Chapter 14. Encore

All she sees is a kriffing white haze again, pinning her to a spot without a chance to move, suffocating, making her stomach twist with dread, until a blinding hot flash of a blaster shot cuts through. Yes, there were shots, she recalls that now. One, two, thee, too fast to count afterwards, once everything blurred together in a chaos they unleashed.

Then… red.

That glowing ruby red of the two eyes looking down at her, closer than ever before... Who knew that red had so many shades, strangely captivating, like a flame in a night. There was another shade, though. Merciless, burning, it spilled all over in a stark contrast of crimson on white.

The haze grows thicker for a moment, then, ripples, shivers into a million splinters, a maze of contrasting sounds, colors and images. Some old, faded echoes of her first nightmares, some new, barely visible, but most of them too faint to make sense.

She catches her own reflection in one, and tries to chase it.

In a flash of white, she sees him, in a chair rather than on the ground, yet there it is again, a dark red stain spreading across the spotless white of his uniform. Glittering in the centre of the stain is a tip of the knife. But… the prisoners had blasters. Before she can ponder the mystery, there is movement, as if someone is trying to flee the scene, but it's on the outskirts of her vision. Her sole focus is on the face that is strangely calm, and glowing red eyes that are fading slowly. He is saying something, something incredibly out of place about artistry, of all things. Too much blood, too fast, she wants to scream for someone to get a kriffing med droid in, but the words are stuck in her throat.

Then, Leia sees her.

The other her, the dream her, a mirror image, save for more softness in her cheeks. That Leia hears the news from a long distance and heaves a sigh of relief. That's how it should be, that's what you do when your enemy, the last Grand Admiral and the warlord of the Empire, is taken out of the picture. Yet the Leia who is trapped in the dream feels neither joy, nor relief, gripped instead by regret and a pant of irrational fear.

The other woman's image blurs, moulds into a silhouette of the knife, and… shutters.

She feels a familiar presence, light and warm, reaching out, pulling her from the mist.

"Leia," Luke's soothing, but muted voice that calls as if from under water.

"Leia, wake up!" This time the voice is accompanied by a hash smell of an ammonia quickwake pad.

Starts, get this thing away from her! Her eyes fly open, as she rapidly draws in a new breath, trying to fill her lungs with as much fresh air as possible, and swats a hand holding a pad away from her face with as much power as she can master.

"Ouch!" Luke's affronted cry is belied by a relieved expression that is both endearing and welcoming. "Glad to see you alive and kicking, little sister."

In the next second, she's enveloped in a tight hug, and it's the best thing he could have done, for this very moment, Leia feels images of the last few hours catching up with her, flashing in her mind in quick succession: the ceremony, the shots, Mon on ground, Thrawn shielding her…

"How… How is Mon? Thrawn? How did you know?" She doesn't even gasp for breath as she fires these questions in rapid succession, it feels so much more important than breathing, anyway. She has to know, now, this very second, or the fear deep in her stomach will tear her apart.

"Shh… let's take it one by one, shall we?"

Leia squeezes Luke's hand, and focuses on breathing, as she takes in his words, and all pieces of a puzzle finally fit together.

Mon lives, she's seriously hit, true, but safe, treated in a hospital now.

It was a ruse from the start - all former prisoners had bio-chips implanted while in the Imperial captivity.

Thrawn knew, somehow, and worked with Luke to thwart the attack. Luke, Thrawn's people and those aliens, the Noghri, whom she spotted entering the balcony, stunned the prisoners while a transponder on the rooftop of the Coruscant Opera allowed to block the Imperial signals. It all makes sense now, that's why Luke sneaked out in the middle of the performance at the opera.

They have no exact numbers of victims yet, just scattered reports from different channels. Seems like affected prisoners were on other balconies, plus in the crowd. Seven and a half minutes before the plaza was locked, incredibly efficient, true, and means they got lucky, yet… it's all relative, for a lot of collateral damage can be inflicted in seven minutes, especially in a crowd as large as that one. So, medics are working in overdrive, both in the Senate and in hospitals, but chaos needs to calm done before they can finish searching, treating or... counting.

