful little minds could ever hope to comprehend. Skywalker stood at the centre of the maelstrom, a focal point of the Force.

"Very good, my young apprentice," Sidious murmured through parted lips, his eyes flaring red in response to the massive insurgence of hatred and despair. The smile on his face was almost one of fatherly pride. "Very good."

But it wasn't good enough, not yet. There was potential there, infinite potential. But Skywalker still had to throw off the last shackles that the Jedi had placed on his power. And those were still very firmly in place, binding up the anger and rage, condensing it and subduing it. But they were weakening. Bit by bit, they were weakening.

Of course, the boy wouldn't come to him yet. Not today. Palpatine hadn't watched Skywalker so closely for the past thirteen years not to be able to anticipate his actions. The boy was so marvellously predictable, so full of righteous indignation about the injustices of his life. So utterly banal. But Palpatine had always been there to listen to the complaints and the accusations, to coax along the young man's budding resentment of the Jedi Order. The boy may have had remarkable powers, but he was hardly the thinker that Lord Tyrannus was. It was almost sad that the one would have to replace the other – Palpatine would almost miss conversing with the Count.

Almost. Having Skywalker bent to his will, those incredible powers at his disposal… well, that would more than compensate. The lack of any capacity for deep thought would make the boy more malleable, more susceptible to the seduction of the Dark Side. It would bind him that much closer to Sidious.

No, Anakin would not be coming for counsel from his kindly old friend the Chancellor, nor would he run to hide in the bed of his senatorial whore, that irritating insect Amidala. He would want to rescue his dear Master Kenobi right away, like the ridiculously devoted Jedi that he was. How tragic, the surprise that would be waiting for him upon his arrival.

It almost made Palpatine smile.

Anakin wouldn't come to him today, but it was of no great importance. Palpatine hadn't played at politics and games of war for decades to be put out by having to wait a little longer. A few more days, weeks, or months, it was all the same in the end for one who had been plotting for years on end. Everything had been set in motion already, it was now only a matter of time and a few well placed words and ideas.

Skywalker, the precious Chosen One of the Jedi Order, would make a marvellous Sith Lord. And his Master wouldn't be able to do a thing to stop it.

Kenobi. Palpatine frowned as he opened his eyes, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers. The pathetic Knight that Skywalker followed like a faithful lapdog. It was sickening, the affection between the two of them, disrupting his suggestions that perhaps Obi-Wan was trying to hold Anakin back. Kenobi was a distraction that should have been removed years ago. A single mistake in an otherwise perfectly-plotted game.

Still, it was a tragic oversight that he had never seen the potential for anger in Kenobi before. The display he had put on at Veenat-III had been most impressive. The ripples of his mind shattering were still reverberating through the Force, little currents of power that surged through the Sith Lord's mind with echoes of intoxicating agony.

It really was too good to waste.

"My Lord."

Sidious turned at the sound of his current apprentice's voice, waving one hand casually to Force-lock the doors. He didn't want this conversation to be interrupted.

"Ah, Lord Tyrannus," he said courteously, sensing with quiet glee the barely-concealed anxiety of the Count.

"My Lord, there is as yet no sign of Skywalker coming to rescue Kenobi –"

"I am well aware of that, old friend," Palpatine interrupted smoothly, deliberately choosing his words to see the Count twitch. They were not friends, Dooku was no more than a means to an end. But his apprentice was proud, and the illusion of equality was convenient… for the time being. "Skywalker is leaving the Temple as we speak."

Dooku inclined his head further. "I look forward to bringing him before you, Master."

"No, my friend, that won't be necessary. You are to leave Veenat-III immediately, and return to Cato Neimoidia."

Dooku, caught off guard, lifted is head in surprise, before hastily bowing again. "I shall have Master Kenobi disposed of."

"You will leave him." Palpatine snapped, lips curling into a snarl. "Leave him for Skywalker to find and rescue." Quickly as his anger had flared, his expression faded back into one of imperturbability.

