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persephone_koreTitle: Things That Never Happened to Dooku, Unfortunately
Authors: Persephone_Kore, Dreagoddess
Characters: Dooku, Yoda
Genre: AU, drama
Summary: Several ways Dooku's life could have gone differently. Thing one: Yoda has a little more time with him on Vjun.
Notes: First paragraph and title quoted from Sean Stewart's Yoda: Dark Rendezvous
Thing One: Which of Us Loves You Better?
"Come," Yoda said urgently. He put his hand once more on Dooku's arm. "Catch you, I said I would. Believe you must: more forgiveness will you find from your old Master than from the new one."
Silence. Not silence really, of course; things were still blowing up elsewhere in the mansion, and a corner of Dooku's thoughts flickered toward questions of cleanup and repair before being reminded that this was absurd, that there were much greater questions at stake... that there were greater things to be cleaned up or repaired, for that matter. And he could not have said which things he meant.
Explosions, blaster-fire, sirens; and yet silence nonetheless seemed to gather around them, a stillness, waiting.
Sidious's summons blinked, and Dooku could feel the tie between them -- across all these oceans of space, he thought, giving the memory of Yoda's voice a mocking twist. Sidious's claws, like slick black wire clawing into his mind, woven deep. Red light blinking, blood pulsing, the weight of a Sith-red lightsaber at his side.
Yoda's hand on his arm.
Forgiveness was not the way of the Sith.
Forgiveness was a joke anyway. A story. A tale told to younglings when they were gullible enough to still believe. It wasn't something that Dooku could believe in anymore.
Except...he wanted to.
For a moment it surged up into him, filling the holes that darkness had slowly gnawed away in his heart and in his soul. Believe. Could it really be that simple? Could it...was it even possible anymore? Could the Force -- the brilliant sun of the Light that gave warmth and life, not the festering dank Dark that made everything colder -- actually welcome him back?
...Surely not.
The claws twisted in his mind, aching with the memory of pain meted out so many times it would have become second nature to ignore it had Sidious not been too...creative for that. And Yoda's hand rested on his arm, simply warm and welcoming and undemanding.
Undemanding? Yoda asked everything... to go back to the Jedi was to give up all he'd accused them minutes ago of stealing from Whirry's child. In exchange for what?
...The only family he'd known.
The only one that had wanted him, anyway.
He couldn't imagine why they'd want him back, like this. No one came back from the dark side, not a true surrender to it... or wielding of it.... His thoughts circled in confusion. To give in to the dark side was Jedi terminology, who chose surrender instead to the true Force... what they called the true Force.... Sith terminology was to claim it.
Sith terminology had not been the first to come to mind.
But no one came back. Almost no one. It was generally assumed to be impossible... perhaps not after a brief lapse, perhaps not after a controlled channeling of heightened emotions, but surely after this long, deliberate betrayal of everything he'd lived for since he was less than five years old....
Strictly speaking, Yoda should have killed him on sight.
...Strictly speaking, if Dooku were truly and fully Sith, he should have killed Yoda by now, sprung the trap, not stopped for a chat.
Which of us loves you better?
A good student always loves his master.
He had never been a very good student to Sidious, then, had he?
He wanted to believe. He didn't know how he could. But he wanted to go back, with a terrifying intensity, he hated what he had become, and this had been true for months, perhaps years, but now he could see it, and couldn't deny it.
Sidious's summons still blinked, demanding. He could go to it, turn it on, speak to his master. Explain why he hadn't killed Yoda yet, why he'd dallied talking about...roses. Kneel before him and promise again and again that he lived only to serve his master, that he entertained no thoughts of rebellion, that everything he was or had was utterly devoted...
...To darkness.
He could feel it closing in around him, and he couldn't breathe! He closed his eyes.
And his flailing came up against a calm, steady light that caught him up, held him above water, let him catch his breath and sheltered him. He let out a long, slow breath.
...And his hand slowly clasped Yoda's.
"Welcome home, apprentice," Yoda said softly.
Dooku stood, sweat drying on his face, eyes still closed. The silence was shattered; none of the sounds seemed distant anymore. Vjun's darkness swirled around them, reeling and falling, always falling, as he had been, but Yoda had caught him -- at long last -- and he was on solid ground, he could feel it, even as the world seemed to reel and reshape itself around them.
