The weight of Obi-Wan's presence released from Anakin, a stark contrast to the smooth, persuasive aura of Dooku. "Obi-Wan is coming," he announced, his voice a mixture of apprehension and resignation. "And he seems to think I need rescuing."
Padmé's eyes narrowed, suspicion coloring her tone as she addressed Dooku, "What did you do to him?"
"Nothing detrimental, I assure you," Dooku responded calmly, his gaze steady. "He likely wishes to shield you from the truth about the Sith Lord. He probably believes, as most Jedi do, that I am merely weaving elaborate fabrications, and you would be foolish to believe me."
"Who says I believe you?" Anakin challenged, his voice a mix of defiance and uncertainty. He was caught between his loyalty to the Jedi Order and the seductive allure of Dooku's arguments.
"You," Dooku stopped to correct himself, "both of you demonstrate a willingness to at least consider my perspective," Dooku countered Anakin, his tone laced with a hint of pride. "A quality sorely lacking in Obi-Wan and his kind, I'm afraid."
"You might have a point about the corruption within the Republic," Padmé conceded, her voice measured and thoughtful. "However, I've yet to see any evidence that the Separatists offer a better alternative."
"We are still a Democracy, and if Naboo were to align itself with the Separatist cause," Dooku explained, his tone persuasive, "You would have a direct voice within our Parliament, empowered to shape it, to rectify any flaws. It is a more streamlined, more focused body than the Republic Senate, and as of yet, untainted by the pervasive corruption that plagues the Republic."
Anakin frowned, the image of Gunray's smug face flashing through his mind. "You allowed Nute Gunray into the Separatist ranks," he pointed out, his voice laced with accusation. The memory of Gunray's invasion of Naboo, and Gunray's hate of Padmé, still burned within him.
"And the Republic, in its infinite wisdom, allowed him to escape any repercussions for his actions," Dooku countered, his voice laced with a hint of disdain. The necessity of allying with the likes of Gunray and the Trade Federation left a bitter taste in his mouth. He loathed their greed, their callous disregard for sentient life, their willingness to exploit entire worlds for profit. Yet, he had to acknowledge their undeniable power, their vast resources, their formidable droid armies. To stand any chance against the Republic, he needed them by his side, a distasteful alliance forged in the fires of rebellion. It was a compromise, a pact with darkness that gnawed at his conscience, a constant reminder of the sacrifices he had made, the ideals he had compromised, in his pursuit of a better galaxy. He could only hope that, in the end, the ends would justify the means.
"That's true," Anakin started, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. He was torn between his instinctive distrust of Gunray and the growing realization that Dooku's words held a certain undeniable truth, and Padmé would also be safe from Gunray if she joined. He stopped speaking as he looked over Dooku's shoulder. "My master is here."
Panic seized Dooku, a cold dread settling in his stomach. He had hoped for more time, for a chance to solidify Anakin's trust, to sway him to his cause. The arrival of Obi-Wan, accompanied by Yoda, was a devastating blow to his carefully constructed plan. Yoda, with his unwavering faith in the Jedi Order and his dismissive attitude towards anything that challenged their dogma, would be impossible to persuade. He was the embodiment of the Jedi's self-imposed blindness, their refusal to see the darkness that festered within the Republic and within their own ranks. Dooku stepped out of his ship, his gaze fixed on the approaching figures. Yoda, his wizened face etched with concern, walked with a steady gait, the rhythmic tapping of his gimer stick echoing through the vast hangar. Behind him, a squad of clone troopers, their white armor gleaming under the artificial lights, marched in perfect formation, their presence a testament to the escalating conflict. "Welcome, Master Yoda, Knight Kenobi," Dooku greeted them, his voice smooth and carefully controlled. He had to maintain a façade of composure, despite the turmoil raging within him.
"Far you have fallen, Dooku," Yoda responded, his voice heavy with disappointment. "Much darkness I sense within you." He could perceive the darkness within Dooku, a swirling vortex of anger, fear, and ambition, yet he remained oblivious to the even greater darkness that lurked within the heart of his own Order, the insidious influence of Darth Sidious. It was a testament to the Sith Lord's mastery of deception, his ability to cloak his true nature from even the most perceptive of Jedi Masters.
Anakin and Padmé emerged from the ship, Anakin's eyes meeting Obi-Wan's with a mixture of defiance and apprehension. "Stay away from Dooku," Obi-Wan warned, his voice laced with urgency. "He is dangerous."
