"Sapphire comes from the Greek sappheiros meaning 'blue color'. Sapphire has the deepest blue of all mineral kingdom; it is also the strongest of all blue stones. Sapphire is one of the four precious gemstones, the other three being the diamond, the ruby, and the emerald. Sapphire is second only to the diamond in its strength. It rates 9 on the Mohs scale of hardness." -The Spruce website
"Royalty often wore sapphires for dual purposes. Not only did the stone reputedly attract wealth, it also purportedly protected the wearer from envy and infidelity." –Gem Society Website
"And they saw the God of Israel: and there was under His feet as it were a paved work of a sapphire stone, and as it were the body of heaven in His clearness." –Exodus 24:10
"A great sapphire it was whose light and cradle
Held all things; there were the delights of skies, though
Its cloudless blue was different; of sea and meadow,
But their shapes not seen, The stone unheld was mine."
-W.S. Merwin
A-A-A
PROLOGUE
The throne room was the same as Thrawn had remembered it from the first time he had been brought before Emperor Palpatine. The simple décor stood in contrast to the intimidating size of the room; the red-robed guards flanking the Emperor's demure throne. There was no need to boast of his power with grand statues or elaborate tapestries. The leader of the galaxy ruled by his will alone.
The Emperor listened in silence for several minutes while Thrawn commented on the logic and benefits of continued funding for his exclusive TIE defender program. Such a magnificent high-tech weapon would shift the tide of this terrible war, ending the conflict and bringing only victory for His Majesty.
"I am aware of your project's rivalry against 'Stardust'," the Emperor said at last. He leaned back in his throne, shadows descending over his wrinkled face. "Tarkin believes that Director Krennic has been using 'Stardust' to override all standard protocol and advance his own career."
"Then the project is in danger?" Thrawn murmured quietly.
"It is not." There was a note of confirmation in the Emperor's voice that Thrawn dared not oppose.
"As for your TIE defender factory…"
The Chiss remained passive, refusing to reveal the slightest gesture of weakness. He watched the Emperor wave a hand regally through the air.
"I will see to it that you are provided with generous funding," the Emperor announced. "In return, all I ask is that you complete a single task for me."
"Of course, your majesty."
The Emperor's lips parted, revealing a glimmer of his teeth. "Bring me Ezra Bridger," he commanded.
The Chiss' eyes widened slightly but Thrawn kept his lips sealed. What could the Emperor want with the boy? He was a bumbling reckless youth who constantly stood on the brink of danger, a liability to the Rebel Alliance and those around him.
As if reading his thoughts, the Emperor explained to him.
"I have felt the disturbance in the Force when Kanan Jarrus sacrificed himself for his crew. A noble act, worthy of a Jedi. Now his death has created shockwaves in the galaxy that can change the future of the Force. With his presence absent in this world, the opportunity to make those changes must fall to another.
"Without his master, the Jedi apprentice is weak and lost. This is a chance to regain what was lost to the Sith centuries ago. The boy can yet open the portal that I require."
The Emperor placed his palms upon the throne and rose from his seat. "Complete this mission for me and I will deny you nothing, Mith'raw'nuorodo."
Thrawn crossed a fist over his chest and bowed to him.
"As you wish, your majesty."
End of prologue
A-A-A
Present
Insects shrilled in the trees sending vibrations of pain into Ezra's ears. He let out a weary sigh, squinting against the blinding heat of a sun that pierced through the tree. He rose slowly to his feet, brain and limbs fatigued from yet another sleepless night.
He remembered the fight over Lothal. The pergil had been summoned and seized control of the star destroyers, crashing into the Empire's mightiest ships and smashing them apart into metallic splinters. Ezra had poured every drop of energy that the Force allowed him into his body, willing the creatures to do what must be done.
Never mind the tempting offer of the Emperor. Never mind the red guards who nearly electrocuted him with their instruments. Never mind the lash of heat when Thrawn had fired his blaster into Ezra's shoulder.
No, what mattered was the message of the Force that took hold of Ezra as he and the pergil had mastered the Chiamera and driven into the depths of space.
"Keep Lothal safe. Run. Get away. You will return home."
He had been composed the entire time, his soul's essence merging with the will of the Force guiding Ezra on a wave of courage. But after the ship had crashed into this thick jungle world and left Ezra alone in waking conscious, fear and doubt tormented him every day. He had walked miles back and forth in confusion, looking for any troopers or officers that might have survived. But no one answered his calls, even when he yelled until his voice grew hoarse.
He staggered in a circle and instantly winced at the deepening growl in his stomach. He had scavenged the bits of the Chiamera that had fallen out of the sky and found small containers of Imperial rations but these meager bits soon ran out. Anything else came from whatever vegetation he could find, chew, and swallow.
Ezra ran a hand through his matted hair. No matter how many times he had rinsed it in a nearby pond, it felt greasy and matted by the next day. His left shoulder blade was also doing poorly. Ever since the attack his wound refused to heal properly. Ezra tried to wash his shoulder to keep it clean but it made little difference without bacta patches or sanitizers. Every few days the wound would rupture again, stinging him with fresh pain and oozing with sticky yellow pus.
No weapons. No medical supplies. No escape.
Ezra took a sharp stone and slashed another notch into a stick. He counted off how many days he had been alone and shuddered: nearly two months. He sighed again and looked around him. This was nothing like his younger days on Lothal when he could slip into town and steal some credits or his next meal. If he could just find someone, something, a form of life besides the creatures and vegetation around him or a scrap of technology to help Ezra, he would embrace it eagerly.
One hot hour turned into two hotter hours and then three humid ones as Ezra continued to hike onwards. The sound of tree leaves rustling together caused his sense to prickle up. Footsteps? He strained his ears as he stood still. Yes, he could hear the sound of people moving and talking! A thrill of joy ran through Ezra.
