Star Wars; 12:00; Temptation
Theme: 12:00
Title: Temptation
Fandom: Star Wars
Character/Pairing: Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Octavius Dooku
Category: Character
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.
Summary: “That’s treason.” Qui-Gon said, quietly.
-
“Very good, Padawan.” Qui-Gon praised, as he watched Obi-Wan take out the last seeker droid with an elegant sky-to-ground slash. The cleaved halves of the droid clattered to the ground, where the repair and maintenance droids would later collect them.
Obi-Wan grinned at his Master’s praise. At this rate, Qui-Gon decided, Obi-Wan would soon reach the stage where there were no more formal velocities to learn from Ataru, and the rest would be experience, and training.
He clapped the young man on the back. “Off with you. You need a shower. I’ll clean up around here.”
As his not-so-young Padawan learner left, Qui-Gon felt a pang in his heart. He was growing old, he knew. Was it only yesterday when Obi-Wan had been an eager boy, in a body growing too fast for him? Soon, this new Obi-Wan would become a Jedi Knight.
Qui-Gon wondered if he was ready to let him go.
“What did you think?” He asked aloud, to the unseen watcher that lurked in the viewing galleries.
A figure slid down, a little slowly, with the help of the Force. Octavius Dooku had not aged gracefully- his face was lined, and his hair completely gone to grey. “You know my opinion on Ataru.”
Qui-Gon waited.
“But his technique is good. Promising. His footwork needs improvement, though. He plants himself too solidly on the ground each time.” Qui-Gon made a mental note to work on it with Obi-Wan the next time around.
“What brings you here, Master Dooku?” He asked, aloud, wondering. Octavius Dooku and his former Padawan had little association after Qui-Gon’s knighting, and his presence here now seemed strange.
“Could I tempt you to lunch, at a café?” His old Master asked. “You know the café. Some things are best talked of…over a meal.”
Indeed, Qui-Gon did. He was curious enough, and he had nothing planned for the rest of the day. So he agreed. He glanced at the chrono. 1200 hours, CST. Enough time to clear up the training area, and go with his former Master for a meal.
-
The Coronet City was a café that, despite its name, catered to the middle and upper classes of Coruscant- including the likes of diplomats, Senators, and Senatorial aides.
It was, of course, one of the few places outside the Jedi Temple that Octavius Dooku would eat at. Qui-Gon knew his Master would never try Didi’s café. Didi and Astri’s café now, really. His Master had never liked eating with people from all over the galaxy- most of them the thieves and criminals of Coruscant, most likely.
Or at least the working class of Coruscant.
At least the Coronet City had absolutely wonderful ways of cooking mynock, and Qui-Gon hadn’t tried any of those for a while. He ended up ordering the honey roasted mynock strips ground with nuts and cinna. His former Master ordered a gornt set meal.
They waited in silence for their food to arrive, before Dooku finally broke the silence. This happened around the time when the Twi’lek waitress first brought Dooku’s gornt.
“Tell me, Qui-Gon- do you think the Republic will stand?”
Qui-Gon glanced all around the room- Senators ate with Senatorial aides, and he recognised one or two of them who were friends of the Jedi, and one or two whom he knew were taking bribes, or obstructing the Senate in the resolution of issues. They had a seat by a wide viewport overlooking the vista of Coruscant, discreetly aside.
“Perhaps.” He said, neutrally. “Who can say?”
His food came, and Qui-Gon’s stomach growled. The mynock smelled absolutely wonderful. “Excuse me.” He said, as he cut off a forkful of the tender meat and ate.
Dooku waved off the apology. Of course, had there not been one, he might not have been so gracious. Qui-Gon’s former Master was a stickler for etiquette as well. But then, what Qui-Gon found slightly disconcerting was the way his Master looked at him, almost hungry, almost desperate.
Of course, an ordinary person would not have noticed. But Qui-Gon was a Jedi, trained too well by the man who sat across the round, polished cinnawood table. He knew when someone was looking at him, even if that person was also skilled at looking without appearing to do so.
