Chapter 9. Victory, not revenge.

"As the conflict that divides our galaxy comes to a close, as we write this new chapter together," back ramrod straight, shoulders squared, betraying determination mixed with a touch of defiance.

Senator Organa is gearing up for a battle, and a loosing one at that, she is making a point, with all her burning passion and conviction, yet not trying to persuade, as if knowing futility of her efforts. Interesting. While her words wash over him, Thrawn opts to observe their illustrious audience instead - raises eyebrows, hidden winces and pursed lips tell him all he needs to know.

For someone as diminutive as her, Leia Organa has a unique ability to command the room and everyone in it. There is a certain irony in the fact that while Lord Vader captured everyone's attention thanks to his imposing height, cloaked head to toe in a mix of durasteel and obsidian, designed to exude an air of intimidation and control, his daughter manages to get if not the same, then at least similar effect with a determined look in her eyes, a stubborn tilt of chin and squared shoulders, wielding words rather than a lightsaber as her weapon. Whether intentional or not, she incites similar feelings of apprehension, at least from some. Hardly surprising, sentients don't like to be threatened. Not physically, but Thrawn has learned that Humans tend to react just as, if not more strongly, to perceived threats to their influence and power, especially those who are in the said positions of power already.

"We cannot lose perspective on the value of life and the price of freedom."

She is a peculiar compilation of intricate layers, each building up on another, adding depth, contrast and texture. Most outwardly visible, now that he knows the truth, are traces of Padmé Amidala – a small frame, delicate face, deep brown eyes. There are, even if far less obvious, echoes of Anakin Skywalker, back when he bore that name. Yet her words… Thrawn did study the files on her adoptive parents, so it's not lost on him that the Senator is quoting one of Bail Organa's speeches, adjusting for the time and place, of course.

Her voice remains firm, unwavering as she puts forward one proposal after another, and yes, his first assumption was correct, she is ready for each of them to be shut down. She's in her element, fully and utterly, conducting her own the symphony of action in the Pinnacle room today, and he finds it… unexpectedly fascinating.

By the end of the day, he can tell one thing for certain: the Senator has just staged a spectacular distracting manoeuvre. If they were in a battle, she would've just lead most of her enemy's fleet on a wild chase, while discreetly coming from behind to plant explosives on their flagship. While he is definitely curious as to what exactly will trigger an explosion, he doesn't call her that evening, instead spending his time listening to a few secret late night conversations on the New Republic side. His assumption proves correct – Senator Organa has enemies of her own, possibly more dangerous and perceptive than she gives them credit for.

The next morning, once Thrawn sees newsflashes on his datapad, the trigger she planted finally becomes obvious. For one second, he doesn't know whether to laugh or swear. Though this is madness, there is method in it. Her solution is brilliant and reckless, absurd, completely and utterly, yet, again, he has to admit, brilliant.

"This is absolutely preposterous!"

Turns out, not everyone can appreciate brilliance as he does.

"There is absolutely no evidence… Alderaan was nothing but a safe heaven for rebels, how can we trust anything that is supposedly comes from…"

"Oh, I don't know, why don't you fly out to Alderaan and check the records yourself?"

He senses her distress behind his back: heat rising to her neck and cheeks, breath coming short, just like that first time he met her in the Memorial hall.

Just like that evening, he cannot help noting that the woman behind him is a paradox. Both strong and fragile…like quantum physics: a particle and a wave at the same time. It's not his place, yet stepping in front of her to hide her momentary outburst from the prying eyes is the least he can do. She doesn't disappoint, a small particle turning back into an unstoppable wave in a matter of seconds, effortlessly conducting the last piece of her symphony – and what a crescendo it is.

He is no stranger to lying in ambush (figuratively speaking) in unexpected places, waiting for an enemy to make the first move, or for a plan to work. Still, he has to admit, spending another night in the Alderaan Memorial Hall with Senator Organa is not something he intended to do – he had arrangements to follow through, orders to give, teams to dispatch across the galaxy, until…

"So, what happens now? If Captain Pellaeon has no instructions to negotiate?"

She sinks into the floor, turns her back to the wall, and leans on it, closing her eyes for a second, then, as if intending to get more comfortable, stretches out her legs for good measure. Somehow, through all of that, she manages to keep the royal posture and grace, even waves her hand, inviting him to join. Not that he has an alternative - looking down at her due to height difference is one thing, looking down at her by choice wouldn't be polite.