"We are in no danger from Dooku," Padmé countered, her voice steady and reassuring. Her trust in Dooku suppressing Dooku's fears slightly.
"Wrong you are," Yoda interjected, his voice laced with a newfound certainty. "A Sith Lord he is." He ignited his lightsaber as he stepped closer to Dooku, the green blade humming with energy. Obi-Wan followed suit, his own blue lightsaber flashing to life, illuminating the hangar with an ethereal glow. Dooku's heart sank. He had hoped for a chance to reason with Obi-Wan, to appeal to his sense of justice and perhaps sway him to his side. Now, with Yoda present, that possibility was extinguished. Yoda's rigid adherence to the Jedi Code, his unwavering faith in the Republic, made him impervious to Dooku's arguments. He remembered Yoda's voice intoning, "Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny." The words, though intended as a warning, struck Dooku as a bitter irony. He had once believed that he was forging a new path, a path to a better Republic, but now, trapped in the web of Darth Sidious's machinations, he was beginning to realize the true cost of his choices. He may have found the Sith, but he could do nothing to stop him.
Dooku ignited his own lightsaber, the crimson blade a stark contrast to the blue and green glow of the Jedi weapons. "You're a Sith!" Anakin exclaimed, his voice filled with shock and betrayal. He ignited his own blue lightsaber and charged at Dooku, his movements a blur of anger and aggression.
"Anakin, don't charge in alone!" Obi-Wan shouted, his voice laced with concern. He lunged forward, his lightsaber held high, but Dooku was too quick. He parried Anakin's attack with effortless grace, his crimson blade a whirlwind of motion as he deflected each blow. He could sense Anakin's rage, his confusion, and his deep sense of betrayal. It fueled him, reminding him of his own disillusionment with the Jedi Order, his own journey down a path paved with good intentions and shadowed by unintended consequences. Dooku met Yoda and Obi-Wan's advance, his lightsaber flashing, the clash of blades echoing through the hangar. He had no desire to harm Anakin. Anakin was the key to his plan, the one who could potentially tip the scales in his favor. He focused his energy on fending off the two Jedi Masters, his movements fluid, precise, his blade a blur of red. He noticed Padmé out of the corner of his eye, her face pale with fear. She was off the ship now, standing between the clone troopers and the escalating lightsaber duel. He couldn't let her become a casualty of this conflict and she was smart enough to keep her distance. With a surge of Force energy, he pushed Anakin away, sending the young Jedi tumbling towards the Senator. He then sprinted towards his ship, his heart pounding in his chest. The Jedi, caught off guard by his sudden retreat, deactivated their lightsabers to check on Anakin and the Senator.
Dooku dove into the cockpit, his hands flying across the controls. "Take off!" he commanded, his voice laced with urgency. As the ship lifted off the ground, Dooku felt Yoda's presence in the Force, a powerful tug that threatened to hold the ship captive. He whirled around, his hands outstretched, unleashing a torrent of Force lightning towards the Jedi Master. Yoda, caught off guard by the sudden attack, raised his hand in defense, catching the bolts with a surge of his own Force energy. The momentary distraction was all Dooku needed. The solar sailer shot skyward, leaving the hangar, leaving Geonosis, and leaving behind the shattered remnants of his plan.
The Force behind Dooku's push slammed Anakin into Padmé, a jarring impact that knocked the air from his lungs. Shame washed over him, a bitter taste coating his mouth. How could he have been so blind? Dooku's words, his arguments about the corruption within the Republic, the allure of a better world, it had all seemed so convincing, so right. Yet, the man was a Sith Lord, a wielder of the dark side, a master of deception. Obi-Wan's warnings echoed in his mind, a stark reminder of his own naivete. He had almost fallen for Dooku's charms, almost betrayed the Jedi Order, almost embraced a path shrouded in darkness. As Anakin struggled to regain his footing, the sight of Dooku's solar sailer soaring into the vast expanse of Geonosis' sky filled him with a mixture of anger and despair. Padmé's hand on his arm, her touch a grounding force amidst the swirling chaos of his thoughts, brought him back to the present. "Don't blame yourself for not realizing he was a Sith," she whispered, her voice filled with empathy. "I believed him too." Her words gave him more comfort than any. If Padmé, the wise politician, had believed Dooku then anyone could fall for it.
Obi-Wan's voice, a stark contrast to Padmé's gentle tone, cut through the air, "Now you see the danger Dooku presents."
