The Weaving Force: Chapter 21 (Patreon)

Chapter 21:

Anakin:

Anakin felt, frankly, conflicted about Master Yan Dooku.

On the one hand; when he was younger, in his imaginings of the Jedi from the stories, Master Dooku was probably someone he could have pictured in those more innocent days of his life.

Tall, dressed with an air of regality and… command. As though his voice alone could demand the Galaxy to bend the knee and it would be compelled to do so.

He felt like a Jedi Master.

On the other hand, viewing Master Dooku with such awe felt almost like a betrayal of the man who was his actual Master, Obi-Wan.

And Anakin did still consider Obi-Wan his Master, because without Qui-Gon and subsequently Obi-Wan, the boy doubted he would even be in the temple, let alone a Padawan learner.

Anakin also found himself resenting Master Dooku for the unwelcome way he upset the status quo. Anakin had just begun to settle in, to know Obi-Wan's tells and habits, how his Master taught lessons or approached certain discussions.

Now that was thrown out the proverbial window. Not just because Dooku’s way of teaching was very very different as far as Anakin could tell - far more rigid and far more demanding - but also because Obi-Wan himself was acting differently now that Dooku was here. It was throwing Anakin’s tenuous new normal off, and he didn’t like it.

Still, today was supposedly Saber Practice, something Anakin could take some measure of relief in. The physical training and art of meeting an opponent blade to blade was always exhilarating. And supposedly Master Dooku was no slouch in that regard, so perhaps the uncomfortable juxtaposition of awe and resentment for the older Jedi Master could resolve itself a bit, if only for the duration of this lesson.

So today would hopefully make a lot of these issues… worth it.

Entering their usual training rooms, Anakin wasn’t surprised to find that Obi-Wan was not yet present; he usually took a few minutes longer than Anakin did to arrive at Saber practice, probably to teach his Padawan patience, if he were any judge on Obi-Wan’s thinking.

He was surprised - at least a little bit - however, to find Dooku in the training room, sitting on one of the side benches.

The Old Master seemed to be meditating to pass the time while he waited, eyes closed, back straight. Anakin noticed, of course, the peculiar curved hilt of the lightsaber at the Master's waist.

The design was curious and unique. He’d never seen a curved Lightsaber before. He didn’t even know they could be curved. Why didn’t the other Masters have curved hilts? Was it some kind of status symbol? Had Dooku been Battle Master before Cin Drallig? If so, why didn’t Cin have a curved hilt saber?

“It is rude to stare, young Skywalker.”

Anakin almost jumped out of his skin at the man’s voice, looking up to find the Old Man’s eyes now open and staring at him. “Ahh, sorry Master Dooku,” he stammered.

The master did little more than make a sound in acknowledgement to the words. “Kenobi?”

It took him a second to realize Dooku was asking where Obi-Wan was. “Oh, I usually show up a bit earlier than Master Obi-Wan, start preparing some of the training equipment, make sure the room isn’t occupied or set to be used by other Masters and Padawans.”

“Hmmm.” Dooku made another acknowledging sound, but commented no further.

Awkward silence beginning to descend, Anakin decided to simply ask what was on his mind.

“Why is your Lightsaber curved?”

In answer, Dooku raised a slender eyebrow. “I take it then, that neither you nor Obi-Wan have read Master Skarch Vaunk’s extensive treatise on the seven disciplines.”

Ehhh… Master who now?

His answer must have been writ large across his whole face. Dooku snorted. Though there was no… increased disapproval, just that same general air that he’d always carried that said that whatever was in front of him was found wanting.

“Qui-Gon never did take to those lessons,” Dooku continued. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised he wouldn’t have passed them on.”

Anakin wasn’t sure what to say to that. In truth, he was fairly sure Dooku was more talking to himself than to him.

As if to save him from awkwardness, the door hissed open and Obi-Wan was suddenly there. His true Master blinked curiously as he caught sight of the two of them. “Anakin,” he acknowledged his apprentice. “Master Dooku, I wasn’t aware you’d be so early in joining us. We haven’t even done our usual warm up exercises.”

“Nor will you,” Dooku answered brusquely, and Anakin felt his expectations fall down to his feet.

He knew that tone.

“It seems we will have to begin with the fundamentals.”

Oh boy…

Obi-Wan’s lips pursed ever so slightly. “Master, I can assure you: that isn’t necessary. The fundamentals of Saber combat are known to me, and setting Anakin back even further in his studies will not only hurt him, but dismiss the tremendous effort he’s already placed in catching up with his peers.”