"They could be stormtroopers," he warned himself. But that thought mattered little right now. He'd willingly surrender if it meant a clean cell after living on this hellish place. He resisted the urge to charge towards the voice and perhaps more out of fear than reason, Ezra thrust himself downwards beneath the rubbery leaves of a wide bush.
Someone stepped through the clearing. Ezra braced himself for the gleaming white Imperial trooper but his anticipation turned into shock. His mouth fell open as he gaped at the stranger creature that had come through instead.
It, he, was humanoid in shape and form: tall, lithe, muscular arms and strong legs carrying itself forward with confidence. But all of his skin, from the crown of his head down to his fingertips, was a remarkable shade of blue; flawlessly identical to the supernatural tint of Thrawn's skin. His eyes were the same glowing red of the grand admiral.
Ezra shuddered. This couldn't be a coincidence. He squinted hard to get a better look. The alien's cheekbones weren't as defined as Thrawn's and his other facial features suggested he was younger than the grand admiral. The stranger's hair was jet-black and formed tightly-cropped curls around his scalp. He bent down to examine a plant, extracted some stalks with gloves hands, and placed them into a pouch slung around his waist.
Creeping forward on arms and legs, Ezra slowly followed the alien. Soon the stranger stepped out into a clearing. Ezra glanced up to see a ship on the ground. Though the style was similar to Correlian transports, the overall design was unfamiliar with elongated wings painted yellow and twin vision bubbles on the top for two gunners.
Black and gray spots started to dart before Ezra's vision. He blinked them away, squinting to gain focus.
More aliens approached from the trees. Three…four…five…Ezra counted two men and three females, all blue-skinned and red-eyed. They were busy preparing their encampment. Some of them where moving boxes, other studying the plants and wildlife around them and making notes with their computer equipment. One was cooking something over a portable heater and the scent was so good that it made Ezra's head reel with hunger.
He tried to crawl backwards back into the thicket but his torn boot snagged on a branch. Attempting to shake off, the relentless branch only released itself with a crisp sound of breaking in two.
Snap!
Five pairs of glowing eyes turned towards him.
He scrambled backwards, trying to get himself onto his feet. Trying to get away. He heard more branches breaking, voices speaking in a guttural language he didn't know. Hands grabbed him under the arms and hoisted him upwards.
He was dragged back into the encampment and deposited at someone's feet. The young Jedi's eyes made contact with a pair of boots and then made their way up to the person. A shiver of horror ran through Ezra.
Thrawn.
His own appearance had altered as much as Ezra's, informing the young Jedi that his enemy had survived the crash and spent all his time on this jungle planet. The Imperial jacket of a grand admiral was missing; Thrawn wore a sleeveless shirt matted with dust. His pants were stained to dingy gray. His hair fell in black twisted ropes around his ears and scratches marked his skin.
And yet he showed no signs of lethargy or illness like Ezra. If anything, Thrawn appeared confident as ever. His ragged appearance was that of a feral animal more than a sophisticated Imperial officer—and no less dangerous.
He said nothing but peered down at the Jedi as though he was some fascinating discovery. Then his lips parted and he spoke in the same eerie voice Ezra had heard so many times before.
"Ezra Bridger. We meet again."
Ezra heard the sound of a blaster being cocked behind him. He reached out with a hand to summon the Force, to push Thrawn and his companions away from himself. But then another pulse of heat burst from his wounded shoulder, draining away the last drops of energy from his body. He fell on his face before the alien and felt the sweet soft grass pressing into his skin.
The Force…it was always there. Yet it had shifted itself within and around Ezra. His spirit reached out to it, trying to call upon the all-powerful strength and mystery to protect himself. But the Force remained silent. It would not embody him with the energy to rise against his enemies.
Dread flooded Ezra's veins.
"This isn't happen. It's just a nightmare," he tried to reassure himself. "I'm going to wake up back on the Ghost and Hera will assure me that everything's fine."
One of the aliens was speaking behind Ezra. Thrawn uttered something back in the same peculiar language. He gestured to the strange ship behind him and then pointed down to Ezra. The young Jedi saw the alien give him a final glance and then turning around, Thrawn walked towards the shuttle.
Again, hands swarmed over him. Again, he was being moved and pushed against his will. Ezra saw the shuttle coming closer into view—no, they were moving towards it! They were going to put Ezra on the same ship that Thrawn had just entered.
He was going to be tortured to death by these monsters and there was nothing he could do to resist it.
"No, no," he groaned aloud, shaking his head in protest.
Four hands pressed against his spine, forcing Ezra into an upright position. Red eyes slid back into focus and he saw the alien with the dark curls standing before him. The man took hold of Ezra's chin and calmly pressed a breathing apparatus over the lower half of his face. A frantic gasp caused his lungs to instinctively expand. Against his will, Ezra breathed in a surge of sugary-sweet gas that slithered up into his nose and mouth.
Ezra's mind instantly clouded over, limbs growing slack and heavy from the gas. An obscure part of his mind welcomed the sweet taste and urged his body to breathe it in even deeper like a deliciously addictive spice. His eyelids were closing; he couldn't fight off the thick blanket of sleep that was wrapping itself around him in a secure embrace.
He blinked drowsily at the eyes glowing back at him. A single thought drifted through his conscience before he was pulled into oblivion.
"I promised I'd return home."
Ezra fell helplessly forward and landed into a pair of outstretched arms.
A-A-A
Cool. Calm. Quiet.
One by one, the sensations stirred through Ezra's mind and reassured him that his body was no longer in peril. He blinked his eyes to clear the sleep from his mind. Slowly, his body took in sense of sight, smell, and sound. He was lying in a bed and eyes flickering around, realized he was in a small industrialized room.
His skin felt raw yet refreshed, as though it had been scrubbed and scored with ten brushes. He shifted around in the bed he was lying on and oh, how good it felt to be between clean sheets! Ezra groaned in relief and turned over on his stomach, slipping his arms beneath the pillow that had been supporting his head.