"My dear Lord Tyrannus, I hardly expect you to understand the concepts of absolute loyalty and guilt, but I assure you that those are what will bring Skywalker to us. The idea of abandoning his Master will be completely unacceptable to him, though Kenobi's mind has been shattered by your… dealings… with him. Although it would tap into our young friend's rage to have you murder his Master before his eyes, imagine how much more poignant it will be for him to find that the sadly incapacitated Master Kenobi has committed suicide…." Palpatine smiled thinly, sensing the shudder that ran through Count Dooku as a result.

He adopted a woeful expression as he continued, though his eyes sparked with malicious delight. "Oh… I am afraid that the Jedi Order would end up being blamed for such a tragic misfortune," he spread his hands eloquently. "After all, they were the ones to leave such a great Jedi in your clutches for a week." Palpatine's melancholy expression vanished in an instant, eyes narrowing into slits. "The Jedi Order will be destroyed from the inside. By one of their own."

Dooku's face was perfectly composed, but Sidious felt the faint flicker of what was almost despair, before the Count quashed it. That was Lord Tyrannus' failing; he had spent all of his youth serving the outdated Jedi Order, and already had strong ideals. Skywalker would be far more… compliant. Seeing his Master so utterly destroyed would break him.

The thought made Palpatine smile happily. Skywalker would be crushed, and would run to the one person he could trust completely to help gather up the pieces of his life.

And Palpatine would be waiting for him. A sympathetic ear, a well-placed word, a tentative suggestion, and a friendly smile were the only tools he would need to bring down this so-called "Chosen One" of the Jedi Order. They were the only things he would need to break down the restraints placed on Skywalker, and reveal the immeasurable vista of his powers. How foolish of them, to ostracize the one boy on whom they had placed all their hopes.

The Jedi had never considered the fact that the Sith had a prophecy of their own.

-----

Anakin stared out the transparisteel vidscreen of his small spacecraft, hands clenched impotently at his sides, willing the ship to go faster. Rationally, he knew that he should be spending the time resting, or meditating at the very least, to release some of the tension that he felt into the Force.

One hand rose to twine the pseudo-Padawan braid around his index finger, a habit that Obi-Wan had tried without success to break him of many times when Anakin was a child. It was a nervous tick, and his Master had often threatened to either cut off the braid, or to cut off Anakin's hand.

Anakin had joked about that after Geonosis, but Obi-Wan hadn't found it very amusing at all. He had always been too serious.

Groaning in frustration, Anakin slammed his hand back down on the edge of the ship's console. He would program the next hyperspace jump, and then try to get some rest. He would need all of his strength to face Dooku.

"Artoo?" he called back over his shoulder, wincing at how hoarse his voice sounded. "Keep an eye on things up here, will you?"

Anakin rose stiffly from his chair as he spoke, grunting as his back re-aligned itself. He had been sitting in the same spot without moving for the past couple of hours – hardly the best way to prepare for a lightsabre battle. Anakin spun on one foot once he was clear of the chair, bringing his right leg up gracefully in a shoulder-high kick, feeling his hipbone crack satisfactorily. In the back of his mind, he could almost hear Obi-Wan's voice chiding him.

"Stars' end Anakin, if you don't turn your head first, then how in the blazes will you know what you're trying to strike? You could end up hitting me, for Sith's sake."

"Sorry, Master," Anakin whispered, repeating the manoeuvre, this time leading with his head so that he could follow the arc of his foot as it struck the air.

He continued back to his quarters, idly throwing in occasional movements from the katas that had been drilled into him since his days as a Youngling in the Temple. But although he usually enjoyed the substantial demands of the movements – a more physical meditation – his heart wasn't in them now. He always practiced with Obi-Wan, fine-tuning their ability to work as a team. If Anakin closed his eyes, flowing through the complex forms, he could see the shadow of Obi-Wan moving alongside of him, complimenting his actions, guarding his vulnerabilities. They were a team.

And without his other half, the katas seemed woefully inadequate.

Reaching his small quarters, Anakin knelt on the floor, clasping his hands before him and closing his eyes. Tilting his head back, he drew in a deep breath. Even meditation was harder without Obi-Wan, but it had never been easy to begin with so the absence was less severe. What would his Master say in this situation?

