"Sir. We're arriving at the capital now," the captain of the tagmata company informed him.
Robb awoke slowly, suppressing a yawn as he gazed out the viewports on the Marty transporting him to Lanopolis.
Even from here, the damage was visible. Parts of the wall had been broken or smashed, and the suburbs of the New City district that had lain directly beyond the wall were damaged, destroyed, burned out, or pock-marked with blaster hits.
"Land immediately outside the walls," he commanded the pilot. "I want to survey the damage myself."
"Roger, sir," was the pilot's stoic reply. Robb figured the pilot was privately confused at such a request, as this was far outside the norm for a general- not to mention the fact that he was supposed to be meeting his friends and the king soon.
The Marty glided down to the area outside the walls, having to find a landing zone midst the debris of war strewn about the battlefield. Before Robb registered it, the doors swung open, and he was greeted with a familiar yet unpleasant stench.
The combination of burning hair, rotting flesh, excrement, and blood.
He breathed through his mouth as he got up out of his seat and stepped outside to the battlefield that lay before him. Everywhere he looked, he saw nothing but burned-out bunkers, knocked-out tanks and armored carriers, charred fields, and bodies- thousands upon thousands of them.
Every corpse he saw was different, yet the same. Here was the body of a stormtrooper missing his limbs. There lay the charbroiled skeleton of an Arcadian soldier who didn't escape a flamethrower in time. Overhead, crows, ravens, and other carrion birds flew, descending on the slain to fill their gullets with decaying meat, while the flies and gnats did much the same.
Wails and cries could be heard puncturing the otherwise silent afternoon. Among the dead were those wounded in battle. Some could walk towards the nearest aid station- while others had to be carried by stretcher towards a waiting medical vehicle, so that they could receive better care in one of Arcadia's hospitals...which by now were stretching to the breaking point with the number of wounded coming in. A few field hospitals had been set up behind the city walls, yet even they were hard-pressed to stem the tide.
"What are the latest casualty reports?" Robb asked the commando next to him. The tagmata were silent for a long moment, as he switched to an internal frequency to get the requested data. Before too long, however, Robb got the answer he was looking for.
"Estimates still vary, sir, but among the roll calls thus far, we've suffered nearly 135,257 deaths on the ground with another 245,674 wounded. Over 500 armored fighting vehicles have been destroyed as well as 125 gunships. In space, the Home Fleet has lost around 57 warships. Our fighter and bomber losses are unknown, but they're estimated to be in the hundreds. All in all, we've suffered a thirty-eight percent casualty rate on the ground, while in space we've suffered around fifty-seven percent. And that's not counting the ninety-three thousand civilians who are dead and wounded. Over ten percent of the city has been damaged or destroyed in the fighting."
Robb grimaced. Heavy casualties, no matter how you sliced it. The Home Fleet and the Home Army would have to spend months out of action rebuilding themselves. Not to mention those in the suburbs would now be homeless and without food. It would take a lot of time, money, and material to rebuild from this, and that was on top of the war Arcadia now found herself in.
From what little he had heard, though, the Imperials had suffered far worse. Over two and a half million Imperials lay dead, with another two million wounded and captured. Among their task force, 235 Star Destroyers had been knocked out, along with most of their frigates and escorts. From what was left, nearly 41 destroyers had been captured along with their crews, whilst a full squadron of 24 ISDs had escaped the battle with their escorts. All in all, a ninety-two percent casualty rate, and even for a polity as strong as the Empire, that was not a defeat you could easily bounce back from. If Robb had to guess, there would be multiple rebellions flaring up all across the Outer Rim now, as the Imperial Navy would now be spread thinner in this region.
That brought him small comfort, but comfort nonetheless.
A wheezing sound snapped him out of his thoughts. Turning to his right, he saw something that he was sure would haunt him for the rest of his days.
There, about three meters to his right, lay a stormtrooper, sans helmet. The trooper- a young human male who looked to be no older than seventeen- was laying on the ground coughing up blood, as a sizable hole had pierced his chest. Judging by the wound, it appeared that he had gotten hit by mortar shrapnel, and was now suffering from a sucking chest wound.