All around him, the only sound was a faint humming sensation like that of an engine circulating air or a space freighter cutting through the galaxy. It was a reassuring noise that nearly lulled Ezra back to sleep until his stomach growled loudly. Hunger was a harsh motivator and it urged him to propel himself upright in bed.
The shredded remains of his uniform had been removed and he was wearing a spotless white tunic in its place. But if Thrawn and those creatures had taken him prisoner then why bother to wash him up and tuck him into bed? Did they want to make certain the Jedi would be clean and presentable when handed back over to the Empire?
Another stomach pain jabbed into Ezra's thoughts. He smelled food and noticed a wooden tray had been strategically placed on a small nightstand within his reach. Logically, it would be unwise to eat until he was certain nothing was poisoned or drugged. But he was too ravenous to comprehend anything else other than picking up a flat brown cake and biting into it.
The crisp warm bread flecked with seeds was the most delicious thing Ezra had ever eaten in his life. He wolfed down two mouthfuls of bread and nearly chocked on the third. After overcoming a fit of coughs, he tried the bowl that had strips of what looked like vegetables or green noodles floating in a bright orange broth. There was no spoon in sight so he brought the bowl to his lips and slurped down the savory liquid. The soup was even better than the bread and it slid smoothly down his throat and swirled soothingly into his stomach. He emptied the bowl halfway and then dipped bits of bread into the broth to soften it before chewing again.
Ezra hadn't been enjoying his meal more than fifteen minutes when the door to his cabin opened with a swish. The alien with the curly hair stepped into his room. He wore a floor-length white lab coat over a black uniform.
The young Jedi nearly dropped the bowl, aware that soup was dripping down his chin.
"Commander Ezra Bridger," the alien announced. Ezra nervously wiped his chin with his sleeve.
"I am Doctor Mikh'al," the newcomer went on. "I have been assigned as your physician during our journey. If you are capable of standing up, our commanding officer has requested that…."
His Basic was audible but heavily-accented. "Sy Bisti?" Ezra thought. "But only traders who travel near the Unknown Regions speak it."
"Commander, can you hear me?" Mikh'al interrupted his thoughts.
"Yes," Ezra managed in a croaky voice.
"Good. You weren't responding. After your meeting, I will complete your medical treatment and include an otoscopy examination just to be sure."
Ezra scrambled to put his thoughts together. "Can I ask you a question, Doctor Mikh'al?" He tried to imitate the doctor's name by pronouncing harder on the second syllable.
The young physician blinked his red eyes. "You just did. But you may ask another."
Ezra would have laughed had the situation not been this bizarre. "Where am I? What part of the Imperial fleet hired you? And where are we going?" he blurted out.
"That was three questions, not one." Mikh'al walked over to the nightstand and set down his datapad.
"To answer your questions, we are currently on board the Chiss star carrier Saffur. I am not in service to the Galactic Empire."
"As to our destination…" His eyes glowed unnaturally bright. "Our commanding officer will tell you in person. I will take you to him now."
A tremor ran though Ezra's body. "Thrawn," he whispered softly.
But not soft enough to evade Mikh'al's attention. "Mith'raw'nurodo," he corrected Ezra.
The peculiar alien word rolled off his tongue and sent a shiver down Ezra's spine.
A-A-A
30 minutes later:
Outfitted in new clean clothes and a pair of synth-cotton slippers, Ezra found himself standing in front of an office door and knocking on it.
"Enter," the voice commanded. Ezra pressed a button on the wall and the doors slid open, allowing him to walk into the office.
The interior was smaller than Thrawn's office aboard the Chiamera and better lit. There were no ornaments or art collections to be seen. The utilitarian room held two chairs, a desk, some shelves, and a large monitor data machine that took up the length of one wall.
Thrawn had been reading something off a piece of parchment but looked up when Ezra stepped inside. Like Doctor Mikh'al, Thrawn also wore an unfamiliar black uniform with a red badge on the collar. His hair had been trimmed short again and the only sign of his temporary shipwreck were a few scratches on his left cheek and chin.
The air was frigid with tension as the former Imperial and Rebel starred at each other. Then Thrawn broke through the silence.
"We meet again in what I hope are better circumstances." He tilted his chin downward. "I trust you have recovered from the Chimaera's crash."
His words caused anger to rise up in Ezra. "What am I doing here? And what do you want with me?" he demanded.
The alien gestured to a chair beside his desk. "Please, sit. We have plenty of time to converse."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"On the contrary," Thrawn murmured fluidly. "I am sure you have many questions to be answered."
He was so damn unruffled that it only made Ezra's impatience grow. "As if I didn't just use the pergil to hijack his ship and hurl us into space."
"Fine. How much longer am I your prisoner until you hand me over the Empire?"
Thrawn carefully folded himself up into the chair and draped one leg across another. "You are incorrect on two accounts. You are not a prisoner—for now. And I have no intention of returning you to the Empire's domain."
"Why not?"
"Because it does not suit my needs."
Ezra's eyes narrowed at his adversary. "What exactly are those needs?"
This time Thrawn's lips twisted into a faint smirk. "I will answer directly when you ask the right questions."
He watched the young Jedi's hand ball up into a fist. After a moment of pent-up wrath, Ezra willed himself to breathe out and release it. Thrawn wanted to play mind games?
Fine.
It was still in the office with only the humming sound of the engines between the two of them. Finally, after several tense moments, Ezra posed his question.
"Who are you really working for, Mithraw-nurudo?" Despite Ezra tripping over the alien's full name, he was rewarded with a cool smile from Thrawn.
He placed both palms upon the desk and rose to his feet.
"I am an officer of the Chiss Defense Fleet. And I am taking to the home of my people."
A-A-A
Ahsoka had once told him, "Just when you think you understand the Force, you find out how little you actually know."
She couldn't have been more right. You connect with a small animal to find yourself facing a bigger one. You open a portal to one world and step into endless stories. Reach out to connect with a single person and find yourself touching oceans of stars in an endless galaxy.
