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Qui-Gon woke up falling.
He bit back a startled exclamation and scrambled to catch his balance before he faceplanted in the dirt. These roots were going to be the death of him.
It was the third time he had tripped, but the first time his Master had noticed. Dooku cast him a sour look from where he was stopped farther down the trail. “Is there a problem, Qui-Gon?”
“No, Master.” Qui-Gon hurried to catch up. He smothered a yawn.
Dooku looked doubtful but did not press the matter.
Qui-Gon tugged on the straps of his backpack, trying to ease some of the weight off his tired shoulders. He was certain the pack had grown heavier over the past few days, though he had added nothing to it.
He had made the mistake of remarking on that to Dooku earlier.
“Perhaps,” his Master had replied, “it would not be so heavy if you did not fill it with rocks.”
There was, in fact, only one rock in Qui-Gon’s backpack, and one he was used to carrying with him wherever he went. Its Force-sensitive qualities brought him comfort, and it was not very heavy. His water canteen weighed considerably more, but as he could not do away with that either, he resigned himself to suffering.
He should have known to expect something like this when Dooku told him to pack his survival kit without a sleeping mat. They had now spent three days walking through a forest on a sparsely inhabited planet without pausing to rest, aside from 30-minute breaks for meditation every six hours.
Dooku called it a valuable learning experience.
Qui-Gon called it torture.
His Master insisted that, one day, he would be grateful for the experience. Qui-Gon was unconvinced. He couldn’t think of any scenario that would call for him to stay awake for days on end, dragging himself halfway across a planet like a sleep-deprived zombie, and tripping over roots every time he fell asleep on his feet. But then again, he couldn’t perform much quality thinking right now—his brain had stopped functioning at least 12 hours ago.
He urged his legs to keep moving. The ground seemed to exhibit a strange attraction force on his feet, making it hard to lift them, but the moment he stopped walking, he knew he would be asleep in an instant.
Whenever he started to fade into the vague world of dreams, Dooku sent a sharp jolt along their Force bond that snapped him back to awareness, but even that was only enough to keep him alert for a few minutes. Qui-Gon walked with his eyes closed and his head down. Their meditation breaks had ceased to do him any good. Peace and calm in the Force only made him sleepier. Even the guiding warmth of his beloved river stone could not keep his eyelids from closing against his will.
He almost wished that Dooku would show some symptom of fatigue. Then Qui-Gon would at least have the assurance that he was not suffering alone. Dooku, however, seemed completely unfazed by the lack of rest. He was as alert and demanding as ever, much to his Padawan’s dismay.
Qui-Gon kept himself occupied by synchronizing his footfalls with a rhythmic chant in his head. Don’t-step. Sleep-step. Don’t-step. Sleep-step.
Don’t. Sleep.
Don’t. Sleep.
Don’t.
Sleep.
Don’t…
Sleep…
…
….
……
Qui-Gon nearly jumped out of his skin as the blue blur of a lightsaber came within centimeters of his nose. He stumbled back, fumbling for his own weapon, only to look up and see Dooku staring at him, lightsaber ignited and humming. “If I had been an enemy,” Dooku said coldly, “your head would no longer be attached to your shoulders.”
Qui-Gon kept a hand on his lightsaber hilt, unsure if his Master intended to initiate an impromptu sparring match, or behead him as punishment for not staying awake, but Dooku deactivated his weapon and returned it to his belt.
“You failed to observe your surroundings,” he said. “Such carelessness leaves you vulnerable to attack. Do not let down your guard, even among those you trust.” He laid a hand on Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “That is your weakness,” he said. “You put too much faith in others. A close friend can be a most deadly enemy.”
Qui-Gon barely registered the words. His heart was still racing from the scare his Master had given him. This was unfair. Depriving him of sleep was one thing. Attacking without warning was quite another. “Yes, Master,” he said, falling back on the automatic response. The adrenaline was already wearing off. His head drooped.
“Are you listening to me, Qui-Gon?”
“Yes, Master.”
