Chapter 32: Civilized Discussions

In a rare moment, Qui-Gon was merciful. Obi-Wan woke to the sound of a droid whirling into his room around mid-morning. Obi-Wan lifted his head up from the pillow to see it was the same medical droid that annoyingly hospitalized him earlier.

"Good morning, Lord Kenobi," TC-11 said to which Obi-Wan groaned in protest. "It is time to get up."

Obi-Wan dropped his head on the pillow, blinking away the last remainders of sleep before he finally pulled himself out from the covers.

Once he was off the bed, TC-11 came around and jabbed a needle into his arm.

The sudden stab jolted Obi-Wan awake. He jerked his arm away and winced at the sight of the punctured wound. "What was that for?" he asked, holding his arm.

"Your necessary vitamins," TC-11 answered, putting away the needle. "Count Dooku and Lord Qui-Gon require you to be in perfect health."

Of course they do. "A little warning perhaps?" Obi-Wan grumbled as he examined his arm. A tiny, red ring sprouted on his arm. "Before you stab me."

TC-11 toddled around him. "Please dress for the day, Lord Kenobi." TC-11 reappeared back to his side with a bound of new clothes.

Obi-Wan tactfully took the clothes and headed to the refresher once he realized the droid had no plans to leave the room. He took his time cleaning himself. He rinsed his face, brushed his teeth and kept playing with his new short hair. He considered his appearance. Either go spikey like a misfit or combed it to the side in a more respectable image. In a silent debate, he resorted to comb it down and keep it tidy.

He changed out of the makeshift sleepwear and into the new clothes provided to him. It surprised him that the clothes weren't black. He had thought black was the customary colors of a Sith. Instead, he received grey, loose-fitting trousers, a dull grey undertunic and a simple blue overtunic. He even received a pair of slippers rather than boots. A strategy most likely. Can't run fast in slippers.

He exited out of the refresher only to be ambushed by the medical droid again. TC-11 scanned his face, the red light blinding him for a second before it zapped away.

The droid examined the results. "Dehydrated, underweight and anemic," it reported. "You'll need to drink at least—"

Obi-Wan waved a hand at the droid and it immediately powered down. "I'm aware," he grumbled, tired of hearing what was wrong with him.

He side-stepped the powered droid and went to the door. As expected, two battle droids were stationed outside his door. He looked to them both, a brow twitching upward. "Am I to wait or am I granted permission to leave?"

The droids glanced at one another, encouraging the other to answer his question. The silence went over a minute before the droid nodded. "We will escort you."

"By all means," Obi-Wan said and he followed the droids.

The droids led him to the dining hall where Obi-Wan previously sat and ate lunch with Qui-Gon the other day. The droids coded in the password and the door opened.

"Ah! Kenobi."

Obi-Wan froze. Sitting at the end of the long table was Dooku.

Anakin wanted to lay on the pavement forever.

Cheek pressed against the hard, yet warm surface, Anakin didn't budge when Master Tholme ordered him to rise. He overheard Quinlan making a quip at his expense, but Anakin was beyond exhausted to retaliate. That single workout Master Tholme made him do was enough to wipe him out for at least a solid day.

"Come on, boy," Master Tholme called above him. "Get up."

"Leave me here," Anakin rasped out. Even if Anakin wanted to leave, he doubted his limbs would be able to hoist him back up. Every muscle was like jelly and his legs in the last stretch of the hour wouldn't stop shaking.

Quinlan, who miraculously performed every task given to him, laughed. "I think you killed him, Master."

"He's still talking," Master Tholme grunted at his padawan. "He's not dead yet. Help him to his feet Quinlan."

A pair of scruffy boots entered Anakin's peripheral vision. Seconds later, Anakin thought he was flying! But, it was only Quinlan swinging him up from the ground. Once he got Anakin to his feet (and staying steady), did he let go with a mischievous grin. "You need more meat on your bones," he poked Anakin in the ribs. "What? Does Kenobi make you fast every week?"

Anakin tilted his head, eyes scrunched from the sun burning rays. "No," he said, but it almost sounded more like a murmur. His voice could hardly carry his words. Obi-Wan never trained him this hard before! "No… we—we couldn't always afford enough food."

And the grin on Quinlan's face vanished. It turned somber. A look that didn't fit right with the young man. Quinlan crossed his arms, hands holding his sides, as he looked away briefly. "Sorry—I've forgotten."

Forgot what? Anakin wanted to ask, but chose not to upon seeing Quinlan's discomfort. Anakin turned to Master Tholme. "Are we done?"

Master Tholme confirmed Anakin's hope. "We are now," the Jedi Master decided and he gestured Quinlan and Anakin to the doors. "I see you're not much of a gymnast. You don't like to… flaunt."