"Anakin? You're meditating? Of your own free will? Now I've seen everything…."

Of course the only reason that he was meditating was the fact that Obi-Wan wasn't there. Anakin sighed, exhaling slowly, releasing the thought into the Force as he had been trained to do.

There is no emotion, there is only peace.

There is no ignorance, there is only knowledge.

There is no passion, there is only serenity… he let the soothing familiar words flood his mind, focusing on them, letting every thing else pass from his body with every exhaled breath.

Breathe. In and out. Soothing, regular, comforting.

For Anakin, connecting to the Force was being submersed in brilliant white light, an unearthly luminescence that wrapped around him as warm and comforting as a blanket, shining in him, through him, permeating his entire being.

Breathe. In and out. Slow, controlled, rhythmic.

There was light all around him, soft and comforting and safe. He breathed it in, letting it into his lungs, feeling the power of it surge through him, seeping into his veins to dance through his body and mind. Making his skin tingle pleasantly with every indrawn breath.

Rhythmic. Controlled.

Breathe….

Anakin.

He opened his eyes, seeing nothing but the muted glow of white around him. There were no horizons, no sense of space or dimension. An infinite vista of nothingness. Nothing edged with the possibility of becoming anything

Breathe. In and out… breathe….

Anakin.

No. Wait.

He rose to his feet, unfurling himself from the meditative position. There was a small black shadow on the ground, marring the perfection of the gleaming place. He ran towards it, but his distance perception was off – the black hole grew bigger and bigger the farther he ran, until it swallowed him whole.

Breathe.

Anakin

Master! he cried, tumbling through space. Where are you?

There was an answering sob.

Master?

There!

Obi-Wan was crying, tears streaked over his handsome face. Anakin felt his heart ache strangely at the sight, although another emotion was raging inside of him as he stared up at his Master. It burned through him, setting his veins alight. Obi-Wan looked so hurt, so terrified and alone as he stared down at his apprentice, firelight reflecting on his tear-stained cheeks.

The unnamed emotion raged hotter through Anakin, making him gasp in agony. He wanted to destroy whoever it was that had done this to Obi-Wan, wanted to hurt whoever had dared to injure Obi-Wan. His Obi-Wan. But his Master was saying something; Anakin couldn't make out the words. He stretched out a hand towards Obi-Wan, a silent plea.

Come with me, Master. Please. Come with me.

With a pained expression, Obi-Wan turned away.

No! I won't lose you again, Master! Obi-Wan!

He closed his eyes.

Breathe. Just breathe…. Focused. Controlled. There is no passion, there is only serenity….

Darkness. He was falling again, sliding deeper into the bottomless well.

Darkness around him, familiar and peaceful. Anakin shifted absently, adjusting the sheets that tangled around his legs awkwardly in an attempt to get comfortable. When a lazy arm draped over his waist, he nearly leapt from the bed. Had he woken Padmé by accident? Had he been dreaming?

"A little on edge, are we?" the voice that spoke was rough with sleep, a pleasant baritone that Anakin knew so well. Then that arm tightened slightly, drawing him back to be pressed against a body that was definitely male. Anakin shivered in pleasure, turning over to face his lover, his Master, who moaned a sleepy protest.

Obi-Wan's eyes were hazy and tired, shining in the darkness from beneath the dishevelled strands of his auburn hair. "And here I thought I had managed to tire you out, young one," he laughed quietly.

"I didn't mean to wake you. I'm sorry…"

"Hmm…" Obi-Wan murmured, closing his eyes and pulling Anakin closer. "Love you…."

Wait. No. Where was Padmé? Padmé! He turned frantically, seeking her in the darkness as he fell further, until the Force-light above him was barely a speck of brightness in the distance.

"I loved you!"

The accusation rang in his ears, distorted and far away, filled with a terrible sense of loss, pain that rippled along their shattered Force-bond.

Obi-Wan. Master.

Obi-Wan was crying. Curled up on his side in the corner of a dark, enclosed room, knees drawn up to his chest and sobbing as though his heart were broken. Anakin reached out to him, but couldn't bridge the gap between them.

