Archive of Our Own ^beta

The earth is smoking, and Dooku feels the echo of it, this heat brought by lightning, in his fingertips. The majestic capital city of Serenno, Carannia, lies in ruins.

The Jedi looks around. Hagi enthusiastically talks about her discovery, Jenza listens attentively, and Master Kostana looks at Dooku with concern, frozen between him and Sifo-Dyas, torn between the two younger Jedi, hesitating about who she should help.

Who can she help? Her former padawan is empty. His body and mind are filled with images of the future, his dark eyes peer into Dooku without stopping, pass through and see everything that he can become. And there is no place for fear or admiration in the greatness of it.

“...The Senate will definitely send a group from the Mining Guild here,” Jenza turns to her brother, her face covered with dust and dirt, but illuminated with hope. “Dooku, Serenno will get as much help as it needs!”

“Not necessary.”

“What?” Jenza frowns.

Dooku sighs, decades of struggle weighing on his shoulders, fatigue from the call to reason pooling in his lungs. “You don’t have to crawl on your knees to the Republic, ask to be returned to its circle in order to survive,” the Jedi nods at the piece of ore that Hagi is still clutching in her hands. “You have the resources to keep yourself afloat, and there are systems ready to cooperate without the supervision of the Senate,” Dooku looks into his sister’s eyes, hoping that she will understand. “Serenno can become independent and help other systems that the Republic has forgotten about.”

“Dooku, you are talking about the impossible.”

“No, just about something incredibly complex, I’m not saying otherwise. But this is a choice Serenno must make. You, Countess Jenza, must make it for your people.”

Dooku takes a step back and bows. This is a deep bow for respect, for honoring and accepting the wisdom of others. Around him, the Serennians descend in a wave of traditional bows, the few disgruntled whispers disappearing into the crowd, remaining unheard.

“Leaving so soon?” Jenza asks. For a moment, she is an eleven-year-old girl again, being forcibly taken away from her friend, her brother, by her father.

Dooku's gaze slides over her shoulder to the Tirra'taka's slowly cooling body. By his very birth on this planet, he aroused the wrath of his father. Returning for the first time, he disturbed the sleep of the majestic wounded beast. The second time, he desecrated the peace of their mother. Now, he has become the last broken word for the ancient dragon: her executioner.

“The Jedi goes where help is needed,” he turns around. Sifo-Dyas looks at him, and for a moment, Dooku sees the Tirra'taka's dark eyes just before the Jedi breaks his word. “And mine is needed elsewhere.”

Jenza nods, pulling herself together. She is again the woman who stood up against her older brother for the sake of their people; she is again the leader walking among her people. Serenno hasn't seen a Countess in a long time.

“Thank you, Jedi Master, for everything.”

Such is the life of a Jedi: they come to the call, they do their best, and then they leave, looking for another hand extended to the light. Dooku turns away from the Countess, and with a few swift steps he finds himself among the rest of the Jedi. Sifo-Dyas leans on Master Kostana, but stands stubbornly, not taking his eyes off Dooku.

“It’s time to go home, Sifo,” he says quietly, clasping the seer’s trembling palms. He blinks for the first time since the end of the fight.

“Together?”

“Together.”

“I... didn’t see it,” Sifo-Dyas admits, almost guiltily.

“So, I’m still capable of surprising you,” Dooku’s lips involuntarily twitch in a tired semblance of a smile. Sifo-Dyas looks into his eyes, truly seeing, seeing exactly him.

“You never cease to amaze me.”

It's an interesting change, Dooku realizes. He's on the ship with Master Kostana and Sifo-Dyas, but for the first time in years, the senior Jedi is piloting it, and Dooku finds himself alone with his friend in the middle of the fires of hyperspace. A friend who now looks at him as if he might disappear at any moment. Some light is still pouring into space.

“I’m really here,” Dooku assures him, leaning back on the sofa squeezed into the small kitchen-living room of the ship. Force, he's tired.

His friend, sitting on the other side, chuckles sadly. “That’s what I would like to hear from a hallucination.”

Dooku runs his hand over his eyes, still seeing the lightning marks on the back of his eyelids. Ordinary discharges of an electrostaff that have nothing to do with the Dark Side of the Force. He managed to overcome the pain, but his body still took damage, and now, with the drop in adrenaline, decides to make it known.

He extends his palm to Sifo-Dyas. He looks at it as if it were a detonator.

“Just take my hand, I won’t dissolve.”

“I would like this illusion to last longer,” Sifo-Dyas purses his lips.

