AN: Hey! Alright, I forgot to mention things in the last note, since I was tired and it was really late and I had work in the morning. So here it is now!

NO! You don't need to have seen Star Wars Rebels to enjoy this story! I will be touching on most of the episodes at least VERY briefly, but they'll be sort of side notes. I will be covering the larger episodes, but since we're seeing the changes from the previous stories really start happening now, stuff is going to start changing in a big way. Now, just for character, yeah, sure, knowing Rebels might help, but if you can't enjoy this story without the supplementary material, well, I'm just not doing my job as an author.

I should also mention this, since it sort of snowballs off the last few stories, and it addresses my view of changing things. I don't believe in the butterfly effect AT ALL. I have always believed that time is, in effect, a river, and while things may diverge, in the end, it's all flowing toward the ocean. We will see changes here, bigger than in previous stories, but don't expect me to jump the shark because Han Solo sneezed in Chewbacca's blue milk, and now he got a human virus and died because of it. No. Just no.

All that being said, should you watch Rebels? I don't know, if you want to. I really like the show. Not all of it, not everything, but the characters are solid, when the plot happens, BOY does it happen, and the show will forever have permission to fuck me against a wall whenever it wants for the creation of Kanan Jarrus and for bringing Thrawn into canon.

I might get the next chapter out tomorrow, but it's a big one and...yeah, Zelda's eating my time. That is all. Enjoy, kids!

Chapter 2: Shadows

In all her years of knowing him, Hera had never seen Kanan so tense, so stressed, so...unlike himself. Gone was his carefree attitude, replaced by something nervous and uneasy, the young Jedi jumping at nearly every shadow. Whatever it was that was bothering him, Kanan wasn't talking about it. It wasn't like they had a chance to, in any case. With the addition of Ezra to the crew of the Ghost, it brought their child count up to three, if she didn't include the droid. So really...four. Four kids, and between that and a galaxy to save, they hadn't managed to find a second to be alone, and while they both recognized that their work came first and their relationship was conditional on that fact, Hera still loved him and looked for every opportunity to create some space for them. After all, they had to tend to their own needs as well, emotional and otherwise, if they were to remain at their best.

It wasn't just the kids that had been keeping them busy. For the past few months, Hera had been in contact with...someone. Someone whose identity she did not know. Someone who was part of something greater than just one ship harassing the Empire in small ways. A greater, united cause. A rebellion. She had never met Fulcrum, and she had been put in touch with him, her, it through a long, complicated network of spies and recruitment agents. Ever since, Fulcrum would pass along missions to Hera, whispers and suggestions about Imperial activity, ways to strike them more effectively. Hera took the missions every chance she got, though she knew the secretive nature of the information and the agent that provided it irked the ever suspicious Sabine, the Mandalorian didn't seem to mind that much. It was good work. It was lots of work. And it was eating all her time.

Not that it mattered, but it had been a few weeks since they had last been intimate, and Hera was aching for him as well. All those times that light, covert touches promising later passions had fallen flat because of a mission gone wrong or interruptions from the other members of the crew was starting to leave her irritated and frustrated. They really needed some time alone.

She suspected that a great deal of Kanan's unease came from Ezra. Not because of the boy, but because of the burden of teaching, a thing that the Jedi had never thought he'd have to do. He had only been a student when he survived the Jedi Purge, had still been learning under a Master of his own, and it seemed to be no secret that Kanan felt terribly unprepared to teach when he himself had barely begun to truly learn. As powerful as Hera thought he was, Kanan was only just above a novice when it came to his skills, and being forced to hide his abilities for over fifteen years had left him rusty and under-practiced.

And yet...there had been very little actual teaching, as far as Hera saw. Ezra was eager, yes, and newly awakened to a new world of opportunities, given a chance to be something other than just a thief, and everything was a wonder to him. He and Zeb didn't get along, since it was Zeb that had left him behind to be detained by the Empire, but they sure seemed to like fighting with each other. And the young Jedi hopeful was absolutely infatuated with Sabine and just wouldn't leave the solitary Mandalorian alone. She didn't seem to mind terribly, as the girl was clearly used to attracting that sort of attention, but she was too free a spirit to take any of it seriously. Which made Zeb, big brother that he was, stand between her and Ezra. Which started yet more fighting...

