Chapter Text
There were no coincidences, Xanatos knew this as he knew the curve of his scar.
Everything was woven together in the force, tightly knit and waiting for the slightest movement. Nothing was an accident so by default there was no luck, no miracles. Only what is what and what shall be.
Xanatos was taught cause and effect: he moves his hand and the ball moves and as he was wronged, so will he enact his revenge. He was no jedi, but you didn't need to be a jedi to know some things are carved out into the universe.
But seeing his grandmaster again made him consider the possibility of luck.
He did not see him at first nor sense him, a fact that aggravated him but Xanatos recognised the hand on his shoulder, the polished boots and the cloak never quite touching the floor.
Master Dooku.
"Walk with me padawan."
He bit back the rejection of that name and walked quietly, like a chastened child.
"Leave me alone." He spat out once they were by themselves.
Dooku arched an eyebrow, "And leave a member of my lineage wandering around a dangerous planet? Did Qui-Gon not teach you any sense of caution?"
"Well I'm not a part of your lineage anymore," Xanatos half snarled, "so you can leave me alone."
His old master's name sent his blood crawling. The man who was meant to guide him and protect him had taken everything from him. Everything..
"That is," Dooku seemed taken aback, "unfortunate."
"There is no such thing." Xanatos shot back.
"Yes, there is no luck but," Dooku's eyes flitted over Xanatos, "there are missed opportunities."
"Like you were such a present member of our lineage."
"Our lineage was never destined for cozy dinners."
Xanatos hadn't noticed his slip up until the 'our' stuck to the back of his mouth leaving a bad taste. Each lineage was different but his was scarce, not that he had ever cared, he was a Du Crion. They belonged to stories told by his master.
The only memory he had of Master Dooku was through lightsaber training. The cold command of his voice ringing through the salles and the sweat crawling down his back.
Their lineage was meant to be one of famed duellists. Jedi whose soul was in the fight.
Well, they'd certainly achieved that.
"They betrayed me. You all did." Xanatos said quietly. His father's face resting behind his eyelids. "This lineage is good for nothing but death."
He remembered the gaunt man inside his old quarters. Master Aveross, the temple whispered, he killed his own padawan.
"A harsh assessment I'm sure."
"It's true." He spat.
"Well, not all are destined for jedi."
Xanatos was ready to flare at that, sneer at the self righteous path the jedi took, discard the possible comfort he could take from those words.
Then he saw the satisfied curl of the old master's lip.
"No. Not everyone is."
Xanatos paused, eyes narrowing as Dooku remained silent.
"Tell me more." He demanded.
"So petulant padawan."
"I am not a padawan." Xanatos yelled, rage swelling. "The Jedi are dead to me."
The jedi, he had said but it was only really one he thought of. They were all complicit though, his anger assured him, they denied him what was his.
"And angry too. So, so angry." He taunted, "whatever would our dear old Grandmaster Yoda think?"
Xanatos felt rage coil in his throat.
"Good. Your anger will serve you well. The Jedi Order is stagnant, complacent."
The force thrummed, the light changing in the room like the sun had been sucked out of it.
"The dark side-" Xanatos trailed off.
"can be honed," Dooku continued, "it is yours."
"Teach me." He blurted out.
There was a distant howling, high pitched and echoing throughout the room like the beginning of a storm. Xanatos wasn't sure who was causing it.
"No."
Xanatos seethed.
And missed the hesitation in the older man's words. The possibility of negotiation slipping with his boiling temper.
"What do you mean no? You owe me." He began, fist curled. "You all owe me, it's my right."
"I owe you nothing, boy." The Count replied coldly.
"Yes you do!" Xanatos screamed.
The windows rattled.
"You all took everything from me."
The flush of anger rose to his cheeks.
"You took me from my birthright and now dare to refuse me? This lineage did this, Qui-Gon took me. Qui-Gon killed my father. He was supposed to teach me and he left me with nothing."
In his tirade, Xanatos had not noticed Dooku grow closer to him until the man loomed over him.
"You forget to whom you speak."
Then, Xanatos couldn't move.
He knew what the dark side of the force felt like, he had shied away from it but even so, with every dissatisfaction he had fed it. Xanatos had often wondered when it had started, if he had been inside him since his old master took him from Telos, waiting.
But his understanding paled in terms of the force ripping through the air around him.
The very air in the room was being commanded, the whole essence being reduced into a single point revolving around the lost Jedi master.
And he couldn't move. Limbs locked. The force, nothing but a vacuum no matter how much he thrashed.
Xanatos mouthed soundlessly.
Dooku does not think of his own family. He does not think of Komari. He does not think of his own anticipated, stilted return to Serenmo and the looming vacancy of his family title.
He does not think of Qui-Gon or Rael or how he passed down movements and flicks of a lightsaber.
Or at least, he tries not too.
"You are weak."
The boy is struggling but he doesn't loosen his grip.
He's one of Dooku's own, a small protective voice argues. He had renounced the order, yes, but if he was not one of Dooku's own then neither was Qui-Gon. If Xanatos, with his wrath torn into an open wound, was not of their lineage anymore then neither was Dooku.
So he must be, he must be, he must be.
Jedi, no longer, he knew their lineage was at the other side of a chasm. Yet it still didn't feel like a chasm, more of a crack in a pavement that children jump over.
He could not be a jedi, Dooku reminded himself sternly. No straggling former padawan could change that.
There was no family in the jedi, Dooku remembered bitterly. Their lineage was not some sort of makeshift family, pieced together by hard times. They passed down their work to the next and the next and the next and that was it.
He let Xanatos go.
Xanatos gasps for breath in an empty room.