As Ezra sat in his chair and listened to the story of Mith'raw'nurodo, tactician of Csilla, his mind reeled with astonishment. Everyone in Phoenix Squadron had heard the rumors that the blue-skinned Chiss had been found by the Empire on a tiny isolated planet and that he had been sent there by his own people to die a slow lonely death. Ezra had presumed the Empire had rescued Thrawn and then coerced him into joining their services.
Now his thoughts were being forced to reassemble themselves according to Thrawn's words as the true narrative of his career was explained.
"You're telling me that your people didn't exile you?!" Ezra finally blurted out.
"That is correct," answered Thrawn. "I was living on that planet for only a few months, not years as it appeared. I had been deliberately sent there in the hopes of studying the Empire as a simple mission of observation. But being brought directly to Emperor Palpatine as a gift, I saw a new opportunity to study the Empire first-hand…from the inside out."
Ezra let out a sound of disbelief. Whether it was a laugh or a cry, he couldn't tell. "All this time we thought you were some great 'Right Hand' of the Emperor. Now you're telling me that you're nothing more than a spy?"
"The intel work of a spy can undo an entire army. Surely you know that from the rebels' 'Fulcrum' agents."
"Well, the joke's on you," Ezra lashed out. "Even if the Emperor doesn't find out you've been snitching on him, he'll be furious when he learns you ruined the operation on Lothal and deserted your post."
"I have no intention of returning to face Emperor Palpatine's wrath," Thrawn murmured fluidly.
Ezra gripped the sides of his chair. "So that's it? You fail a mission and go run and hide? What kind of a spy are you?"
Instead of answering promptly, Thrawn rose from his desk and walked over to one of the shelves. He then took down a canister and two glazed cups. Again, Ezra was forced to be patient as the Chiss took his time arranging everything on his desk and going through the motions of preparing a hot beverage. As much as the young Jedi wanted to press him to for more answers, a small part of his mind warned Ezra that he'd only look more like a heedless child to Thrawn.
"I am a warrior," Thrawn said at last. "A warrior may retreat but he does not flee. He may lie in ambush but he does not hide. Whether in victory or defeat, he does not cease to serve those he pledged his loyalty to."
He poured hot water into both cups and measured out some green powder into each one.
"When those space creatures destroyed my star destroyer, I confess that I was momentarily set back. Oh yes, Commander Bridger." Thrawn nodded to Ezra's perplexed expression.
"Even warriors experience fear. It reminds us of our mortal shells and encourages us to double our efforts to succeed. You opened my eyes to something I had searched for but never found. The one person who told me that the Force was not his own to master used his power to defeat his enemy."
He slid one of the cups across the table to Ezra. Seeing the padawan's wary expression he said, "That will congeal if you do not drink it soon."
Ezra just starred at the drink and then glared back at Thrawn.
The Chiss responded by taking his own cup and sipping from it thoughtfully. "I believe you may be of some use to my people. It is my intention to present you before the Chiss Ascendency to see if you can be integrated into our junior officer program."
"And why would I do that?"
"Because there are other dangers in this universe besides the Empire. Dangers that you should become aware of if you do not want to die."
"Krayt spit," Ezra said weakly.
Thrawn gave him an unsettling smile. "I assure you this is not 'nonsense'."
The Jedi leapt back to his feet. "What makes you think I want anything to do with you or your people after all the horrible things you did?" Ezra cried out bitterly.
"You tortured Hera!" he shouted. "You fired on the people of Lothal! You enslaved them in your factories! You killed my master!"
His voice rose to a frantic pitch and bounced off the walls. The Jedi's emotional outburst should have rattled the windows if not sent Thrawn flying across the room. But nothing had happened. Ezra realized his own tepid cup had barely budged from its place. A single drop of liquid had escaped the cup; his powers had barely made an impact.
Damnit, why wouldn't the Force help Ezra now to just get away from this horrible man?
The glowing red eyes closed for a moment as Thrawn drew his cup back to his lips. Then he placed it back on the table and opened his eyes. When he spoke, it was in a carefully modulated tone.
"I did not command the death of Kanan Jarrus," he said at last. "Nor did I order the attack on the fuel depot. Governor Pryce has paid the price for her foolishness."
"It doesn't matter who was in charge. He's gone," Ezra insisted bitterly.
"And I regret his loss of life."
Blue eyes blazed at the Chiss. "Liar."
Thrawn's voice grew soft, almost wistful. "Deny it all you want to, Commander Bridger. I do. What benefit do I gain by deceiving you? Why else would I choose to spare your life?"
"I've heard enough. I don't care about you or your people," he snapped. "I will find a way off this ship and get back to Lothal."
Ezra rose from his chair and turned his back on Thrawn. He was only halfway to the door when Thrawn's voice reached his ears, this time stern and hard.
"You defied the Emperor three times. What do you think he will do to Lothal and your friends if you return now?"
The question slammed into Ezra like a wall of ice. He stood frozen in place as the logic of Thrawn's words was sinking through him. He tried to suppress them, to remind himself that this was his enemy, an Imperial officer, a man who had ordered a full-scale bombardment on Ezra's home world. And yet the facts stood before Ezra, blocking every path and turn he was mentally trying to form.
"Would it not be to everyone's advantage for you to remain anonymous and undetected? At least," Thrawn paused for effect. "For now?"
"Remain undetected." Weren't those the words of Master Kenobi?
"I, I'll find somewhere to hide," Ezra mumbled.
"Where?"
Ezra's mind frantically grasped for an excuse of a sanctuary. Mandalore? His presence would endanger Bo Katan and the Wren clan. Tatooine? The thought of going back to that wretched desert planet made him cringe.
Jedha? Gorel? Some obscure space station? A Mid-Rim casino? There had to be somewhere, anywhere, for a Jedi to avoid danger…
He heard the sound of a chair being pushed back and then feet padding softly across the floor.