"What does that mean?"

A hint of smile peaked up on the corner of Master Tholme's lips. "It means you're not like Kenobi in that manner," he said and then he looked over Anakin's head to Quinlan. "Padawan? If I remember correctly, Kenobi was fond of acrobatics as much as you."

Quinlan snickered. "If you mean he could do a decent flip, then yeah—he was good."

Master Tholme shook his head, muttering underneath his breath. "He may not be as cocky as my padawan here, but Kenobi was a gifted acrobat."

Anakin had seen Obi-Wan perform a few acrobatic flips and cartwheels in fights with bounty hunters and Jedi. It impressed Anakin as a child. He often practiced by climbing up on small boulders or tree limbs to jump off. Obi-Wan stood nearby in case he ever lost control, which he constantly did at a much younger age. Obi-Wan basically stood right below, arms out and ready to catch him. Since Anakin mastered better control of his limbs and the Force, Obi-Wan no longer stood directly below. But, Anakin still liked it when Obi-Wan stood by, ready just in case. It always gave him a sense of security knowing he was there to catch him.

Except for today. When he only had Master Tholme and Quinlan, who were far more interested in pushing him to the brink of death rather than saving him. They let him fall flat on his face too many times to count.

Master Tholme opened the door with a wave of his hand, still speaking. "I guess one has to be good if Ataru is the saberplay of choice," he said as they all entered the Temple. "What forms do you know, boy?"

"Um… just an um…" Anakin had no idea what Master Tholme was talking about and the Jedi Master understood.

"Ah… Kenobi never instructed you on the lightsaber forms," Master Tholme said. "Or at least, their names. You ever used a lightsaber?" Anakin nodded. "Hmm… show me your stance boy."

Anakin stopped and, using Obi-Wan's lightsaber, got into a fighting stance. Master Tholme hummed in recognition. "I see," he said, somewhat amused. "He's training you in Soresu. Not surprising. It counters the Ataru form."

"What are you talking about?" Anakin queried, still lost.

"My apologies, I forget that you did not grow up at the Temple," Master Tholme said. "There are seven forms of lightsaber combat. Each padawan is briefly instructed in all of them until they pick out their chosen form. Quinlan here prefers Ataru."

"I find dueling to be dull if I don't," Quinlan explained, that mischievous smile reappearing again.

"Yes, of course, you and Kenobi used to practice until you destroyed the training salle."

"That was Kenobi's fault," Quinlan immediately defended and then shrugged. "He didn't trust me."

"Most likely due to your lack of… restraints in regards to rules."

Quinlan gave another shrug, an amused smirk dawning on the padawan. "You knew that about me when you chose me."

Master Tholme sighed. "Indeed I did," he agreed, looking to Anakin. "Let's go to the cafeteria. Get you some proper food."

They redirected to the cafeteria and Anakin went quietly. As they turned another corner, Anakin couldn't help but asked, "How do you know so much about Obi-Wan? Were you his teacher or something here?"

Master Tholme chuckled. "Oh Force no! I wasn't his master," he said. "I knew Obi-Wan through Quinlan here and of course, through Quin-Gon and Dooku."

Anakin froze at hearing their names. He retreated away from Master Tholme so quickly that he violently crashed into the wall. The discomfort of fear treading in his stomach got Anakin active again. "You knew them!"

Master Tholme raised a single brow at the tone. "Of course," he said, sounding almost patronizingly. "Dooku was a good friend of mine. Qui-Gon too."

Anakin gaped and then turned to Quinlan for any type of denial. He needed the padawan to signal that he heard wrong or that Master Tholme lied. Seconds ticked passed and Quinlan offered nothing to reject the claims Master Tholme made.

Master Tholme eyed Anakin carefully. "I know what you are thinking, boy, but it's not true. I don't work for Dooku nor Qui-Gon," he rebuked. "I'm loyal to the Force and the Force alone."

"You called them friends!"

"In the past tense," Master Tholme clarified. "Our friendship slowly dissolved these last few years. Our outlook on certain topics began to contrast dramatically and now, seeing as to who they really are, makes sense."

Anakin glared at the Jedi Master through hooded eyes, the seeds of distrust sprouting. Obi-Wan told him the Sith were master manipulators. Blinded the whole Jedi Order from seeing their true colors for years! Obi-Wan also mentioned the Sith Lords having helpers. People to do their bidding to cover their tracks. What if Master Tholme was another? After all, he was keen to meet him. He knows a lot about Obi-Wan. And he admitted to being good friends with the Siths.

"It's okay Skywalker," Quinlan said in tones of assurance that snapped Anakin out of his assessment. "Master Tholme is telling you the truth. I would know, seeing as I can learn everything with my special skill."

