Chapter Text
Dooku was just between hyperjumps when he felt the tear .
One moment all had been fine, he was just tending to one of the small bonsais he kept in the ship to 'liven up' the space (Rael had insisted on them during his padawanship and Yan had never found the heart to get rid of them) and the other he found himself heaving on the floor in sudden disorientation.
One of his old trainingbonds had just snapped .
No. Not snapped.
Numbly, he reached out and inspected the damage. Disbelief flooded him.
Qui-Gon had just cut their old bond.
No warning. Nothing.
Why ?
Scrambling to stand up, the shards of the bonsai's pot crunching and digging into his knees and hands, he hurried to his comm. Someone…. someone at the Temple must know what was going on. They had to.
Qui-Gon hadn't been scheduled to any high risk missions, as far as Yan knew, his former Padawan had actually been kept on a pretty tight leash after Du Crion had disappeared.
There shouldn't have been any reason to cut the bond .
…
At the same time, worlds away, a blonde Knight experienced a sudden seizure.
He had been shadowing smugglers.
He wasn't shadowing smugglers any longer after that.
When Feemor finally woke up from the shock and the drugs his captors had pumped inside him, he was shackled. Blindly, he reached out in the Force, to call for help, to call for his former Master.
Nothing.
Only the frayed end of their past bond.
Feemor wept.
…
Dooku was sitting in his cot, blankly staring at the gray wall panel on the opposite side. The ship had been floating virtually dead in space for at least two days now.
He had been inert for the same time.
Qui-Gon had lost Xanathos. The boy had fallen. Qui-Gon had…not taken it well. His former Padawan had had a full breakdown. Tholme hadn't wanted to tell him more over comms, but Yan had had the sinking feeling that he'd had come dangerously close to falling himself. Qui-Gon was in the Halls now, under observation. Under control.
They hadn't gotten to him before he had ripped out all of his bonds; Dooku’s, Yoda's, his lineage brother's… all of them. He had repudiated Xanathos and his other Padawan in one fell swoop. Dooku didn't know what to think or feel about this. Truth be told, he didn't want to think or feel about this.
Hence the floating dead in space and sulking.
He'd turned off his comm ages ago.
He'd turned off all but the base most life support.
He'd been sitting like this in the dark ever since.
Luckily his sizable distance to Coruscant - any civilization really, he didn't even know the name of the sector he was in right now - meant that even the still existing bonds were strained and distant and as such easily ignored. Sy had tried to reach out to him some time after he'd gone dark, but Dooku had gently but decidedly pushed the distant blip of inquiry-worry-solace down and out . He wasn't in the mood to talk. He wasn't in any mood.
Hours turned to days.
Maybe.
Dooku lost all feeling for the passage of time, spending the time half slipped into the Unifying Force, grasping for an answer, for an explanation, for anything really.
The Force wasn't that kind.
He knew that he should pull back. Probably should have pulled back a while ago. He was self-aware enough to know that he was slipping.
But in his loss he didn't care.
Until a bond, one of the utter most distant ones and barely more than a fleeting connection similar to those most Jedi had with former mission partners or a sparring companion, flared alive with pain-desperation-anger and a bottomless dispair that mirrored Dooku’sown.
He was barely able to assign a name to the bond.
Feemor .
Qui-Gon's first Padawan.
He had only ever met the boy fleetingly. He'd been there to his Knighting, but hadn't approached. Qui-Gon had at the very start of his Mastership cornered him and told him he didn't want his interference. Dooku had been hurt, yes, but he'd tried to be understanding.
So he'd kept his distance.
Now, cold fear gripped him.
Feemor was a Knight. Feemor was a Knight who regularly had been sent to risky missions lately. Feemor was a Shadow Knight who had been on such an exact mission these days. Feemor, who just had gotten his Master-Padawan bond violently torn apart with no warning.
For Dooku that had meant dropping a beloved plant.
For Feemor it could have had way more serious consequences.
The Force trembled at the thought. He could feel the shift of the Unifying around him and even though he had never been blessed (or cursed) with much prescience, he knew he had hit the bullseye with that thought.
Distant pain flared up in the back of his mind.
The Force wailed.
…
"Well let me motivate you!"
A heavy boot connected with Feemor's side and sent him toppling against the jagged rock. Fighting for his breath, he got back up again.