One of the sounds came nearer, resolved itself out of the mix, scurrying heavy footfalls, and he knew it was Whirry on the way even before she threw the door open and wailed, as if nothing at all momentous had just taken place in the study, "Master, which there are Jedi in the ballroom. They're coming to take my baby!"
"Jedi?" he repeated softly, automatically reaching out to activate the viewscreens. The pair he saw, lightsabers flashing, made his blood run cold. He'd finally been warm again and now...there was a horrible sinking twist of betrayal in his stomach. "Skywalker and Kenobi. How very...interesting."
He turned to look at Yoda, shattered hope in his eyes. He could only manage to get out one more word, flatly. "Why?"
"Know that, I do not!" Yoda said. He looked at the holofeed -- Skywalker and Kenobi were going through battle droids as if it were an easy training exercise, perhaps just a warm-up before the real workout -- with an uncharacteristically perplexed expression.
"They wouldn't BE here if you hadn't BROUGHT them!" There was a tinge of hysteria in his voice. "And you'd only do that if you were intending... Master Yoda..." There was a silent plea in his eyes.
Yoda's hand tightened on his -- he'd forgotten it was there. "Bring them, I did not," he said quietly, but very firmly, meeting Dooku's eyes. "Feared I would have to fight you, I did, but hoped not. And the last I knew, still on another mission they were, and did not know of this one!"
His hand was shaking. "You didn't bring them." He wasn't sure if he could believe that.
"I did not. Nor send for them. Nor had word they were coming."
Could he trust that? Could he trust the word of someone who'd been his enemy these long years? ...Could he trust? He looked down at his old master, the one who'd been his confidante, sheltered him...not the one who'd made him grovel and extracted payment for every scrap of knowledge out of his flesh, his honor, and his soul.
"...Perhaps we should go ask them."
Yoda smiled up at him. "I think we should."
Dooku took a deep breath, only a little shakily, and nodded. "If you'll excuse us, Whirry." He paused, then slowly unclipped his lightsaber from his belt. Crafting a lightsaber was the most personal of achievements, so that the end result was not a mere possession but a true extension of self. Dooku stared at his for a long moment, then set it on the desk and decisively turned away.
*****
Authors: Persephone_Kore, Dreagoddess
Characters: Dooku, Yoda
Genre: AU, drama
Summary: Several ways Dooku's life could have gone differently. Thing one: Yoda has a little more time with him on Vjun.
Notes: First paragraph and title quoted from Sean Stewart's Yoda: Dark Rendezvous
Thing One: Which of Us Loves You Better?
"Come," Yoda said urgently. He put his hand once more on Dooku's arm. "Catch you, I said I would. Believe you must: more forgiveness will you find from your old Master than from the new one."
Silence. Not silence really, of course; things were still blowing up elsewhere in the mansion, and a corner of Dooku's thoughts flickered toward questions of cleanup and repair before being reminded that this was absurd, that there were much greater questions at stake... that there were greater things to be cleaned up or repaired, for that matter. And he could not have said which things he meant.
Explosions, blaster-fire, sirens; and yet silence nonetheless seemed to gather around them, a stillness, waiting.
Sidious's summons blinked, and Dooku could feel the tie between them -- across all these oceans of space, he thought, giving the memory of Yoda's voice a mocking twist. Sidious's claws, like slick black wire clawing into his mind, woven deep. Red light blinking, blood pulsing, the weight of a Sith-red lightsaber at his side.
Yoda's hand on his arm.
Forgiveness was not the way of the Sith.
Forgiveness was a joke anyway. A story. A tale told to younglings when they were gullible enough to still believe. It wasn't something that Dooku could believe in anymore.
Except...he wanted to.
For a moment it surged up into him, filling the holes that darkness had slowly gnawed away in his heart and in his soul. Believe. Could it really be that simple? Could it...was it even possible anymore? Could the Force -- the brilliant sun of the Light that gave warmth and life, not the festering dank Dark that made everything colder -- actually welcome him back?
...Surely not.
The claws twisted in his mind, aching with the memory of pain meted out so many times it would have become second nature to ignore it had Sidious not been too...creative for that. And Yoda's hand rested on his arm, simply warm and welcoming and undemanding.
Undemanding? Yoda asked everything... to go back to the Jedi was to give up all he'd accused them minutes ago of stealing from Whirry's child. In exchange for what?