Shame tinged Anakin's voice as he responded, "Yes, Master. I understand. I'm sorry."
The two Jedi approached Padmé and the contingent of clone troopers who had accompanied them. Padmé's gaze swept over the clones, her brow furrowed in concern. "I heard of a Republic army," she began, her voice laced with a hint of concern. "Is this true?"
"It is," Obi-Wan confirmed. "I discovered a clone army for the Republic on Kamino. Master Yoda brought them here to Geonosis to assist with the rescue."
Padmé's eyes widened in disbelief. "But how? The Republic was never granted authorization for such an army. I fought tirelessly to prevent this very scenario!"
"Emergency powers proposed to the Chancellor, Senator Binks did," Yoda explained, his voice calm and steady.
Anakin watched the exchange, his mind churning. So, despite the outbreak of war, the Senate's corruption, the Separatist movement, the Republic remained firmly under the control of Chancellor Palpatine. Dooku's claims about Palpatine being powerless were clearly false. It was all starting to make sense now. "So, the information about the Sith Lord... it's a fabrication?" Anakin asked, his voice laced with a mix of disappointment and relief.
"Master Yoda and I believe so," Obi-Wan confirmed, his gaze meeting Anakin's.
Anakin felt a surge of self-recrimination. How could he have entertained such an outrageous notion? The Jedi, though perhaps overconfident at times, were not blind to the dark side. Obi-Wan had sensed Dooku's fall to the Sith, which meant that they would have surely detected the presence of this Darth Sidious if he truly existed. And even if such a Sith Lord did exist, why would Dooku, a Sith himself, reveal that information? It went against the very nature of the dark side, which thrived on deception and secrecy. Dooku's rescue of his mother, once a sign of trust, now seemed like a calculated manipulation, a ploy to gain his trust and sway him to his cause.
"I should have done more to stop this war," Padmé murmured, her voice filled with a heavy sense of responsibility.
Anakin felt a surge of protectiveness towards her. He leaned closer, his voice soft and reassuring. "Dooku was right about one thing, Padmé. The Sith want this conflict. You couldn't have stopped it."
"Senator Amidala," Obi-Wan interjected, "You may have been right about Dooku being behind the assassination attempts."
"He certainly didn't seem intent on killing me just now," Padmé countered, her gaze meeting Obi-Wan's. Did Padmé still trust Dooku?
"That's because he has his war now," Obi-Wan stated, his voice grim. Anakin knew the real reason Dooku hadn't harmed Padmé. It was because she was with him, a valuable bargaining chip in the Count's twisted game. He wouldn't voice that thought now, not while the Jedi were here.
"Soldier," Anakin addressed one of the nearby clone troopers, his voice seeking reassurance amidst the uncertainty swirling around them. "What is the status of the battle?"
"We have driven the Separatist forces from Geonosis," the clone reported, his voice crisp and professional. "They are in retreat, sir."
"Then we return to Coruscant," Obi-Wan declared, his voice firm and resolute. The war had begun, and the Jedi, along with their new clone army, would be on the front lines, facing a darkness they were only beginning to comprehend.
The sprawling cityscape of Coruscant unfolded beneath them as their ship sliced through the bustling traffic lanes, a sprawling metropolis that hummed with a frenetic energy even from this distance. Anakin felt a tug of urgency, a need to speak with Padmé, to delve deeper into the implications of her confession, the words that had tumbled from her lips in the face of certain death. He found himself searching for her amidst the grand halls of the Senate building, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. Before he could locate her, however, a familiar voice intercepted him. "Anakin," Chancellor Palpatine greeted him, his voice warm and inviting, "I was hoping to speak with you, to hear about your recent adventure on Geonosis."
Palpatine, despite the weight of his responsibilities as Chancellor of the Republic, always seemed to find time for Anakin. His genuine interest, his willingness to listen without judgment, made him a confidant, a source of comfort in a world that often felt hostile and unyielding. "I'd like that very much, Chancellor," Anakin responded, a sense of relief washing over him. He could talk to Palpatine, confide in him about Dooku, about the swirling emotions he grappled with, the doubts that gnawed at his faith in the Jedi Order.