“What is it that I have just told you?”
“You, um,” Qui-Gon rubbed his eyes, “said I, to be aware.”
Dooku’s eyes narrowed.
He opened his mouth to begin a new lecture, this one on the importance of listening to one’s Master, but he stopped short when a shadow leapt down from a branch overhead, landing lightly on the path in front of them.
Its lithe form was tensed and prepared to spring. A predator native to the forest, Dooku supposed. One with a long tail and a mouth full of sharp teeth. It snarled. Very sharp teeth. A carnivore, then. And one staring hungrily at the two Jedi.
Dooku activated his lightsaber.
“Master, wait.” Qui-Gon held up a hand, pleading with Dooku to stop. “Don’t hurt it.” He stepped toward the creature.
“Stand back,” Dooku warned. This was no time for any of Qui-Gon’s ridiculous stunts.
Qui-Gon ignored him. He took another step closer to the beast. It kept its gaze fixed on him. Dooku wanted to shout at his Padawan, and order him to stand down, but he was afraid of disturbing the delicate balance that now existed between Qui-Gon and the creature, lest he unwittingly cause the attack he feared. Foolish, reckless boy. He would get himself killed if he kept this up.
“It’s alright,” Qui-Gon said. “I won’t hurt you.”
Dooku doubted the beast would offer the same assurance to his Padawan. It laid its long ears flat against its head and lashed its tail. The glow of Dooku’s blade reflected in its eyes.
Dooku deactivated his lightsaber, though he kept both hands on the hilt, prepared to spring into action should he need to rescue his rebellious Padawan from the monster’s hungry jaws.
“You don’t want to eat us,” Qui-Gon said, as he passed his hand in front of its eyes. Dooku felt the mind trick begin to take effect. Qui-Gon reached out to touch the creature’s face. “You want to rest.” His fingertips brushed the beast’s muzzle. Its whiskers twitched. It blinked. “Good girl,” Qui-Gon whispered. “That’s it.”
Slowly, the tension disappeared from the animal’s muscles. With a low growl – or purr, Dooku couldn’t say which – it lowered its haunches to the ground. Then it lay down the rest of the way. Qui-Gon knelt with it, one hand still resting on its head. “That’s it,” he crooned. “Just relax.” The deadly creature flopped onto the ground and closed its eyes. Qui-Gon leaned over it, stroking its head.
Dooku watched its long tail coil in the air, still flicking to and fro, although the rest of the creature was stilled. Dooku’s suspicions that it was prehensile were confirmed when the creature wrapped its tail around his Padawan and drew him towards it.
Dooku expected Qui-Gon to pull away and return to him, now that the beast was tamed – against orders – but the boy made no such move. Already kneeling, he slumped forward against the creature, allowing his head to rest on its flank. The beast kept its tail protectively wrapped around his shoulders.
Perhaps Qui-Gon did not wish to offend it.
Annoyed, Dooku tugged on the bond he shared with his Padawan. He received no response.
It was then that he realized Qui-Gon was not merely holding still to avoid disturbing his new acquaintance. He was asleep. Really and truly asleep.
The gift of a teenager.
He shook his head. The scene was strangely touching, but Dooku could not with a clear conscience leave his Padawan snuggled against the side of a large, predatory mammal.
Stepping softly, he approached the unlikely pair, stooping to collect Qui-Gon’s cast-off pack and slinging it over one shoulder.
Then he padded over to the beast.
Its eyes were closed, and a low, contented rumble emanated from somewhere deep inside it. Dooku pressed a sleep suggestion of his own over its consciousness before he moved within range of its claws.
He carefully bent down and took hold of its tail, which it was still using to hold his Padawan close to its side. He slipped the appendage over the boy’s head and allowed it to drape across the creature’s sleek back. Then he gathered Qui-Gon up in his arms, lifting him away from his carnivorous companion. It would not do to have him eaten when his predatory pillow finally woke up.
Dooku carried his Padawan down the trail, choosing to put some distance between them and the snoozing predator.