"It is rude to be invasive of one's privacy, padawan," Master Tholme gently chastised the young man and he turned back to Anakin. "My padawan makes an excellent point. If I was in league with either Dooku or Qui-Gon, he would know and chop my head off."

"Not your head, Master."

Master Tholme rolled his eyes, ignoring Quinlan's widening grin. "The point is, boy," he said to Anakin. "I'm not in league with the Sith. Never will be." He gave Anakin a look over, brows slanted over his eyes. "Got it?"

Not entirely. Anakin jutted his chin out, fire in his eyes as he challenging stared up at Master Tholme. "If you were their friend, how come you didn't know?" Anakin demanded. "How did you not notice they changed?"

Master Tholme folded his arms across his arms. "Boy—that's a question with a difficult answer. You're never going to get the answer you want. Ignorance, arrogance, blindness and all sorts of excuses one could say about how they didn't notice two Siths in the Temple."

"Obi-Wan—"

"Kenobi knew because they let him in on it," Master Tholme interrupted, dismissing Anakin's words. "They never planned to hide their intentions from him." He paused, a questionable brow rising up his forehead. "Imagine, though, if he wasn't? Do you think Obi-Wan Kenobi would have noticed his Master changing?"

"Of course he would!" Obi-Wan's moral compass made it impossible for him to be blind by injustice and evil.

Master Tholme clicked his tongue in disagreement. "For a boy who was raised by Kenobi for seven or eight odd years, you're certainly blind to his faults." Master Tholme paused for moment, assessing Anakin with a sudden, bright realization. "Ah… I see. You don't see it because it's also your weakness."

Anakin blinked in utter confusion. "I don't get what you're saying."

Master Tholme's cybernetic eye zoomed on him, almost like it could see through Anakin. "You share the same weakness as your master."

"Obi-Wan isn't my master!"

Master Tholme shrugged, nonchalant. He continued wielding his words like a lightsaber, striking Anakin right in the gut. "You both care too deeply—attachment, in other words," he concluded. "You for Kenobi and Kenobi for Qui-Gon."

No. That was impossible. Obi-Wan hated Qui-Gon! That Sith Lord ruined his life! Anakin balled up his hands. "That's not true!"

Master Tholme chortled at Anakin's vehement denial. "You're like Kenobi in so many ways," Master Tholme rolled on. "Kenobi always believed Qui-Gon to be the best Jedi in the Temple—short from Master Yoda. He loved Qui-Gon like a son loves a father. Devoted, loyal and always wanting to please." Master Tholme paused to look down at Anakin with a knowing smile. "Much like yourself."

"So what?" Anakin countered, flustered by Master Tholme's accusation. "Obi-Wan cares! He has emotions! He's not a mindless droid! He would have still seen—"

Master Tholme let out a heavy sigh. "You are blinded by your love for Kenobi," he said. "Just as much as Kenobi was for Qui-Gon." He swatted the air with his hand as if Anakin's words were pesky flies. "Kenobi would have missed the signs. Make up excuses or not take any of them to heart. Blame such emotional outburst on the loss of Tahl, etc.

"In other words, Kenobi would have been as blinded as you are with him," Master Tholme finished. "No Jedi will admit it, but we are all blind, boy. Each and every one of us is blind to the people we care most about."

A deep crevice bedded into the Master Tholme's forehead. "Now—to answer your question as to how I didn't notice the changes… well, I did. I did notice and I chose not to act upon them. Care to know why, boy?"

Anakin hesitated. The hard gaze bearing down upon him caused the hairs on the nape of his neck to stand up. But despite the fear energizing his adrenaline, Anakin tipped his neck back, met the Jedi Master's eyes and gave a firm nod.

Master Tholme leaned closer, his piercing gaze so close to Anakin that the young boy got a tingle of the Jedi Master's breath against this face. "I didn't do anything because," began Master Tholme, "I didn't want my heart to break."

Master Tholme drew back up and folded his hands in the sleeves of his robes. He flicked his cybernetic eye to Quinlan. "Come padawan," he commanded. His interest in Anakin suddenly gone. He dismissed him with an easy turn as to no longer see the boy. "Let's get you something to eat."

Quinlan nodded, but stopped short from following his master. "What about Anakin?"

Master Tholme didn't look back. "I don't think he's hungry at the moment."

Quinlan cocked an eyebrow in Anakin's direction, still uncertain if they should leave him behind. But Master Tholme called for him again and Quinlan nodded a salute to Anakin. "You're all right, kid."