That fighting had finally come to a head when Ezra reached out through the Force and saved Zeb's life on a simple smuggling mission for credits that had gone very wrong and ended up being very personal for the Lasal. Unfortunately, it took credits to keep the Ghost in the air, to feed the crew, and to continue their fight against the Empire, and as such, Hera and Kanan often did smuggling jobs for credits, if the cargo was right and the buyer wasn't completely awful. It was on such a mission that things had gone south very badly, as they seemed to so often do. The buyer was a Devanonian crime lord operating out of Lothal, one that Kanan and Hera had dealt with multiple times in the past because he was greedy, driven only by credits, and therefore very predictable. It also helped that he had an extensive criminal network that pulled in a lot of information that could be bought, and often times, that information proved vital to finding Imperial shipments, learning their routines, and armed with knowledge, they could make a plan.

The trouble was the cargo they were smuggling, cargo inbound for Imperial hands that happened to be weapons, and those weapons happened to be T-7 ion disruptor rifles, a weapon so atrocious, so awful that the Imperial Senate, despite the cruelty of the Empire, had banned the weapons outright. Such a weapon could disable starships, but when used against organics, it disintegrated them, atm by atom, a slow process that the victim felt until their lives were mercifully over. What the weapon did wasn't common knowledge. Hera knew because that very same weapon was the one that had been used on Zeb's people in the genocide of Lasan.

It was made worse when the theft of the Imperial shipment had put ISB's Agent Kallus on their trail, a man best avoided, as all Imperial officers were, but they didn't know this one too well, and Hera wanted to keep it that way. Unfortunately, Kallus had specifically asked for the assignment to crush the rebels out of Lothal because he had heard there was a Lasal on board the crew, and Kallus had been there on Lasan when the massacre took place. He had given the order to use the disruptors.

Suffice it to say, the day ended up being something of a mess, only paid half what the crime lord had promised because the Imperial presence prevented them from making the full exchange. Worse, Kallus had goaded Zeb extremely successfully, and after being stirred into a blind rage, the Imperial Agent bested Zeb, would have killed him, until Ezra saved his life.

And the boy wouldn't shut up about it.

Zeb was taking it as well as could be expected.

Hera grit her teeth, her hands clenching tightly around the yoke in the cockpit as she heard something large and metallic come loudly crashing down, followed by Zeb's outraged screams and the scuttling of Ezra as he tried to get away. Hera tried to be patient, tried to remember what she was like when she was a child, and where she usually succeeded in being calm and temperate in all things, today, Zeb and Ezra's constant conflict was getting on her last nerve. She hadn't been like this at Ezra's age, she was following in her father's footsteps and fighting for something greater. She yanked the yoke hard and swung the ship around, setting in new coordinates as she did so. She had a solution to this problem that could see all the current issues resolved.

The boarding ramp extended as soon as the Ghost set down on Lothal, and Zeb and Ezra were unceremoniously thrown out of the ship, landing on the dusty ground outside. When they scrambled to their feet, they stood face to face with a very cross Hera, her hands on her hips and her foot tapping on the boarding ramp. Zeb's ears flattened against his head in embarrassment. It wasn't often that Hera lost her patience.

"You're throwing us out?" Ezra asked in disbelief, and the Twilik rolled her eyes as she walked out to the pair and put a datapad in Ezra's hands.

"No, but if you two are resolved to destroying my ship, then you're going to stay outside." She tapped the datapad. "You two are going on a supply run. That's the list of everything we need."

"What, with him?!" both Ezra and Zeb said together, shooting each other a vicious glare.

"Yes, together," Hera said forcefully, her tone leaving no room for arguement. "It's a lot of supplies, and you're going to need two hands to get it done." Zeb cracked his knuckles, started to say something, and a finger swiftly pointed at him shut him up. "Yes, I know you can carry most of it, but since you are breaking the Ghost together, you're going to be shopping together."

"Understood, boss," Ezra said, saluting and looking the list over. "This will take us no time at all. Anything else you need?"

Hera was silent for a moment before a small, secretive smile spread across her face. "Yes, actually. Bring me back at least one meiloorun."