A part of Anakin was touched Obi-Wan had even noticed that. The other part of him wished to loudly state ‘leave me out of this’

“I was unaware Jedi training was a contest,” Dooku huffed. “Skywalker will ‘catch up’ on his own time. Training and teaching will not be rushed. One must meet standards, not simply pay lip service to them.”

Obi-Wan still seemed rather displeased. “I assure you, Master, our training has not been sub-par.”

Dooku raised a slender eyebrow.

Reaching gently with his hand, Anakin could feel the eddies of the force flowing out of the Master. Two training sabers rose from their cradles on the rack and glided into position between Obi-Wan and Dooku.

“Take hold of your weapon,” Dooku commanded, grasping the hilt of the training Saber, and holding the weapon loosely with one hand. “Should you still have hold of it by the seventh exchange, I will rescind my plans for training and yield to your wishes.”

Obi-Wan looked unsure, but then, with a furrowed brow and a look of determination, grabbed hold of the blade.

As the first Jedi to have slain a Sith in over a thousand years, Anakin expected the duel to be an exciting one. He expected that if Obi-Wan couldn’t win, then he could at least hold his own for a while. Dooku had only challenged him to seven exchanges. Even Anakin tended to last against Obi-Wan for at least ten when they practiced before he made a mistake.

It lasted four.

As Dooku plucked Obi-Wan’s falling Saber out of the air with negligent ease, the old master raised a droll, slender eyebrow.

“We will begin with Master Skarch Vaunk’s treaties regarding the seven disciplines… immediately,” he stated to the stunned duo.

(X)(X)(X)

Master Plo-Koon:

Plo-Koon didn’t consider himself old, not by the standards of his people, and certainly not by the standards of the multi-species Jedi Order.

But spending the early morning hours with the two humans, he felt almost wizened when exposed to the blinding radiance of Ms. Dallon’s enthusiasm and ceaseless curiosity. Like a child, with eyes full of wonder at the discovery of so very many new things.

It was a stark contrast to Ms. Hebert, who played the placid and calm moon to Dallon’s shining, incandescent sunlight.

Considering her mood just yesterday during the council meeting, the drastic change was almost startling.

But, beneath the surface he could sense Ms. Dallon’s turmoil, the raging tempest of emotion and confusion had been suppressed; but it wasn’t gone. Not at all.

That suppression concerned him. They were not Jedi. As such, releasing their emotions into the Force wasn’t a practice either of them used, and everything he knew about humans told him this was… problematic.

But he also knew simply confronting her with those emotions might cause more harm than good.

And so even as he spoke, he was trapped in something of a conundrum: to allow the girl her distractions (as was no doubt comfortable for her), or to attempt to help her as his conscience dictated he try, perhaps to help all three of them - the young women, and the Fragile One..

“So wait- those eye lenses aren’t to help you see, but because if you didn’t have them your eyes would melt!?” Ms. Dallon’s eyes were wide, inching forward as if she could peek through the black lenses to look at his ‘melting eyes’

“The fluids would evaporate,” he clarified. “Melting and evaporating are two different things.” He chuckled.

“Right, right, sorry,” she answered absently, still staring a little wide eyed at him and his lenses.

They were in the hanging gardens now, where the Coruscanti sun warmed the peaceful boughs and pathways. Padawans and Knights moved quietly along the paths- either towards their training, their lessons, or simply enjoying the serenity for themselves.

“Your home-” He decided to ask, sidestepping her fascination. “You told us there were many like you and Ms. Hebert? Para-humans?”

She went to nod, then hesitated. “Well… many is… kind of relative now that I think about it?” One hand rose, finger scratching at her cheek. “Like, last I checked there were about maybe a hundred thousand Parahumans world wide? When compared to the Jedi or everything that must be in this Galaxy… doesn’t seem like a lot.”

“The Jedi of today do not number a hundred thousand, but I take your meaning.” A curious thought entered his mind at his own statement, but it was a curiosity to look into later. “But one thing confused me: you mentioned groups of Parahumans that were enemies would band together to fight greater dangers. The ‘Endbringers,’ if I recall.”

“That’s how it went.” She nodded.

“You had a common enemy, an alliance of convenience… but that enemy was never defeated. Would their efforts not have been better served attempting more… long term cooperation in order to achieve a victory?”