Qui-Gon was, however, a patient man. He preferred to wait, and he found that silence often drew more out of beings than questions did. And undoubtedly, his former Master would reveal things in his own time. This patience was something his Padawan was just beginning to learn.
But Dooku’s question had startled him. And it had not, at the same time. So it was about the Republic. But his old Master was always skilled with politics. It wasn’t something that surprised Qui-Gon, by any means. There was doubt, of course. The Jedi now whispered that dark times were on the horizon. There were more conflicts in the galaxy, and too few Jedi teams. And conflict muddied the Light Side, dulled the Force.
The Dark Side was growing.
Qui-Gon’s instincts said there were something more, there was something deeper, than the fact the galaxy was sliding into chaos around them. That what was chaos, when viewed from the right angle, was a deliberate pattern.
He ignored them. When the time was right, he would understand what he now could not. Qui-Gon was not a man to waste time on futile pursuits. But still, his instincts nagged. Was this what Dooku was talking about? That the weakening Republic was causing the conflicts?
That the only way to resolve the conflicts, to maintain peace in the galaxy was…
The quick whisper of Qui-Gon’s indrawn breath, the sharp glance he immediately directed at his former Master was detected. Dooku smiled, the expression revealing some lines on his face, smoothing out some of them.
It was a smile as sharp as the edge of a vibroshiv, sheathed in permafrost.
Dooku knew.
Qui-Gon looked away. He ate another forkful of the mynock. The flavor was good, the honey mixing with the nuts, gold that sang its way down his throat.
All the while, the thought sang quietly at the back of his mind. The only way to maintain peace in the galaxy would be to strengthen the Republic.
That means the Republic is weak. And what is the Republic’s weakness? Dissent. The Senate never agrees. Smaller systems get ignored. Qui-Gon knew this for a fact, and it often disturbed him. He had long made his peace with it. The best way he could help against injustice and suffering was as a Jedi, on missions throughout the galaxy.
But now?
The only way to strengthen the Republic is to cut through the Gordian knot. Cut through the dissent.
The only way to strengthen the Republic is to do the one thing that would destroy the Republic, to create an Empire, to break the Republic.
Qui-Gon stared at his mynock, keeping a placid face. He took a deep breath, exhaling it, visualising his emotions flowing out of him. Qui-Gon was a quietly passionate man, and he did not easily agitate. And even now, the inner calm awaited, just waiting for him to sink into it.
The thoughts followed him into that calm lake.
Qui-Gon opened his eyes. He hadn’t been aware of closing them.
“That’s treason.” He said, quietly.
“The Jedi have never been under the jurisdiction of the Republic.” Dooku disagreed softly. He ate in a fashion similar to how he lived and fought- elegant and precise. Every inch the Count whose title he had given up.
“But to…it’s not the Jedi way.”
“Once,” Dooku said, “The Jedi wandered through the galaxy, righting the wrongs they encountered. And with so many Jedi together, a little strength and wisdom in the small places made all the difference. And now, the Jedi are one. The Council is, perhaps, a little too blind.” He looked at the rubicund wine, glittering in the glass, in the sunlight that filtered through the window.
“I know you, Qui-Gon.” He continued, voice warm. “I am searching for likeminded Jedi in the Order. Those who know now that the Republic has been ignoring the small…and the weak for too long. That something must be done.”
Qui-Gon glanced at his own glass. He lifted it, tried a sip. The smooth flavor of Alderaanian oranges flowed across his tongue- and an explosion of berries. Of all the life he felt a connection to, so deeply, through the Force.
“What do you propose?” He asked. He caught a gleam in Dooku’s eyes then. Triumph? Satisfaction? It vanished in the next moment. But his old Master had always been difficult to read.
“We may have to leave the Jedi.” Dooku said, calmly. “Under the rules of the order, I cannot wield the influence I have as the Count of Serenno to stabilise the Senate. I have a voting bloc.”