To make matters worse for him, there was no medic around to save the boy...if one could save him even if there had been a medic.
Robb walked over to the lad and knelt beside him, getting a closer look at him. The youth had light skin and blonde hair that bordered on red, with lake-green eyes that once had the shine of emeralds. The freckles on his face accentuated his youth.
Robb was taken aback. This was supposed to be the enemy- a jackbooted thug who blindly carried out the will of a tyrant. Yet all he saw now was a kid who was far from home, thrust into battle, and dying before he could even start a family.
The dying lad looked up at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out were strangled gasps and wheezes. It would not be long now before he expired, the former Lord of Winterfell realized.
By instinct, Robb grabbed his hand, squeezing it in a false assurance that everything would be alright for the lad. The lad struggled to look at him, and although his eyes registered fear of death, they also became softer, as the lad must have accepted that he was dying, grateful for the comfort that Robb was giving him in his last, painful moments.
Soon, the lad's hand slackened, and he took his last, wheezy breath as the life left his eyes, which were now cold and dead.
The youth had passed on.
Not quite understanding why he was doing it, Robb closed the young man's eyes as he drew out a shaky breath. He then looked down at the corpse's belt, and one of the pouches appeared to be open. Inside of it was a small notebook, bound in leather. His curiosity got a hold of him, and Robb retrieved the small book from the dead man's pouch. Moving towards the gates, he began to read the journal of the young man, deigning to skip through several 'chapters'…
Journal of ZT-6866, PFC, 2nd Platoon, B Company, 1st Battalion, 275th Legion.
25 March, 7975 CRC
Just graduated from the academy on Carida. Mom and dad were there at the graduation ceremony. I've never seen them so proud of me in my life! I've got a week of leave, and then I'm off to my first duty station. I'm to be assigned to the 1st Battalion, 375th Legion stationed on Mykapo. A good unit, from what my instructors have told me. I'm incredibly excited to begin this chapter of my life!
15 June, 7975 CRC.
Well, here I am writing in this journal again. The first month or so being stationed in this unit was hard, but nothing unexpected. I was the "karking new guy". Some of the guys nicknamed by "Sixer", due to my operating number being ZT-6866. Not the one I preferred, but the one that stuck. Oh well, Sixer it is. So far I've not seen much action here, other than the occasional arrest and raid. Ever since Grand Admiral Thrawn drove the rebel cell out months ago, it's been rather quiet. Some of the older veterans call me and the other new guys in my unit too full of 'piss and vinegar', but it doesn't bother me. I'm going to bring glory to my family and the Emperor, come hell or high water.
13 August 7975 CRC
Met a girl the other week while out on patrol. Her name is Katy Yaron. I know that we aren't supposed to fraternize with the locals, but I can't help it. She's the most striking woman I've ever seen. We've been talking ever since we met, and we've been drawing closer and closer. Some of the older guys are making fun of me for falling for a local, but I don't care. Tonight I'm going to ask her out when I'm off.
17 September, 7975 CRC.
Lost one of our guys today. SPC Jahn Zeklon, FY-7895. We called him Joppy, for reasons I will not mention here. Anyway, Joppy was stabbed to death by a criminal while patrolling the market in one of the backwater towns today. I...don't know quite how to feel. I feel angry, sure, but also...numb? It's hard to explain. It was only yesterday that he was in the formation celebrating my promotion to Private First Class. I think I'm starting to lose my eagerness for combat and starting to see just what the older veterans were talking about. Anyway, I need to go to a briefing soon.
5 October 7975.
There's something big going on. They won't tell us what or how due to operational security. All that's been passed down to our battalion is that we're to redeploy to Vandor to a major operation. To some of the specialists and corporals I've talked to, it sounds like the biggest operation the Outer Rim has ever seen since the end of the Clone Wars. Can't be for some rebel cell, or even this "Rebel Alliance" I've heard some rumor that the target is Arcadia, in the middle of Hutt Space. It would make more sense, I suppose. They have a larger military than most and are perhaps the only ones capable of fighting us in a straight-up battle. My nerves are on edge right now. I'm faced with the prospect of death, and I don't like it. Our officers assure us that we'll come out on top, but something in my gut is telling me that this is going to get karked. Oh well, I'm a trooper. I do what I'm told.