"Meiloorun, got it," Ezra said, tossing the datapad in the air and deftly catching it. "Back soon, Hera, don't you worry." Hera watched the two walk away, look at each other, and then begin sprinting in toward town. She almost felt bad about sending the two out together, especially since the meiloorun fruit didn't grow on Lothal and was considered to be very rare. But then, they had broken the bunks in the room, and they did need supplies, not to mention that getting them out of the ship and chasing after rare, difficult to find produce would keep them out most of the day. Zeb and Ezra were both too competitive and too stubborn to simply quit, and forced extended time together may help them overcome their troubles.

With a sigh, Hera walked back inside the ship, her hands rubbing her temples to stave off her oncoming headache. With any luck, Kanan would be pen to talking. Something had happened when he took Ezra on as his student, but so far, the man hadn't said what, and when asked, he'd simply smile and say that everything was fine. It wasn't, of course. Hera could always tell when Kanan was lying. It could have been personal, something that the Jedi saw as irrelevant or a distraction to their ultimate goal, but Kanan being as unfocused as he had been was a greater detriment to their cause than anything he may have been worried about. They had time to talk now, and Hera was fairly certain she could convince him to open up.

She slowly made her way through the Ghost, checking the cargo holds for the other members of the crew and finding nobody. With a sigh, she climbed the ladder, bringing her into the cockpit where Chopper sat plugged into the central console as it recharged. Her fingers quickly ran over the console as she powered down the engines and ran all the proper landing checks she had neglected to do in her haste to get Zeb and Ezra out. When everything was set, she left for the hall behind the cockpit where their living quarters were located so she could survey the damage that Ezra and Zeb had managed to inflict upon the ship.

The door to Zeb and Ezra's room was open, which it shouldn't have been, and Hera carefully peered inside to see Sabine, a spray paint canister in hand as she happily sprayed the walls. "Run out of space in your own room again?" Hera asked, leaning in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. Sabine smirked and chuckled softly, but didn't look away from her work.

"No, but inspiration struck, and when it does, you can't ignore it."

"Ah." Hera patted the doorframe. "Don't go too wild. I don't want to hear it from Zeb later."

"It will take as much space as it takes," she muttered. "I can't stop until it's perfect, you know how it is."

"...well, better their room than mine," Hera said softly as she turned away, and she stopped suddenly when she realized what a rare, beautiful thing she had. Everyone was occupied. She quickly walked the short distance to Kanan's room, swiftly opened the door, and slipped inside, locking it behind her. Kanan sat on the bed, peaceful and serene in his meditations, hardly even seeming to be aware that she had entered, but that was fine. Hera quickly crossed the room, took the Jedi's face in her hands, and fiercely kissed him, smiling against his lips when she felt him tense with shock, and then very quickly relax into it, returning her passion with a needy, reckless abandon, desperate and hungry as he threw away his usual restraint.

It was Kanan that pulled back first with a soft, wanting moan, his eyes dilated with desire, but his face showed the return of his cautious nature as he focused for his control. However, Hera knew exactly what he was going to say, and managed to beat him to speaking first as she muttered a soft, husky, "Guess what I managed to do?"

"I dunno..." Kanan mumbled, smiling softly as he relaxed once again, his thoughts diverted away from being caught and back to the woman in his arms. "I bet it's amazing, though."

"More than you know." She kissed at his neck as her long, deft fingers undid the armor on his arm. "Zeb and Ezra are out on a supply run and looking for an item I don't think they'll find, and Sabine is painting, so..." She flashed him a wicked smirk. "I have you all to myself..."

Kanan ran his hands over his lekku and groaned softly when the Twi'lek gasped, the head tails squirming to press into his touch. "What are they looking for?"

She shrugged. "Meilooruns."

Kanan chuckled deeply. "You really are devious, aren't you?"

"It's just been so long since we've been together..." she whispered, running her hand along Kanan's hip and feeling her own blood rush with desire when the Jedi's involuntarily bucked against her. He was in just as much need as she was.

"Almost a month..." Kanan groaned softly. "And I can't even blame it on Ezra, he hasn't been with us that long. And that last time," he said, frowning, "that didn't count."

"Too fast for your taste?" she asked as she very, very slowly shrugged off her flight suit and laid back, pulling her breathless lover with her. "We were a bit pressed for time, weren't we?"