Part of Qui-Gon listened. It was perfectly reasonable, and perfectly logical, if he got past the fact that most of what his old Master was saying was wrong. It was not a Jedi thing to do.
Was the Jedi thing always the right thing?
No. But that was when Qui-Gon simply did what he felt was right. He doubted, of course, but what other recourse did have have other than to do his best to do that which was right, and that which was good?
“And my Padawan?”
Dooku was silent for a moment, pondering the depths of his glass. “Do you think he feels the same way?” He asked. “But you are his Master. Where you lead…he will certainly follow.” He glanced aside at Qui-Gon. “I knew a boy like that, once. But now…there is something rotten in the Order, Qui-Gon. You know the Light Side is growing weaker. And sometimes…answers may not be found in the Order.”
Qui-Gon watched the light glimmer through the rubicund of Dooku’s glass. In the light, it was a deep red. The color of blood, the bloodshine of a Sith blade. Because that was the answer. That was what his old Master was intimating.
That salvation should come at the cost of their destruction.
Or the destruction of what made them Jedi.
He could be wrong. But Qui-Gon always followed his instincts.
“Thank you.” He said quietly. And then he stood up, paid the cost of his meal, and turned his back on the café, and the lost man within. And hoped that his old Master would find his way.
Before him, lay the Temple, and his future, and his Chosen One.
-
A/N: I perceive Dooku’s fall as a stage by stage thing. At first, it’s like Jacen- do a little evil to do some good- who cares about means and ends? And then it becomes a slippery slope. He’s always been proud. When he lashes out in anger because his pride is wounded- who cares, if it works?
Here, Dooku tries to get to Qui-Gon through his greatest strength- Qui-Gon’s independence and compassion. I don’t think Dooku here has turned yet; he’s misguided, and trying to leave the Order, and when he’s vulnerable, that’s when Sidious comes for him and plays on him.
The prompt was writer’s choice, so I took temptation.
Title: Temptation
Fandom: Star Wars
Character/Pairing: Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Octavius Dooku
Category: Character
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars.
Summary: “That’s treason.” Qui-Gon said, quietly.
-
“Very good, Padawan.” Qui-Gon praised, as he watched Obi-Wan take out the last seeker droid with an elegant sky-to-ground slash. The cleaved halves of the droid clattered to the ground, where the repair and maintenance droids would later collect them.
Obi-Wan grinned at his Master’s praise. At this rate, Qui-Gon decided, Obi-Wan would soon reach the stage where there were no more formal velocities to learn from Ataru, and the rest would be experience, and training.
He clapped the young man on the back. “Off with you. You need a shower. I’ll clean up around here.”
As his not-so-young Padawan learner left, Qui-Gon felt a pang in his heart. He was growing old, he knew. Was it only yesterday when Obi-Wan had been an eager boy, in a body growing too fast for him? Soon, this new Obi-Wan would become a Jedi Knight.
Qui-Gon wondered if he was ready to let him go.
“What did you think?” He asked aloud, to the unseen watcher that lurked in the viewing galleries.
A figure slid down, a little slowly, with the help of the Force. Octavius Dooku had not aged gracefully- his face was lined, and his hair completely gone to grey. “You know my opinion on Ataru.”
Qui-Gon waited.
“But his technique is good. Promising. His footwork needs improvement, though. He plants himself too solidly on the ground each time.” Qui-Gon made a mental note to work on it with Obi-Wan the next time around.
“What brings you here, Master Dooku?” He asked, aloud, wondering. Octavius Dooku and his former Padawan had little association after Qui-Gon’s knighting, and his presence here now seemed strange.
“Could I tempt you to lunch, at a café?” His old Master asked. “You know the café. Some things are best talked of…over a meal.”
Indeed, Qui-Gon did. He was curious enough, and he had nothing planned for the rest of the day. So he agreed. He glanced at the chrono. 1200 hours, CST. Enough time to clear up the training area, and go with his former Master for a meal.