25 October 7975.
Vandor is a frozen karking shithole. How do the local boys stationed here put up with this shit? I'm freezing my nuts off. Ugh. At any rate, we've got a lot more information now that we're here at the staging area. Apparently, the target IS Arcadia. Operation: SHIELDBREAKER is what they're calling it. We're going to be the first in, assaulting the capital world with a force of over three hundred ships and four million troops, with follow-up forces attacking the rest of their fleets throughout Hutt Space. We were selected, apparently, because of our combat record and our steadfastness. Thrawn is in charge of this operation, and I'm feeling more at ease because of it. If there's anyone who can pull us through, it's the Grand Admiral. We're to move out on the night of the 5th of November, and preparations are almost complete.
My first "real" battle. Heh. Hopefully, the gods will see us through this. I'm going to call mom when I get the chance. Probably call Katy while I'm at it. This is gonna be my final entry for a while.
Robb exhaled a shaky breath, and put the journal down, feeling a tear rolling down his cheek while trying not to collapse. All this time, he had thought of his Imperial enemies as wholly evil. Unthinking drones who followed orders to the letter half the time, and rapacious barbarians the other half. Yet here he was, staring at the corpse of a man who was no older than Ezra was; a boy who died fighting so far from home for a cause he had believed in, who had thought he was on the right side of history.
This lad would never get to see his lover or his mother again.
A scream snapped him out of his thoughts, and just as he turned his head to see what was going on, he saw an Arcadian soldier level his rifle at a wounded stormtrooper, who was crying and putting his hands up, begging for his life. Apparently not in the mood for mercy, the Arcadian shot the Imperial point-blank in the head, the bolt leaving a sizable, smoldering crater. As the king's soldier walked off, he spat on the corpse of the man he had just murdered in cold blood.
Robb grew sick to his stomach. He was used to the horrors of war, and how it can twist and eat at a man. That's not why he wanted to vomit now. No, the reason why was because it reminded him of himself before he had met his new family- before Hera and the others had shown him a better path, one more honorable and pure.
Vengeance is already settling in their hearts, he thought, and the thing is I can't entirely blame them. Their homes are burnt and their loved ones dead or wounded.
He cleared his minds of such thoughts and stood up, walking back towards the Marty, which was awaiting him to take him to the palace.
When Robb got to the palace, he found everyone had gathered in the throne room. Sitting on his father's throne was Alexios, grim-faced as ever. On his right sat his sister, her face forlorn, and on his left sat Ignatius, who looked similarly tired. Standing next to them was Lund, and before them stood all Robb's friends, who were busy talking among themselves, along with a few others.
"Robb!" Theon called out, walking towards him. The Lord of Winterfell smiled and walked towards his friend. They pulled each other into an embrace when they got close enough, laughing in warmhearted joy.
"That was a tough one," Robb exclaimed after breaking from the embrace. "Was thinking for a while we weren't going to make it."
"Certainly was a close one," Theon remarked. "Almost as close as…" he trailed off. Robb's smile faltered at that moment, for he knew what battle his friend referred to.
The Long Night.
"Robb!" a familiar voice cried out. All a sudden, Robb was nearly tackled by Sabine and Ezra as the locked him in a hug.
"Gods be good!" Robb exclaimed. "Didn't know you two cared that much about me."
"You're our brother, di'kut," Sabine jokingly chided. "Why wouldn't we care about you."
"Besides, it's not like there's anyone else aboard the ship we can make fun of for being grouchy and grim most of the time," Ezra added.
Robb chuckled. "I suppose you two got me on that front. Trying at least to work on that 'grouchy' bit." He turned to Ezra. "Heard on the grapevine that you managed to rally the troops on the wall and held off entire regiments of stormtroopers by yourself."
Ezra rubbed the back of his head, and Robb didn't fail to notice a slight wince. "Heh. Well, I wouldn't say myself. Had some help from another Jedi. Come on, lemme introduce you."