"I'm sorry, Master. I will go back to work now," he pressed out, projecting a strong 'leave us alone, we are working hard and you need to be elsewhere' into the Force.
The tholothian slaver sneered and spat on the floor. "Good. Don't slack off again, worm." Then he left.
Feemor exhaled and turned back to the smaller, feverish body he had been shielding from the slaver's perception. Force be thanked that when he'd been captured they had not realized he was a Jedi, so he just had to deal with a normal shock-collar and not a Force-suppressing one. It made guiding the young man he'd found crumpled in a hallway into a shallow healing-trance a lot easier. Of course it wasn't nearly as effective as a good batch of bacta, but Feemor wasn't about to just give up.
He just had to change his plans for getting out of here a bit. Maybe start a slave revolt while he was at it.
Anything to keep his mind off the frayed, bleeding void that had once been his bond to Qui- to Master Jinn.
He grit his teeth.
Stay productive Feemor. Stay alert.
They were going to make it out of here. Soon.
The Force rang in agreement.
…
Dooku didn't- he wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up in this situation.
The last thing he clearly remembered was going dark behind a small moon and just… wallowing in the Force. There were snippets, after that, but it was like he was looking at a badly damaged holorecording. Everything seemed so far away. He knew he must have done some things - otherwise he wouldn't be where he was now, staring down a handful of pitifully writhing… scum. Slavers, smugglers, pirates, it didn't really matter in the end.
What did matter though was the very faint but solid presence he could feel, just at the edge of his senses. Not suppressed, just well shielded and exhausted.
Feemor.
He must have managed to avoid being clocked as a Jedi, the resourceful boy. Otherwise locating him would not have been this easy.
Not caring for the lowly lives that flickered out all around him, Dooku stepped through the stilling bodies of his Grandpadawan's captors.
Strewn all around the narrow mining tunnels that riddled this planetoid were cowering, pale faced 'miners'. But he didn't have any time to take care of their misplaced terror, apart from a quick wave of his hand here and there and rusty, weak metal cracking and bursting. He didn't look back on any of them, what they chose to do with their newfound freedom was up to them.
Dooku only cared for one thing: the shining light at the end of the tunnel that was Feemor's Force-presence.
…
Something was wrong.
Feemor had been on high alert ever since about an hour ago, when the normal lighting had fizzled out and the blinking red emergency lights had booted up.
Then he felt it. A presence, powerful and angry waltzing trough. And killing . And it was steadily moving towards Feemor.
Weirdly enough, the Force had only seemed anticipatory for whatever it was. Which was… counterintuitive, to say the least. Yet even with how sore and hungry Feemor was due to the gentle care of his captors, he was confident that what he felt from the Force was accurate. Accurate but really confusing.
Thus, he did what every good Shadow did in an uncertain situation.
He took a vantage point.
Kinda tricky in a damp, roughly hewn corridor where all you had was your own shit, some rock and the feverish body of a teen you were hellbent on saving. Still, Feemor was nothing if not resourceful, and thus he managed to prop up his very unconscious new ward against an outcropping that would mostly hide him and then use the teen's shoulder as a bit of a stepping stone (listen, he wasn't proud of that one, but tough times…) to squeeze himself against the ceiling in a jagged slit where the rock had cracked. Feemors arms, hands and knees got scraped up worse than a gum jelly against a nexu's tongue, but he bit through it.
"Luminous beings, Feemor," he muttered to himself as the sharp rock cut thousand tiny cuts into his hands, "Luminous beings."
And luminous the beings were, for the man that stepped through the airlock the very next moment positively radiated in the Force from razor focus fury.
It was so blinding that Feemor, when his dark stare snapped towards him, didn't even realize who that was at first.
" Feemor ," the deep voice of the not-so-stranger sent a shiver through the young Shadow's spine.
Yet the next moment his mind was enveloped with a numbing wave of finally/found you/are you okay/I will rain down holy hell on anyone who hurt you.
"G- grandmaster?," Feemor stumbled over the word, because the sight of the impeccably dressed Master Dooku seemed so wrong at that moment that he truly thought this was a mirage or a trick of his eyes.
He could practically see the thunderous anger bleed out of the tall man's frame as he stepped up, the severe face Feemor had only ever known to be pulled into a mildly disapproving frown full of relief and concern.
"Feemor," Master Dooku rumbled again, "Oh dear boy, I am so sorry ."
It… it took him a moment to realize what the Master was referring to.