He followed Palpatine to his spacious office, its grand windows offering a panoramic view of the Coruscant skyline. Anakin settled into a comfortable chair, the city's vibrant energy a stark contrast to the quiet serenity of the Chancellor's office. He always felt at ease in Palpatine's presence, able to speak freely, to express his thoughts without fear of reprimand. Palpatine possessed a unique ability to make Anakin feel heard, understood, a rare quality in a world that often demanded obedience over individuality. Only Padmé and his mother had managed to do the same. "Tell me, Anakin," Palpatine began, his voice laced with a hint of amusement, "how did you find yourself on Geonosis? I suspect the Jedi Council wasn't particularly pleased with your…initiative."
"Count Dooku sent me a personal invitation," Anakin explained, a touch of defensiveness creeping into his voice. He knew he had acted impulsively, driven by a need to protect Padmé and rescue his master, but the memory of Dooku's words, his accusations of corruption within the Republic, still resonated within him. "The Council hasn't reprimanded me…yet," he added with a nervous laugh.
"And what was the purpose of this invitation?" Palpatine inquired, his gaze steady and perceptive.
"He wanted me to join the Separatists," Anakin confessed, his voice laced with a mixture of disgust and disbelief. "He spun a tale of Republic corruption, and painted the Separatists as the righteous liberators. He claimed they were building a better world, free from the injustices that plague our current Republic."
"He's not entirely wrong about the Republic's shortcomings," Palpatine conceded, his voice laced with a hint of sadness. "I've seen the corruption firsthand, the greed that festers within the Senate. It pains me to admit that, for some planets, the Separatists might seem like a viable alternative. I simply lacked the power to intervene, to rectify the injustices that drove them into Dooku's clutches."
"But you're a good leader," Anakin interjected, his voice filled with conviction. "You're not a Sith like Dooku."
Palpatine offered a wry smile. "Thank you, Anakin. That means a great deal to me." He sighed, a shadow of weariness crossing his features. "Yes, I strive to be a just and compassionate leader, but the truth is, the Republic is vast, its problems deeply entrenched."
"Weren't you granted new emergency powers that can help with that?" Anakin asked.
"The emergency powers granted to me recently were primarily intended to authorize the creation of the clone army, a necessary evil to combat this new threat," Palpatine added.
"Speaking of which," Anakin said, his brow furrowed in thought, "I realized I never properly thanked you for deploying that army to Geonosis."
Palpatine's smile returned, this time tinged with a hint of pride. "You need not thank me, my boy. It was my duty to ensure your safety, and to protect the Republic from this Separatist threat. And besides," he added, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone, "as the head of the Grand Army of the Republic, I took the liberty of creating a special squadron just for you. The 501st Legion, the most elite fighting force in the entire army."
Anakin's eyes widened in surprise and gratitude. He was honored that Palpatine had placed such faith in him, entrusted him with the command of such a prestigious unit. He thought about Padmé, the despair he had sensed within her when she learned that the war had begun. He desperately wanted to believe that peace was still attainable, for her, but the grim reality of the situation was sinking in. "Do you think there's any hope for peace, Chancellor?" he asked, his voice filled with uncertainty.
Palpatine's expression turned somber, his gaze distant as if contemplating the vast weight of the conflict that now engulfed the Republic. "Never lose hope, Anakin," he replied, his voice soft yet firm. "Peace is always preferable to war, but I must be honest... the path to peace seems increasingly narrow, and fraught with uncertainty." He paused, his eyes meeting Anakin's with a look of fatherly concern. "The coming days will test us all, Anakin. The fate of the Republic, the fate of the galaxy, rests upon our choices, and upon our courage."
Padmé yearned to delve deeper into Dooku's words, to unravel the complexities of his motivations, to explore the possibility of a peaceful resolution to this burgeoning conflict. Obi-Wan, however, remained steadfast in his distrust of the fallen Jedi Master. "He's a Sith, Padmé," he had cautioned, his voice laced with a mix of apprehension and disapproval. "A master of deception. We cannot trust anything he says." Padmé couldn't help but compare Dooku to Maul, the Sith apprentice who had wreaked havoc on Naboo years ago, ultimately meeting his demise at the hands of a young Obi-Wan. Maul had been a whirlwind of raw aggression, fueled by hatred and a thirst for vengeance. Dooku, in stark contrast, possessed a quiet intensity, a regal demeanor that contradicted the darkness swirling within him. Even his attacks during the lightsaber duel had seemed more defensive than offensive, as if protecting himself rather than seeking to inflict harm. Padmé sensed a depth to the Count, a complexity that transcended the simplistic labels of "good" and "evil." Perhaps, under different circumstances, a dialogue could have been established, a bridge built across the chasm that separated them. But now, that opportunity was lost, swept away by the tide of war and the rigid doctrines of the Jedi Order.