With that, Quinlan bid his farewell and joined his master further down the corridor, leaving Anakin alone in the corridor. And he remained there. Too shocked to move and too baffled by the answer he never expected to receive. He stayed up against the wall, his mind chaotic in the flutters of philosophies that propelled him there. A rush of sorrow and fear combined into one mass that sunk Anakin.

Anakin wanted nothing more than to tell Master Tholme he was wrong. From his experiences in the real world, emotions weren't evil. They helped him connect with people and the galaxy, to demonstrate his joy, anger, hurt and love. How could the Jedi believe that emotions were a hinder?

He slid further down the wall, thoughts untangling from one another. In his grand speech, Master Tholme deduced that emotions—feelings!—was the fault to the Sith Lords rise to power within the Temple. No one wanted to see Obi-Wan's truths because they were protecting their hearts. But the Jedi preached no emotions. They don't have hearts if they follow that precious Code Obi-Wan chants when anxious.

The Jedi were hard to understand. Their lives, philosophies and style boggled Anakin enough that he spun himself into a tight net that he got too lost in his own mind to hear the soft footsteps that came up to him.

"Anakin?"

Anakin jolted, thumping his head against the wall as he snapped up. "Oh. It's you."

Bant chuckled. "Sorry to interrupt your… meditation?" she guessed. "You okay? You seem to be in a rut."

Anakin merely shrugged. "Same as always."

Bant settled herself down next to him. "I heard about your escapade."

Anakin's eyesbrows shot to his hairline. "Master Yoda told you about that?"

Bant stared quizzically at him. "What? No. Master Krav told me. She said that you were distressed and took off running."

Cheeks burned in embarrassment of his gaffe. He thought Bant referred to his humiliating duel with Master Yoda in the hanger. He quickly shook his head to cover up his mistake. "Oh—that. It was something Master Krav said… some comment about Obi-Wan."

Bant slowly nodded her head in understanding. "I'm sorry, Anakin," she apologized on the Order's behalf. "Some Jedi are having a hard time adjusting. For years they believed Obi-Wan to be a rogue. A traitor… only to discover he was right all along. That even their own leaders messed up? It's a confusing time for all."

"But not for me?"

"Most importantly you," Bant assured him, rubbing his back. "This is all new to you. And I'm sure it's not easy to hear others gossip about Obi-Wan."

"Yeah—I know," Anakin resigned. "I overhear everyone's comments about us. About me. And if not, I can feel it." Anakin paused. "Do you know Master Tholme?"

"Of course, Quinlan's master," Bant said. "Why?"

"I met him today. He told me some things about Obi-Wan."

Bant studied him, her silver orbs eyeing him. He felt her Force presence poke his own, gliding up to sense any strong emotions to prepare her for what he was about to say. "Is that why you're upset right now?"

"Yes. No. I don't know," Anakin admitted, looking away. "A lot of things are upsetting me."

Bant bobbed her head. "Yes, these are stressful times," she agreed. "Perhaps food is in order? Get something in our bellies."

She jumped to her feet, holding her hands out to hoist Anakin up. As they strolled down the corridor at an easy pace, Bant looked down at her young ward. "Then once we have our fill, then maybe we can swap stories," she offered. "I'll tell you a story about Obi-Wan and you tell me what's troubling you. Deal?"

Anakin contemplated the deal. It didn't sound too bad. "Deal."

Dooku gestured a hand to welcome Kenobi. "Do come in."

Kenobi tarried in the threshold, debating on entering. Dooku looked to the droid and signaled them a command. The droids bobbed their heads and shoved Kenobi into the room. After the initial shove, Kenobi obliged, picking up his feet as he walked to the only plate setting available.

Dooku scrutinized every movement, noting the subtle shifts in the manner Kenobi portrayed. A clenched jaw. Flexed fingers strained from making a fist. Taut eyes assessed the room, evaluating every aspect for any advantages or disadvantages. Arriving at the long table, the young man settled in the pro-offered seat on Dooku's left.

A serving droid wheeled over, asking the young man for his drink order. Expectantly, Kenobi ordered tea and the serving droid departed to fetch the tea. Dooku watched Kenobi scanned the room again, looking for a familiar figure.

"Where's Qui-Gon?"

Dooku folded his hands on the table. "He's away."

And right there, Dooku sensed the cold dread building up in Kenobi. The subtle movement of him leaning away, guarded nearly reminded Dooku of the boy. But those innocent traces warped back to the grave mistrust of a young man. Kenobi took control, sitting upright and hands on table. "Where?"

"It is of no concern for you," Dooku dismissed, taking a long drink of his own tea.

Kenobi accepted the response or at least understood that pursuing the matter would be futile. Dooku eyed the young man over his cup. Kenobi surveyed the room again, inspecting every detail like the well-trained soldier Dooku created. A small smile played on the Count's lips. Some of his lessons remained with the young man after all.