So, that's how they find themselves sitting side by side under the Appenza Peak painting.

"There will be no orbital bombardment, if that's what you're worried about, that would cause too much collateral damage."

Her relieved sigh and a small grateful smile speak volumes.

"Given that Grand Moff Tolruck locked down the planet to keep the Emperor's death a secret from his troops, it would be fitting to send him and the garrison a message via the high command frequency, ordering to let Captain Pellaeon and his team in. Coupled, of course, with the Emperor's private hologram setting. Don't you think so?"

"How?…" Dark eyes widening, mouth parting in surprise.

"Chimera has a recording system for security purposes, so we may have recorded some of the late Emperor's orders, the rest is…"

"Selective editing," she finishes for him, voice barely hiding amusement and a touch of awe, "cutting the bits and pieces to create an illusion. You left him no choice but to let the fleet in…"

"Indeed."

"So the Emperor will be his downfall, I have to admit, there is some poetic justice to it."

That's what he thought too.

"And then?"

"You know as well as I do, Tolruck won't negotiate, he'd rather destroy the planet and everything on it. Which leaves only one option, relatively quick and targeted."

"Political assassination…"

"If you insist on putting labels on things."

He bends his knee and rests his outstretched hand on it, twisting comlimk between his fingers. He didn't lie to her before, there are things in the universe that are simply and purely evil, Tolruk is one of them, so there is no other choice but to destroy him. It's also the most practical solution – the Norgi will dispose of the Grand Moff quietly and effectively, so he won't need to waste any additional resources on a protracted battle over Kashyyk.

"He deserves it for the atrocities he committed. Possibly more…"

Something in her voice catches his attention, a phantom trace of all too familiar vindication, uncompromising resolve and the sense of rightness that can become a blind spot in the long-term. Since he fell prey to this mistake after his return, Thrawn cannot help warning her, "As long as you remember that the goal of the war is victory, not revenge."

Seems like he hit a raw nerve: Senator Organa frowns, her face a mosaic of contradicting emotions, and tiredly covers her eyes with her hands, as if trying to rub away whatever thoughts are bothering her.

"I hope you realize how disconcerting your mind-reading games are."

"I don't read minds, only faces."

"So what do you see in mine?"

He sees conflict and fear, deeply buried fear to follow in Lord Vader's or late Emperor's footsteps, that's why his words have such an effect on her, seems like he echoes her own thoughts.

"Determination, weariness, apprehension. Tell me, Senator, whose example are you so afraid to follow?"

While he knows the answer, Thrawn wonders if she's going to admit it.

"No one's." She's lying, switching to her political tone. "Just thinking that in the legends of my home world Revenge and Justice used to be two inextricable parts of the same process… Myths serve as templates for human behaviour, as I'm sure you'd say."

Clever, oh so clever of her.

She has literally just used his penchant for analysing art and cultures against him to distract and deflect. Now, it's not as easy to send him on a wild chase as it was with the Imperial delegation, but the attempt is impressive.

"So it's a purely Alderaanian trait, you see."

"If you say so, Senator."

Minutes tickle in, he checks messages on his comlink from time to time to ascertain that everything is unfolding as planned. It's a strange time and place to be stranded in, Memorial halls tend to be designed to summon ghosts of the past, make people reflect and remember. Also, in his experience, night is a peculiar time for humans, blurring the lines and lowering defences, it's in their nature to end up saying things they ordinarily wouldn't, for there are truths which one can be voiced only when it's dark. While he appreciates the artistry, he is immune to the impulse, yet Senator, it seems, falls under the spell.

"If I could get a chance, one in a million chance to come back to Alderaan, I would, I'd give up everything to…" her voice is barely whisper, yet the longing behind it as clear as a blaster shot cutting the silence.

"Even the peace and the New Republic?"

"Isn't it too high a price to pay for a peace?"

"That depends on how long the said peace will last."

"If you could, would you? Come back to Csilla, or wherever your actual home was?"

It stops him in his tracks, hand fidgeting with comlink freezing in mid-motion. He is not accustomed to people being so blunt with him, not anymore, he is no longer used to answering personal questions either, especially, not about the Ascendancy of all things, the last person he spoke about it was Eli Vanto. Not so soon after the acquaintance either… Yet here she is, jumping right into it, well, if it's not an epitome of a sky-walker finding a right path, where others fail, the doesn't know what is. He fleetingly wonders if she has the second sight as well, or if it's just an accident.