And then all the neatly compartmentalized and stashed-away-because-there-were-more-pressing-matters feelings crashed down on Feemor again and he let out an ugly sob. He lost even the last bit of grip he'd had on the blood-slickened rock and would have very unceremoniously crashed to the floor, had it not been for his Grandmaster stepping forward and catching him seemingly effortlessly.
Feemor was not embarrassed to say that he clung to the man like a drowning tooka. Master Dooku accepted the sobbing pile of fraying sanity that he was with an open mind, gently extending his own durasteel shields around Feemor who was rapidly losing all control.
For a felt eternity, he just sat there, curled in Master Dooku's arms, and sobbed .
"Have you calmed down?," the Master's gentle voice eventually returned, after Feemor's tears had run out.
Mutely, he shook his head against the broad shoulder. "I don't think I have," he croaked out, then swallowed, "I don't think I can , Master."
A grounding hand landed on his shoulder, warm and steadying.
"That's okay, Grandpadawan-"
Oh and the sweet, sweet relief of him acknowledging Feemor as his lineage still,
"- I didn't expect you to be. What Qui-Gon did was cruel and dangerous ."
Violent shivers returned to Feemor's frame at the mention of his name. It made the bloody, fraying hole where there once had been their bond - distant and cold as it had been - all the more evident.
"I don't… Can we not talk about… him? Right now?," Feemor all but begged, before slowly unpeeling himself from his Grandmaster. Dooku radiated nothing but understanding and support.
"Of course. My bad, Feemor. I should have taken into account…"
With a jittery smile, Feemor looked at the older man and shook his head. "No, it's fine… I- I just really need some meditation time." He took a deep breath. "Then I'll be… I'll manage."
A soft touch of concern wafted over from Master Dooku, but he didn't say anything. Which Feemor appreciated. Truly.
Another squeeze to his shoulder, and Dooku let him go, stepping back and giving him a critical once-over. "Well then, I'd say we leave this depressing piece of rock as fast as possible. My ship has a nice small meditation deck," he said, and then his gaze wandered down to the slowly drying crust of blood on Feemor's extremities, "And a solid supply of bacta for that."
At the mention of medical supplies, Feemor's eyes widened and he skidded around, hastily going over to where he'd stashed his unconscious protégé.
A small sigh escaped him, as he checked the pulse of the sickly teen. He'd been sweaty and cold for the entirety of the time Feemor had been aware of him, and even with the limited Force-healing he'd been able to administer (both due to his own limitations and the desire to not wake any suspicion in their guards) he hadn't woken once. Feemor had the sneaking suspicion that the teen was working through some sort of substance withdrawal, but he couldn't be sure.
Luckily he was just as stable as he'd been before. Clammy and shivering, but stable. Whoever he was, he was made from stern stuff, that much was sure.
Master Dooku made an inquisitive noise when Feemor stemmed himself back up again, swaying slightly from the added weight and the previous blood loss.
He met the Master's gaze. "He needs to come with us."
The Force felt right with that proclamation.
Master Dooku felt skeptical. "Feemor," he stepped closer again, "This will be stretching the resources we have."
Feemor shook his head. "No. The Force is clear. He has to come with us." He looked down on the unconscious face. "Besides," his voice softened, "It's not like a Jedi to abandon someone in need, Master, is it?"
Master Dooku deflated.
He closed his eyes and sighed. "No it is not," he said, "You might be a better Jedi than me already, Feemor."
Feemor hoped that he didn't see just how much that remark threw him.
Master Dooku stepped forward and reached under the teen's body, cutting off Feemor's bubbling protest with a sharp glance. "Out of the two of us, which one is the one with actively bleeding wounds, Knight? I will carry the boy."
There was absolutely no room for discussion left.
Plus, something told Feemor that had it not been for this unconscious stranger, he would have been the one getting carried in Dooku's arms right there. The thought was so awkward that he very quickly banned it from his mind.
Thus, Feemor staggered after the long strides of the older Jedi, shooting apologetic glances to all his fellow… 'miners' that hurriedly scurried out of the way.
"You are free," he told one elderly woman in passing - he'd seen her sit together with many of their fellows on different times and days, using precious moments to tell stories and strengthen slipping minds.
Her eyes, mellow with age and years spent in damp darkness, didn't as much as twitch at his words, but he could feel her mind sharpen.
This was all he could do for them.
For now, at least.