What she feels next is a hurricane of conflicting emotions, relief, certainly, but just like her dress still splattered in blood, its not pure or unadulterated. It's bitter, oh so bitter.

Mon, her friend and mentor. Mon, her parents' dear friend and ally, one of the precious few threads still connecting her to them. And last, but not the least, Mon, the Chancellor and the face of the Rebellion. Every day she's injured is another day the New Republic looks weak and its future uncertain. Once all news sink in, she feels it – sudden piercing guilt, rational or not, coupled with the weight of what-if's and could-have-been's, that punches her in the gut and takes air out of her lungs. She knows Thrawn quite well by now, there is no way he didn't plan to protect Mon, which means… one stupid decision, one wrong move, and she has almost caused all holo-dominoes to fall.

"Never, ever, ever try keeping something like this from me again."

"It wasn't my idea…"

He doesn't need to finish the sentence, Leia can connect the dots.

Once Luke leaves to join the clean-up efforts, Leia reaches for her comlink and types in an emergency security code. It doesn't connect her to Mon, not that she expected it to, but Madine answers, and that's enough for now.

She doesn't quite know where to go, once she exits her old office. Possibly to the hospital to see Mon and regroup with the high command, or try to catch Luke, or Thrawn to… Fate, it seems, makes a choice for her, as she spots a Noghri guarding one of the doors. The creature respectfully bows and lets her stride in.

Thrawn is sitting on a desk, his blood-soaked uniform jacket lying in a heap on the floor, while a white med droid is cleaning up a blaster wound on his right shoulder. Seems like those holdout blasters were a blessing in disguise, for regular blaster would be inflicted much more damage, it's all relative, though. While Leia has long since developed tolerance for seeing injuries, this burn mixed with blood is still a worrying sight. Not just the wound itself, but a possibility, a testament to how close they all came to the brink. Thrawn's glowing red eyes are closed, but it does nothing to alter a concentrated, composed expression on his face, as if he's about to stride on a bridge of Chimera and start giving orders, voice unwavering, not a shade of an emotion marring it. As if he hasn't just walked dangerously close to an abyss, dragging everyone with him. While Leia is no stranger to escaping impossible life or death situations, this one feels different, for it was intentional, a perfectly timed and staged cat-and-mouse game that unfolded in the full view of the galaxy. He hasn't started it, true, but just like with her failed attempt to patch together a new Resistance, he didn't let a kriffing crisis go to waste, and it leaves her torn between burning exasperation and faint amazement. The former eventually wins out.

"You're an idiot, Grand Admiral."

Her own words come in as if from the distance, the sense of what she's saying isn't even registering, she just needs to talk, to let him know that well-timed or not, this gamble was impossibly risky, stupid, cruel in its recklessness, for he just put all of them up there, like pawns. Leia is not looking at him, as haphazard, scattered words fall from her lips, but starts walking back and forth across the office, absent-mindedly wringing her hands out of habit, a soothing pattern, the one that's most undignified, unfit for a princess or a politician, but oh, so welcome now.

"Glad to see you alive and well too, Senator."

Just like cold water of Alderaani springs, his calm, measured voice brings her back to reality.

For all his strategic genius, Thrawn is oblivious to the most important part of the spectacle that he has just allowed to unfold in the full view of the galaxy. If left to fade away on its own, the aftermath of the attack is bound to ripple through it in a concussive wave of fear, uncertainty and doubt. There is a reason why a performance doesn't fully end once a safety curtain falls, an avalanche of audience's emotions, be it elation at a happy ending or a heartbreak over a sad one, needs to be managed, channeled and reinforced at an encore.

"You have to control the narrative, or others will do it for you." Her father's voice reminds her.

Indeed, time to do her part. She pushes a worried Leia aside, so that Senator Organa can take center stage.