The answer didn’t come from Ms. Dallon, but rather as a derisive, contemptuous snort from Ms. Hebert that drew both of their respective attentions to her.

She didn’t quail under the attention, staring at both Ms. Dallon and Plo-Koon himself as if daring to contradict her.

“People don’t cooperate,” The insects hissed and chittered around them.

As it had done in the council chambers, it gave the air of the gardens a singular crawling effect.

“They’re selfish and stupid. You either force them to work together, or they’ll all burn to death pushing and shoving to crawl out the door.”

Even without a voice, the answer was delivered with such anger, such rage, that it told Master Plo-Koon that these words were backed with the bite of experience.

“That can be true at times-” He replied carefully, gauging her reaction as he did. It wasn’t even a lie either. People of all corners of the galaxy could be foolish and selfish. “-but people can be reasoned with.”

She offered another snort through her nostrils, disagreeing again. It was… heartbreaking almost, for one so young to be so jaded.

Curiously, however, he saw Ms. Dallon’s expression take on a calculating veneer, the wheels of her mind clearly turning on an idea.

“Hey, Master Plo.”

“Hmm?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“You’re a Jedi Master Like Yoda, Mrs. Yoda and the others right?”

Plo-Koon tried very hard not to choke on his own breathing.

Mrs. Yoda?

No doubt she was talking about Yaddle.

“Yes, I am, bu-”

“Great!” She smiled, interrupting him mid correction. “So… I’m wondering- I know you guys can talk to… Fragile One, but is it possible for me to talk to… it? Is it an it? A her? I hope it's not a he. I don’t want a guy in my head.”

If Plo Koon had eyebrows, one would be raised right now.

Sharp spikes of nervousness flashed like knives across his senses. Ms. Hebert's was serrated with fear and concern. Dallon’s was thin, like the point of a needle.

But he could feel Ms. Dallon's determination as well; pulled from the forge of her spirit, like steel quenching in cold waters, hardening as it took sudden shape in her mind.

“It… might be possible,” he stated slowly.

She smiled “Grea-”

“But-” he interrupted, one hand rising to halt her enthusiasm. He realized, somewhat distantly, that this might be quite necessary when treating with Ms. Dallon in a very general sense. “I must ask: Why? Yesterday, you were quite dismayed.

He didn’t miss the quick look towards Ms. Hebert out of the corner of Ms. Dallon’s eye before she looked at him, spine straightening.

“I think I gotta make sure it’s not dangerous, right?”

Before he could answer, Hebert grabbed hold of the other girl’s arm, pulling her so she’d turn to face her completely.

“Don’t.”

Ms. Dallon frowned, crossing her arms. “Look Tay… It’s not going anywhere.”

“You’re being an idiot-”

“Probably,” she shot back with a shrug. “But like I said. It’s here, it’s staying, and if it’s gonna be dangerous or helpful I’d like to know. I mean, hell, Master Windu said it was devoted to me. That has to count for something!”

Plo-Koon watched, listening carefully. Many would be surprised by how much they could discover when they simply stopped and listened.

The unspeaking girl’s left hand clenched tightly into a fist almost as tight as the knot of rage and genuine worry coiling within her like a pit of serpents.

“Ms. Hebert,” he carefully interrupted, her attention snapping to him with a withering glare, as though he were at fault for this. “I understand you’re… reluctant to speak on these entities, but perhaps some insight might make this safer for Ms. Dallon, if she’s intent on following through with this?”

“You-” The bugs hissed and her overwhelming presence sent many of the nearby Knights and Padawans flinching at the cold icepick across their senses. “-can just say, ‘No!’”

The insects of the garden were growing agitated, so much that the tension was now being actively noticed by those around them.

He raised his hands.

“If you are so adamant, I will respect that,” he answered carefully, already seeing Ms. Dallon’s cheeks puffing up, ready to argue. “But,” he paused for effect, “other Masters might not. The need for knowledge of what we’re dealing with, confirmation of the danger or opportunities they pose…, even mere curiosity. It may also be the only way to find your way home.”

“And besides,” Ms. Dallon pulled her arm free of Ms. Hebert’s grip, the two girls glaring at each other, “you’re not the boss of me.” She glared a challenge at the dour girl.

“She merely speaks out of concern,” Plo-Koon interjected, for the first time stepping forward to interpose his hand between the two young women. Ms. Dallon, as he noted before, was like fire. Her emotions were bright and brilliant. But fire burnt itself out quickly.