On Dooku's ship he'd be able to contact the ExploraCorps. They would know whom to send here to help more thoroughly.
Then he was sent scurrying after Master Dooku again - the long strides the man took already having put a sizable distance between them.
…
On the third day in space - with no real destination in mind, as neither of the Jedi were much inclined to set back course to Coruscant - Feemor's rescue woke.
It was but for a brief moment, and he was babbling something that could have been either a them unfamiliar language or simple gibberish, but It made Feemor's heart hopeful that he'd soon recover.
"Saleucami is close," Master Dooku murmured as they both came out of their daily meditation. He'd been helping Feemor smooth over the rough edges of the hole where Qui- where Master Jinn had severed their bond. He'd even let him substitute the lost connection by feeding and strengthening their own bond, as tentative as it had been at first. A gesture Feemor was as grateful for as he was touched by it.
"Saleucami?," he asked. What had a small agricultural world like Saleaucami to do with their current situation?
"Mh." The man moved to stand up, neatly fomding the pillow he'd been seated on away into a sideboard. "I've been meaning to stock up on some things." He nodded towards Feemor. "You fit my spare clothes, but I fear anything I've packed would positively swamp your new friend. Who will, without a doubt, want to change as soon as he wakes properly. It will also," he added with a sardonic smile, "Give us the chance to finally eat something other than the same ration packs every day."
That filled Feemor with even more anticipation than the impending return to consciousness of his ward.
If there was one thing he'd never had gotten used to, it was the faint aftertaste of plastiwrap that permeated all the standard ration packs. So he indeed looked forward to some fresh produce.
And Master Dooku, as it turned out, was a very meticulous cook. He had prepared an extensive and detailed list of ingredients he wanted to stock up on, with plans for several to Feemor's mind rather elaborate recipies.
Something he'd never gotten under Master Jinn.
The Force seemed to be on their side, because as they touched down near a mid-sized village, they were informed that it was indeed just market day.
"See," Master Dooku said as he was leading Feemor through the bustling stands, inapecting fruit and vegetables with a critical eye, "You want the kokwash to not give in more than a thumbs width, otherwise they'll be too sweet for a proper iridonian pepper stew."
Feemor, who'd gotten more information on finding the right degree of ripeness of all the local produce, and an ample variation of others, couldn't do anything but nod. Right. Kokwash. That was the red one, right?
As if to prove him wrong, Master Dooku reached right over the bulbous red… somethings and picked up a handful of rather flat, greenish brown mushroom-like growths. With his thumb, he demonstrated to Feemor what he meant, pressing little dents into the apparently rather spongy flesh. Fascinated, Feemor watched it bounce back pretty quickly. That was gonna be interesting to eat.
"Now these ones are pretty young," Dooku continued his commentary, "See how I didn't make a big dent at all? So they are going to be pretty bland still, but if we wait a few days," he started picking out a goodly amount of the kokwash, "They'll be just perfect. We'll take these and one of those packets of keseem." He nodded to the short and stocky twi'lek woman that was manning the stand.
"Do you want me to pack them up for you?," she asked as she had to stretch her arms to reach up to Dooku.
"Yes please, if you'd be so kind young lady."
She giggled a bit at the address and Feemor shot his Grandmaster a curious glance.
Master Dooku shot him a quick wink.
You'll learn that , the man's voice rang out over their newly established bond, a bit of flattery often gets you far in life .
At buying vegetables?
Feemor was confused.
Amongst other things, yes , Master Dooku's amused answer came. At the same time, the twi'lek returned with their purchases and Dooku paid her the worth.
"Thank you for your patronage," she smiled toothily and reached for two of the bulbous red thingies that were not kokwash, "Take these as well, on the house." She too winked. "You look like you've got a bit of a journey behind you. And sour makes happy!"
"It does indeed," Master Dooku replied with an easy smile (that had been another surprising observation Feemor had made: for someone so infamos for his bad temper, Master Dooku smiled quite often and easily).
"Ah, thank you!," Feemor added hastily as he got a soft mental prod.
The seller giggled again and patted his hand as he reached to take the two freebies they had gotten. With a meaningful glance, she said, "You're very welcome, young one. And if you're only half the charmer your father here is, you'll want to come back in two days when my children are taking care of the stand."
Feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, Feemor stammered another thanks and then opted for a quick tactical retreat.
