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“How did...I misestimate so badly?”
It was the first thing Darth Dyn had said since returning. Its tone was sad, regretful, distant; like he didn't realise that he had spoken at all. Nakai gave no sound in reaction for fear of spooking him, but instead resumed gently combing his Master's long greying red hair, hoping that Dyn would speak more if he desired to.
It was again quiet for some time until:
“Nakai?”
“Yes My Lord?” His reply was instinctive. Dyn slowly turned his half dressed red form to his butler and placed his hands on Nakai's shoulders.
“How many times? I'm your uncle. Just 'Dyn' will be fine.”
“Yes m-Dyn.” Nakai shook his head, “Is something wrong?”
“You have had experience with Jedi as well. What would you say to the idea of a Jedi abandoning injured people who are escaping a damaged ship?” The tone of the first thing he had said had returned, was he perhaps remembering something else from the incident?
Nakai was hesitant in responding, not so sure that he should be speaking of this at this time, about to suggest that his Master should instead return to bed. Dyn strengthened the grip on Nakai's shoulder in response to his hesitation; he wanted to speak about this, now.
“...it is not something I would expect from a Jedi in my experience.” Dyn's fiery orange eyes explored Nakai's face quickly.
“Nor mine. They left, all of them, abandoning two ships of the injured. But why? Why could I not see that happening, why did I not think that would happen?” Those eyes seemed to suddenly lose their fire as they instead filled with tears, “I relied upon knowing that he was a Jedi, that and his name are all I really know. I thought that he would act like a Jedi, and I was wrong. I made a gross error I regret, and they are both gone because of it!”
Nakai pulled his uncle into a hug, allowing the elder Sith to cry into his shoulder. With a thought, he reached into Dyn's box of hair jewellery and pulled out a bead – a larger golden bead enamelled in green the Sith word Qyâsik; The Force. He lightly threaded the bead into his uncle's hair, making Dyn look at him questioningly with a damp reddened eye. Dyn ran his own hand through his hair, pausing at the bead, before burying his face again in understanding.
“...it's Khadae's bead, I think that is where it belongs...”