For now, a more immediate conundrum demanded her attention: Anakin. Her confession of love, uttered in the face of certain death, echoed in her mind, a bittersweet melody of truth and regret. It had never been her intention to reveal her feelings, to shatter the carefully constructed walls she had erected around her heart. She had resigned herself to loving Anakin from afar, to cherishing the stolen moments, the shared smiles, the unspoken connection that transcended the boundaries of their respective roles. But now, the truth was out, and Anakin, with his passionate heart and unwavering devotion, would undoubtedly seek to act upon those feelings. The memory of their encounter by the fireplace on Naboo, her desperate attempt to quell his affections, to protect him from the reckless choice she knew would follow, sent a shiver down her spine. She couldn't bear the thought of rejecting him again, not now, not after he had risked everything to come to her aid, to save her from the clutches of the Separatists. "Senator Amidala," Obi-Wan's voice interrupted her thoughts, his tone laced with a hint of formality.
Padmé had wanted to talk with Dooku more, but Obi-Wan had seemed to think he was very untrustworthy because of being a Sith. Padmé knew of Maul and how how he had killed Qui-Gon on Naboo, but Dooku was much more composed. His attacks had seemed more defensive when he was fighting Anakin. Padmé really wished she could have talked more with him though, but now she was stuck solving the conundrum that was Anakin. She had told him that she loved him, which was true, but he was never supposed to know that. Padmé had resigned herself to loving Anakin from afar, but now that Anakin knew of her returned feelings he would probably want to act on them, and Padmé couldn't reject him again. Not like in the fireplace. "Senator Amidala," Obi-Wan's voice took her out of her thoughts.
"Yes, Knight Kenobi?" Padmé responded, her voice carefully composed.
"I was curious," Obi-Wan began, his gaze meeting hers with a mix of concern and suspicion, "about the nature of your presence on Tatooine. What prompted you to accompany Anakin to such a dangerous world?"
The question, Padmé realized, should have been directed at Anakin, but she would be better for answering it then Anakin. "I wished to visit Anakin's mother," she explained, her voice steady. "His presence there reminded me of her kindness, her unwavering strength in the face of adversity. I felt it was important to thank her with a visit."
"I trust Anakin didn't abandon his mission to indulge in this... sentimental journey?" Obi-Wan inquired, a hint of disapproval creeping into his tone.
"No," Padmé responded, a touch of defiance in her voice. Since Anakin's return into her life, her faith in the Jedi Order had wavered. She had witnessed firsthand the depth of his emotions, the intensity of his passions, and she couldn't fathom how such a vibrant soul had survived the Jedi's rigid doctrines, their insistence on detachment and emotional control. "Why do you ask, Master Kenobi? Did you have reason to believe he did?" She knew the reason, Anakin's dreams, but she wanted to gauge Obi-Wan's awareness, his perception of his Padawan's inner turmoil.
"Not particularly," Obi-Wan replied his gaze drifting among the many Senators in the halls. "He has always held his mother in high regard. Even if it was against Jedi doctrine." He paused, his gaze returning to Padmé, his tone shifting, "Is there anything about Anakin, anything at all, that I should be made aware of? Anything that might hinder his progress as a Jedi?"
"No," Padmé responded firmly, her voice laced with conviction. She prayed that Obi-Wan remained oblivious to Anakin's deep-seated adoration for her. The Jedi Order, with its strict regulations against attachments, would undoubtedly view such emotions as a dangerous distraction, a threat to Anakin's training.
Obi-Wan's gaze narrowed, his expression unreadable. "I am aware of his feelings for you, Senator," he stated, his voice low and steady. "He needs to understand, unequivocally, that he can never act upon those feelings. The Jedi Code forbids it."
Padmé knew she should trust the Jedi, their wisdom honed over millennia. Their rules, though seemingly harsh, undoubtedly served a purpose, a means of protecting their members from the dangers of the dark side. Yet, she also knew the depth of Anakin's love, the way it burned within him, a raging fire that defied containment. She had felt it during their conversation by the fireplace, sensed its intensity in the desperate plea in his eyes, and now, with the war raging, she knew he would be shipped off to distant battlefields, his life constantly in peril. She had made a decision. Anakin deserved honesty, deserved to know that his feelings were reciprocated, even if it meant defying the Jedi Order, even if it meant jeopardizing her own carefully constructed life. Obi-Wan, however, could not know the truth. "I don't return any romantic feelings for Anakin," she lied, her voice carefully neutral.