Amusement was speckled all over Master Dooku's presence as he finally caught up with the deathly embarrassed Knight.
"First time getting propositioned?," he asked, sounding genuinely curious, "If it's any solace, she did apologize for scaring you off. Though she assured me that the offer still stood, should you reconsider."
Feemor fidgeted and then held out one of the two red thingies. "No, it's not that," he murmured, not quite managing to look the Master in the eye, "I'm not… You don't mind it?"
"Mind what?"
A deep breath. "Being taken… being taken for my father ." He mumbled the last word so quickly that at first he wasn't sure if Dooku had understood him.
"Ah." Dooku's hand fell onto his shoulder once more - a gesture he'd come to learn the Master was quite fond of. "Be assured. This is something I'm quite accustomed to and indeed do not mind." The amused crinkle to his eyes even indicated quite the opposite. "Something about the height, I believe. It leads people to assume." He chuckled. "It is quite endearing when it happens with people like you and Rael. Less so when it happens with Jocasta."
Feemor choked on air.
"Joc- Master Nu ?!," he asked, horrified.
Dooku regarded him with a grimace. "She did not let anyone live it down for weeks . It was terrifying ."
" That I believe…"
Feemor couldn't even imagine. Someone had taken Master Nu for Master Dooku's daughter ?! Just how blind -...
"Anyways," Master Dooku's voice brought him back to reality, "I think we've stocked up enough to head back, no? If something turns out to be missing, we now know that the market will be back in two days."
That surprised Feemor. "We'll be staying planetside?"
As they walked, Dooku nodded. "Unless you wish to go somewhere else?"
Feemor quickly shook his head.
"Then that's decided. In any case, a bit of sunlight and fresh air will do all of us good. Especially you and the young lad in our medbay, Force knows how long he's been in that mine."
Oh, yes, that was true. Now Feemor felt almost stupid to not have considered that.
Especially when it turned out that their rescue had indeed woken during their absence and had kind of fortified his cot in their sparse medbay. Feemor dumbly stared at the medical scalpel that was brandished against him.
“Uh,” he said, because there was nothing else he could do, “Are you hungry?” He held up the two red fruits - emame they were called, as Dooku had informed him on the way back. “I’m told they are quite nice if you like sweet and sour things.”
That seemed to confuse the stranger for long enough that Feemor could sit down in front of him on the floor without being stabbed. Then he held out one of the emame, offering.
He just got stared at for a long time.
Eventually, with a sigh, he let the thing fall back into his lap.
“So,” he started, leaning back a bit, “I guess you’ll want to know what happened, huh.”
There was a very slow nod from the teen, who seemed to sink back even further into the corner he’d been pressing himself against.
“Well. I - my name’s Feemor, by the way - kinda ended up in the same mine as you. Got caught spying on smugglers, uh, nasty stuff.” He grimaced. “When I got there you were already in pretty bad shape, so you might not remember me. You seemed halfway lucid the first two or so days, but afterwards… not so much. I’m not-... my people are very much against slavery and especially that of children, so… I kinda tried to keep you alive? And out of the view of the overseers?” Feemor paused, giving the teen some time to say something in response if he so wished to.
Evidently he didn’t, as all he got was further stares.
“Okay, so, days pass. I’m definitely planning our daring escape. But turns out, that’s not needed because my Gra-... uh, my,” Feemor hesitated. Revealing that they were Jedi was probably gonna raise more questions than answers to be honest. And Feemor wasn’t sure if he wanted to answer those questions. Everything was still too raw, too connected to Qui-Gon Jinn.
“My… father,” was what he eventually settled on, though not without a cringe and some heat in his cheeks, “He, uh, came in and rescued me. And by extension, you.”
Yeah, he’d definitely have to get their cover straight with Master Dooku after this.
“So I guess, long story short: we’re out of the mine, I’m pretty sure your body’s purged whatever the kriff they put in you by now, your fever is minimal and I guess you can stay with us for the moment? Unless there is somewhere you need to be?”
Right, maybe the kid had family somewhere. They’d be worried!
For a long time, nothing happened.
Then, there was a choked sound - somewhere between a porg being flattened by a tire and a constipated bith taking a deep breath.
Feemor watched as the teen was gripped by such a violent shiver, that he let the scalpel fall from his fingers. As if a dam had broken - and oh, didn’t Feemor find this schene awfully familiar - his rescue crumpled in on himself, drawing the flimsy blanket around him even tighter and just sobbed. It was ugly and wet and Feemor stayed for the entirety of it, because just leaving would have been even more awkward.