"It is not possible."

"Unless your planet is no more, everything is possible." She parries.

"Suffice it to say," he pauses, for he hasn't allowed himself to think of an answer, "that I am not welcome there. Even if it weren't the case, if I were to come back to the Ascendancy now, it'd mean I failed."

It's truth, pure and simple, and it tastes like ashes on his tongue. Why he is being so open with her, he would never know, a logical part of his brain promptly justifies it - he will need to share some version of the truth eventually, so it may well count it as a preemptive strike. A smaller, deeply buried part, adds that it's just been a while since he has had a chance to be that open with anyone. Seems like he missed the moment, when this evening lowered his own defences as well as hers.

"No consequences, would you?"

"I prefer not to deal in hypotheticals."

"Would you?"

An unstoppable force of a small particle, her gaze cuts to the core stripping him raw, past years of forging a new identity, learning the ropes of the world that has never been his in the first place.

"In a heartbeat."

Instead of satisfaction at cornering him, however, her face constructs in flicker of… compassion. There is a wistful look in her eyes, possibly mirrored in his own, an odd, fragile and slightly bitter feeling of shared bond hanging in the air between them. This way lies madness, so he moves them both away from this uncharted Chaos:

"I would… but I also have to admit that while travelling in space is easy, travelling in time is impossible. If you think for a moment, answer this: does one wish to return to a specific place, or to memories, acquaintances, friends and how they made one feel?"

"I guess we both have an unrealistic escape plan, what an irony." She chuckles, "The entire Imperial and Republican fleets at our disposal, and yet here we are, stranded in a hall with only each other for the company."

"A shame."

"I don't say that, but next time we need to prepare better…" She correctly presumes there will be next time, although he will endeavour to stage their meetings in a less disorienting ambiance from now on. "The last refuge of the insomniac is a sense of superiority to the sleeping world. I can't feel superior, when it's so cold."

Seems like his meddling with climate controls of the West wing to initiate a meeting with a certain master Jedi has had a side effect, he hasn't noticed, but obviously, his levels of tolerance are much higher.

"Somehow, Senator, I believe you'll be able to feel superior, even if stranded in a garbage chute." She smiles wryly, as if to a memory.

He unbuttons his uniform tunic, gaberwool was designed to protect from cold temperatures of Imperial spaceships, and hands it to her. She eyes the garment with suspicion, yet, after a moment of hesitation, her small hand closes over the white fabric, their fingers touching for a second. While her hand is relatively cold, her cheeks are burning. She lowers her face to the garment, bites her lip, and takes off his rank insignia plaque. She rests it on the floor between them, then puts his jacket on, and leans on the wall again.

Before the dawn breaks, they finally receive news from Kashyyk - as expected, his plan works out perfectly. He gets his victory, she gets her revenge.

Half a year ago, Chimera.

His own reminder about relative value of victory and revenge comes in form of an unexpected inheritance. When the remaining stormtroopers from 501st request to join his campaign, it isn't that much is a surprise, after all, so have other forces still loyal to the Empire. What catches him off guard, however, is their cryptic message requesting to dispatch a high-priority cargo on Chimera, pursuant to Order 5. A reference to orders from the Republic era is not lost on him, thanks to one of select few actually educational courses at the Imperial Academy.

"In the event of the Supreme Commander being declared unfit to issue orders, the Chief of the Defense Staff shall assume GAR command and form a strategic cell of senior officers, until a successor is appointed or alternative authority identified."

A few days later, he finds himself facing the said cargo in a specially allocated hangar at Chimera.

Lord Vader's meditation chamber, the last surviving one, straight from the Bast Castle on Vjun. For some reason, his old friend and ally decided to pass it to him in case of his death. Coupled with Order 5, it means one thing – most likely, there is more to the chamber than meets the eye.

"Grand Admiral, are you sure you don't need us?"

"Positive, Captain Pellaeon, return to the bridge, leave ysalamiri here, if you please."

A sensible precaution, given the unexpected nature of this gift. As his team leaves, strategically placing ysalamiri around the chamber, Thrawn circles around it.

Black durasteel hexagon, three meters in diameter, flattened on the bottom, designed to nestle in a hexagonal dais.

