Thank you all for the wonderful reviews. Sorry this took so long!
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A true Jedi is detached. It is a profession that can ill afford to show even the slightest bit of prejudice or partiality, let alone a display of any real emotion, love, hate, anger, fear. A true Jedi knows none of these things. A true Jedi is impartial and unbiased and dispassionate. Devoid of passion.
A real Jedi is nothing of the sort. They are chock full of opinion and bias and preference. They like and dislike, in matters great and small. That they rarely display these emotions has earned them a reputation for aloofness, some might even say cold-heartedness. That they do not allow themselves to be ruled by these sentiments has led many to errantly believe that they do not have them.
Most real Jedi are skillfully adept at keeping these aberrations well hidden.
But Dooku is the master.
To say you could see into the true heart of Dooku by the expression on his face would be to say you could see the bottom of the ocean by looking at its sunlit swells.
And so to cover a petty annoyance with a bland, even pleasant smile is nothing to him.
And he is annoyed. On the surface he is the picture of polite attentiveness, listening carefully to what the Senator has to say, when in all truth he can barely stand to hear another word.
His padawan is once again a master, and Dooku resents having to hear of it from a stranger.
Some small fair-minded corner of Dooku's psyche acknowledges that the blame for this is entirely his own. But little used to self-reproach his ire soon finds another mark.
He turns a critical eye on his companion and suddenly cannot fathom how he could have found such a ridiculous creature even mildly amusing. Every unfortunate gesture, every turn of phrase the Senator chooses only serves to increase his annoyance. Taylar's affected mannerisms gall. His tone of voice offends. All at once Dooku finds the man intolerable. Behind a mask of affable complacency Dooku privately catalogs a list of defects that make further conversation unbearable.
It is late. The dictates of civility, which Dooku follows when it suits him, would allow him to feign fatigue and bid the Senator good night. And yet he stays.
A less distracted Dooku should have been shocked to discover the amount of information an outsider has managed to garner on the simple life of a Jedi student, a young boy who in all likelihood has spent most of his days within the sheltered confines of the Jedi Temple.
The name, Obi-Wan Kenobi, means nothing to Dooku.
He is human. Thank the Force for small favors.
Thirteen standard years old. No Jedi prodigy this one.
And it seems the boy was slated, here Dooku almost excuses the Senator's condescending tone, for the Agricultural Corps on some backwater planet. But somehow Qui-Gon intervened.
Oh Padawan, another unwanted stray.
It is not that Dooku objects to Qui-Gon taking another apprentice. Quite the contrary, he recalls offering the same bit of unwanted advice the last time they met.
The galaxy inexorably moves forward. No man, not even a Jedi, can change the natural order of things. Planets spin, new stars ignite, old stars burnout. And the wisdom of the Jedi is passed from master to learner as it has been for thousands of years. Dooku believes that is as it should be.
His own experience as a master has left him a changed man. To be master to another one must first master oneself. And Dooku knows he is stronger for having been Qui-Gon's master. Unfortunately he is not entirely sure he can say the same of Qui-Gon's experience with his own padawans.
Oh, there is no doubt that his apprentice has become a very powerful Jedi, one of the elite, if such a distinction were openly acknowledged among Jedi. Qui-Gon is everything a Jedi should be, a statesman, a warrior, wise in the ways of the Force, and a skilled swordsman, one of the order's best. He is, as the Senator so aptly put it, a fine figure of a Jedi.
But the eyes of his master are very sharp and ever critical, and these watchful eyes have discovered the chink in the armor of perfect Jedi. Although Dooku would not go so far as to use the dreaded word of attachment, he admits that Qui-Gon has perhaps given too much of himself to his padawans. As a master, as it has been his way in all things, Qui-Gon has lived in the moment, saving nothing for the future. And the future has not been kind.
Dooku reluctantly admits that the quiet reserve Qui-Gon has shown in recent years is not the result of his master's many frustrated attempts to teach the boy some necessary caution. It was hard won by his experience with Xanatos.
And yet Dooku is sure that hidden somewhere behind Qui-Gon's new carefully guarded exterior there lies an old weakness, a lingering soft spot for his former padawan. Even in the fiend Xanatos has become Qui-Gon is sure to see useless fragments of the young boy who was once his apprentice. He will find it difficult to kill such a monster.
It is a cruel thing to be forced to destroy one's own apprentice. But the universe is a cruel place. Dooku never shielded his padawan from that truth.
Nor himself.
He cannot place the exact moment that he came to his decision, but his mind is made up and he will not change it again. Xanatos must be dealt with, but Dooku will play no part in it. It is a task that must be borne by Qui-Gon. And he must do so alone, without the help of his old master. Dooku was never one to coddle his apprentice and he is not about to begin now.
