Chapter 15. Shades of White

A slight frown marring her forehead, tiny flutters of black eyelashes follow her gaze as she takes him in, while they are so conveniently hidden behind a wide marble column. Senator Organa remains silent, biting her lower lip in concentration, as she ponders something.

There is genuinely no predicting what she has on her mind. Not a secret message, she would've passed it already. Neither a warning, nor instructions, again, knowing her, those would've been delivered in a hushed whisper and a tone that brooks no argument the moment they both got hidden by a shadow. He would've allowed it, of course, for it's her battlefield, and Thrawn knows first hand how vital it is for a crew to follow instructions without questioning. Still, a tiny part of him has to admit that the whole ordeal is also somewhat amusing, as well as intriguing.

She is still looking at him from down up, but their faces are closer, almost as close as when he had to shield her on the balcony, enough to reaffirm his latest observation.

Her eyes are brown, deep and rich, he noticed it during their first meeting. No surprise here, given her parentage, plus, it's a usual occurrence for Humans. Yet now they're close enough to discern a particular shade they remind him of - the Brylark tree – the only wood as strong as metal, used sometimes for lightsaber hilts and some of melee sticks in his collection. He finds it strangely fitting. Why in the name of stars does the fact register or even matter, he doesn't know.

Then, of all things, she stands on her tiptoes. Definitely hasn't inherited her height from Lord Vader… before he can finish the thought, though, she once again she throws all his theories out of the window.

The touch is both confident and light, just a few quick brushes trough his hair. For the second time in the span of one day, he has to blink to ascertain that his own eyes aren't lying to him. She wears a distinctly satisfied expression on her delicate face right after, as if she's just pulled a particularity successful manoeuvre.

Well, to be fair, she probably has, given he cannot recall the last sentient who had the audacity, or the one whom he allowed get this close. Occasional liaisons excluded, those have never been about trust in the first place.

As they move on to the press conference, Thrawn opts for observing reactions in their audience rather than dwelling on Senator Organa's speech.

A few people are nodding, few follow her every move, flashes of holo cams meticulously timed to capture the Senator as she evokes her personal tragedy.

She's quite talented at painting a picture with her words, her art appeals to emotions as well as mind, enthralling those who are listening with a compelling mixture of vulnerability and resilience, just as she promised. It's an intriguing use of power, definitely different from a show of distant wisdom and infallible competence preferred by the late Emperor, but potentially quite effective in certain circumstances.

Yet, vulnerability is a double-edged sword - the select few snippets of her speech that do register confirm his suspicions. She is developing a massive blind spot and is projecting it for everyone to see. No wonder her enemies intended to use it. As a tactician he has to give it to her opponents – a sound strategy, destructive at the very core of her case and identity. As her… well, ally, he is content that their plans would never materialise. The sentiment has everything to do with the fact that she's a much more valuable asset, if she remains on the board long enough, and nothing to do with a small part of him would hate to see her shuttered.

A very small, irrational part in those farthest corners of his soul that remain untouched by the unyielding light of reason and common sense, those that harbour some of more personal memories and feelings, weathered, burned out, faded, but still lingering.


He suggests to meet in front of the Great Hyperspace war bas-relief, a testament to the fact that history is keen on repeating itself. Actors may change, but patterns remain.

A lethal threat coming from what was then presumed be unknown territories, leaving a trail devastation in its wake, burning hundreds of worlds in the inferno of ambition and thirst for dominance, a conflagration that didn't spare even Coruscant, once considered a beacon of safety and order.

A cautionary tale of complacency as well, in more ways than one. The late Emperor, then Chancellor, probably enjoyed the thrill of hiding such an obvious hint in plain sight, while the Jedi council and the Republic were looking for a Sith elsewhere. Speaking of threats and complacency, time to move on to the next part of his plan. Thrawn grips the datapad a bit tighter. While no battle tactics can anticipate all contingencies, he has tried to prepare for a couple of possible routes their conversation may take.

One. Gain more trust by sharing with Councilor Organa the truth about yet another proverbial blaster shot that he's helped her dodge, this time figuratively speaking. Makes sense, especially after her performance at the press conference, it would cement their alliance and make her more inclined to help him with a peace deal.

Two. Go directly to the real threat, too early to unveil a full scale of it, of course, but it may well be the right time and place to hint at the fact that while one war may be over, the other one is lurking on the horizon. The prospect so helpfully captured on the Massassi frieze in front of them.