-
The Coronet City was a café that, despite its name, catered to the middle and upper classes of Coruscant- including the likes of diplomats, Senators, and Senatorial aides.
It was, of course, one of the few places outside the Jedi Temple that Octavius Dooku would eat at. Qui-Gon knew his Master would never try Didi’s café. Didi and Astri’s café now, really. His Master had never liked eating with people from all over the galaxy- most of them the thieves and criminals of Coruscant, most likely.
Or at least the working class of Coruscant.
At least the Coronet City had absolutely wonderful ways of cooking mynock, and Qui-Gon hadn’t tried any of those for a while. He ended up ordering the honey roasted mynock strips ground with nuts and cinna. His former Master ordered a gornt set meal.
They waited in silence for their food to arrive, before Dooku finally broke the silence. This happened around the time when the Twi’lek waitress first brought Dooku’s gornt.
“Tell me, Qui-Gon- do you think the Republic will stand?”
Qui-Gon glanced all around the room- Senators ate with Senatorial aides, and he recognised one or two of them who were friends of the Jedi, and one or two whom he knew were taking bribes, or obstructing the Senate in the resolution of issues. They had a seat by a wide viewport overlooking the vista of Coruscant, discreetly aside.
“Perhaps.” He said, neutrally. “Who can say?”
His food came, and Qui-Gon’s stomach growled. The mynock smelled absolutely wonderful. “Excuse me.” He said, as he cut off a forkful of the tender meat and ate.
Dooku waved off the apology. Of course, had there not been one, he might not have been so gracious. Qui-Gon’s former Master was a stickler for etiquette as well. But then, what Qui-Gon found slightly disconcerting was the way his Master looked at him, almost hungry, almost desperate.
Of course, an ordinary person would not have noticed. But Qui-Gon was a Jedi, trained too well by the man who sat across the round, polished cinnawood table. He knew when someone was looking at him, even if that person was also skilled at looking without appearing to do so.
Qui-Gon was, however, a patient man. He preferred to wait, and he found that silence often drew more out of beings than questions did. And undoubtedly, his former Master would reveal things in his own time. This patience was something his Padawan was just beginning to learn.
But Dooku’s question had startled him. And it had not, at the same time. So it was about the Republic. But his old Master was always skilled with politics. It wasn’t something that surprised Qui-Gon, by any means. There was doubt, of course. The Jedi now whispered that dark times were on the horizon. There were more conflicts in the galaxy, and too few Jedi teams. And conflict muddied the Light Side, dulled the Force.
The Dark Side was growing.
Qui-Gon’s instincts said there were something more, there was something deeper, than the fact the galaxy was sliding into chaos around them. That what was chaos, when viewed from the right angle, was a deliberate pattern.
He ignored them. When the time was right, he would understand what he now could not. Qui-Gon was not a man to waste time on futile pursuits. But still, his instincts nagged. Was this what Dooku was talking about? That the weakening Republic was causing the conflicts?
That the only way to resolve the conflicts, to maintain peace in the galaxy was…
The quick whisper of Qui-Gon’s indrawn breath, the sharp glance he immediately directed at his former Master was detected. Dooku smiled, the expression revealing some lines on his face, smoothing out some of them.
It was a smile as sharp as the edge of a vibroshiv, sheathed in permafrost.
Dooku knew.
Qui-Gon looked away. He ate another forkful of the mynock. The flavor was good, the honey mixing with the nuts, gold that sang its way down his throat.
All the while, the thought sang quietly at the back of his mind. The only way to maintain peace in the galaxy would be to strengthen the Republic.
That means the Republic is weak. And what is the Republic’s weakness? Dissent. The Senate never agrees. Smaller systems get ignored. Qui-Gon knew this for a fact, and it often disturbed him. He had long made his peace with it. The best way he could help against injustice and suffering was as a Jedi, on missions throughout the galaxy.