The side door opened and the serving droid returned with the tea Kenobi requested. Kenobi thanked the droid before it wheeled right out the same doors. Hands cupped the warm mug, but it never went to Kenobi's mouth. Kenobi placed it on the table, untouched and let the steam rise to a cool.

Dooku dryly chuckled. "It's not poison, I assure you," he told Kenobi. "You may enjoy your tea warm rather than cold."

Kenobi didn't reach for the cup. "I did not expect it to be," he replied. "Such crude behavior is unbecoming of a man of your… stature."

"Indeed," Dooku agreed, clasping his hands in a steeple. "The uncivilized are never pleasant company."

He caught the flicker of aggravation passing through Kenobi's eyes. "Depends on your definition of uncivilized."

A few minutes in and already they are battling wits. Like nothing changed. Dooku grinned, leaning closer to the table in ready engagement. "Oh? How would someone of your stature define civilization?"

"Peace, liberty and justice are the essentials to the growth of civilization," Kenobi recited from what Dooku imagined he learned in his youngling days in the Temple.

A noble effort, but not good enough. Dooku used the Force to move his cup of tea aside. "You support the Republic then? Despite your first-hand experience of its injustice and greed?"

Again the subtle shift in his chair displayed the disquiet that ebbed the young man's Force. "The Republic may have faults, but they strive to achieve the true test of civilization."

Dooku cocked his eyebrows, intrigued. "And what is this true test of civilization?"

"Where every man bestows the rights he claims to others," Kenobi answered. "If every being in the galaxy acted in such manner, then there would be no need for wars, poverty or even hate."

A political idealist. Like himself when he was younger and naïve to believe such foolishness. Wisdom cleared the fog and opened his eyes to the true evils of society. The fallen of an institution that needed a new direction.

The serving droid returned, bundled with different dishes on its round, silver trap. It zoomed right next to Kenobi's elbow. With its mechanical arm, it placed a full breakfast at Kenobi's placemat. Next it whirled to Dooku, placing his own breakfast in front of him. Dooku looked over his meal. Satisfied, he dismissed the droid with a wave.

"You forget, Kenobi," Dooku said, taking his fork to dig into the omelet. "The Republic may present themselves as a democratic institution, it is far from it internally. Corruption runs rampart. Banking clans are now dictating the laws. Freedom, peace, justice are all ghosts of the past."

Kenobi placed his napkin on his lap, his fork in hand to dive into the fruit. "Thanks to you, I imagine," he returned. He bit into the piece of fruit, blue-green eyes widening at the sweet sensation he devoured. "Your invisible hand extends far outside the confines of Serenno. I dare say you have a number of… confidants assisting you in bringing about the death of the Republic."

"The Republic is already dying, Kenobi," Dooku countered, biting down on his food and swallowing. "I'm simply helping it to a more painless death."

"By enacting war and enslaving the galaxy!"

"War demonstrates that changes are needed—necessary to better the galaxy," Dooku said, unperturbed by Kenobi's glowering face. "The Republic is gone. The Jedi weak and chained by those who abuse power. The galaxy needs a strong ruler! Fearless and powerful—"

"You mean yourself?" Kenobi assumed in curt fashion. He rested his fork down, a shake of his head which caused two strands of his hair to come loose from its combed position. "You wish to replace corruption with more corruption. You want to replace governmental power with your power. You don't want to better the galaxy. You only want to control it!"

Dooku's grip on his fork tightened. "Careful with your words, Kenobi."

Kenobi refused, glaring at Dooku with utmost disgust. "You claim to be a man of refined culture and civilized elegance," he continued, stirring the, "Yet only an uncivilized man would believe he knows precisely what is right and wrong and believe he can do whatever he wants to achieve it."

Dooku felt his mouth thinned at the accusation thrown at him. "I suggest you restrain your tongue or else I will cut it off."

"Already oppressing freedom of speech," Kenobi revolted. "Only a savage man believes in his own words and atrocities to be the work of enlightenment. Honestly, your delusions know no bounds, Count."

He heard enough. Disappointed in how the conversation turned, time called for rectification. As a Count of Serenno and future leader of the galaxy, he would not humor insubordination from his underlings. Even if it is the chosen heir to their eventual empire. Another reminder was in order for the young man.

The Force rippled around him, garnering a mass of turbulence as he raised his hand, forefinger closing on his thumb. Dooku no longer felt the need to accommodate Kenobi as he unleashed his power against the young man.