Utilitarian design, as all things in the Empire, lacking outward artistry or sophistication, yet carrying a hidden meaning in the shape itself, depending on a culture, referring to power, majesty, wisdom, or justice. Obviously, in Lord Vader's case, the former seems more fitting.

There is neither a proper hatch nor an outward control panel.

There is a sensor, however, hidden under black obsidian. Thrawn puts his hand next to it. If Lord Vader expected him to ever receive this gift, then most likely it will open, once the scanner will check his biometric data and match it with ISB records.

Two longitudinal seams slide into two hemispheres, revealing a blinding, sterile white walls and a chair inside.

He has never been the one to resist the thrill of chasing down enigmas and looking for puzzles, so he has no choice but to step inside and sit in the chair, as the seams close, locking him in.

Hyper-oxygenated air makes him lightheaded for a few minutes, world spinning, vision blurring, dark dots dancing in front of his eyes in a startling contrast to the pristine white walls. After a few minutes his breathing comes back to normal, lungs slowly but surely adjusting to the atmosphere.

A control panel raises from the floor, multiple files come flashing on a holo screen, neatly arranged in folders - Fleet, Army, ISB, supply chain.

One hour in, Thrawn has to admit, Lord Vader just made his task of consolidating Imperial forces much easier, making up for the years he missed after Lothal.

Updated TIE-defender schemes, reworked with Lord Vader's own inputs.

Before he can feel a familiar pang of regret at loosing that particular battle to project

Stardust and never getting a chance to scale them up, he sees the coordinates underneath the schemes:

Queluhan Nebula.

Of course, such an ingenious solution.

The Expansion region, rarely if ever attracting enough attention, and a nebula surrounded by ionized gases that make it impossible for sensors to detect anything hidden there. Even the fleet, especially a fleet of smaller ships, like TIE-defenders.

"Somehow, Lord Vader, Anakin Skywalker, you never sense to surprise me," even if he is alone in the chamber, it feels right to acknowledge out loud.

He spends two more hours studying the files, but has to concur - he will need to cut it short soon, for the air the chamber is not designed for long exposure, even if Chiss are more resilient than humans. As he is about to turn off the monitor, his fingers suddenly still.

Last used program.

ISB galaxy terrain and nature simulator.

Location: Naboo.

Similar to flight simulators for the fleet, those were designed to prepare the army for realities of combat in different worlds, stormtroopers armour notwithstanding. Somehow, Thrawn doubts that Lord Vader wanted to prepare himself for a campaign on Naboo, as far as he knows, the planet is still standing, plus his own armour allowed him to survive and fight even in extreme conditions, which means… personal reasons, nostalgia that, perhaps, had a name and a face of Senator Padmé Amidala. For all Lord Vader's insistence that Anakin Skywalker was dead, a part of him survived, the one that kept gasping at traces of memories in the most unexpected places.

Driven by sheer impulse, he scrolls down the list of planets and systems. There, hidden at the very end, lies his own personal reckoning.

Csilla.

He presses the select button before his rational mind can kick in.

Temperature drops, suddenly and without warning. It's a crude approximation, of course, as all things in the Empire, lacking depth and nuisance, but they had to way of knowing about underground cities and secret life of the planet, yet it doesn't matter now, for beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

All that matters is the long-forgotten feeling - cold air that burns his lungs, prickles his arms and neck, freezes to the bones and numbs, but, Stars, it feels so… right. He closes his eyes, for it's easier to maintain an illusion this way. An aching stirs deep in his chest, an indiscriminate sensation of longing and weariness that takes over his body. For the first time in a long while, he allows himself to acknowledge it for what it is – a pining, a vague restlessness, yearning for what he used to call… home.

For a moment time stands still, freezes like water in Cscilla glaciers, together with all distances, regrets, schemes and plans of the last twenty years. He wonders if that's what meditating feels like for those who are force sensitive. Basic physics and yet… everything disappears and becomes crystal clear at the same time.

His own words come back to haunt him:

"A warrior may retreat. He does not flee. He may lie in ambush. He does not hide. He may experience victory or defeat. He does not cease to serve. But a servant with divided loyalties is no servant at all."

The goal of the war is victory, not revenge, and his victory means safety of the Ascendancy, rather then winning a civil war for the Empire.

Whatever it costs to achieve that goal, he will pay it. Whatever it costs.

Author's note.

Finally closing the loop on chapter 3 reference about an unexpected gift and reminder he received from a long-gone ally…