But now?
The only way to strengthen the Republic is to cut through the Gordian knot. Cut through the dissent.
The only way to strengthen the Republic is to do the one thing that would destroy the Republic, to create an Empire, to break the Republic.
Qui-Gon stared at his mynock, keeping a placid face. He took a deep breath, exhaling it, visualising his emotions flowing out of him. Qui-Gon was a quietly passionate man, and he did not easily agitate. And even now, the inner calm awaited, just waiting for him to sink into it.
The thoughts followed him into that calm lake.
Qui-Gon opened his eyes. He hadn’t been aware of closing them.
“That’s treason.” He said, quietly.
“The Jedi have never been under the jurisdiction of the Republic.” Dooku disagreed softly. He ate in a fashion similar to how he lived and fought- elegant and precise. Every inch the Count whose title he had given up.
“But to…it’s not the Jedi way.”
“Once,” Dooku said, “The Jedi wandered through the galaxy, righting the wrongs they encountered. And with so many Jedi together, a little strength and wisdom in the small places made all the difference. And now, the Jedi are one. The Council is, perhaps, a little too blind.” He looked at the rubicund wine, glittering in the glass, in the sunlight that filtered through the window.
“I know you, Qui-Gon.” He continued, voice warm. “I am searching for likeminded Jedi in the Order. Those who know now that the Republic has been ignoring the small…and the weak for too long. That something must be done.”
Qui-Gon glanced at his own glass. He lifted it, tried a sip. The smooth flavor of Alderaanian oranges flowed across his tongue- and an explosion of berries. Of all the life he felt a connection to, so deeply, through the Force.
“What do you propose?” He asked. He caught a gleam in Dooku’s eyes then. Triumph? Satisfaction? It vanished in the next moment. But his old Master had always been difficult to read.
“We may have to leave the Jedi.” Dooku said, calmly. “Under the rules of the order, I cannot wield the influence I have as the Count of Serenno to stabilise the Senate. I have a voting bloc.”
Part of Qui-Gon listened. It was perfectly reasonable, and perfectly logical, if he got past the fact that most of what his old Master was saying was wrong. It was not a Jedi thing to do.
Was the Jedi thing always the right thing?
No. But that was when Qui-Gon simply did what he felt was right. He doubted, of course, but what other recourse did have have other than to do his best to do that which was right, and that which was good?
“And my Padawan?”
Dooku was silent for a moment, pondering the depths of his glass. “Do you think he feels the same way?” He asked. “But you are his Master. Where you lead…he will certainly follow.” He glanced aside at Qui-Gon. “I knew a boy like that, once. But now…there is something rotten in the Order, Qui-Gon. You know the Light Side is growing weaker. And sometimes…answers may not be found in the Order.”
Qui-Gon watched the light glimmer through the rubicund of Dooku’s glass. In the light, it was a deep red. The color of blood, the bloodshine of a Sith blade. Because that was the answer. That was what his old Master was intimating.
That salvation should come at the cost of their destruction.
Or the destruction of what made them Jedi.
He could be wrong. But Qui-Gon always followed his instincts.
“Thank you.” He said quietly. And then he stood up, paid the cost of his meal, and turned his back on the café, and the lost man within. And hoped that his old Master would find his way.
Before him, lay the Temple, and his future, and his Chosen One.
-
A/N: I perceive Dooku’s fall as a stage by stage thing. At first, it’s like Jacen- do a little evil to do some good- who cares about means and ends? And then it becomes a slippery slope. He’s always been proud. When he lashes out in anger because his pride is wounded- who cares, if it works?
Here, Dooku tries to get to Qui-Gon through his greatest strength- Qui-Gon’s independence and compassion. I don’t think Dooku here has turned yet; he’s misguided, and trying to leave the Order, and when he’s vulnerable, that’s when Sidious comes for him and plays on him.
The prompt was writer’s choice, so I took temptation.