"I am offering you sanctuary from the Empire's wrath. I swear that you will be under the protection of the Chiss Ascendency."
Slowly, Ezra turned back around to face the Chiss. There was no cruel smirk, no taunt or temptation in his eyes. His face was somber as he starred back at Ezra. When the Jedi did not respond, Thrawn continued.
"My people have skills and resources that could help you. We can teach you how to think, how to fight, how to use stratedgy in the most unlikely of circumstances."
"I've beaten the odds before," Ezra reminded him.
"With your teammates," countered Thrawn. "And without your mentor or a lightsaber, how do you expect to survive? It appears that the Force has abandoned you your protection."
"It hasn't abandoned me. It's just changed, that's all," protested Ezra. "I told you before that it isn't a weapon to wield. The Force is an energy that binds all living things in the galaxy together. It surrounds us and protects us—"
He stopped talking to see Thrawn examining him with that same inquisitive expression. "Please continue."
"No. You don't deserve to understand the Force."
"And yet you accused me of not deserving possessions that I do not understand," Thrawn said. "How am I to respect the things you cherish if I am not given the opportunity to learn from them?"
He couldn't believe his mind was processing this! This ice-blooded monster had destroyed Phoenix Squadron, taken Hera's heirloom, nearly murdered Senator Mon Mothma, rained fire and chaos down on Lothal, and committed countless other cruel acts. Now he was tactfully presenting facts to Ezra that no matter how hard he tried to deny, could not be avoided.
"You have no heart," the Jedi said softly.
"Doctor Mikh'al can confirm that I do have that organ in my chest."
If sarcasm was meant to be a joke, it wasn't a funny one to Ezra.
Thrawn resumed to sit at his desk. He picked up a graphite stick and started to write something down on the parchment. "The medical bay is one level below. Doctor Mikh'al will complete your treatment," he said without looking up at Ezra.
The Jedi stood before him, dumbstruck and shocked.
When Ezra made no movement to go, Thrawn lifted his gaze back up. "Is there anything else you require, Commander Bridger?"
Ezra's tongue was lead in his mouth. He attempted to put together a word of protest but found himself shaking his head woodenly. No matter what he said, he could not rattle Thrawn.
"Then if you'll excuse me, I have a great deal of work to do before we reach Csilla." The Chiss went back to his writing.
The doors behind Ezra parted and his feet were moving towards it, away from Thrawn's presence. As though in a trance, he found himself following Thrawn's instructions and walking to the lift that took him downstairs.
The medical bay wasn't hard to find. Doctor Mikh'al was studying a petri dish under the lights but turned his attention away when he saw Ezra in the doorway.
Mikh'al put down the dish. "Thank you for coming. If you'll remove your shirt and lie down on the operating table, I'll begin immediately."
Ezra did has he was told, only looking wary when he saw the familiar breathing apparatus in Mikha'l's hand.
"Do I really need that?" he asked.
The doctor's brow wrinkled with impatience. "Unless you prefer excruciating pain to anesthesia."
"Wait, I'll do it myself." Somehow this small action gave Ezra a sensation of control, however meager, as his life had just been uprooted and turned inside out.
He took the mask from the Chiss doctor and pressed it to his face. The swirling pink clouds quickly filled his mind and he surrendered willingly to the soothing haze of medicine. His body absorbed the simple task of sleep when he fell back against the table.
But it was not blackness that greeted Ezra Bridger's dreams. Instead, he was floating over oceans of white clouds, in songs of white flakes that were colder and far greater than anything he had ever seen on Lothal. He saw glittering shards of ice beautiful as newly-cut diamonds yet sharp as to slash flesh apart.
He dreamed of eternal snow and endless winter.
A-A-A
Ezra awoke back in his room, redressed in new clean clothes and covered with blankets. His shoulder felt remarkable; there was no pain at all. But instead of getting out of bed, he rolled onto his back and starred at the ceiling.
Now refreshed and well-rested, he could sense his mind working faster and more clearly. He played the conversation between him and Thrawn over in his head. It was ridiculous, absolute nonsense that the Chiss thought Ezra could be some kind of "Jedi weapon" to fight for his people. And Ezra didn't owe him anything did he? Surely the logical answer was that all of the lives Thrawn had claimed outnumbered Ezra's own.
But as he continued to replay the scenario, weighing odds and deliberating choices, the weight of reality was sinking in. Thrawn could have left Ezra to die, but he didn't. Whatever his intentions, the action of sparing Ezra and having him tended do by the diligent officers could not be erased.
Home. Ezra just wanted to go home and see his friends.
"What do you think he will do to Lothal and your friends if you return now?"
Ezra's stomach clenched up as he realized the consequences. If he did return to Lothal, or anywhere in the Empire's domain, the Emperor would waste no efforts to hunt Ezra down and have him executed. Or worse, the Sith lord would spare Ezra long enough to use the young Jedi as bait to lure his family back into danger. Ezra couldn't let that happen to Zeb, Chopper, Sabine, and—
"Hera," he said aloud.
In the chaos of their last battle, Ezra hadn't had a chance to tell her what he knew. He had noticed out of the corner of his eye that she had she had lightly touched her stomach a few times. He would have brushed it off as a mild stomach ache, nothing big enough to distract the unflappable Captain Syndulla from their perilous mission. And yet somewhere amidst the blasters, lightsaber fights, and explosions, a soft breath of wonder had brushed against Ezra's thoughts, informing him of the seed of life glowing inside of her.
"Hera."
He fell back against the pillow and closed his eyes. Now he could sense it more clearly, the beauty of a new soul taking form within the Force's loving presence. Hera was smiling as she rested both palms upon her growing stomach.
Baby
The word made his eyes sting with overwhelming emotions. He threw an arm over his face. In a heartbeat, Ezra's entire perspective had shifted. His loathing towards Thrawn remained and Ezra still had no desire to cooperate with the former grand admiral or the other Chiss.