He waved a couple of people over, and the two Ezra motioned over walked towards them.
One was a human man, dressed in blue spacer clothes with a protective padded jack over his chest, indicating that he had once been a blue-collar worker of sorts. His hair was red, bordering on orange, and across his lip ran a distinct scar. His green eyes were the highlights of his pale face, and they spoke of mirth and humility in equal measure. From his hip hung a lightsaber, of a make Robb had not seen before.
Next to the man was a woman, who was a member of a near-human species Robb did not know of. Her hair was a rich shade of silver or mouse-blonde, while her white skin at least on her face was marked with gray tribal tattoos, which brought out the brown of her eyes. She was covered in exotic red garb fit for a priestess of an animist or polytheistic religion… or a sorceress who practiced strange magic. Besides the two strangers was an equally strange, bipedal droid which chirped like a hen.
"Robb," Ezra spoke, pointing his hand to the couple, "may I introduce you to my fellow Jedi, Cal Kestis, and his Nightsister companion, Merrin of Dathomir."
So that's why her tattoos look so familiar, he thought. She belongs to the same tribe as Maul did.
"A pleasure to meet the two of you. My name is Robb Stark, Master Chief Petty Officer in the Alliance Navy, and as my compatriots have already told you, combat specialist onboard General Hera Syndulla's vessel The Ghost."
"Indeed he has," Cal confirmed. "Before you came in he was talking about his master to us. Kanan Jarus. I've never heard of the man, but from what he described of him, it sounds like a true knight and a good man."
Robb nodded. "He is, and he's a good father-figure to the boy."
"Most masters are good parents towards their padawans," Cal remarked, and Robb could detect a sadness behind his words. Robb decided not to press him on that. He knew how hard it was to lose a parent or a mentor, and it wasn't a wound you wanted particularly dredged up.
Before any of them could speak any further, the banging of staff on the ground silenced all activity in the throne room, and all eyes turned towards the dais.
"His Grace, Alexios V Beniko, King of the Tionese and the Sith'ari, Lord of Arcadia and Protector of the Realm, shall now announce his proclamation," the steward loudly proclaimed. Alexios, for his part, stood up from the Onyx Throne, and put his hand behind his back,
"Let these words echo in eternity," he spoke, not-so-subtly commanding the court scribe to write down what he had to say. All holorecorders in the room were fixed upon him at that moment, as well. "Yesterday, November 6 of the year 797- a date which shall hereafter be ever infamous, we invited the Imperial delegation as guests of my wedding, in good faith and by all the laws and customs gods and men have set forth. Without warning, we were all betrayed, deceived by the men we called guests, and a woman we called our friend. My father, your king, along with countless others, were slain in cold blood by the forces of the Empire of Coruscant. They were not satisfied with finishing the job, however. Six hours afterward, our home was suddenly and deliberately attacked by the naval and ground forces of the Empire of Coruscant. Our forces fought bravely and died valiantly, crushing our insidious foe while being outnumbered three-to-one, and for their sacrifice, we are ever grateful.
This, my countrymen, has proven one thing, however; the Empire has never been interested in peace or harmony. Only conquest and wanton slaughter please Palpatine and his minions. Therefore, we shall answer this deliberate transgression against all things good, decent, and just with arms of our own. With the consent of the Royal Council, the backing of the commanders, and with the blessings of the gods, I hereby declare that a state of war exists between the Empire of Coruscant and the Kingdom of Arcadia. With all the resources at our disposal and the steadfast nature of our people, we will fight against all odds to absolute victory!"
The crowd in the throne room erupted into massive applause, with chants of "war!" being heard throughout.
Unsurprisingly, the only ones who were more subdued were the ones who had fought in wars.
"Robb Stark," the new king called out. "Step forth."
The former King in the North did as he was commanded and stepped before the throne, genuflecting before it.
"Lord Stark, you were instrumental in the defense of our homeland. Without your tactics, your strategy, and your resourcefulness, we could not have endured the onslaught of Thrawn and his forces. To that end, I hereby give you the honorary title of 'Defender of the Realm' and have directed my newly appointed treasurer to reward you with the sum of five billion credits. I have also been in talks with your commanders- in particular Senator Mon Mothma. She has decided that in the Rebel Alliance, you are to be promoted to the rank of general."