"Hardly satisfying."

"I agree," she whispered, a crooked smile on her lips as she watched Kanan quickly disrobe, nudge her legs apart with his knee, and settle above her. "Remember..." she said softly, locking her hands behind his neck. "We won't have many opportunities to be like this."

"I'll make the most of it, don't you worry..." He kissed her, slow and deep as he entered her, and Hera didn't realize how much she missed this. It was a shame, really, that they didn't live in a time where they could put their relationship first, allow themselves to be carried away by the deep passion between them. Kanan was...perfect. Perfect for her, in any case, even if he had started out a bit rough around the edges. Compared to the Kanan Jarrus she had met on Gorse, her Kanan was a different man, a better man, a peerless warrior, a caring lover. He had said in the past that the Jedi didn't condone love or romantic entanglements because it led to the Dark Side, but it had been a guideline that Kanan had quickly forgotten when the Jedi were executed. Even still, Hera thought the Jedi must have made fine men, if Kanan was any indication.

True to his word, Kanan really made the most of their time, setting a slow and intimate pace that more than made up for their recent, infrequent string of quickies tucked away in quiet corners of the ship when they ha a few minutes and a burning urge for union, though it was far from intimate, and only physically satiating, and for them, that wasn't close to enough. But...such as it was, that was what they got, and it would have to do. They didn't live in a time or place where they could truly be together, not like they wanted, not when the Empire that destroyed everything still clutched the galaxy in its iron grip. Some things were just more important, far bigger than them, no matter how much they yearned for it to be otherwise. The fact that Kanan understood that and agreed was part of why Hera loved him as she did. Duty before all else, until there came a time when they would be free to do as they wished.

They finished together, the lovers shuddering and moaning softly, their names on each other's lips as he pressed as deep within her as he could, his hips rolling gently against hers as they reached completion, and Hera could feel all the tension of before vanish in an instant. With a sigh of satisfaction, Kanan rolled to lay beside her and gently drew the Twi'lek against him, kissing her neck gently as they reveled in the warmth and relaxed laziness that ambled through them.

"I didn't realize how badly I needed that..." Kanan muttered, his voice low and tired, and Hera thought the man might fall asleep right there, which...wouldn't do. Not at all.

"Kanan," she said softly, stroking at his jaw line and making the bliss-hazed eyes look at her. "Are you having second thoughts about Ezra?" That seemed to wake him up, his focus snapping back to him and the haze clearing from his mind.

"W-what? N-no! I'm not, I'm fine..." He smiled weakly. "Everything's fine." She gave him a withering look, and the Jedi winced, knowing full well that there was no hiding the truth from Hera Syndulla. "Alright, it's not fine...but it's not Ezra, he's not the problem."

"It's you," she said softly, laying her hand on his heart, and he slowly nodded, his gaze shifting away from her.

"It's me, yeah, and..." He stopped and shook his head. "No, it's me." She frowned. There was something else. She'd have to ask about it later. "I'm not a teacher. I was never a teacher. My training was far from complete and, well..." Kanan absently ran one of Hera's lekku through his hand and kissed the end of the long, green tendril. "Jedi started training young. Very young. They always said that the training failed past a certain age because they became..." He frowned, looking for the appropriate word. "Attached. Those attachments could lead to dangerous emotions that could cause a Jedi to fall to the Dark Side."

"And Ezra is too old," Hera said, beginning to understand his concern, and the Jedi nodded.

"Much too old. It...can be done, but the only case I ever heard of was Anakin Skywalker, and he needed one of the greatest Masters in the Order to train him." He shrugged indifferently. "It wasn't enough, though. I heard he died on Mustafar, and..." He trailed off, his eyes becoming distant once again, and Hera frowned, touched his cheek, and brought his attention back to her. "Ezra deserves a teacher. A real teacher. Someone who can deal with all the problems that come with training an older student. He needs a Master, not a Padawan."

"I think," Hera said, dragging her finger in circles on the man's chest, "the fact that you care as much as you do is going to be enough."

"It won't be if someone else has his eye on him..." Kanan mumbled, and that got Hera's attention. She carefully studied Kanan's face, watching as the concern from before crept back on to his fine features. "...I've been having...dreams," he said after a long pause. "Nightmares. About Obi-Wan."