When finally the tears ran dry, that was when he dared to stand up. As slowly and non threateningly as possible, he righted himself, painfully aware of his own height (someone once had made a joke about the tall people genes running in the lineage, that joke now felt bitter).
Just as slowly and consciously, he drew some water from a tank and set the small plasticup next to the teen’s bedside.
“Here, you’ll need the hydration,” he said, gently, “I’ll go and ask if there's some light soup we can get you, for some additional salts and nutrients.”
The teen did nothing but stare at him blankly for the entirety of it, but just as Feemor was about to step out, he heard something behind him.
Softly spoken words.
Not in any language he knew, but the intent behind them was clear. Tentative gratefulness rang out all around him in the Force, and Feemor’s heart felt lighter.
…
“So,” Dooku drawled as he stirred the gritty soup he’d thrown together on Feemor’s request, “Your father, huh? That was quick.”
Immediately, predictable as a clockwork, the Knight flinched and went red as a river shrimp.
“Y- you heard that?! ” Feemor’s voice was squeaky like that of a young Padawan.
Dooku hummed. “Of course I did, Grandpadawan mine. Knowing what happens on one’s ship at any time is an essential skill for a good pilot and captain.”
The Knight groaned and buried his face in his hands.
Laughing soundlessly, he continued stirring the soup.
How had he ever let Qui-Gon keep him from this sweet boy? It truly was a tragedy. One he deeply came to regret now.
…
Life on Saleucami was slow.
Feemor watched Master Dooku - or Yan, rather, as the Master had told him to call him (“Calling me by my last name is strange, if we are posing as father and son, no?”) - take continuously more cuttings of various plants and trees that ended up in small glas containers all over the ship.
“A bit of greenery does wonders for the nerves, especially on long days in space,” he’d said, when Feemor had questioned him about it.
In the beginning it reminded him a bit too much of what Master Jinn used to do, but he didn’t mention it. They didn’t talk about Jinn.
They didn’t talk about the Jedi Order in general, and sometimes Feemor silently wondered if they had… left.
Could they have left?
Like this?
Surely there were procedures to be observed, right? After all, Feemor had been (was?) a Shadow and Master Dooku was on the High Council.
Leaving couldn’t be that easy.
Could it?
Feemor didn’t want to ask.
Any answer he could have gotten seemed daunting in its own way.
Luckily there were enough other things to occupy his mind with. Master Dooku for one, when he wasn’t implementing gratuitous freestyle landscape gardening on their surroundings, was hell-bent on teaching him all the recipes he could think of.
And Jango, as the rescued youth had revealed himself to be named, was hell bent on criticizing the spice level of each and every one of Dooku’s dishes.
“How do you like it?,” Master Dooku would ask, without fail.
And without fail, Jango would try whatever had been set in front of him, scowl and say, “It’s a bit bland, isn’t it?”
To which Dooku would respond with a sharp smile that did not reach his eyes and purposely make the next dish even blander .
It was torture! Because if Feemor ever got back to the Temple, who would possibly believe him that Master Dooku, Master of Makashi and renowned High Councilor, had entertained an incredibly petty rivalry over spices with a teenager !
But it made Jango open up.
At least partially.
The boy still got a haunted look in his eyes and positively dripped guilt whenever one of them tried to bring up his family, if he still had one and if he had someone or somewhere to return to.
Whatever he was eating into himself, it probably wasn’t healthy. But neither Feemor nor Dooku were qualified mind healers, so all they could do was back off and accept the fact that the kid did not want to share what he did not want to share.
Life on Saleucami was slow, but steady.
Something Feemor hadn’t ever realized he had missed in his life so far. At least since he got out of the Crèches. Master Jinn had always dragged him off to some new mission, sometimes quite literally in the middle of the night, and most of them had gone wrong in some capacity. Then, his life as a Shadow after his Knighting hadn't been much stabler - new aliases, false identities, stakeouts and quick retreats. There had been very few moments of respite.
Very few moments to just be .
And yet he found himself taking quite well to this lifestyle.
(Maybe Xanatos had been right after all. Maybe he was destined for a life as a farmer.)
(For some reason that thought didn’t sting anymore.)