But for the woman who had rescued Ezra, encouraged him when he was right and disciplined him when he had erred, he owed Hera as much as he was indebted to Kanan. She had taught him to fly, to be fight and be strong in the face of an overwhelming adversary.
"We're your family. We support you."
Yes, for Hera he could—he must—stay away for the sake of her and her unborn child. If Kanan Jarrus could plant himself in front of a flaming inferno to shield the woman he loved from harm, Ezra Bridger could do no less by journeying to a world of ice and snow for her.
So be it. He released a long weary sigh and let exhaustion creep into his bones. After lying in bed for a while, Ezra finally pushed back the sheets and got up. He made his way to a mirror on the wall and stared at it.
His reflection startled him. It was a face that had aged ten years brought on by all the recent strain, a face with too many sharp points and a mouth that kept turning downward after forgetting how to smile. There were gray circles above his cheekbones and his eyes were dimmed with worry.
Most noticeable was his hair, which had grown out and now fell past his ears. Ezra rummaged around in the cabin's drawers to see if there was a knife or pair of scissors, anything useful to cut it short again. During the search he found several leather cords in a box. Ezra stared at them. Then he picked one up and proceeded to gather his hair towards the back of his head.
Maybe it was just the foolish idea of a padawan who missed his master. But it didn't stop Ezra from raking his fingers through his hair to get out the tangles and smoothing it into a single tail. There wasn't enough hair to make a ponytail at the nape of his neck so he pushed the hair higher up to the center of the back of his head and then bound it all together with the leather cord.
He still didn't look like Kanan or his old self. This too pale, overwhelmed Ezra starred back at him. He sighed again and rested his hands upon the table.
It would not be easy. Then again, was anything worthwhile easy?
He knew the answer to that one and managed a half-smile.
What about Kanan? Did he knew about Hera and her child before he died?
Ezra let the question linger in the air until a fingertip of the Force landed upon his mind.
"Yes, he did."
A-A-A
Later:
Thrawn stood on the bridge with both hands clasped behind his back. Upon hearing the sound of doors parting, he turned around to face Ezra. The Chiss said nothing about his new hairstyle and merely greeted him with an unfailingly polite voice.
"Welcome back, Commander Bridger. Have you recovered adequately?"
"Yes," Ezra relented. He paused and mustered to add in a more civil tone, "Doctor Mikh'al is good at his job."
"He is indeed. And is your shoulder also improved?"
Ezra gingerly reached with his right hand to touch the place where a clean bandage was secured over his healing flesh. He nodded to Thrawn.
He gestured forward with one hand. "Please, join us. We should be arriving shortly."
Ezra's footsteps were wary as he approached his former, and perhaps current, adversary. He glanced aside at the two other Chiss in the room who had been focusing on their navigation computers the entire time.
"This planet. Csilla," he said. "Is it always cold there?"
The two Chiss now looked up from their work and swiveled their heads towards Ezra. He could sense their red eyes boring into him. Even Thrawn inclined his head slightly towards Ezra, his own eyes opening slightly with…surprise?
He scrambled for an explanation. "I found a parka in my room," Ezra explained hastily.
To his relief, Thrawn did not press him further. He merely nodded and said, "Yes. The environment would be considered hostile compared to other planets."
"Sir, preparing to drop out of hyperspace," said one Chiss at the controls.
"Very good, lieutenant. Proceed."
The entire ship gave a slight shudder as the streaming stars besides them finally slowed down. Ezra starred out at the endless space and twinkling lights before them. And glancing further, slowly coming into view, was a planet. From space it was a glistening jewel of a world wrapped in white clouds and blue frost.
Ezra reached out and rested a hand upon the window. "So many people."
"My people," Thrawn said over his shoulder. "It was for their sake I pledged my services to the Empire."
His voice lowered in pitch and rose in emotion. "Is there anything you would not do for your people?"
At this question, Ezra shook his head. "I didn't save Lothal at the expense of other words like Chandrilla or Alderaan."
"Your opinion has been acknowledged. I suggest you fetch that parka before we land. And one more thing, Commander Bridger."
Thrawn's face hardened again in the relentless role of a leader.
"If you value your life and your future, do nothing to provoke the Ascendency."
A-A-A
In spite of the parka he was wearing Ezra's body still shivered with anxiety. The journey towards Csilla, watching the Saffur dock at a landing platform, and being escorted from one glistening building to another had been a daunting experience.
The Chiss architecture was functional yet intimidating, reminding this strange human being of their proud warrior heritage. Ezra kept tilting his head upwards to see domed ceilings and glass skylines that kept out the harsh weather while allowing dazzling daylight to filter in. He was brought back from his distractions by the guards that surrounded him and Thrawn's crew who ushered them further into the city. The guards, all men in yellow capes with blasters strapped to their belts, starred at Ezra but said nothing to him.
He expected everyone on the Saffur to be taken to some intimidating arena or enormous pavillion. Instead, Ezra found himself siting quietly in the back of a typical office where six Chiss sat around a half-circular table. Thrawn was standing before them and speaking to them in their native language of Chenuh.
"That's Admiral Ar'alani," whispered Mikh'al to Ezra. He gestured to the woman sitting in the center of the table. She wore a gleaming white uniform with a gold badge on her collar. Her features were sharp and aristocratic and her face betrayed no signs of emotions. The admiral's shimmering black hair was bound up into a tight knot at the top of her head. She continued to listen to Thrawn with her lips firmly pressed together.
Ezra wondered what she would think of Senator Mon Mothma.
"She is one of the most powerful members of the Chiss Defense Fleet. If Mith'raw'nurodo cannot convince her of common interests then you are both in danger," Mikha'l warned Ezra.
His teeth instinctively clacked against each other.
When Thrawn concluded his speech the admiral's eyes narrowed at him and she began to speak. Her voice was not soft or smooth as Ezra presumed. Instead, Ar'alani's tone had a gravelly texture to it and though Ezra couldn't understand what she was saying, her words cut harshly through the air like a knife.