Robb was floored. For a second, he didn't know what to say, managing to get out "Thank you, your grace," before getting up and moving towards the crowd again.
"Ezra Bridger, step forth," the king commanded, and this time Ezra came forth and knelt before the throne.
"If it weren't for you, Bridger, the city would have fallen. You were the flame that burned against the darkness of that night. To you, I give you the title of 'Savior of the City' and have instructed my armorers to fully repair and restore your armor. You will always be welcome in our city...Stormbreaker."
If Robb had been flabbergasted, Ezra seemed outright dumbfounded, as all he could manage was a nod before scurrying off back to the crowd.
"For the rest of you, and all the heroes who fought and died in this battle, I hereby award you the Order of Arcus; the highest medal my family can bestow upon you. I will also commission for those who fought in this battle a monument, which is to be set ten meters away from Sofios Gate, where our forces made their valiant stand."
Another round of applause broke out, and to that, the king briskly left the dais, heading back towards his chambers, while his wife and his sister both followed suit.
Curiously, though, Lund did not leave the room. Instead, the overweight porcine alien walked his way towards where Robb, Theon, and the rest were standing.
"Congratulations on your victory," he offered, lighting a cigar and puffing it. "Well...it turns out Rotta is innocent. He had no idea his father and the Emperor were going to pull this off. We've got him in the guest apartments right now, but the lad's pretty shaken up about the whole thing."
Robb nodded, "Understandable. What about the smuggling duo?"
"King decided to release them, on one condition- they're going to be doing errands for me for a long while now, and seeing as we're at war and all that, it means they're gonna be quite useful at gathering intel."
"Such as on the Empire's secret weapon?" Robb inquired.
"Yeah, that… but that's a conversation for another time and another place. Right now, I need to get to planning and doing. This war ain't going to be won with just blasters and ships…" he trailed off, took another puff of his cigar, and started to walk off, but not before Robb stopped him.
"What is to become of Thrawn?" Robb asked.
To that, Lund sighed. "Since Thrawn was involved in much of the planning for the operation, and the people are demanding justice…"
Robb realized what he was getting at, and a grim pit settled in his stomach. "The king wants to execute him, doesn't he?"
Lund nodded. "If you want to visit him, now is the time. There is to be a trial, but the evidence is overwhelmingly in favor of a guilty verdict, as far as I'm concerned."
Robb was silent for a long while, deciding how to respond, before looking Lund in the eye, "Alright, but if his grace does go through with this, I want to request one thing- that he execute Thrawn himself."
Lund raised a questioning eye-ridge. "And why would he need to do that, Stark?"
"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword," was Robb's stoic reply, recalling the wisdom his father had imparted to him. "If you take a man's life, you owe it to him to look him in the eye and hear his final words, and if you can't stand to do that, then maybe he doesn't deserve to die."
"That is your tradition, Stark, not ours," Lund reminded. "Besides, I recall you killed without mercy or recourse before. Who are you to give the king a lecture on morality?"
Robb said nothing but turned and walk away, much to the confusion of his friends. Lund was right, of course. He had been ruthless and uncompromising in the twelve years before he met the Ghost crew. He'd be damned though if he'd admit that to Lund, of all people.
"Robb!" Sabine called out before he could leave. "Robb, I wanted you to meet my uncle, Johannes of Clan Cato. He owns a store here on Arcadia, and he helped me and the Queen get the network up and running again."
Standing next to Sabine was a taller Mandalorian man sans helmet. He was encased in armor that was colored silver and green, with a grinning rancor skull on his right pauldron. As far as features went, he shared a lot of similarities with Sabine; namely, he shared the color of her hair, as well as the hue of her skin. His eyes showed a myriad of traits- mirth, determination, and sadness, to name a few.
"That's probably saying too much," Johannes waved off, "but yes, I did assist Sabine during the battle. I don't intend to turn my back on family...not now, not ever." The elder Mandalorian then turned to Sabine and looked her in the eyes. "That's why I'm selling my store to Palto and joining you."