(Probably because anyone who’d sat through Jango’s passionate rant about how being a farmer was an honored and important occupation and no less taxing and demanding than the life of a warrior could not in good conscience continue looking down on farmers.) (And if they did, well, Jango’s revenge was swift and deadly.)
(The boy had opinions and he knew how to defend them.)
It had been eye opening, really. To observe the rather small teen, especially if you compared him to both Feemor and Dooku, start a passionate discussion about correct crop rotation practices with one of the local stable hands and win. In both the verbal dispute and the subsequent wrestling match, in which he brought the two-heads-taller-and-twice-his-weight-class stable hand down in a matter of seconds.
The kid was vicious when he wanted to be, and it triggered all the wrong instincts in Master Dooku.
Master Dooku, who, two days after that illuminating fight, had woken them before sunrise and declared that from that day onwards they were all going to train together.
‘Train with what,’ Feemor had wanted to ask, because surely Dooku wasn’t about to whip out his lightsaber now, but it turned out that his apprehensions were completely unfounded.
Why?
Because somehow, the man had managed to locate and obtain a bunch of older-style, full length vibroblades.
All Feemor could do was stare.
And Jango stared as well, though for an entirely different reason.
“You can fight ?,” his young voice sounded entirely disbelieving.
“I would like to think, so, yes,” Master Dooku retorted with a sharp smile, while trying out a Makashi-style flourish with one blade in his off-hand. He frowned a bit, redistributed the weight of the blade in his hand and repeated the movement. Then he switched hands, repeating the motion.
Then he tossed the blade to Feemor, who hastily fumbled to catch it.
“Ataru might be difficult with these,” the Master warned, “And I am correct in assuming that was your main form under Qui-Gon?”
Feemor nodded numbly.
“Stick with Shii-Cho then for the time being, you do remember your basics, yes?”
“Of course!” Feemor was actually more fond of the First Form than of Form Four, something that had repeatedly caused Jinn quite the distress.
“As for you,” Dooku turned to the curiously watching Jnago, voice in full teaching mode, “Have you ever received formal training in any sort of long saberforms?”
To Feemor’s surprise, the teen actually nodded and grabbed a vibroblade of his own, demonstratively swinging it around in a few, sharp movements. They were closer to the body than lightsaber forms and Feemor believed to make out a few sequences where Jango kind of fumbled through it, but it was impressive.
Dooku seemed to think so as well.
“Very good. It looks like you have a solid foundation,” he nodded, then tilted his head ever so slightly, “I am curious though, where did you learn this? I’m not at all familiar with these forms.”
“Uhm,” Jango immediately got that skittish look in his eyes that meant he was about to clam up again, “My family taught me.”
“Fascinating,” Dooku murmured, entirely unawares of the declining mood it seemed, “A family of both farmers and warriors, how nostalgic. You don’t perchance come from Serenno?” He laughed a little at that.
“Ah, no,” Jango shook his head slowly.
But he never said where he did come from.
Yet Dooku didn’t seem to care much. “Well then, let’s see how you hold up against an opponent. Feemor, only base forms please. No advanced forms and no Knight ones. Jango use everything you’ve got.”
Feemor made a betrayed grimace.
And Jango scowled as well. “Are you underestimating me?,” he demanded to know, an indignant crease between his brows.
“No,” Dooku smiled languidly, “I’m just giving you a fair fight, young one. You do not underestimate Feemor. Now to your positions, you two. The morning won’t take forever.”
…
Slowly Feemor understood why Master Jinn had only ever scowled when he’d talked about training under Master Dooku.
The man led a brutal regimen.
…
These people were weird. Very weird.
Which made them feel more like family than Jango wanted to acknowledge.
And it felt good, getting to move his body again, free of restraints and the fog on his mind. To hold a weapon again (they had trusted him with a weapon, even if they did not know him at all).
It made him forget about the shame.
The shame of being captured and sold off by that hut’uun Montross. The shame of being stripped of his armor, of his name, of his soul .
There was no way he could face Jaster like this. Without his beskar’gam , the beskar’gam that Jaster had forged from his own aliit’s memorabilia. The beskar’gam that had carried the souls of so many members of Clan Mereel before him. The beskar’gam that Jango. Had. Lost .
He shouldn’t be forgetting.
Jango should be planning revenge.
He gripped the hilt of the blade tighter.
He would get it back. He would get his soul back and bring down Montross and only then would he face Jaster and beg for forgiveness.
No excuses.