No, she was not pleased at all.
"She's angry," Mikh'al murmured. "So are the other members of the Ascendancy. She says Mith'raw'nurodo went too far in his service to the Empire and endangered the Chiss by returning here without permission."
Thrawn countered Ar'alani's accusation with a few swift words and then gestured to Ezra.
"He said you're the reason he's here and—"
Mikh'al was interrupted by another member sitting at the table.
"Approach and bow," he whispered urgently between his teeth. Ezra warily stepped forward until he was parallel with Thrawn and then tipped his head forward, bowed to Ar'alani and the others.
She leaned over in her chair to see him better. "You are the Jedi?" she demanded in heavily-accented Basic.
Ezra swallowed to ease his throat. "Y-yes, Admiral," he managed to say.
"What do they call you?"
"My name is Ezra Bridger." His chest expanded and a trickle of warmth entered it when he announced his name.
"Hm." Her nose pinched up. "Mith'raw'nurodo says you were his enemy when he served the Empire." Her voice was still gritty and carefully modulated as she talked in Basic. "Is this true?"
"Yes, admiral."
"And now you are here. Why?"
Ezra thought for a moment before speaking. "Because I had the chance to kill him and I didn't. In return, he spared my life," he said at last.
A'ralani's eyes flashed like two red gems. "Do you still want to kill him?"
Ezra blinked in surprise at her question. He turned to Thrawn, who was still looking straight forward. Then he looked back at A'ralani and shook his head.
"Is this the Jedi way?"
He nodded.
One of the other Chiss, a square-jawed man with silver hair at his temples, said something to A'ralani in rapid-fire Chenuh. She translated aloud for Ezra.
"We have been told about your kind from Commander Vanto."
"Who's Vanto?" Ezra wondered.
"He says Jedi can manipulate an invisible energy field around you, or so his stories claim."
"Uh oh."
"Is this true?" she asked him.
"Well, yes. But—"
"Show," A'ralani commanded him. "Show."
Ezra suddenly looked around the room, as if willing his master to materialize and remind him to focus and concentrate. He took a deep breath and let his shoulders relax. Ezra starred at a silver bowl on the table before Admiral A'ralani and concentrated on trying to move it.
This gesture should have been as easy to him as a muscle reflex. But Ezra knew much had changed in the last several months and there was no denying the prickle of worry that the Force would not grant him the ability to do it.
"Please," he prayed. "Please help me just once more."
He closed his eyes to block out their penetrating red eyes, imagining Kanan's warm emerald gaze in their place. The air and energy around him were the projections of the living Force and he imagined them as millions of tiny bubbles floating around them, using his mind to link them together one by one.
Ezra finally opened his eyes and starred at the bowl. His hand was shaking and he could feel his body quickly growing warm, then uncomfortably hot in the room. Sweat was beading on the surface of his brow.
"Just focus, come on…."
The bowl tilted just enough on one side and then immediately came back down, making the sound of a small clack that was heard around the room.
Ezra gasped and nearly doubled over, resting his palms upon his knees. He felt nauseous and knew he had pushed himself too far.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I can't do anymore."
Around him the other Chiss leaders were already murmuring among themselves. Ezra's stomach continued to flip and twist itself around.
"But I used to do more!" he added quickly.
Thrawn instantly jerked his head to Ezra and hissed, "Silence."
His changed in attitude startled the young Jedi who put a hand to his own chest to calm himself.
Suddenly, Ar'alani rose to her feet and pointed at Thrawn and then Ezra. She spoke again in Chenuh and the doors parted. Ezra saw a series of guards who swiftly marched in and two of them were behind Thrawn, binding his wrists behind him.
"Wait? What's going on?"
He watched Thrawn being taken away and realized that the man hadn't resisted at all. Ezra felt a heavy hand clamp itself on his shoulder and he was being half-dragged, half-escorted out of the room. Would they put binders on him? Throw him into a prison?
He glanced back at Ar'alani who was already leaving through another exit. Ezra whipped around to Mikh'al as he was being led away. "Mikh'al, please!" he begged.
"Just do as you're told," the doctor said.
Ezra barely stammered again as he was pushed through the doors, down a corridor, and into a lift. He was nearly shrinking inside his body as the two guards flanking him remained mute and monotone. The lift shot upwards, dropping his stomach into his feet.
He prayed he wouldn't get sick on the spot.
The lift doors opened with a swish and all three of them stepped out. One guard entered some codes into a hall monitor, yet another door opened, and Ezra was pushed inside.
He whirled around to face them. "Wait! What is going on?!" he nearly shouted.
"Stay in your quarters," one said in a booming voice. "Food will arrive shortly."
The silver door slid shut. Ezra rushed forward and tried to pry it open but it didn't budge. He punched codes into the wall monitor, knowing well it was useless without access codes. Exasperated, Ezra rested his head against the door and banged his forehead against it twice.
"Please," he said aloud. "Someone help me."
He closed his eyes and released a long exhale. He was alone again.
Once Ezra accepted this fact, he turned around to examine his new living area. It was surprisingly light and airy with a large window giving him a stunning view of the landscape. Ezra drew closer and rested his fingertips upon the windowpane.
Night was falling and turning the glistening snow pink and gold from a fading sun. The towers and buildings of the Chiss glistened in the twilight like spikes of pearl and silver. Shuttle crafts and ships darted through the clouds like birds, swooping down and landing smoothly onto platforms.
"Wow," he murmured. It was indeed overwhelming, but beautiful and majestic.
Ezra stepped away and looked at the rest of his room. He tested the bed, a wide low mattress built into a platform raised a foot off the ground. Two pillows were tucked between a comforter while a larger thicker blanket that rested at the foot of the bed. Mikh'al had said something about Chiss body temperatures being slightly lower than human ones. Ezra reminded himself that this small detail must mean they wanted him to be comfortable, so at least he wasn't in trouble for now.