"...the Separatist?!"

"The Sith Lord," Kanan corrected. "I know he's dead, we watched the broadcast of his execution, but..." He shook his head. "I don't know. Something's off. Something's very wrong."

"Are you sensing something else?" she asked softly, smiling at him when he just looked confused. "Or maybe you're just having nightmares because you're stressed. You're feeling inadequate, you think your student might be susceptable to the Dark Side..." She patted his shoulder. "What better form for your nightmares to take than the face of the Sith?" Kanan chuckled softly and kissed her cheek. It was as good an explanation as any, and he would have just left it at that if not for...

"Ezra saw him." He said it so quietly that Hera had to strain to hear him, and she thought she had misunderstood until she saw the abject terror in her lover's eyes. "Back when we first brought him on," he continued when Hera said nothing. "After I left his home, Ezra said he saw a blond man roughly my age with glowing yellow eyes that carried a lightsaber and could use the Force." Kanan shivered. "He said I knew him. He said he knew me."

That was it. Hera couldn't explain that one, but she suspected that Kanan had the same sinking feeling in his stomach that she did. "And you think it's Obi-Wan? Did Ezra say it was him?"

"Ezra didn't get his name. Ezra said he called himself Sithkiller, which is what the Jedi called Obi-Wan after he killed a Sith Lord on Naboo." He growled and ran a hand through his hair. "Every Jedi knows that story. Obi-Wan was a legend before he was a traitor, and if he was my age..." He shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe another Padawan survived the Jedi Purge. Maybe it's someone I know, maybe...maybe it is Obi-Wan and they caught the wrong man."

"It can't be him, love..." Hera said softly. "You're talking about someone much younger than Obi-Wan."

"...maybe." Kanan took a deep breath. "Regardless, I'm being watched. Or worse, Ezra's being watched, and what he described was an agent of the Dark Side. If something like that has an eye on him, then they must have sensed something within Ezra that's drawing the Dark Side to him. In which case...I-I'm really not prepared. He needs a real teacher to show him how to defend himself against that sort of thing!"

"All the real teachers are dead, Kanan," she said softly, though not unkindly. "All he has is you."

"...y-yeah." He kissed her cheek. "Thanks, Hera. I'm feeling a bit better about this whole thing."

"I've been told I have that effect on people," she said as she hit his shoulder. "Two weeks, Kanan. Two weeks of undue stress because you didn't want to talk!"

"Ow, alright, alright!" he said, laughing as he kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"Better not..." she grumbled, but caressed the place she hit. "I need you at your best, Kanan. You're no good to me when you're jumping at shadows and ghosts." He leaned over to kiss her and was stopped when the comlink on Hera's flight suit went off, and with a sigh, the Twi'lek slid off the bed, riffled through her pile of clothing, and took the device in her hand.

"Specter Four to Ghost," Zeb said, his voice sounding strangely nervous, over some sort of background noise, but then we found them again. "We've got a bit of a problem." Hera rolled her eyes as she snuggled in next to Kanan again, the Jedi's arms wrapping around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Time to grow up," she said quietly to Kanan before answering the com. "Look, don't worry about the meilooruns," she started gently, but Ezra quickly cut her off, his voice sounding just as tense and nervous as Zeb's.

"Meilooruns, right!" he said swiftly. "We found some! And then we lost them, but we smashed them, and..." A piercing scream sounded over the com, not from either of their crew, but from someone else, and both Kanan and Hera shot up, suddenly very nervous.

"What was that noise?" Kanan asked, snatching the com from Hera's hand as she began dressing. "What exactly am I hearing?"

"Yeah, about that..." Ezra said nervously. "We, uh...we...we stole a TIE Fighter."

"...you what?!" Kanan snapped, jumping off the bed and throwing his clothes on as well. "Get rid of it!"

"...do we have to?" Ezra and Zeb asked together, and Hera rolled her eyes.

"Sounds like they're getting along," she said with a smile on her lips. "Mission accomplished."