Sabine's mouth dropped open, "R-really? But I thought-"
"Ah, it's just an old store. That doesn't matter to me as much as making things right by kin and clan," he responded. The younger, brighter-colored Mando didn't say anything. Instead, she launched herself at her uncle, wrapping him tightly in a hug.
Robb smiled for a moment, before faltering and turning again to head to the prison. There was someone he needed to talk to, after all.
There was a reason why they say Fort Redemption is the most secure prison next to the Citadel.
The penitentiary was a vast, well-guarded fortress, standing on a nigh-barren island in the middle of the storm-prone Malgean Ocean. Every fall, hurricanes battered it without mercy, and every summer, the heat, and humidity sweltered to nigh-unbearable heights, making the place the closest thing to hell there was...next to Mustafar, of course.
No one had ever escaped Redemption, and those who tried had either been drowned in the ocean or eaten by the megalodon sharks that prowled the waters around the island. The facility was guarded by security droids and a few organic personnel under the purview of the Ministry of Law.
As for who found themselves imprisoned on this island, one could expect your usual 'worst of the worst' scum- murderers, rapists, abusers, traitors, and above all else, war criminals.
It was here that Thrawn and most of his officers found themselves interred.
As the MAAT set down on the landing pad, Robb put on his helmet and stepped outside into the whipping rain and roaring thunder. Fortunately for him, it was a relatively weaker tropical storm they had flown into, and not a full-fledged hurricane. Else-wise, he'd have to wait for a week to talk to Thrawn, and to be honest with himself, he was sick and tired of staying on Arcadia.
Within moments, he found himself at the heavily guarded gatehouse, staffed by a security droid.
"Identification please," the droid commanded in a drool, monotone voice.
"Wolf-One-Actual," Robb said, giving his identifying code phrase.
The machine was silent for a while, apparently processing and checking the code phrase, before its photoreceptors lit up green in recognition.
"Confirmed. Welcome, Lord Stark. Prisoner 1138 is located in Cell Block 5, Section D, Level 4. For security concerns, I have to ask that you leave your helmet and blaster with me."
Robb nodded, and took off his helmet and his sidearm, handing them to the droid behind the counter, who pressed a button. The doors slid open, and Robb stepped into the prison complex…
Into one of the grimmest places, he'd seen.
The interior of the complex was dim. The bulkhead, the floors, the ceiling; all were painted almost entirely carbon black. The only light that was given off came from the sterile blue lights above him, as well as the cold, cyan-colored ray shielding that separated the cells from the corridors, making the entire place seem like some sort of eerie, frozen hell, guarded by emotionless droids who might as well have been demons for a place like this.
Robb put those thoughts behind him and pressed on, trying to shrug off the feeling of crushing oppression the prison seemed to be giving off.
After what seemed to be an eternity, he finally arrived at Thrawn's cell. Nodding towards the security droid that had been escorting him to open it, he waited until the ice-hued ray shield momentarily deactivated, and he stepped through, finally finding himself face to face with the greatest military commander the Empire had ever known.
If one had been expecting a clean-shaven Chiss in a resplendent white uniform, they were bound to be disappointed, Robb mused. What sat before him was a Chiss male in an orange prison jumpsuit, his face unshaven and his hair disheveled. But his eyes...his red eyes were studying Robb, looking over him like he was an equation to be studied, or a piece of artwork to be analyzed.
Robb found himself intensely scrutinizing this alien man in turn. He found it hard to get a read on this man- Thrawn kept his features chiseled out of the hardest rock, it seemed.
"The sigil of the wolf…" Thrawn spoke first, after several long moments of silence between the two. Robb tracked his eyes to where he was staring- the wolf insignia on his breastplate. "Of course. That's what the strange creature was warning me of. I was thinking too literally at the time when I should have been paying more attention to the stories of the legendary Grey Wolf."
"Some creature was warning you?" Robb questioned.
"A curious being I met on Atollon. I recall that it called itself 'Bendu," Thrawn clarified, "and judging by your eyes widening ever so slightly, it seems you have a familiarity with it."
