#thanks charm for beta reading

[purple-ant]

Poison

The beam of light from the funeral pyre thins, and Jedi slowly leave the hall. Everyone is silent. Only Rael asks to be left alone with the cooling ashes. Dooku closes the doors as quietly as possible, not taking his eyes off the hunched shoulders of his old Padawan until the last moment. The shell of Nim's lightsaber burned down along with her, but the heart of the blade - the kyber - is held tightly by Rael in his hands.

The narrow corridor is not filled with Jedi for long. It is late, the Padawans are already dozing in the arms of their Masters, exhausted beyond their years with grief for their friend. Dooku does not move far from the door, he stops near the stained glass window, his hood pulled up mourning. The funeral floor is too low for sunlight, so soft lanterns behind colored glass are the only thing that disperses the darkness.

The initial disbelief and shock have passed, and Dooku feels empty. Death is never fair, it does not choose, and there are no other reasons for it other than human greed... But still, Dooku wants to helplessly ask. Why Nim? Why, of all the lights of the Galaxy, was this one, young and untouched, extinguished?

Dooku feels old.

“I didn’t expect you to come,” Qui-Gon’s voice sounds in the solemn silence, Dooku does not take his devastated gaze from the stained glass window. There is no image, a simple familiar pattern of circles and straight lines.

“I barely made it,” he admits. The flight to the Temple seems short, wild and at the same time a blurry moment to him: one second he ends negotiations and receives a ragged, stumbling message from Rael, and the next he is breaking through Coruscant traffic. “She was my grandpadawan.”

Was.

Qui-Gon gives a low chuckle and Dooku blinks, finally turning his head to look at his old Padawan. The young man's gaze is gloomy, and the dim light does not smooth out the heavy wrinkles that have appeared on his face in recent months.

“Is there something wrong?”

All wrong. Nim is dead. The child is dead, killed, and his first Padawan is broken with grief and guilt.

“I didn’t know you cared about your grandpadawans,” Qui-Gon answers defiantly. “It’s not like you care about Xanatos.”

For a second, Dooku is sure that he heard wrong. An auditory hallucination caused by nervous exhaustion is not something he experiences often, but... The silence rings.

“What?” he asks anyway, giving Qui-Gon a chance to think carefully about his next words.

“You weren't so concerned when Xanatos left,” Qui-Gon repeats, and the emptiness inside Dooku flares with cold anger. He can feel the flashes trailing behind the billowing flaps of his cloak as he whirls around to face his second Padawan.

“Do you dare,” he mutters through clenched teeth, “to compare this boy’s selfish flight with Nim’s death?”

“The Council should not have sent him on that mission!” Qui-Gon puts forward the usual argument. “At least this time they listened to common sense,” his gaze slides to the locked doors.

The Council is going to investigate this mission in a special manner, considering that Rael's actions lead to Nim's death. They were given time for the funeral and mourning, but nothing more.

“Do you... agree with them?” Dooku can hardly believe it. Rael has supported Qui-Gon since he became Dooku's Padawan, the boys were like brothers, and yet Qui-Gon looks into his eyes without doubt.

“Yes. You yourself noted that Rael loves battles more than a Jedi should. Apparently Padawan Pianna was the one who paid for this…”

“Silence!”

The word, the order, echoes down the corridor like a clap of thunder, and Qui-Gon falls silent. His eyes widen in shock for a second, and then narrow, as if he has confirmed something. Dooku had hoped never to feel this way about his Padawans, his lineage, but his fingertips tingle with cold, furious energy, and he presses his hand closer to his body, clenching his fists.

“It’s time for you to let this go, Qui-Gon,” Dooku bites every word. “And if you cannot do this, then keep your poison to yourself, and do not turn it against Rael. He doesn't need it now.”

“This is not poison, Dooku, this is the truth that you do not want to see because of your attachment! Why is it that when I lose a padawan everyone turns away, but when Rael kills-”

The blow is short and not very good, it reverberates with pain in Dooku’s tightly clenched hand, his nails digging into his palm. For a moment he thinks he has done more damage to himself than to the Master in front of him, but Qui-Gon stumbles back, clutching his nose.

Two ragged breaths drown in the ensuing silence. Slowly, Qui-Gon moves his hands away from his face and looks at the blood staining his fingers, black in the twilight, then the disbelieving gaze of his blue eyes turns to Dooku.

“I knew it.”

“Get out of my sight.”

“The Force will judge,” Qui-Gon leaves the last word and departs. Slowly Dooku unclenches his fists. The emptiness returns even heavier than before.

He returns to the entrance to the hall, unable to stand still any longer. He would never have thought that Qui-Gon would say something like that. Where did Dooku go wrong?

The faded presence of his first Padawan is closer than Dooku expects, and as he opens the heavy doors he is instantly confronted with an ashen, dark gaze.

“Rael...” Dooku isn’t sure what he’s going to say.

“No need,” the prematurely aged Jedi shakes his head too quickly, “...in the end, he’s right.”