It would be strange sleeping here in his own space instead of sharing a bunk with Zeb and his heavy snoring. He tried to push that thought out of his mind to prevent homesickness.
There was a computer monitor on the desk, a data pad, and several leather-bound books. Ezra picked one up and leafed through it. It was a translation book of Chenuh. Did that mean he was expected to learn their language? Other books held diagrams of maps, star charts, and detailed descriptions of planets that Ezra had never heard of.
The refresher had more than the tiny rectangular closet he used to stand upright in when living on the Ghost. This one was at least three times as big with an enormous oval-shaped bowl rising from the ground. He took off his shoes and stepped into it. The rim nearly came up to his waist.
Was this a bathtub? Water was such precious commodity in Ezra's life that to sit in a giant egg full of it sounded like a luxury only Core worlds could provide. Perhaps it had something to do with all the snow outside. "Or maybe the Chiss have access to underground springs," he thought.
Ezra undressed and began working the controls on the wall. The first jet stream of water was so icy-cold that he shouted and nearly jumped out of his skin. The second button released soap that almost stung his eyes. No, this was not relaxing at all.
It took a few tries but Ezra managed to navigate the controls to mix the hot and cold streams together. It didn't take long for the bathtub to fill up and soon he was leaning back, letting the water soak all of his exhausted muscles and into his hair. Steam rose up from the water as he closed his eyes and let the bobbing motions carry his thoughts away.
After savoring this new delight Ezra sat up and washed himself using the different samples of soaps offered to him. The Chiss must value cleanliness to pay such attentiveness to hygiene routine.
Ezra had just rinsed the last of the soap out of his hair when he heard the sound of a door opening on the other side of his room. His instincts kicked back in. "Who's there?" he called out. There was no answer.
The bath water had made his limbs feel wobbly so he eased himself slowly out of the tub to prevent slipping and falling. There was a robe hanging on a peg within reach and he wrapped it around himself before stepping out of the refresher.
"Hello?" he called out. There was no one there. But a tray of covered foods had appeared on the table by his window. Refreshed by his bath, Ezra's appetite had returned and he hastily changed into new clothes provided in the closet and then examined the tray.
It contained two rolls tucked into a blue linen napkin, a bowl of stewed meat topped with diced green vegetables, and a purple fruit that had been delicately sliced and fanned out on a china plate.
He found himself smiling. Even their dining was artistically done. Ezra ate everything and laid down on his bed. He had meant to rest for just a few minutes and then go back to studying the books. But the hot bath and a good meal had made him drowsy and he quickly fell into a dreamless sleep.
He woke up to hear voices in the corridor. One of them was speaking in Basic. The other person in the conversation was Thrawn. Ezra went to the door and tilted his head carefully towards it. The voice was male and had a strong nasal twang. Outer Rim, for certain. Perhaps even Wild Space. Thoughts of endless farming fields and quiet moons flitted through his thoughts.
"When were you going to tell me all of this!?" the man's voice lashed out.
Thrawn said something that Ezra couldn't hear.
"No, it isn't all logical to me. I know you're not fibbing about Jedi but look, we were all told they died out…."
The man's voice had drifted off and Thrawn's voice returned.
"…..teach him…observe…tactics…"
"Yes, yes. You know Admiral A'ralani and the others are right. You did go too far. And I trusted you."
"Apologies….Bridger…advancement..."
"…what exactly did he do on Lothal?"
"Nothing that will change anyone's mind. His abilities, for a better word, have shifted."
Ezra couldn't hear the next part of the conversation until the man spoke louder again.
"No, I don't see any other options," he said, sounding reluctant. "I don't think the Ascendency wants to shove him back into space or let him starve to death in the snow."
Ezra cringed.
"Thank you, Eli. I leave him in your trustworthy hands."
Footsteps walked off. Footsteps approached Ezra's door. He nervously backed away just before the door opened. Ezra gaped at the newcomer.
He hadn't expected to see another human, one who stood a head higher than him and starred at Ezra through clear confident eyes. His skin was browned with sunburn, suggesting someone who had worked long and hard outdoors. Ezra guessed he was eight or nine years older than himself.
"Commander Bridger?" he asked.
"Yes, that's me."
Instead of looking cold and annoyed like Admiral A'ralani, the newcommer's face relaxed into a friendly smile. "I'm Eli Vanto."
He extended a hand to Ezra, who shook it gratefully. "I can imagine this is a lot for you to take in," said Vanto. He let go and ran a hand through his mess of brown hair. "And I'll admit the circumstances of your arrival are a surprise to everyone here, including me. But we'll make sure it all gets sorted out. One thing you can say about the Chiss: they don't stay idle for long."
Ezra was only too glad to meet another human being and Eli's Wild Space twang assured him that he was trustworthy.
"I'm sure you have a lot of questions for me but that will have to wait," Eli said. "In the meantime, you'd better get a good night's sleep. Your training in the junior fleet beings tomorrow."
A-A-A
Author's notes: Like other fans, my jaw dropped at the "Rebels" finale and all I could think of was what would happen to Ezra and Thrawn. With Dave Filoni's reassurance that these wonderful characters are alive, I am hoping that Filoni and Co,, and Mr. Timothy Zahn, have a thought-out plan. They have proven time and time again how to turn a good Star Wars idea into a great Star Wars story. In the meantime, this fanfic is my take on a potential outcome.
My knowledge of the Chiss people and their lifestyle is limited to a few internet sites, the "Thrawn" novel of current canon, and the Legends "Outbound Flight" book. So I've taken some creative liberties in recreating their world and accept that if we do get to see Csilla in this new canon, it may borrow from Legends or have its own unique style.
Mikh'al was inspired by Mikhail Abramov of Daniel Silva's spy novels who is described as having "glacial eyes" and "a bloodless face". He's also what I thought would happen if you rolled Doctor McCoy and Mr. Spock of Star Trek into one person: a medical genius with no bedside manner whatsoever. ^_^