It was slow at first. Kenobi didn't even realize what happened. He coughed, soft at first before letting out a more violent hack. Gasping soon followed as Kenobi's silverware slipped from his hands and rattled his plate. Dooku cruelly looked on as Kenobi futilely clawed at his neck. A splotching color of blue and purple bleed into Kenobi's face as he struggled out of the invisible grip. He perhaps only had a few minutes left to life before his last breath of life escaped him.

The Force thundered, shaken in the disturbance as it crushed Kenobi's esophagus. Too easy. It was all too easy. A slight of his hand and Kenobi's neck would be crushed and twisted. Dooku pinched his fingers closer, the Force blaring at the face of death. Dooku ignored such threat, too concentrated on watching Kenobi sink further away from life.

If he listened to the Force, he would have prevented the knife that flew from the side and into his hand. Dooku cried out in both shock and pain. He loosen his reins on the Force, eyes diverted from Kenobi to his injured hand. The knife cut deep, but not enough to make it through the hand. Dripping the handle, he yanked it out of his hand, muttering curses under his breath as he tossed the bloody knife aside. He reached for his napkin and tied it around his gushing wound.

Vision red, he flicked his head up to see Kenobi heaving air back into his lungs. When red and blue-green eyes met, Kenobi snatched his fork and held it up, his only weapon for defense. It was then Dooku realized where the knife came from.

"Well done, Kenobi," Dooku begrudgingly credited Kenobi's talent. "You learned to control your fear in the face of death."

Kenobi said nothing, clutching the fork and panting for more air. The food spilled off his plate, the fruits' juices staining the cloth and the meat rolled to the floor. Breakfast was over.

Dooku appraised the young man over again. He reached through the Force like a shiv, piercing through Kenobi's weakened shield. The young man winced at the intrusive, putting up a pathetic effort to block him. "You're powers have made you stronger," Dooku withdrew from Kenobi's mind. The young man sagged in his seat, his hold on the fork loosened. "You still need more training—refinement—before you to take your place within our new order."

And there. Right there! The furrowed eyebrows, the pinched lip and the fire resonating in the eyes told Dooku that the young man still retained the defiance of his adolescent years. "My place… is with… the Force," he wheezed. "Not… with you."

Dooku slipped a small, mocking smile. "And the Force has brought you back here," he said, meeting Kenobi's stare evenly, "… swearing allegiance."

Kenobi scowled at the reminder of his vow he made under torture. Seeing the submission brought a high of pure satisfaction for Dooku. He rose from his seat, circling behind Kenobi as he took in the look of defeated young man. For years, Dooku spent countless hours dismantling the defiance to rebuild the young man into the perfect apprentice. With Kenobi at his mercy, power was at his cusps. All he needed was Skywalker.

He clasped two hands on both sides of Kenobi's shoulders. The young man's shoulders tensed under the grip and the Force churned, dread building up within Kenobi's young soul followed by a rage that made him tremble. Dooku's smile only widened. A surge of power emitted from the young man. A power Dooku now controlled.

He gave the young man a firm squeeze. "Finish your breakfast," he commanded. "I look forward to more enlightening conversation as this one."

The look Kenobi threw at him amused Dooku. After all, it was all Kenobi could do to retaliate against him. Dooku held all the power. All of the control. Dooku let his hands linger before he slid them off the young man's bony shoulders, striding to the door to leave Kenobi to fume in solitary.

Strolling down the corridor to check in with the secret project on the other side of the palace, he spotted Qui-Gon hurrying up. Eyes meeting, they both slowed to properly greet one another.

Dooku linked his hands behind him. "Anything to report?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "Fett is making his way to Coruscant as we speak," he reported to Dooku. "He promised delivery in two nights."

Two nights? An impossibility for many bounty hunters. The again, Jango Fett was no ordinary bounty hunter. A prime soldier and an excellent strategist. What he promised always turned true. It was they hired him for the most daring and important and valuable tasks. He always did the job. He never failed.

"Good," Dooku approved. "Once everything is in order, we can finally initiate our plan into action. No more waiting or postponing. Our time has come, Qui-Gon. Our future is beginning."

Qui-Gon nodded in agreement. "Indeed, everything we worked for is finally coming together," he said. "Speaking of which… have you seen Obi-Wan?"

Of course Qui-Gon would be concerned over his old padawan. Dooku nudged his head behind him. "He's finishing his breakfast," he passed along. "I must warn you, he's not in a welcoming mood."

"Why?" Qui-Gon questioned. "What did the two of you argue over this time?"

"Oh, nothing much," Dooku remained vague. "We simply engaged in a civilized discussion."

There was a note of doubt flickering behind Qui-Gon's eyes. "Hmmm, I see," he muttered. "Well, nonetheless, I need to talk to him. Have a good day, Master."