“Could an illusion do this?”

And with a quick, absolutely boyish movement, Dooku pokes his friend in the ribs. Sifo-Dyas yelps, unprepared for such an attack, the sound high-pitched and completely unbecoming of a Jedi Master.

“Doo!”

“Don’t worry, this illusion won’t be able to tell anyone about your shameful squeals…”

Dooku doesn't have time to finish when Sifo-Dyas lunges at him like a snake, aiming for his vulnerable stomach. Dooku grabs his wrists as the other man squirms, their knees colliding on the undersized sofa. Sifo-Dyas still manages to poke Dooku in the ribs several times, but he does not remain in debt; they fight quickly and clumsily, hindering themselves more than each other.

As a result, Dooku finds himself pinned to the sofa, Sifo-Dyas looming over him victoriously. His hands rest on the soft fabric on either side of Dooku's head, his bun is completely ruined, and the ends of his hair tickle Dooku's cheek. He smells like smoke from the recent battle and, very faintly, like something refreshingly pine. The two Jedi's breathing comes rapidly, choked with their childish play, their legs intertwined.

For a second, Dooku can only enjoy Sifo-Dyas' wide, slightly wild smile as he tries to regain his breath. Then his friend's gaze softens, his face filling with such vulnerable tenderness that it seems one touch could destroy this container of light. He bows his head and says very, very quietly, like a secret kept from the entire galaxy, “You're really here.”

Sifo-Dyas is like a stretched string that the Force, in its unimaginable greatness, touches almost playfully. Dooku himself feels something similar. His body feels like a broken statue, the cracks spreading across his back and each new branch of them destroys his self-control. Electricity surging through him, lightning escaping from him, burning cold, and the roar of the Tirra'taka escaping his lips. They were still here, one careless thought and they would come crashing down on him.

“Why didn’t you believe me?” Dooku thought that he managed to catch Sifo-Dyas back there, among the smoke. His friend looks guilty, folding in on himself as he looks away.

“I saw you leaving.”

Sifo-Dyas takes a shaky breath. Dooku feels his fingers dig into the fabric of the sofa next to his head.

“I felt you make a choice up there,” Sifo-Dyas continues, horror growing in him with every word spoken, a string trembling, but he cannot stop, as if the mere mention of what he saw on Serenno is enough to break down any barriers. “The Tirra'taka was your choice, and it shattered the galaxy, Dooku. You shattered it, you shaped the future, and I…”

Dooku reaches out to cup Sifo-Dyas's face. The skin under his fingers is dry, chapped, but he still runs his thumb across his cheek, wiping away unshed tears.

“And I saw where it would lead, I know, or I knew at that moment,” Sifo-Dyas leans into the touch. “I can still see it, it’s so close…”

“Don’t look,” Dooku carefully tilts Sifo-Dyas’s face and meets his dark eyes. “I made a different choice. This won’t happen.”

Jenza, seeing him off, and the deep knowledge, deep as the Force itself, that he would never set foot on Serenno again. He made his decision.

“Why?” Sifo-Dyas asks desperately. “You had so many reasons to leave!”

It's true, Dooku realizes. Standing there, looking at the scorched earth, at Jenza, all he wanted was to wrest control from fate, Serenno from the Republic, and raise the planet from the ashes to throw its returned greatness in the face of the Senate. It was a bright, burning impulse, driving him forward, further and further towards this tempting, furious goal... and yet, an impulse. He did not know Serenno, and Jenza asked for help in liberating the planet, and not a new conquest by the next son of Count Gora.

“Yes, but not important enough,” Dooku admits. “There were many more reasons to stay.”

He never met Qui-Gon's new Padawan. His last conversation with Yoda was a fight. And if staying on Serenno meant leaving Sifo-Dyas in that terrible future that, even though it hadn't happened, still haunted his friend... Dooku doesn’t want that.

They sit in silence for a second, just looking at each other.

Sifo-Dyas then finally collapses, falling on top of the other Jedi. His breath is hot on Dooku's neck and his nose is cold. Their hearts calm, their rhythms converge. So close, separated only by thin layers of tunics and skin, they could easily be mistaken for one. There's something soothing about the weight of Sifo-Dyas pressing down gently on him, and the thought that Dooku could stay here for a while, between the body of his soul's closest friend and the old couch. The feeling makes his eyelids heavy and his arms weak as he wraps them around Sifo-Dyas in an attempt to pull him just a little closer.

This crazy, long day is coming to an end.