Chapter 1. Power of Symbols and Symbols of Power
For all intents and purposes, she shouldn't be here in the middle of the night.
Leia shivers a little, feeling invisible needles pricking her bare arms and neck, and briefly wonders if climate control systems are still out of synch after the Siege of Coruscant. It must be something in the air. Definitely, just something in the slightly chilly air that fills a dimly lit corridor of the former Imperial palace, the former Jedi Temple, and a perfect embodiment of the current tug-of-war between the New Republic and the Empire. As much as she hates the palace, it's a compromise they had to strike to secure peace talks.
Such a delicate balancing act, or a necessary evil, depending on your point of view. Both delegations are staying at the former Imperial palace, the more so, the actual negotiations between committees, issue groups, and military are taking place here rather than in the Old Senate - a clear concession to the Imperials. Leia briefly wonders whether simply not killing each other on the spot would be the first real test of their intentions, and how long would it take before some hothead would snap, prompted by such close proximity of the enemy. There is already a betting pool among the rebels, possibly among the Imperials as well. A signing ceremony, though, is scheduled to take place on Chandrila – a point for the New Republic… depending on the outcome, of course, as it may well turn into a disaster and an admission of defeat, but for now the point stands.
She can imagine Han joking that it would have been easier just to call via holograms and save credits on all that travel. Oh, Han. Leia feels a whisper of pain and regret. She has been avoiding him with obstinacy worthy of a better cause, trying to run away from spectres of the future that keep haunting her, to protect him in this twisted, round-about way, until she finds a way to fix it.
When Leia reaches her destination, another small shiver travels down her spine.
Keeping an impassive face is a vital skill for a politician - her father (the only one she is willing to acknowledge) worked hard on instilling it in her. With time she perfected the art, but also learned her limits. She would not be foolish enough to come here during the day, since a morning light would certainly enhance that almost real fantasy she is living in right now, and would inevitably crush her under the weight of grief in the aftermath. Night, however, can easily hide weaknesses and cracks in her perfect façade.
A tribute and a reminder, commissioned by Mon sometime ago and brought here on the orders of the New Republic.
A huge painting stretches from the floor to the sky high ceiling and makes her feel like a slip of a girl again. Leia knows this view all too well. Appenza Peak, as beautiful as it was treacherous, tip hidden in the snow and morning mist, first rays of sunshine tentatively caressing emerald green fields below. Brush strokes of white, gray and brown are dissolving into real moss, carefully, meticulously applied on the duracanvass in a way only Alderaani artists could. It adds to the illusion, for she knows grass in that valley would be just a little bit dump at this hour… Leia used to love lying there, looking at the vast, seemingly endless the sky, feeling small droplets fall on her face and hands, soothing and awakening at the same time. She involuntary extends her hand towards the moss…
"Breathtaking, isn't it?" A voice with a strange accent remarks behind her, breaking the spell.
She turns around, hand automatically reaching for a blaster hidden in her dress. She learned the hard way to never trust the Imperials, diplomatic immunity, peace talks and everything in between notwithstanding.
Leia is faced with a pair of red eyes, glowing in the semi-dark hall. She is not sure if her unexpected companion is studying the painting or her, but gets a disconcerting feeling that he is seeing right through both. A lesser opponent would probably shrink under his scrutinising gaze, but she has long since passed that point. Somewhere between Vader's interrogation and Tarkin's blasted order on the bridge of the Death Star, she learned to look fear in the face.
"Your danger instinct is admirable, but unnecessary at the moment, Senator. I mean no harm."
"Forgive me for not taking your reassurance at face value, Grand Admiral," Leia gestures to the painting with her free hand, while the other one is still firmly gripping the blaster. "I'd say I have a picture perfect reason not to".
"Indeed." He doesn't elaborate, but makes a dismissive gesture that, strangely, is not directed at her, rather somewhere behind him. Then, his unsettling red eyes travel from her to the painting, taking in the scenery she has been admiring a little while ago.
Wouldn't it be easy? Just to shoot him right here and now, one less war lord for the Empire. True, they have many others, but Thrawn is one of the kind, he is the architect of this quagmire, the military genius who has brought brought the New republic to its knees in less than a year since his return. Her fingers grip the blaster more tightly.
"I need to warn you, before you make an error of judgement, that my bodyguard is hiding at the entrance, and even without him, I would be able to get your blaster in two or three ways…"
"I hope you don't think that I care about my own life, do you?"
"Admirable, but short-sighted. Assassins are easy to find, Senator, talented politicians and, as you say, picture perfect symbols and martyrs are rare indeed…"
"How dare you?" She feels heat rushing to her cheeks and neck, and hopes that semi-darkness of the night will mask it. How dare he refer her her loss, her tragedy so casually. Never mind she did almost the same a minute ago, but coming from him, it feels like a sacrilege. He has no right, none whatsoever. The blaster starts burning her fingertips, beaconing, tempting…
Air suddenly turns thick, each new breath is a labour, and Leia keeps her outstretched hand from trembling by sheer willpower. Thrawn frowns, sculpted arches on his forehead become more prominent, but it's his eyes that anchor and captivate her. His gaze… fills with a renewed intensity and understanding, as if he can plainly see the hidden evidence of her distress and is taken aback by the strength of her emotions.
Oh. Right. He can actually see them, the damn cracks, even in the dark.
"Apologies, I didn't mean it in this way, it was an unfortunate choice of phrase. I am not here to pick a fight."
"Then why?"
He gestures to the wall.