They parted, leaving for their desired destination. Dooku's mouth peeled into a smile. In two nights, the galaxy would be at his feet. A new beginning rising to destroy the seeds of corruption and free the universe of its chains! Dooku's vision brought peace, power and structure to a cruel, greedy and corrupted society. He championed the right of power to rule the weak. The Jedi failed the galaxy, but Dooku's order would not. His legacy would save the galaxy from convoluted species who dare to abuse it for their own coinage. No more. With Dooku in charge, there would be no more parasites. No more weakness. Absolute power and right would reign.

Only he would have the final word. Him and his legacy.

Obi-Wan didn't finish his breakfast. His throat too sore to swallow, leaving the perfectly good food go to waste. Qui-Gon surprised him when he entered the dining room. He had thought Qui-Gon abandoned him to Dooku. He asked where Qui-Gon was, to which he received no answer. Confidential Qui-Gon told him. Obi-Wan didn't bother to pry.

As promised, Qui-Gon filled him in on the new changes. Obi-Wan's pledged allegiance granted him more access to the palace and facilities. He no longer needed to be caged in his room. He had the freedom to go wherever he wished, with the exception of the hanger, the front entrance, the south wing and their respective bedchambers. Not only was he allowed restricted freedom, Obi-Wan received a private squad of droids. Not under his command, but to be his personal guard and servants. They were to follow him wherever he went.

And, of course, Qui-Gon saved the best for last. "Dooku and I are giving you the Duchess as well," he said to Obi-Wan as the serving droid picked up the remaining dishes from the table. "She's is your guest now. Under your care and responsibility and hospitality."

Obi-Wan scoffed. "How kind," he muttered, before taking a long, hard look at Qui-Gon. "Then I demand that she goes free. A ship shall be provided for her to return to Mandalore."

It was Qui-Gon's turn to draw out a heavy sigh like he bore unpleasant news. "I'm afraid that will not be possible."

"Why not?"

"If the Duchess returns to Mandalore, she will be killed," he said, leaning comfortably in his seat like he was discussing the weather. "Mandalore is now controlled by Death Watch. The only reason the Duchess survived is because your love protected her.

"I fear if she returns, Death Watch will not spare her again," Qui-Gon warned, almost sounding sympathetic to the perilous situation. "It would be best if she stayed here. Under your protection."

Qui-Gon rose from his seat, pushing in his chair as he studied Obi-Wan's sorrowed face. "Don't look so sad, Obi-Wan," he said. "You and the Duchess are together now. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Yes and no. Obi-Wan loved Satine, but he never wanted this for her. For them. To be stuck in a prison, their fates decided and lives controlled. It was far better when they were separated, loving one another at a distance.

Obi-Wan pleaded once more for Satine's freedom, but Qui-Gon only offered a scenario that played out Satine's demise. In the end, it would be best if Satine remained as their "guest" and enjoy their hospitality.

Finished with the rules and duties Obi-Wan must follow and perform, he was granted leave to visit Satine. His designated bodyguards led him to his old prison cell, entering the code so he may step inside to see the occupant. The doors opened and the droids strode forward, but stopped by Obi-Wan's hand.

"I'll enter alone, if you don't mind," he told his guards. "I prefer a bit of privacy. You may stand outside. I'll call if needed."

The droids affirmed his command. "Roger, roger."

Obi-Wan stepped inside the familiar bedroom that once held him prisoner. Already, his eyes drew to the one living being in the room, dressed in red and hair perfectly designed to flatter her angular face. Trailing down, he saw how elegantly the dress hid the scars of the brutality she recovered from, betraying her status as a prisoner. If anything, she truly looked like she belonged her. The dress itself was made of silk, designed to flatter her slender body as it barely touched the floor. Gold and black laces embroidered the dress, accenting her social class as someone of importance.

She looked stunning. A rare rose. For the first time in his life, Obi-Wan was at a loss of words.

The door behind him closed. That hiss of the closed door brought Satine to turn away from the window she gaze out. Blue flames flared in her eyes as she took notice of Obi-Wan.

Seeing life in her eyes once again, brought Obi-Wan out of his stupor. He let out a weary relief. "Satine! I'm—"

Satine silenced him with a sharp slap across the face. His head snapped, neck cracking from the impact. Heat burned as a sting lingered on the nerves. He gently cupped his cheek, his finger light on the tender skin that swelled. He heard buzzing, a voice static and yet ringing. Satine was yelling at him.

He deserved it. The slap. The yelling. He deserved it all.

As his ears toned down the ringing, Obi-Wan heard Satine's shrill coming in loud and clear.

