It was a bit of a backwater planet; it was just this side of Wild Space and managed to keep to itself despite how the war seemed to drag everyone into it. There were very few visitors and it had almost no imports to speak of. It had only one export though: flowers. The planet shipped them out by the ton, with ships kept them stored so expertly that they would still be fresh even after weeks of space travel.
And it was well-known for – among certain circles –its seasonal flower festivals.
That was the main reason Pellaeon had wanted to come here for years. The man had been patient, more than patient really. With every shore leave that lead to another political meeting instead of an actual break, he would simply nod and say that he understood.
But Thrawn found it unacceptable. If there was ever an officer that deserved a break, deserved to enjoy himself for a few days without worry, it was his captain. Besides, he had promised Pellaeon years ago that he would get him to one of those festivals even if he had to personally rearrange the Chimaera's entire schedule around for it.
It might have taken him some time, but Thrawn was loath to break a promise.
He had only gotten them a week off the ship just in time for the first festival, but Pellaeon had assured him that it was more than enough. Thrawn disagreed. He would have gotten him a year's worth of time if he could have. But they were stuck with having to make do with what they had, and Thrawn planned to make the most of it for the other man.
Thrawn was sure that he had accomplished that goal when they stood in the middle of a massive field of pink and yellow flowers with the soft breeze that blew petals past their faces, and he saw Pellaeon genuinely smile for the first time in what felt like forever.