"And he understands this?" Obi-Wan pressed, his gaze unwavering. "He has no doubts? Your embrace on Geonosis sends a confusing message, wouldn't you agree?"
"The hug," Padmé countered, her voice steady, "was merely an act of support, a gesture of comfort in a moment of shared uncertainty." She was sick of his interrogation of their relationship.
"I urge you to clarify this with him, Senator," Obi-Wan insisted, his concern evident. "Confusion and doubt can lead to dangerous paths, especially for a Jedi as powerful as Anakin."
A plan began to form in Padmé's mind. Anakin was still tasked with escorting her back to Naboo, a duty that provided a window of opportunity, a chance to address their feelings, to explore the truth that had been revealed in the shadow of death. Maybe they could even talk about Dooku. "I can assure you, Master Kenobi," she stated, her voice laced with a newfound confidence, "that I will address this matter with Anakin when we return to Naboo. He will be told the truth about my actions there."
"Why not address it here, on Coruscant?" Obi-Wan inquired, his brow furrowed in puzzlement.
"Because," Padmé responded, her voice unwavering, "I want him to know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I am speaking freely, that I am not being pressured by the Jedi or by anyone else." In truth, she needed Naboo, the familiar comfort of her homeworld, to embolden her, to give her the strength to finally break down the walls she had so carefully constructed around her heart, to embrace the truth that had been buried for so long. She would tell Anakin everything, share the burden of their love, and together, they would navigate the treacherous path that lay ahead, a path fraught with danger, uncertainty, and the forbidden allure of a love that defied the very foundations of the Jedi Order.
A surge of warmth coursed through Anakin as he left the Chancellor's office, Palpatine's words of encouragement and his promise of a prestigious command resonating within him. His thoughts, however, quickly shifted to Padmé. He longed to see her, to bask in the afterglow of her confession, to explore the uncharted territory their love had unveiled. He hurried through the bustling corridors of the Senate building, his destination the level where Padmé's office was located. The hallways thrummed with a heightened sense of urgency, senators rushing to and fro, their faces etched with concern as they grappled with the implications of the burgeoning war. Before he could reach Padmé's office, a hand on his shoulder halted his progress. He turned to see Obi-Wan, his brow furrowed with a familiar mix of disapproval and concern, "Anakin!"
"Yes, Master?" Anakin responded, trying to school his features into a mask of neutral respect, though he couldn't help the flicker of annoyance that flashed through his eyes.
"Senator Amidala has requested that you accompany her on her journey back to Naboo," Obi-Wan explained, his voice carefully measured. "It appears your mission to protect her is not yet complete."
"Really?" Anakin exclaimed, a surge of excitement coursing through him. She didn't just admit her feelings for him, she wanted to act on them. He quickly attempted to temper his reaction, but it was too late.
Obi-Wan's gaze narrowed, his disappointment evident. "You must learn to control your emotions, Padawan," he admonished. "Attachment leads to jealousy, jealousy leads to anger, anger leads to. Well, you know the rest." He turned to leave, then paused, a small smile playing upon his lips. "Oh, and Anakin," he added, his voice softer now, "the Council has decided to grant you the rank of Jedi Knight upon your return from Naboo."
Anakin's ignored Obi-Wan's lecture and focused on the good news. "But what about my unauthorized departure from Naboo?" He had fully expected a reprimand, perhaps even a formal censure for disobeying the Council's direct orders.
"It seems Senator Amidala intervened on your behalf," Obi-Wan explained, his tone laced with a hint of skepticism. "She insisted that it was her idea for you to accompany her to Tatooine, that she persuaded you to leave your post." He paused, his gaze meeting Anakin's with a knowing look. "Now, you must make preparations for the journey to Naboo. Safe travels, Anakin, and may the Force be with you."
As Obi-Wan walked away, Anakin stood there, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. Joy at the prospect of becoming a Jedi Knight, relief that he had escaped punishment for his impulsive actions, gratitude for Padmé's intervention, and an overwhelming desire to see her, to touch her, to lose himself in the depths of her love. He was acutely aware of Obi-Wan's skepticism, the Jedi Master's obvious doubt about Padmé's explanation. It was clear that Obi-Wan suspected the truth, that she was covering for him. But for now, it didn't matter. Padmé wanted him by her side, and he would move heaven and earth to be there.