"How dare you!" Satine screamed, brows slanted sharply downward. "I am not some doll you can dress up as you see fit and command me to do as you desire! I'm not your slave"

"Satine!" Obi-Wan tried to speak through his tirade. "I'm not—"

She tried to slap him again, but Obi-Wan's Jedi-like reflexes saved him. He snatched her wrist, gently restraining her more aggressive qualities. "Please Satine—"

He misjudged Satine's fighting prowess. Hands immobilized, she resorted to her legs. She gave a hard kick to Obi-Wan's shins before thrusting her knee up at his groin.

And all of Obi-Wan's strength dissipated. Pain reign supremacy, leaving him shocked and broken. He dropped to his knees, recoiling on himself for further protection. He shuddered a breath, drawing in tight as to help him recover. So much for being a pacifist.

Taking deep breaths, the pain slowly resided to a slight numb. Above him, Satine kept speaking.

"If you think I will ever address you as either 'master' or 'lord'," Satine's anger carried overhead, "then you have another thing coming!"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I do not wish for you to address me as such," he said, his breathing uneven as he gained composure. He returned to his feet, his body ached from her blows. "Please do not hit me again. I fear I won't survive another one of your carefully aimed strikes."

Satine scowled at the request and she jabbed a finger at him. "I will not be your slave!"

"Nor do I wish for you to be," Obi-Wan assured her, muscles tight in his face as he bore the remaining pain. He gestured to the sitting chairs. "Please? Can we sit and talk peacefully without the need of such… aggressive negotiations?"

Satine arched a brow in the direction of the chairs. The cogs in her mind clicking before she nodded in stiff agreement. They sat down, comfortable as much as one could be in a tense setting. "Satine—I apologize for putting you in this predicament," Obi-Wan leaned over his armchair, looking straight into her fiery eyes. "I would never—I promise I'll get you out of this."

Satine's eyes narrowed. "How will you do that?" she demanded and when Obi-Wan didn't answer right away, she huffed. "You don't have plan. I'm a prisoner here! Trapped while my people suffer."

Obi-Wan bowed his head. "I'm so sorry Satine," he apologized. "I heard about Death Watch and… I'll do my best to get you out of here. Back to your people. You have my word. My promise."

All the fury that fired Satine earlier in their reunion melted. She slouched in her chair, shoulders drooping and eyes half hooded. "Promise is a big word, Obi-Wan," she tired, staring longingly out the window. "It either makes something or breaks everything." Satine turned her gaze upon him. "Don't make promises you cannot keep. That they won't let you keep."

Obi-Wan grimaced in acknowledgment of her words. "They may have my honor and duty, but not my heart." Obi-Wan lifted his head and reached for Satine's hand. He grasped them, cradling them as his finger stroke her knuckles. "Satine," he prompted to get her attention. "My heart belongs to you."

Satine glanced away, pained at his confession. "Obi-Wan…"

"It's true Satine. I love you!" he professed. There was no reason to hide it now. Qui-Gon and Dooku were well aware of their mutual feelings. "I will never let any harm come to you as long as I live."

Satine's eyes glossed. Her bottom lip trembled. "Oh Obi-Wan… please don't do this now."

Obi-Wan sat, stumped. "Do what?" he questioned. "You've known how I felt since that mission on Mandalore. All I am saying is that I will find a way to free you from this place."

"And that is what bothers me," Satine argued. She yanked her hand out of Obi-Wan's grasp and stood up from her seat, moving away. "You're willing to free me, but what about you? How can you ask me to leave while knowingly leaving you behind with those monsters?"

"You must," Obi-Wan insisted, following her. "It's the only way to guarantee your freedom."

Satine fell silent, pacing the room as her agitation pulsed through the Force. "What about your freedom?" she inquired. "I can't leave you here with them. Not when they can—"

The words fell off her lips soundlessly. The chilly reflection in her blue eyes brought back the memory of her first-hand torture at the hands of the Sith. She shivered, wrapping her arms around her thin waist.

Seeing Satine reliving that painful memory overwhelmed Obi-Wan. He closed the gap between them, pulling Satine into an embrace. Her head rested against his chest, his chin on top of her head as he sheltered her with his body. Obi-Wan burdened her pain, his hand resting on her back as he sent waves of the Force through Satine as the body began to tremble. He sensed her tears streaming down her face. Grief replaced fear and anger. All that pent-up energy dissolved, leaving Satine helpless and depressed.

Satine sniffled, her fingers clutched on his tunic. "Oh—Obi-Wan," she murmured through her tears. "What are we going to do?"

Obi-Wan held her close, emitting warmth through the Force as he gently rocked her. He privately swore he would find a way to release her from this accursed prison. He must! He cannot let Qui-Gon or Dooku destroy everything good in his life.

He kissed Satine's head. "I'll keep you safe," he whispered. "I promise."