Ms. Hebert was far different.

But both were headstrong. Proud.  Used to getting their way. Ms. Dallon by the force of her personality, Ms. Hebert by… force.

And here, when both were acting out of concern for the other, neither wanted to have the other get in the way.

Perhaps later they might laugh at this.

Right now was not that time.

“Let us revisit the discussion at a later time,” he suggested, though both girls kept glaring at each other. No doubt they would be speaking at length privately about this. “Allow tempers to cool.”

Ms. Dallon huffed, “Fine.”

Ms. Hebert turned away.

Hmmm. Crisis averted, he supposed.

(X)(X)(X)

Obi-Wan

He’d always believed, as perhaps all Knights and Padawans believed, that he was good at lightsaber combat. Perhaps not a master, but at the absolute least, he was good at it.

Four exchanges with Master Dooku.

That’s all he lasted.

The Master had made it look so easy, like it wasn’t even an afterthought to him. A deft movement here, a parry there, a thrust and the next thing he knew his practice saber was out of his hand.

Now, though, Master Dooku was sitting Obi-Wan and Anakin down in the library and dictating a lesson plan involving treatis after treatis, book after book on the philosophy and theory of lightsaber combat. Theory!

He wasn’t a creche youngling.

Still, apparently- it had yielded results for Master Dooku, if his stunning skill with the Saber was any indication.

And that bade another question to worm its way into his mind. Squirming, insistent, and demanding he voice it as Anakin looked at the list of prescribed reading material with barely hidden dismay. No doubt his Padawan wanted practical lessons.

He wasn’t sure if that would make him slower or would make him force himself to chew through the material so he could get back to the physical practice all the quicker.

“Is this everything?” Anakin asked.

“For now,” Dooku answered drolly. “When we reconvene in three days, answer seven of my questions - one from each tome - correctly, and we will begin with proper Saber training.

The lines of Anakin’s face hardened, determination entering his features, and Obi-Wan was fairly sure he had his answer to his previous question.

Grabbing his datapad, the boy stood and started walking out, tossing a curious look over his shoulder as Obi-Wan lingered behind.

The Knight smiled at his Padawan. “Go along Anakin, I’ll just be a moment with Master Dooku.”

The young boy shrugged, nodding before heading off.

As the door hissed shut behind him Dooku was the one who spoke first.

“You have a question.”

It was an observation. A correct one.

“Why didn’t you train Master Qui-Gon this way?”

If Master Qui-gon even had a fraction of Dooku’s Mastery over the saber… maybe-

“What makes you believe I did not?”

Dooku’s voice was calm, the deep baritone burr of it rolling across the training room as he turned his head ever so slightly to look at Obi-Wan out of the corner of his eye.

But Obi-Wan wouldn’t back down. Crossing his arms he forced himself to remain equally calm, he had to remind himself he wasn’t accusing Dooku of anything…

“Master Qui-Gon didn’t wield the blade as you do. I don’t recognize anything of your style in his Ataru, nor any of his Ataru in your own form, brief as the encounter was.”

“Hmmm.” The sound Dooku made this time was faintly approving.

The old Master drew his Lightsaber hilt, holding it up in the palm of his hand.

“What is this weapon, young Kenobi?” Dooku asked.

“A Jedi’s Lightsaber is his life.” The words rolled off his tongue automatically, rote and succinct.

“Hmpf,” Dooku scoffed. “I always told him that… In a sense, it still holds true. But I fear my Padawan never truly internalized it. Tell me: do you know- do you understand what those words mean, Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, gaze trailing down towards the unique, almost beautiful design of Dooku’s curved saber hilt.

“A Jedi who loses his lightsaber… will likely die shortly thereafter. The Saber is the direct, physical representation of his connection to the Force. It, in a sense, guards and represents his life.”

“Hmm.” Dooku shook his head.  “An answer, but an incomplete one, Kenobi.”

“In what way?” he asked, almost challenged.

Dooku obliged him. “What this weapon is, is the Jedi’s life. Travel anywhere in the Galaxy, and they may not recognize the robes. They may not recognize the words or the unnatural tranquility… but they will recognize this.”

He lit the blade, the blue glow suffusing the space between them, the gentle hum filling the silence.