"Wait, that was the mission?!" Kanan asked, his jaw dropping in disbelief. "Rendevous at shadow site two," Kanan snapped into the com. "Fly directly there, and don't do anything." He threw the comlink on the bed, aggressively tucked in his shirt and strapped his blaster holster to his belt and leg. "I'm going to go save those idiots," he said, kissing Hera on the cheek and running a hand over his lekku. "Business as usual, hmm?"

"Go save the day, hero," she said, playfully hitting the armor on his shoulder, watching him leave and flopping back on the bed with a sigh. There was nothing like a successful mission.


The room was dim, the only lighting in use specifically to illuminate the paintings upon the walls. And there were dozens of them. Old and new, impressionist reliefs and paintings so realistic it looked as though the subject may begin moving with life. There were landscapes, portraits, scenes depicting battles and celebrations, executions and crowning, life and death from dozens of worlds in endless styles. It was...chaotic, without order, and that was...highly upsetting.

The Grand Inquisitor did not like it here. The Emperor himself did not approve of art, considered it a breeding ground for treason, individualistic expression that defied the imposed order of the Empire. Without the will of the individual, there was one mind governing the galaxy, which was the only way to move forward, the only way to achieve progress, the only way to serve the glory of the Empire. Which is why, in this place, with this man, he was...offended. He couldn't understand why Sidious had allowed this creature to exist. He had repressed all other alien life as inferior to his own species, save for those with talent in the Force, which answered to his call and bowed to his might anyway. Worse still, his Masters had demanded of him that he...obey, and that was the most insulting thing about it.

Admiral Thrawn sat in a command chair in the center of the room, his hands pressed together and his fingers to his thin lips as he observed the paintings. He paid no mind to the Inquisitor when he entered. Another insult.

"Do you recognize any of the pieces I have on display here, Inquisitor?" Thrawn asked in his eerie monotone, though the man hadn't moved at all. Grinding his teeth, the Inquisitor made his way to stand beside the command chair the Admiral sat in. The room was enormous, the entire floor beneath the command bridge of the Star Destroyer Chimera converted into the Chiss' personal art gallery.

"Art holds no importance to us," the Inquisitor said, and Thrawn's red eyes moved to look at him, observing and appraising for a moment before they returned to his previous relaxed state. Save for his eyes, he still hadn't moved.

"A pity," he said quietly. "Should you find the time, I highly recommend it."

"The Emperor does not approve of such things," the Inquisitor said in a frosty tone, and the hint of a smile tugged at Thrawn's lips.

"No, he does not."

"So I find your fascination treasonous." The faint smile became a cunning smirk.

"What can you tell me about the man called Obi-Wan Kenobi?" Thrawn said, smoothly changing the subject. The Inquisitor was having none of it.

"I am not here to indulge your idle curiosity, Admiral," he snarled, quickly losing the little patience he had for this man. As an Inquisitor, he was outside the chain of Imperial command, answering only to the Sith Lords themselves. As Grand Inquisitor, he was entitled to respect. He felt like the Chiss was quizzing him. Like he was a child. Like he was a youngling back in the Jedi Temple. He felt himself burning with hatred, his fist clenched tightly at his side as he suppressed the desire to kill this man.

"I have collected here an assortment from across the galaxy through all its history," Thrawn said almost reverently, again changing the subject, and the Inquisitor rolled his eyes. "Here," he said, pointing to a piece to his left, "is a depiction of the formation of the Order of the Je'daii on the planet Tython and their worship of the moons, Bogan and Ashla, which would shape the philosophies regarding the nature of what you know as the Force. And here," he said, pointing to another, "the first war between the Jedi Order and their feuding brothers, the Sith."

The Inquisitor scoffed. "Jealous of our power, Admiral?" A faint smile touched Thrawn's lips.

"I confess, such an ability would be of great use, but as I have never felt the touch of the Force, nor ever will, it is fruitless to express envy. And there are more valuable assets than simply the faith in what cannot be seen." The Inquisitor scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Spoken like one who is ignorant of its powers."

"On the contrary..." Thrawn said softly. "I have devoted a great deal of the past few years to the study of the Force. I understand what those with talent are capable of. I have acquired an understanding of the forms of lightsaber combat, and have managed to procure a Clone Wars era droid specifically to practice my understanding." The Inquisitor rolled his eyes.

"Practice...you could never wield a lightsaber, and nor could a droid."