Count Dooku's solar sailer cut through the vast expanse of hyperspace, the blue streaks of compressed space a mesmerizing blur as he charted a course towards his ancestral home on Serenno. The opulent palace, perched atop a cliff overlooking the capitol of Serenno, Carannia, offered a sanctuary from the turmoil that now gripped the galaxy. As his ship exited hyperspace, a familiar chill settled over him, a premonition of impending danger. A moment later, his fears were confirmed. A priority transmission request, its origin masked by sophisticated encryption protocols, flashed across his console. He recognized the source instantly. Darth Sidious. He activated the communication channel, a shiver running down his spine as the hooded visage of his master materialized within the ship's dimly lit cabin. "I have been informed of your... interaction with Skywalker," Sidious began, his raspy voice laced with a chilling blend of curiosity and displeasure.
"I deemed it beneficial to our mutual goals," Dooku responded cautiously, choosing his words with the utmost care. "Steering him away from the Jedi Order, introducing him to the inherent flaws within the Republic it lays the groundwork for his eventual disillusionment." Bringing Anakin under the Separatist umbrella offered the added benefit of shielding him from Sidious's direct influence, a truth he wisely chose to omit.
"And what of his mother?" Sidious pressed, his voice a low growl that vibrated through the ship's hull.
Relief washed over Dooku. Anakin, at least, had not revealed the truth of his mother's rescue to the Chancellor. "I made sure she was abducted by the Tusken Raiders," he replied.
"And has young Skywalker attempted a rescue?" Sidious inquired, his tone betraying a hint of amusement. The Sith Lord, Dooku knew, delighted in manipulating events, in orchestrating chaos to further his own insidious agenda. This had been his first step to get Anakin used to the darkness.
"My sources report that she has been…recovered," Dooku responded, his voice carefully neutral. "However, the specifics remain unclear." He couldn't ever reveal his own involvement in Shmi's rescue, not to Sidious. It had been a dangerous gamble, but one he had been forced to take to gain Anakin's trust.
"I have taken the liberty of accelerating Skywalker's ascension to Jedi Knight," Sidious revealed, his voice a low hiss that sent a chill down Dooku's spine. "I have ensured the Council assigns him command of the most elite legion of clones, a burden of responsibility that will require him to be a Knight."
Dooku clenched his jaw, suppressing a surge of anger. Sidious was making it more difficult, manipulating events without his knowledge, and pushing Anakin away from him. "Remember the promise you made me," he dared to challenge, his voice laced with a hint of steel.
Sidious chuckled, a chilling sound that echoed through the cabin. "Do not mistake yourself for an equal, Dooku," he snarled. "You are but a pawn in my grand design, a tool to be wielded and discarded as I see fit." A bolt of blue lightning erupted from his fingertips, engulfing Dooku in a blinding flash of pain. The Count screamed, the agony searing through his body, a brutal reminder of his subservient role in this twisted alliance.
When the lightning subsided, Dooku felt drained, his body trembling with a mixture of pain and rage. He longed to strike back, to unleash his own fury upon this cruel master, but he knew the futility of such an action. Sidious was too powerful, his mastery of the dark side far surpassing his own. "You may continue your attempts to sway Skywalker to our cause," Sidious conceded, his voice regaining its cold composure, "but do not overstep your bounds again. Next time, you will seek my permission before taking any action."
Dooku gritted his teeth, bowing his head in feigned subservience. "As you command, my Master." He severed the communication link, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and defiance. He glanced towards his protocol droid, its metallic form standing motionless near the cockpit entrance. "Prepare a secure transmitter for Senator Amidala of Naboo," he commanded, his voice tight with urgency. "Dispatch it to Coruscant immediately." He hoped, against all odds, that the Senator could reach Anakin, that his gamble would pay off before Sidious's manipulations twisted Anakin's path beyond redemption. How far the Jedi Order had fallen, he thought bitterly, that their champion, their brightest hope, was being manipulated by a Sith Lord, their trust misplaced, their wisdom clouded by arrogance and dogma, and their only hope was the apprentice of the Sith Lord. They were playing into Sidious's hands, embracing the very clones that would ultimately lead to their downfall, their destruction orchestrated by the very soldiers they embracing now.