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Yan Dooku was irritated. He was supposed to be hurtling through hyperspace on his way back to the Temple after a long and arduous diplomatic mission, when he had been forced to land on a barely inhabited planet named Stewjon to top up the ship’s oil. Thankfully, that was something he had on board, as he was not in the mood to barter with the locals for oil.
There was only one main settlement on Stewjon, a large village that could not be home to anymore than a thousand beings, and Dooku carefully landed his ship just outside of the settlement. Close enough to civilisation if his ship failed him, and far enough away to make a quick escape.
Despite detesting the task, Dooku easily topped up his ships oil. All Jedi were taught how to fly, maintain, and repair ships; they could not rely on droids to constantly be around, nor all of the galaxy’s mechanics to harbour positive feelings towards the Jedi. Dooku looked down at his hands, nose scrunching in disgust as oil stained them. The Force guided him to a wild and rushing river nearby, surrounded by the lush vegetation of the planet, and he knelt to wash away the oil.
“Stop crying!” A woman’s voice shouted.
Dooku’s head shot up, though he remained crouched down, using the plants as camouflage to assess the situation. An angry looking woman stood a little further up the river, holding a squirming child in her arms. The woman looked flustered, her cheeks red and her brow pinched as she held her child at the edge of the water. It was possible that the river was used by the nearby village for bathing, and that this was simply a child protesting bath time, but something in the Force told Dooku to stay, that something was not quite right.
The child had an iron grip on his mothers clothing, as she pulled him from her chest, holding him under his arms, away from her. The little boy was perhaps around two galactic standard years old, his lip trembling and tears streaming down his face as he reached out to his mother.
“Obi-Wan Kenobi, I renounce you as my child! I cast you out!”
Dooku’s heart was in his throat as the mother dropped her baby into the wild waters below and took off sprinting away from the river. He didn’t think as he jumped into the water, pulling the little boy out of the strong current. The child, Obi-Wan, struggled against him, choking and spluttering on all the water he’d swallowed, fear weighing heavily in the Force. Of course, if the child’s own mother had done this to him, why would he think a stranger would save him? He let go of the child, if only to make the boy feel safer, and carefully watched as the child coughed up water before facing Dooku, his body language defensive and frightened.
Obi-Wan was bleeding from tiny cuts and scratches from the sharp river rocks, and Dooku reached out with the Force to assess for internal damage, but when he reached out he was suddenly met with a ball of warm light and feelings of sadscaredhurt.
Dooku prodded with the Force, and Obi-Wan’s head shot up, staring at Dooku with unsettlingly blue eyes. The boy was Force sensitive.
‘Hello, Obi-Wan. My name is Yan Dooku, can you tell me where you are hurt?”
Nothing but Obi-Wan’s ragged breathing filled the silence.
Dooku reached out in the Force again, projecting safetyhelpcare to Obi-Wan, keeping his hands visible so that the little boy did not feel threatened. Obi-Wan’s young and clumsy force presence tentatively reached back.
‘Help me?’
“Yes, little one, I will help you.”
Obi-Wan reached out, his hands in the universal ‘pick me up’ position.
Taking off his robe to wrap the little boy in, Dooku did just that, carrying the shivering little thing back to his ship. Obi-Wan grasped the robe in his tiny fists, and rested his head in the crook of Dooku’s neck, his ragged and rapid breathing slowing into something much more calm. The boy lifted his head back up when they arrived at the ship, his eyes widening in awe. Stewjon was did not receive many tourists, and its natives rarely left, and so the sight of a ship was a novelty to the child.
Entering the ship, he set Obi-Wan down on the bed, and retrieved a towel and a tunic.
“We shall put your clothes in the dryer, but for now we must get you dry and into something warm. Is that alright with you, little one?” Dooku asked.
Obi-Wan nodded, and they quickly peeled off his sodden clothes and towelled him dry. The tunic was a floor-length gown on the Stewjoni boy, but it would have to do as a temporary measure. The boy seemed pleased with the tunic, anyhow, pulling his knees to his chest inside the tunic to stay warm.
“May I clean your cuts, Obi-Wan?”
Obi-Wan pointed to a deep looking gash on his arm with a serious expression. “Ouchie.”
Dooku nodded. “Ouchie indeed, little one. This will make it feel better.”
Carefully the Jedi Master applied bacta to all of Obi-Wan’s cuts and scraps, adding slightly more than strictly necessary on the ones the child pointed to and declared that they were ‘Very ouchie.’
He gave Obi-Wan a cup of water and mashed muja fruit before sitting down next to him.
“I am a Jedi, little one. Have you heard of that?”
Obi-Wan shook his head, his face covered in muja fruit.
Dooku used the sleeve of his robe to wipe the child’s face, although he would deny such a thing to anyone who asked. He had a reputation as the indomitable Master of Makashi to uphold.
“We are peacekeepers of the Galaxy and we use our gift of the Force to help those in need. We live in a Temple on the planet Coruscant. We have gardens and pools and libraries, as well as a creche, where you would live. Would you like to come back to the Jedi with me?” He explained as simply as he could. There was no way he was returning the boy to the mother who had just tried to kill him.
“Yes pwease.”
Dooku smiled, another thing he would deny to any of his peers. After the excitement of the day, Obi-Wan’s eyes were drooping, and the Master tucked the child into bed before setting course of Coruscant. He was no Finder, he preferred the challenging task of diplomacy. He certainly felt no natural inclination for being a Seeker, and yet he was infinitely glad that his ship had forced him to stop on Stewjon. The child he had Found was a beacon of light, and more importantly, polite. Perhaps the boy would join his lineage one day…perhaps Rael could be persuaded into meeting little Kenobi in the creche.
Obi-Wan had slept for most of the journey back to Coruscant, only waking briefly to eat another snack and change into his now dry clothes. Whilst the boy had slept, Dooku had commed the Temple about his charge, arranging for Master Yoda and Healer Che to meet them on the landing dock.
“Obi-Wan, time to wake up.”
Obi-Wan grumbled in the bed, his hair standing up all over the place as it had been allowed to dry in his sleep. He rubbed a tiny fist to his eyes, his body still drooping with exhaustion. He held his arms out to Dooku.
“Pwease.”
And who was Dooku to say no to a tired, traumatised child? He set Obi-Wan on his hip, the little boy immediately curling into him and closing his eyes, and so the esteemed Master Dooku exited his ship, bag in one hand, and sleeping youngling in the other.
He greeted his former Master and the healer on the landing dock, the youngling in his arms oblivious to all conversation as he dozed.
“A bright future, I sense this youngling has.” Yoda declared.
“He will be well taken care of in the Halls, Master Dooku.” Healer Che reassured him.
“I am sure he will,” Dooku agreed, before transferring the sleeping child into her arms.
Healer Che turned back towards the Temple, where Obi-Wan would be assessed by Healers far more competent than himself before being settled into a creche clan.
“May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
Obi-Wan’s copper head popped up from Healer Che’s shoulder, his eyes immediately finding Dooku.
“Bye bye. Fank you.” Obi-Wan waved.