"No, you are correct on that matter," Thrawn droned. "The droid in my possession is an IG-100 MagnaGuard, favored by the cyborg General Grievous, and they use the electrostaff, not the lightsaber." The Inquisitor's superior attitude deflated immediately as he recognized the...possibility that Admiral Thrawn might know what he was talking about. "Of course, information that pertains to the Jedi and the Force in general is becoming increasingly difficult to come by, thanks to the efforts of you and your brothers and sisters," the Admiral said, a touch of praise in his voice. "It has made my job difficult, but I do appreciate the challenge. The desire to complete the task has allowed me to observe every angle, consider every possibility, a thing, I fear, that would not be present were I simply given the information." He gestured to the wall. "Yes, the Force is vastly important to our subject. What else?"

This time, the Inquisitor really looked at the paintings on the walls, the Admiral's obvious study of the Force despite his lack of affinity for it making him rise in the Inquisitor's esteem. "Battles," he said softly as he pointed to one. "That's the Mandalorian Wars."

"Quite right," Thrawn said softly. "And the others?" The Inquisitor peered closer.

"That's the Mandalorian Civil War. And that's..." He looked closer. "...the liberation of Naboo."

"Over there is a piece by a Separatist painter, a propaganda artist, really, depicting the Battle of Geonosis and the start of the Clone Wars," Thrawn said softly. "Here, an ancient ceremony of adoption, inducting a warrior into the Mandalorian culture. And here, the burning of Sundari. There, the destruction of Ord Mantell." Thrawn pointed to the painting across from him. "And the pride of my collection..." he said softly. "The likeness of Mand'alor Satine Kryze..." This time, he actually smiled for a moment before turning his blood red eyes on the Inquisitor. "Do you see the pattern yet?"

He looked at it again, closer this time and saw...nothing. "It is a varied collection, Admiral," he said, and Thrawn straightened up in his chair, the avoidance of the question not going unnoticed.

"This, Inquisitor," he said soft, pleased, "is the personal history of our mutual enemy, the renegade Separatist Negotiator, Lord of the Sith and esteemed Shadow King of Mandalore, Obi-Wan Kenobi." The Inquisitor stared at the Admiral for a long moment as he allowed the realization to sink in, and then looked back at the artwork. If that was true, the Admiral's knowledge of Kenobi was extensive, far more than anything the Inquisitor knew. He felt foolish for not seeing the connection before.

"...how does this help?" he asked, and Thrawn hissed softly.

"This is everything," the Admiral calmly explained. "Everything. His part in the Mandalorian Civil War, where he met the Duchess Satine, his return to her years later, her eventual death during the fall of Sundari, the destruction of Ord Mantell..." He steepled his fingers together. "In this, we learn nearly everything we need to know about Kenobi as a person. He is...attached. Sentimental. He has shown time and time again that he will always return for his friends and loved ones, no matter the cost and regardless of the threat to himself. Placing those people in immediate danger makes him protective, defensive, his natural state, while seeing to their deaths makes him violently aggressive."

"It is then he is his most dangerous," the Inquisitor pointed out. "The Dark Side feeds on anger and intense emotion."

"Ah, but does not the will to protect inspire emotions just as strong?" Thrawn asked, a slight smile on his lips. "No, I feel it is too early to determine when he is at his most formidable. Further observations are necessary." He gestured to the art. "The rest of it is a testament to his skills. The Force, his victory on Naboo against our...friend, Maul," he said with a smirk. "An analysis of his lightsaber skills shows him to be proficient in all the forms, but he heavily favors Form Three, Soresu, the defensive posture. A style for the cautious, the careful, the strategist, for one that would analyze their opponent in the heat of combat, wear them down, and strike with deadly precision the moment an opening is presented." He looked at the Inquisitor. "Can you defeat such an opponent? Be it through lightsaber combat or skill in the Force?"

"...no."

"Then it would seem to me that the key to victory against him is not in the hands of those who rely on the Force for victory." Thrawn took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and slowly exhaled. "The Negotiator...he is intelligent enough to be persuasive, powerful enough to destroy a planet, and yet, he has spent the past fifteen years engaging in..." He sneered. "Pranks. And after his imposter's execution, he all but disappeared, as I suspected."