“Its design is yours. Unique to the hands that built it. Its scars are the tapestry of the worlds and dangers the Jedi has faced. The glow of its light, the peace and hope of the people saved by its blade, the hum of its voice, the last sound heard by those it has felled defending the people of the Galaxy. The touch of the Force is the mural that tells the tale of the mark left by its Jedi upon the Galaxy and the force itself. This weapon is your life. It will outlive you. It will outlast you, and eventually it will carry you long after you are gone - as we must all go one day, Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan didn’t know what to say to that. It was clear Dooku had thought long and hard regarding this, or perhaps the books he’d assigned them to read carried more weight than his data-pad could properly convey.

Dooku straightened, the blade shutting off, the hilt returning to its hook on the old Master’s belt. “Qui-Gon did not take to the blade; that was his choice, and I respected that choice. His pursuit of knowledge of the living Force made him a wise man. A good Jedi. Better than I. Even so, I wonder now if I erred in my indulgence of his wishes.”

“You didn’t,” Obi-Wan answered automatically. Qui-Gon’s death hurt, it still hurt. And of course that very question had been what had started this conversation in the first place. But letting his Master’s Master stew in such regret seemed… needlessly cruel.

“Regardless…” Dooku pushed on, “the past is the past, and I will not be repeating this error with you or Skywalker. Whether the Sith have truly returned, or you killed the last of them, you will learn and you will learn well, even if you hate every moment of it.”

“Jedi do not hate,” Obi-Wan answered automatically, rote and succinct, and he suddenly wondered if his reflexive response was as lacking as his Saber answer had been.

Apparently; it was.

Dooku snorted. “There is much for you to learn, indeed.”

(X)(X)(X)

Mace Windu:

“I hear you had an interesting day.”

It wasn’t often Windu joked, or made light of a situation. He knew his faults and strengths. Humor was not exactly something he was known for.

Even so, Master Plo-Koon took the words in stride, entering the mezzanine with his usual calm, placid demeanor.

“It was… enlightening,” the Kel-Dorr Master answered. “Might I join you?”

Windu nodded, the tea he’d been preparing already coming to a boil.

“As kind as you are, Master Plo,” he began, “I would be surprised if you didn’t have any further insights into our guests.”

“Some,” his fellow Master admitted. “However, though it wasn’t said in confidence, I’m not comfortable speaking behind their backs. You know this.”

“Is there anything you are comfortable sharing?” he decided to ask.

Plo-Koon thought for a moment, his thumb brushing across the lower spike of his facemask.

“Ms. Dallon is interested in further communions with the Fragile One,” he said. “I suspect… she is attempting to aid Ms. Hebert in getting over her own fear towards her entity… leading by example if you will.”

Windu nodded, taking a pinch of tea leaves and quietly placing them in the boiling pot.

“Yet you have concerns?” he asked. He knew the Kel-Door’s voice enough to tell.

“Ms. Hebert does,” he stated. “My impression is that she fears genuine harm might befall Ms. Dallon in the attempt.”

“We sensed no malevolence from the Fragile One when we communed previously.” He frowned. “This fear must come from her own experiences with her own power.”

“I believe we must confer with Master Yoda before making any decisions,” Plo Koon answered.

Mace nodded. “Agreed,” he said before moving to serve them both their afternoon sapir tea.

As Mace enjoyed the brew, he felt a momentary sense of pity for Master Plo, who needed to carefully drink through the straw of his sealed suit

Even so, the Kel-Dorr made no sign of this being an issue, or that it affected the taste of the drink at all.

When both were finished and their cups clinked softly on the table, Master Plo-Koon caught him somewhat off guard with his next query.

“If we cannot get them home, what are we to do?”

Windu startled, then calmed. He had been considering such a possibility as well; unfortunate though it might be.

“If Master Nu’s theory on them arriving, somehow, from beyond this Galaxy proves true, and we have no way of returning them home… then that would depend on what the young women would wish to do, I suppose. If they truly have no other options at that juncture, there are the service corps. They don’t exclusively recruit from the Temple. We cannot replace their lost home, but perhaps they can find fulfillment there.”

“Hmmm… Perhaps.” Plo-Koon nodded. “It might suit Ms. Dallon. But Ms. Hebert…” He trailed off.

Windu found his own curiosity rising. “Something troubles you,” he observed.

It seemed as though Master Plo-Koon considered telling him for a moment before the Kel Dorr reconsidered, shaking his head.

“Do not trouble yourself Master Windu. I merely have some thinking to do, myself.”

Windu nodded. “Fair enough. More Tea?”

“Please.”