"It's also a reminder that one must never allow oneself to become complacent. There are always more enemies to be identified, faced, and vanquished."

"On that note, I happen to have one more piece of art of you to analyse."

And… that's how she upends all his carefully constructed plans once again. He shouldn't be surprised, yet somehow he is. At how quickly she has managed to put all the pieces together, and at the same time at how irrational she's being about the whole ordeal.

Two logical options. Two perfectly sound openings. None matters anymore.

Both shutter the moment a conflicted voice whispers.

"I wish I could believe you. I… want to believe you."

It's not her political tone, he has learned the difference by now. It's strangely personal, just like that night in the Alderaan memorial hall. There it is again, a speckle somewhere in the air between them, hiding in the corners of her eyes, possibly echoed in his, whether he wants it or not. This damn small particle of mutual understanding and vulnerability that has no place being here, yet here it is. Wherever he says next has the power to destroy it.

It hits Thrawn, then. A realisation. Almost mocking in its unapologetic clarity, fraught with unpredictable implications. He wants her to believe, it's been a while since anyone simply did. So, while truth, in his experience, has never gained anyone anything, while he usually prefers to be able to control the outcome, he takes a step into an unknown and doesn't even have to pretend.

"I also want to believe you, if it matters at all."

Turns out, stepping into abyss is strangely liberating.


"There is nothing more permanent than temporary, Grand Admiral."

She leaves, but her presence lingers, the words sending small ripples through still waters of his memory. If only he could figure out why his throat feels suddenly dry, why her observation hit somewhere in the pit of his stomach, once again, proving her uncanny ability to hit the bullseye, when he least expects it.

"I'll gather whatever information I can about the Empire, then return and discuss my findings—quietly, of course—with Supreme General Ba'kif and the Council. Between all of it, I don't expect to be gone from the Ascendancy more than a few months. A year, perhaps, at the most."

More than twenty years in, he's still here, getting tangled deeper and deeper into this web.

Now he does have the entire military might of the Empire in his hands, possibly even the entire Empire, as Councilor Organa has just pointed out. The position that probably would've elated his former rivals in the high command, had any of them managed such a feat; the position that probably did incite the sense of vindication and gratification in the late Emperor when he accented to the throne; this very position leaves Thrawn mostly hollow. Whatever satisfaction he feels is born out of the fact that it gives him more leverage and allows for swift decisions. That, and the realization that now they're all closer than ever to a resolution. One way or another.

Thinking of the late Emperor, he takes a long road back to his quarters, opting for a detour to what used to be Palpatine's favorite corridor. Adorned by huge mirrors, it is built to intimidate, to make visitors face their insecurities and frailty, while waiting to have an audience. Thrawn has long since stopped paying any attention to it, but tonight, caught in the corner of his eye, a reflection halts him.

"I have to admit, though," Supreme GeneralBa'kif's voice is uncharacteristically soft, tinged with regret, "that I'd always looked forward to seeing how you looked in admiral white. I suppose I'll never get the chance now."

"You were never likely to in the first place. No one here would ever make me an admiral."

White is the sum of all colors and, in its purest form, is also their absence. Yet as all things in life, it's never pure or simple. All he sees is in the mirror is a wrong shade of white. A testament to the fact that no battle plan can anticipate all contingencies.

The Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet white and the Imperial white couldn't be more different. To a less trained eye they would look identical, yet for Thrawn the contrast is still striking.

One is a traditional show white, an obvious reference to the crystal white snowflakes of his home world, extremely close to pure white, untainted by any of the other hues. Also a symbol of neutrality, isolation, power and insight, even if he used to question the practical value of the first two adjectives back in a day.

Another one is a reflection on a peculiar sense of humour of the late Emperor. A ghost white, that's what it is sometimes called in less developed words, tinged by a very slight undertone of blue, incredibly subtle, but enough for to reinforce a striking contrast against the dark interior of the Imperial Navy ships. An testament to power and dominance, a subtle dig at meaning of white as a symbol of peacefulness in core words, and a nod to it as an epitome of mourning in the Outer rim.

Wonder what Councilor Organa would say… A particle, that annoying particle again. Thrawn frowns and wonders why of all thoughts… well, given that her own preference for the royal Alderaan white, it's only natural to wonder.

Artistic interest and shared appreciation of the color palette, that's all.