Through a chink in Qui-Gon’s mental armor, he finally got a glimpse into his apprentice’s mind.
The waves of crippling exhaustion stunned him, so overwhelming that he nearly dropped the teen on the ground. He readjusted his grip and raised his own shields. This was unreasonable. Qui-Gon should not be experiencing bone-deep fatigue. He should be tired, yes. That was to be expected of anyone who had not slept in three days. But with adequate time to meditate and replenish his energy, he had no excuse for this level of exhaustion.
“Qui-Gon,” he said, lightly jostling the boy to rouse him.
Qui-Gon’s eyelids fluttered. “’Mm not asleep,” he mumbled.
“I can see that,” Dooku replied dryly. “Are you ‘not asleep’ enough to answer a question for me?”
“Mm hmm…”
“What have you been doing during our 30 minute breaks?”
“Meditating.”
“On what?”
“Forest. The Force.” A small shrug.
“Have you been practicing restorative meditation?”
Confusion flickered across their bond. “…that different?” his sleepy Padawan inquired.
Dooku sighed. “Have your instructors never taught you how to use meditation to strengthen your body in place of physical rest?”
“Umm…” Embarrassment replaced confusion.
This would explain why Dooku had needed to wake him so frequently these past few days.
“You should have told me you were unfamiliar with it.”
“Didn’t know ‘bout it.”
“So you assumed I would require you to walk for three days without any rest aside from light meditation?” How dense was the boy, to believe such a thing?
“We’re Jedi…”
“Jedi. Not gods. I expected you to utilize this as an exercise in restorative meditation, not an exercise in foolishness.”
“Sorry M’ster.” Qui-Gon leaned his head against Dooku’s shoulder. Dooku could sense him beginning to drift off again. Pity stirred inside him.
“Put your arms around my neck,” he ordered. “You are becoming far too heavy for me to carry.” His apprentice had already passed 6 feet in height, and Dooku was certain he was still growing. It required considerable strength in the Force to lift him, much less carry him down a rough-hewn path like this one.
“I can walk,” Qui-Gon mumbled into Dooku’s sleeve.
“Is that so?” They were far enough away now. Dooku stopped and lowered his Padawan’s feet to the ground. He kept a precautionary hand extended while Qui-Gon staggered drunkenly forward. Dooku caught him by the arms an instant before he crumpled. He guided Qui-Gon to lean against a nearby tree trunk. “Stay here,” he ordered.
While Qui-Gon used the tree to prop himself upright, Dooku unslung both packs from his shoulders and let them fall to the ground. He rifled through them.
“I can learn it,” Qui-Gon said from behind him. “The meditation.”
“Not now.” Dooku dug two spare robes out of their bags. He spread one on the leafy ground.
“But…what about…”
“I will show you a faster way to regain your strength.” Dooku smoothed out the robe on the ground. He patted it. “Sit,” he commanded.
Qui-Gon obediently shuffled over and sank onto the fabric. He fidgeted as he dazedly tried to work out how to arrange his long legs.
“Lie down,” Dooku said.
“Master?”
“Do as I tell you,” he growled.
Qui-Gon lay down on the robe. Dooku slipped the second, bundled garment beneath his Padawan’s head. “Now go to sleep.”
“Huh…?” Half-lidded blue eyes blinked up at him in confusion.
“You are too exhausted to sustain a proper meditative state,” Dooku told him. “It will do you no good now.” He passed a gentle hand over Qui-Gon’s eyes, closing them. “Sleep, Qui-Gon.”
Dooku did not bother with a Force suggestion. The boy was asleep before his Master even finished speaking his name.
Dooku heaved a longsuffering sigh. His student could be so brilliant, and yet, so obtuse. He caused them both no end of trouble with his stubbornness. But despite his faults, Dooku was forced to admit he had grown rather fond of the foolish child. He shook his head, a rare smile spreading across his face. Then he unclipped his own cloak and draped it over his student. “Sleep well, Padawan,” he whispered, and settled down to keep watch.