"You could say that," Robb quipped. He did not feel it prudent or wise to reveal that the Bendu was his brother, nor that he had come from the distant past. Some things could just not be believed by a mind that operated almost entirely on logic and reasoning, after all.
Thrawn bid him sit beside him. Robb decided to oblige him and took a seat on the metal bench next to the disgraced Chiss admiral.
"I must say," Thrawn began, "I've devoted my life to studying and perfecting the art of war. I've faced opponents that have earned my respect, and I've had allies who were worth less than spit. In all my years, though, I've never once been bested in the field of battle...not until I fought you. You have my utmost respect, Lord Stark."
Robb nodded, "and you likewise, Admiral. Truth be told, there were several times during the battle when you had us on the ropes, and the victory isn't mine alone. My friend, Ezra Bridger, played a large part in it."
At that, Thrawn's eyes widened. "Truly? I had always disregarded the lad as a bumbling oaf who played at war. How exactly does one such as him help you in victory?"
"By rallying the troops when their morale was lowest. By defeating an entire regiment of stormtroopers on his own with his powers. By fighting an Inquisitor and her entourage to a standstill, until help arrived. He fought and held his own until the very end when our reinforcements came and turned the tide. THAT is how he aided me in victory," Robb corrected. "He is socially awkward, aye, but he's cunning, tenacious, and a talented warrior. I daresay, Grand Admiral, that you've quite underestimated him and Sabine Wren both."
Thrawn hooded his eyes and sighed. "Yes, it appears I have. I never wanted to harm his homeworld. Everything I have done...all the blood I have spilled, the lives I've destroyed in the name of the Emperor...everything to ensure the safety of my people. To…" at this, Thrawn's normally calm voice began to crack, showing for perhaps the first time in a long while emotion, "to protect my niece."
"I fail to see how siding with the Empire would save your people," Robb countered. "The Emperor and his minions are perhaps the worst tyrants I've seen in a long time. It stands to reason that they would have more likely enslaved your people at an opportune moment, or worse."
"It was a risk we were willing to take," Thrawn responded. "Do you have any idea what's coming for us all? What kind of danger the galaxy is in? What will happen if the Rebellion wins and it's plunged into further chaos?"
"The White Walkers," Robb whispered, his voice lowering an octave.
Thrawn's eyes truly widened now. "You know of them?"
Robb nodded. "We fought them before, on a planet far in Wild Space. Ezra lost half his limbs fighting them, and we lost a good friend."
"Then you know of what peril we face if we don't stand together," Thrawn pleaded with him. "For the sake of your friends, please."
Robb smiled sadly. "As long as Palpatine continues to sow fear, mistrust, and hatred among the people, they will never unite," Robb commented. "I wish there was another way, Thrawn. I do, but the galaxy will never heal as long as Palpatine sits the throne."
Thrawn nodded and sighed. "Then we have nothing more to talk about," he said, and for the first time in their meeting, Robb saw the defeat in his eyes. An acceptance of fate, and despair that he had failed.
At that moment, Robb knew that Thrawn, despite his faults and crimes, did not deserve to executed...and there was nothing he could do about it.
Robb nodded. "Farewell, then, Thrawn. May we meet in a better place than this."
"Farewell to you, as well, Stark. You have my respect, for however long I have left to live. Before you go, I wish for you to talk to the man in charge of the evidence locker. He has something that belongs to Hera Syndulla that I wish to return to her."
Robb said nothing. Instead, he chose to slightly nod and turned to walk out of the cell. As the ray shield closed behind him...as he walked towards the evidence locker with his escort, a million different thoughts were playing through his mind, but one reassuring one dominated the rest.
They were finally going home.
And the Arcadian Arc is FINISHED!
Now, there will be two or three transition chapters before we head to Yavin and see what's up there, and there will be a slight time-skip for story-related reasons once we see Yavin.
Here we see Robb realizing that this war isn't as black and white as he had thought.
Now, the reason why I'm executing Thrawn is simple. I want to show the darker side of Arcadian society, as well as hit home that, again, not everyone is going to make it out of this war alive. Expect to see more things like this.
Up next, more plotting, more war, more revelations. Stay tuned!