NO! Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan!

A frantic beeping made Anakin's eyes snap open, and he sagged forwards onto the floor, gasping for breath. He had never sunk that deeply into meditation before, so far that he forgot about his physical body. But it had felt so… so real. He was trembling uncontrollably, his teeth chattering, though he wasn't cold. Reaching out blindly, Anakin snatched the thin blanket from the cot next to him, pulling it tightly around his shoulders as he tried to calm his pounding heart.

Master… Obi-Wan… Anakin automatically stretched out along their Force-bond, a long-ingrained response for whenever he was scared. Obi-Wan would have known what to do; he would have pulled Anakin out of the trance before he fell too far. Hugging his arms tightly across his chest, Anakin rocked slightly, trying to slow his heart rate back to normal. It was pounding loudly in his ears, in response to some unremembered terror.

Anakin closed his eyes, forcibly slowing his breathing, though his body still wanted to gasp for air. He stilled his mind with difficulty, trying to remember what he had seen, but it slipped from his grasp even as he stretched for it, leaving only a puzzling wash of emotions in its wake.

Love. More intense than anything he had felt before… it made Anakin shift uncomfortably as his skin tingled from a memory that was denied from his mind. He loved Obi-Wan, of course…but not in such an intimate way, surely? They were closer than most Master/Padawan teams, Anakin had always known that. They were far more attached than the Council would have liked. There had always been love between them, but it had been fond affection, the platonic love of brothers in arms. But this… this felt… different. It shivered over his skin, tantalizing him with half-formed memories. Memories of love and contentment and peace… and desire. Desire that smouldered with a banked flame, ready to consume him if he allowed it.

Anakin shook his head roughly, his body aching with yearning at the memory of that phantom intimacy. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly in denial. It was impossible.

There is no emotion… there is only peace. He repeated the first line over and over in his mind like a mantra, terrified by the implications of this sudden burst of feeling.

Shoving aside that warm glow, he delved deeper into his blurred memory, trying to capture the rest of the emotions that his meditation had produced. Immediately, he was struck by an overpowering sensation of incomprehensible loss. Loss and suffering.

And… hatred?

He reached out towards the Force again, trying to recapture his vision, when something sharp jabbed him firmly in the back, making him jump. An insistent whistle accompanied the attack, and Anakin laughed, moving to sit comfortably on the floor.

"I'm all right, Artoo," he assured the little astromech, spinning around to face him, "I just… just got a little lost, that's all. I'm ok." That was an understatement. His hands were still trembling slightly, his temples throbbing with the feeling that something was missing. Something important that he had been shown in the Force….

R2-D2 swivelled his top around, bleeping and squealing at his Master.

Anakin smiled, "All right. No more meditation, I promise."

Another beep that managed to sound both worried and smug at the same time.

"We're almost there?" Anakin leapt to his feet, unfolding himself from his meditative position in a single movement, though it was lacking his typical grace. Fortunately, R2 didn't notice the way Anakin's legs shook as they bore his full weight again, how he pulled his cloak tighter around himself to ward off a non-existent chill.

'How long was I meditating?' By his calculations of the passage of time, there should have been hours to go on the voyage.

But no, upon reaching the bridge, Anakin could see Veenat-III rising in front of the vidscreen. It was discomfiting, almost as though he had lost those hours somehow. One more disturbing element to add to this entire mission. He folded his hands into the arms of his robes, feeling his pulse begin to race at the sight. Almost there.

The Separatist cruiser was gone, however. Anakin scanned all orbits around the planet, in case it was hiding just out of site, but no… there was nothing.

It was strangely unsettling; even though Obi-Wan would have chided him not to go looking for danger, to Anakin's mind there should have been some resistance. Unless, and a sick sensation rocked him at the thought, unless Dooku had left the planet, taking Obi-Wan with him?

"Artoo, scan the planet for the debris of Obi-Wan's Delta-6, based on his last-known trajectory." Anakin said quickly, frowning as he regarded the impassive face of the planet. "I have a bad feeling about this…."

END


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Xtine