"I have heard a lot about Alderaani moss painting technique, so could not resist," before she can think of a comeback, Thrawn's gaze shifts to the painting, and she may as well have seized to exist. "Admirable, to capture the essence of the world so perfectly…"
Leia feels an irrational need to stand in front of the duracanvass and hide it from his gaze, but, given the sheer enormity it and her own height difference with Grand Admiral, the desire is just that – irrational, no more than an Ewok trying to stand in a way of a star destroyer.
"Art mirrors the soul, from which tactics arise. One can see in artwork the strengths and weaknesses of those who created it. In fact, if one has a sufficient variety of art to study, and the latter has definitely been challenge in this case, one can extend and extrapolate it to the strengths, weaknesses, and tactics of entire cultures."
Leia has read his intel file, of course, filled with anything and everything that Madine could find, since, as her father taught her, you need to know your opponent before walking into a room with him. Up until now, however, she presumed that the art thing was just an exaggeration.
"I sincerely hope you aren't betting your success tomorrow solely in this. On second thought, please do."
"Tomorrow's battles are for politicians to win, not me".
"Then why are you here?"
"I am as much of a symbol, as you are, Princess Organa," the deliberate change in the title, from her current role to the one that is forever entrenched in people's memory, is not lost on her.
It would be wise just to drop it, but curiosity gets the better of her, and before she can stop herself, another question slips from her lips:
"So what does it tell you about Alderaan and me?"
"There are, indeed, a lot of things it tells me about Alderaan, but not so much about you, the irony is remarkable."
He doesn't elaborate, and as the silence stretches, and she feels that she was right, he is just a show off, a yet another Imperial with an ego of the size of Outer Rim.
"There is something to be said about things hidden in the plain sight, however."
Thrawn takes a step forward, closing the distance between them, her blaster now only a whisker away from his white uniform.
"A duracanvass of this size is hard to find, especially on short notice. Years ago, you probably weren't even at court then, the Emperor ordered to capture the fifteenth anniversary of the Empire in all its glory," she may be imagining things, but she hears a hit of sarcasm in his voice. "..hated the result though, so the art was dispensed soon thereafter, at least he thought so. Would you mind turning around?"
Now it's Leila's turn to frown.
"I understand the hesitation to turn your back on the adversary, but it simply would be easier to explain if we both can look at the painting. You could also come and stand next to me, if you insist on keeping this blaster pointed."
Against her better judgement, Leia does as he says, and at first sees nothing, same brushstrokes of white and gray, depicting mists and show mixing together and covering Appenza Peak, same vast green valley stretching below. Then, Thrawn's hand starts outlining something in the air, it takes her a moment, but once she follows his movement… a symbol, barely there, hidden in an undercurrent of clouds, becomes apparent, and once she sees it, she gasps, hand flying to her lips in a futile attempt to stifle a cry at the twisted irony.
The Imperial crest.
"There is some poetic justice, of course, in painting Alderaanian landscape over it, after all, Grand Moff Tarkin's mistake triggered the fall of the Empire."
"You call it a mistake, I call it a war crime."
"One does not exclude the other, and indeed, it was," he tone turns strangely somber. "But it started as a flawed strategy, was fuelled by personal egos and inability to admit mistakes, and lead to an unnecessary tragedy. Tragedies such as this, however, have the power to shift the balance, stir minds and change allegiances."
Leia focuses on breathing, in and out, to try to put down the fire shimmering deep inside, her fingertips, still on the blaster, are itching just to shoot… not him, but at him, at everything he stands for. But his last sentence is still hanging hanging in the air between them, not letting her pull the trigger just yet. Thrawn remains strangely unfazed and pensive.
"Alderaanians tend to answer rage with wisdom, fear with imagination, and normally prefer covert planning to acting out of emotions, as long as the end result is worth it. Remarkable qualities, I admit. Quite rare these days, present company clearly excluded, of course," there it is again, a hint of irony, obviously directed at her, at least, it would be irony coming from anyone else, with Thrawn, she cannot be certain. "I believe this," he gestures towards the hidden symbol in the clouds a few minutes later, "would be called a pentiment in your world, wouldn't it?"
"Pentimento," Leia automatically corrects, years of studying art and her own Alderaani pride getting the better of her. "The word originally meant to repent or change your mind," she thinks that the former is oddly fitting. "A technique usually allows an artist to hide a change of mind, should it occur, covering an original design beneath subsequent paint layers."
And that, rather than her blaster still pointed at him, gets a reaction out of Thrawn. Grand Admiral seems surprised, and that's a new expression on his face, as if he is used to lecturing on the subject, rather than being corrected. Serves him right, Leia thinks with a hint of satisfaction. His eyes are on her again, scanning, searching, as if he is making conclusions for himself.
"You are a peculiar contradiction, Senator, even if you do not know it yourself. Or don't want to acknowledge."
They slip into another silence, minutes tickle in, and at some point, Leia can feel tension slowly fade from her body, cold air filling her lungs is soothing, calming her inner fire like cold water of Alderaani springs.
"We should place our bets first, and then you can give it another go." Thrawn gestures to her blaster.
"Wouldn't it mean conspiring with an enemy?"
"I'd call it a strategic alliance, from my experience, they are, indeed, as enlightening as they are mutually beneficial."
As first, tentative rays of sunshine slip through the large windows, breaking the spell of this surreal night and taking away the refuge of semi-darkness, Leia takes a step back, lowers her hand and puts the blaster back in the holster hidden in her dress.
"We'll see about that, Grand Admiral."
Author's note.
It will be an AU, obviously, but, from a certain point of view, everything is an AU these days, with truth being lost between multiple universes of EU and the new canon, as well as all the unwritten stories that lurk in the far corners of the galaxy. So please forgive the author for self-indulgently twisting the plot lines, universes and timings to her folly, I know it is not everyone's cup of caf ;) Not beta-read, so feel to drop me a DM if you see any mistakes.