Well, seems like charging headlong into abyss was the right thing to do.

The talks progress remarkably well, Councilor Organa is true to her word, and together they manage to push the process forward. She's, indeed, brilliant. It's a fact, nothing more, nothing less. There is no other way to describe her making trade-offs, creating traps for others to talk into, pretending to fight just for one side, yet all the while setting both up to get if not exactly what they want, then definitely what they need.

He starts planning for a right moment to share news about the Grysk with Councilor Organa and General Skywalker, but then… There is a complication, a typically brash Corellian complication that joins the New Republic delegation, fresh out of Kashyyyk. Not that he cares, but it hinders his ability to communicate with Councilor Organa, who takes longer than normal to reply to their habitual evening calls, and once has to decline an offer for a meeting. Pity, he planned to use quite an interesting artefact in late Emperor's collection as a prompt. Thrawn plays with an idea of showing it to General Skywalker but quickly dismisses it, a joint training session would be much more useful in his case.

However, one thing becomes crystal clear – the palace is no longer an optimal space to have this conversation, so ideally he needs to have it on Chimaera to avoid distractions and guarantee privacy. Given that the signing ceremony is scheduled incredibly soon, it doesn't leave him enough time for a manoeuvre.

"Wouldn't have killed you to share an advance warning, you know?"

Admiral Ackbar's hushed whisper calls out from behind, just as they're about to break for the day and as both delegations are leaving the Pinnacle room. Thrawn turns around, and the expression on admiral's face – as if he's fighting a particularly annoying headache - leaves no doubt as to what he's referring to. Ackbar and Madine have been both dragged by the Senate over the past few days. The senators have been demanding to know how the New Republic could've missed such an blatant threat to safety in the first place, so the heads of the military and the intelligence have become easy targets for voicing out their (useless) frustration. For once, Thrawn feels a sense of relief that he no longer needs to deal with any questioning of this sort: a tribunal, a senate committee or a court martial – they all start looking and sounding the same after a while. Possibly, his new position does have some benefits, after all.

"It wasn't rational at the time, no facts, just a warrior's intuition."

He tries to sound as convincing as possible, for he doubts Ackbar and then Madine would be thrilled to learn about sound reflecting devices planted in the new climate control system of the palace.

"Next time, let's try to work together. It was an impossibly close one. You won't always be able to do it on your own." The Admiral is nothing if not practical, has no personal ego and prefers to focus in the future rather than the past - one of the reasons Thrawn finds working with him easy.

"Duly noted."

"So what does your intuition tell you now?"

"That you may want to convince the Chancellor and the Senate to invest in expanding the Mon Calamari Shipyards, if I recall, those produced ships with good micro-gravity reflectors."

A flash of familiar white catches his eye of sight. Given they've just adjourned for the day, Councilor Organa joins the recently recovered Chancellor, who is leaning on a thin walking stick, carved out of the snow-tree and adorned in traditional Chandrilan blue, gold and white pattern. Thrawn notes with satisfaction that he has guessed the height correctly while selecting his present. He still believes he made a right choice on the balcony that day, would do so again, if needed, but it doesn't mean he isn't aware that her current state is a temporary consequence of the said decision.

Then, he sees General Skywalker and General Solo joining the group, and hides a wince. How inconvenient, indeed, one more reminder that unexpected complications can throw off all carefully designed plans. Not for the first time he also notes that the former Rebellion seemed keen on granting ranks to sentiments long before they would be ready for it in a traditional military hierarchy, in an attempt to hide the lack of proper senior staff. Their reasoning is clear, but it doesn't have to sit well with him.

"Grand Admiral?"

"Apologies… was simply pondering the peculiar tendency of the former Rebellion to bestow military ranks with lightening speed. There are few worthy exceptions, of course, General Skywalker being one of them."

"Needs must, that was the only way to compensate for lethal danger faced by those who deflected from the Empire." Most didn't live long enough to feel the true meaning of the rankis left unsaid but understood without words between the two of them.

"It's an inevitable part of a warrior's path." Thrawn shrugs his shoulders, "I can only hope that the New Republic wouldn't follow the said tradition."

"Indeed, so how are Grand Generals Veers and Covell doing, Supreme Commander Thrawn?"

Well, seems like Ackbar has picked up a human tendency for sarcasm after all those years.

"I was making a general theoretical observation."

"Theoretical?"