A Jedi does not cling to the past. But it is only with a certain hollow emptiness that Dooku reluctantly lets go of his. He was foolish to think he could ever go back. He and Qui-Gon will never again be master and apprentice as they once were.
It is possible for a master and padawan to form a different kind of bond as they grow older, many have done it. Dooku could still play some part in the life of his former apprentice. He could relinquish the role of master for the role of friend and confident. There is no need for the distance between them.
No. Qui-Gon would welcome his old master, of that Dooku is certain. Just as he is certain that his opinions about the boy, the new apprentice, inevitable of course, will not be welcome.
"Oh my! Such an unfortunate end to all of your hard work. I wonder if it might not be wise to intervene before the situation gets out of hand. Don't you agree, Master Dooku?"
The mind of a Jedi is a truly amazing thing. For even in the deepest moments of introspection Dooku remains perfectly aware of his surroundings. Aware that the motion tracking lights of the terrace have grown dim and that he now sits with the Senator in near darkness, aware of the turn in conversation, of each of the Senator's comments and questions, and of each of his own politic replies.
Aware too that the situation inside the reception hall, to which the Senator refers, has subtly changed. He can feel the growing tension and unrest even from a distance. There is too an obvious physical separation, through the doorway he can see that opposing sides no longer mingle together but have entrenched themselves on opposite sides of the room.
"Of course Senator, it is sometimes the way of these things. In diplomacy there are often minor setbacks on the path to true accord. And I agree. It would be best to intercede before something regrettable occurs. Shall we?"
Or perhaps a shade less than perfectly aware, for as he stands and graciously bids the Senator to precede him through the doorway, there is one small thing that he fails to notice. It might be nothing at all really, a trick of light and shadow. But in the half moment before the lights glimmer on a close observer might notice something truly odd about Taylar's demeanor. Gone is the vacuous expression that normally resides on the Senator's face. His eyes glint with an uncharacteristic intensity, as a predator eyes its prey. Then, in an instant, the dangerous look is smoothed over by the innocuous mask of politician
Had those sharp eyes caught a rare glint into the inner workings of the mind of one of the greatest Jedi of his time? Had the Senator perhaps unearthed a clue to the complex brilliance that lies hidden beneath the carefully subtle exterior?
For Dooku is a frighteningly complex being. He does nothing without a reason. Often more than one reason. the reason he tells himself why he has chosen to do or not do some particular thing. And the real reason. And in this instance, they are two very different things.
In his mind he is resolute. Leaving Qui-Gon to face Xanatos alone is an unfortunate necessity. A final test, if you will, to push him, as Dooku has always pushed him, to make him stronger, to make him harder. To better arm him against the future so that no new padawan can inflict damage like the last one. He believes this rationale because it is flavored with a bit of truth.
The real reason he cannot face his padawan is buried somewhere deep inside him and is likely to stay there. Because it tastes a lot like fear.
Though he knows nothing of this boy, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Dooku knows his own padawan well. There is a chance even now that the danger has not passed. The walls Qui-Gon has carefully built up are not completely unassailable. There is a vulnerability in Qui-Gon that Dooku finds unsettling.
Unsettling because of its vague familiarity.
And here at last we come to the true reason that Dooku stays away. For it is only when he sees Qui-Gon and especially Qui-Gon in his role as master that Dooku is reminded of his own dark secret. A secret he keeps even from himself. Only in rare moments of perfect candor will Dooku admit to himself that he has perhaps let his own padawan matter in a way that is unwise for a Jedi.
For you see Dooku too has a flaw in his armor. It is not easy to spot for it is well out of the way and he is careful to keep the surface well polished. Most days even he can forget it exists and others rarely look beyond the brilliant sheen on the surface. The very few who know have kept silent.
That a great Jedi has fallen just short of perfection is indeed noteworthy, but of little interest to any but the strictest adherents to the Jedi code, and Dooku does not count himself among these. But that the Senator would find this lapse in perfection a subject for intense examination is very curious indeed.
Or perhaps the Senator's odd behavior should merely be put down to the effects of some very potent spirits, Corellian Brandy has borne the blame for much worse, which could also account for some rather uncharacteristic behavior on the part of Dooku himself.
For it is remarkable that such a well organized mind, a mind trained to examine situations from all angles, should fail to pose one fundamental question. That for all his reason and logic, for all his critical assessment of the master-padawan relationship, that not once did Dooku ask himself what he would do if he were to find himself in Qui-Gon's situation. Not once did he ask himself what difficulties he would face were he to find himself at serious odds with his own padawan, on opposite sides of an epic moral dilemma.
The thought never even occurred to him.
tbc