...The only family he'd known.
The only one that had wanted him, anyway.
He couldn't imagine why they'd want him back, like this. No one came back from the dark side, not a true surrender to it... or wielding of it.... His thoughts circled in confusion. To give in to the dark side was Jedi terminology, who chose surrender instead to the true Force... what they called the true Force.... Sith terminology was to claim it.
Sith terminology had not been the first to come to mind.
But no one came back. Almost no one. It was generally assumed to be impossible... perhaps not after a brief lapse, perhaps not after a controlled channeling of heightened emotions, but surely after this long, deliberate betrayal of everything he'd lived for since he was less than five years old....
Strictly speaking, Yoda should have killed him on sight.
...Strictly speaking, if Dooku were truly and fully Sith, he should have killed Yoda by now, sprung the trap, not stopped for a chat.
Which of us loves you better?
A good student always loves his master.
He had never been a very good student to Sidious, then, had he?
He wanted to believe. He didn't know how he could. But he wanted to go back, with a terrifying intensity, he hated what he had become, and this had been true for months, perhaps years, but now he could see it, and couldn't deny it.
Sidious's summons still blinked, demanding. He could go to it, turn it on, speak to his master. Explain why he hadn't killed Yoda yet, why he'd dallied talking about...roses. Kneel before him and promise again and again that he lived only to serve his master, that he entertained no thoughts of rebellion, that everything he was or had was utterly devoted...
...To darkness.
He could feel it closing in around him, and he couldn't breathe! He closed his eyes.
And his flailing came up against a calm, steady light that caught him up, held him above water, let him catch his breath and sheltered him. He let out a long, slow breath.
...And his hand slowly clasped Yoda's.
"Welcome home, apprentice," Yoda said softly.
Dooku stood, sweat drying on his face, eyes still closed. The silence was shattered; none of the sounds seemed distant anymore. Vjun's darkness swirled around them, reeling and falling, always falling, as he had been, but Yoda had caught him -- at long last -- and he was on solid ground, he could feel it, even as the world seemed to reel and reshape itself around them.
One of the sounds came nearer, resolved itself out of the mix, scurrying heavy footfalls, and he knew it was Whirry on the way even before she threw the door open and wailed, as if nothing at all momentous had just taken place in the study, "Master, which there are Jedi in the ballroom. They're coming to take my baby!"
"Jedi?" he repeated softly, automatically reaching out to activate the viewscreens. The pair he saw, lightsabers flashing, made his blood run cold. He'd finally been warm again and now...there was a horrible sinking twist of betrayal in his stomach. "Skywalker and Kenobi. How very...interesting."
He turned to look at Yoda, shattered hope in his eyes. He could only manage to get out one more word, flatly. "Why?"
"Know that, I do not!" Yoda said. He looked at the holofeed -- Skywalker and Kenobi were going through battle droids as if it were an easy training exercise, perhaps just a warm-up before the real workout -- with an uncharacteristically perplexed expression.
"They wouldn't BE here if you hadn't BROUGHT them!" There was a tinge of hysteria in his voice. "And you'd only do that if you were intending... Master Yoda..." There was a silent plea in his eyes.
Yoda's hand tightened on his -- he'd forgotten it was there. "Bring them, I did not," he said quietly, but very firmly, meeting Dooku's eyes. "Feared I would have to fight you, I did, but hoped not. And the last I knew, still on another mission they were, and did not know of this one!"
His hand was shaking. "You didn't bring them." He wasn't sure if he could believe that.
"I did not. Nor send for them. Nor had word they were coming."
Could he trust that? Could he trust the word of someone who'd been his enemy these long years? ...Could he trust? He looked down at his old master, the one who'd been his confidante, sheltered him...not the one who'd made him grovel and extracted payment for every scrap of knowledge out of his flesh, his honor, and his soul.
"...Perhaps we should go ask them."
Yoda smiled up at him. "I think we should."
Dooku took a deep breath, only a little shakily, and nodded. "If you'll excuse us, Whirry." He paused, then slowly unclipped his lightsaber from his belt. Crafting a lightsaber was the most personal of achievements, so that the end result was not a mere possession but a true extension of self. Dooku stared at his for a long moment, then set it on the desk and decisively turned away.
*****