Ackbar shoots a look towards the corner of the corridor where the Chancellor, the Councilor, General Skywalker and General Solo are standing.

"Indeed."

"Everything theoretical becomes personal at some point, but that's just my warrior's intuition."

His vis-vis isn't even trying to hide his amusement.


Unexpectedly, he runs into Councilor Organa that every evening by accident. Literally, almost runs into her, when he enters the training gym in the East wing and goes to pick up his melee sticks.

"I said I needed a moment alone, is that too much to ask?"

She's sitting on the floor, back leaning on the wall of the box that houses his training weapons.Irritation in her voice is as clear as day, coupledwith a roll of her eyes, it gives him a hint that she has probably just parted ways with her brother.

"Apologies, Councilor, I can leave if you prefer…"

She raises her head, lips parting, but no words come, as her eyes widen in recognition.

Silence stretches, as he's waiting for an answer. While he definitely needs to talk to her, if his experience with humans taught him anything, choosing a wrong moment can lead to a disaster, and she clearly has some other things on her mind.

"No," she shakes her head, and pushes aside whatever thoughts here plaguing her, "stay."

She pats on a spot on the floor next to her.

"For a royal, you have a peculiar preference for sitting on a floor."

"For an Imperial, you aren't that bad of a company, Grand Admiral." She prefers to use his previous title, and he finds that he has no objections at all, not even when she does it during the talks. The sound is familiar, and she has developed an ability to color it in tens of different shades, depending on her mood. Tonight, the retort lacks the bite, actually, it comes out softer than she probably intended, that much is obvious, as she hurries to cover her slip of tongue with a follow-up. "Not that the bar is that high."

"Thank you."

"What for?"

"For your help with the treaty."

"At the end of the day, it's the right thing to do for the galaxy, in the grand scheme of things."

She seems conflicted, as if she wants to say something else, but not sure if she should. Then, takes a deep breath and adds.

"One of the first things I've learned in the Rebellion… every single life is expendable, including my own, and no one is more important than the cause one serves."

Even if she tired. Even if she knew of the Chiss Ascendancy. Even if she knew anything about his past, which she doesn't, not really. She couldn't have said anything that would've resonated more. Possibly, that's why she has been his irrational choice of an ally from the start.

"Plus, irrational as it is, I may trust your word." She closes she eyes and leans on the wall of his melee stick box, which probably proves her point more than the words ever could - such a contrast to their first meeting with the blaster levelled at him at all times.

A part of him doesn't want to disturb her inner moment of peace, but another, more rational, practical part points out that she has just told it herself… no one is more important than the cause…

"I need to talk to you and General Skywalker."

"We are talking now."

"No. I'd prefer to talk with both of you, and ideally without witnesses, it'll be challenging the moment we leave this hall."

"We can try to have a conversation here, before or after the signing ceremony tomorrow."

"Chimaera may be a better choice."

Confusion is written all over her features as she looks back at him. From a tightening of skin in the corners of her deep brown eyes, to a familiar slight frown on her forehead.

He would've never risked suggesting this in the beginning of their acquaintance, too reckless, too presumptions. Yet, somehow, he feels he can at least suggest it now. If not, he will of course, use whatever other place they can agree on tomorrow.

"Just remember, Councilor, that I also trust you, and that I would've asked, if it wasn't important for a cause."

"For a person who professes to know nothing about politics, you have a peculiar ability to say the right thing at the right time, Grand Admiral."

Next day, she proposes to replace traditional celebrations after signing a peace treaty with joined humanitarian missions to worlds most affected by the conflict. A proposal that meets no objections, mostly because no one is short-sighted enough to look for a flaw in a move that is guaranteed to bolster the image of both the New Republic and the Empire. Randomising delegation choices between the two sides to foster cooperation also seems like the lesser evil… Blind fate and all.

When a familiar shabby-looking white-blue astromech droid, entrusted to randomise and match the named, projects surnames Organa and Skywalker as assigned to Chimaera, Thrawn isn't even surprised.

Fate, turns out, is not blind.

She's brilliant.


Author's note

Not Ackbar being the most perceptive of the lot again and the king of shade… c'mon he deserves to have a bit of fun…
The author has to deal with the Han question sooner or later, so we all knew it was coming… I promise I will sort it out, one way or another, eventually…
PS. The dialogue with Ba'kif is borrowed from the Lesser Evil, as you can guess, and yes it still hurts every time I re-read that book.