"And you know what that means, I take it?"

"It so happens that I do..." Thrawn drawled. "He's protecting something, and keeping Imperial attention away from him is allowing him to hide. In the open, he is one very large opponent, a threat, and a target. But should he keep to the shadows..." He cleared his throat. "I would ask you again, Inquisitor. What is it you see in my collection? What feelings does it inspire?"

"...I see chaos," the Inquisitor said softly. "You have shown me what it means, but there are...too many colors. Too many styles, no unison, no order within it."

"Just so," Thrawn said, nodding. "Such it is with Obi-Wan Kenobi. A man with no culture, no heritage, no family but the ones he creates himself. So desperate for connection that he returned for his lover after years of being apart, refused to see harm come to his friends, even when they stood on opposite sides of a war. He has adopted the Mandalorian culture, held it close, treasured it because of his involvement with their leader, and holds it closer now in memory of her, I suspect." He smirked. "Sentimental, as you can see, and fitting that a man with no heritage should come to identify with a people with a cultural affinity for adoption, which makes their ranks diverse, hailing from different places, and all looking for the same familial connection."

"Mandalore is Imperial, Admiral," the Inquisitor said softly, and he nodded.

"Yes...though I would seriously call to question their loyalty, specifically the loyalty of Bo-Katan Kryze, sister to Kenobi's fallen."

The Inquisitor snickered. "Grand Moff Tarkin will not like that."

"I care nothing for the offense he may feel. The woman has avoided scrutiny because of her use to the Empire, but now, she may serve in another way. Aliit ori'shya tal'din, the Mandalorians say. Family is more than blood, and Kenobi's adherence to Mandalorian principles may make this paramount in our success in his capture and execution."

"And if you're wrong?" the Inquisitor asked, and Thrawn shot him a frigid glare.

"I am not."

"I'll concede your point when he had family in Mandalore during the Clone Wars," the Inquisitor softly challenged. "But now, everything he loved is dead. What makes you so certain?" A slow, clever smile spread across the Admiral's lips.

"The answer is twofold, Inquisitor," the Admiral said, finally standing from his seat and folding his arms behind his back. "First is his method of fighting since the Empire came to power. Small things, far below his capabilities, even when fighting against a force of our size. The method is derived from another Mandalorian saying, better one big enemy that you can see than many small ones you can't. In an Empire of this size and strength, it is easy for one man to get lost, but far more difficult if one leaves a path of destruction in their wake."

"But he is, isn't he?" the Inquisitor growled. "Not as himself, as the Shadow King." Thrawn scoffed and waved a dismissive hand.

"A message, signaling that he knows he is being watched. He has moved his piece, and it is my turn. His actions as Shadow King have no bearing on my analysis. They are meant to confuse."

The Inquisitor shifted his weight from foot to foot. "And the other reason?" he asked, drawing up taller when Thrawn's eyes fell on him. "You said there were two reasons. What's the other?" Thrawn's face suddenly grew...dangerous Triumphant.

"He does still have family," the Admiral said in his chilling monotone. "We have seen what he does when he loses everything. He burns planets. His actions now are not the actions of a man that has nothing left to lose. These are the actions of a cautious man, one who is sitting and waiting while he protects what's dear to him, occasionally harassing the Empire when he feels what he is defending is absolutely safe." Red eyes swept over the art in the room. "Child of Mandalore...he has family still, I can assure you, or those he considers family. Bo-Katan Kryze, sister of his lover, Luminara Unduli, his last surviving friend from within the Jedi, given his habit of always being there when she calls..." His eyes narrowed. "Among others, I am certain, and I will find those as well when we draw him out." He looked at the Inquisitor. "On that note, is our trap set?"

"It is," the Inquisitor said softly, his respect for the Admiral considerably elevated. "Are you certain this is how you intend to proceed?"

"It is," he said firmly. "Remember, Inquisitor. Every loss is a lesson, and should we fail to capture him this time, Obi-Wan has only drawn the noose tighter around his own neck." Thrawn took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders as he sat back down in his command chair. "If not this time, then the next. Or the next. Mark my word, Inquisitor. In the end, I will not lose."

"I'm beginning to understand why, Admiral."

Thrawn nodded. "Good. Ready our trap."