First, she sends a message to Threepio who is left at the palace, asking to bring her a dress and a jacket still tucked away in the farthest corner of her closet, warns security to let the droid with an urgent delivery in. Then, she comms Madine and Ackbar again, trying got get any updates on Mon and the entire operation. While she's successful in the former, the latter is fully with Luke now, meaning she'll have to subject her little brother to his least favorite pastime again. Serves him right for keeping secrets. With that, Leia sends a message to the Holo press. Obviously, they haven't stopped recording or reporting, so getting them assembled will be the matter of minutes, not hours. It could have been a matter of seconds, really, for they're clamouring for anyone to share a statement, but her father warned her to never rush into these things until she knows what she wants to say.

Let them wait a bit. The one who is more desperate inevitably seeds power, the one who manages to hold off will get an upper hand. It's the art of smoke and mirrors, and she needs to play her part, projecting a full confidence in a future that is still uncertain, pretending to have a full control over the chaos too big to gasp. She has no choice, though. She owes it to Thrawn, as well as the New Republic.

Twenty minutes in, Leia enters a large hall leading to the Senate landing platform. Often overlooked as a simple transition point, it's a perfect stage for what she need to do – an open space, big enough to accommodate the entire Coruscant press corps. Enormous marble columns prop the area up, giving it necessary gravitas and sense of history, soft natural light streaming from the outside is enhanced by lightening pods floating in the high ceiling. It makes the hall seem welcoming and reassuring, exactly the look she needs. Besides, it's the only place without too much Imperial or Republican insignia, so, all in all, a perfect neutral choice, if she says so herself.

"I know it's strange," Luke whispers in her ear, while Leia is mentally going over her speech, "but somehow I feel this place was important for our parents."

"Dad used to tell me he'd run out to catch a shuttle to Alderaan every Friday. Private one or not, had to get through this hall, so lots of elbow work involved, apparently."

She chuckles at a warm memory, mom always used to call her dad a nerfherder after hearing that story, usually from their friends in the Senate, who suffered from the said elbow work. She turns to her brother, and catches a flash of confusion and disappointment in his eyes. Oh. He means them. Here it is a again, a chasm too deep to ignore, but too painful to patch over.

"I see," is the best she can say out loud. Tell me more when we're alone, she adds in reassurance through their bond, sending a wave of love and affection his way, and prompts Luke join Faro and her team in a show of unity.

A couple minutes in, she spots Threepio. The droid is coming her way, arguing in a language she doesn't understand with a familiar-looking the Noghri. Good, means he passed the parcel, even if with a bit of a bump in the road, by the sound of it. Stars, she hopes that one will not escalate at any point during the press conference, they have had enough clashes for one day. Well, at least the droid's recently refurbished gold plating should hold well against a blaster or a knife…

Thrawn appears on the dot, exactly as she asked him to. An impenetrable Imperial Grand Admiral, as composed and as calm as ever, only a slight stiffness in his right shoulder betraying the fact that there is a bacta bandage underneath his pristine white jacket. Pure white, unmarried by blood, complete with the rank insignia plaque that he must've reattached from the other one, and four data cylinders. Intact data cylinders – while still new and fragile, her respect for him after their Kashyyyk deal didn't allow Leia to try breaking into the cylinders while the jacket was in per possession.

Yet, as she observes Thrawn, she frowns.

No no no, this will not work. Not for what they need to do. He needs to look shaken but fully in control. Thrawn simply looks fully in control, that impossible, irritating, all-knowing man!

Time is running short and Leia has to act fast, so without thinking, she takes Thrawn by the cuff and drags him behind one of the large marble columns… seems like an Ewok can move a star destroyer, after all, or she simply took him completely by surprise, for he is not used to anyone being so unceremonious with him.

Once they are hidden from prying eyes, she stands on her tiptoes, extends her hand as high as she can, and ruffles his hair a bit, so that a few strands are falling out on his forehead. Good, at least now he looks like a person who has just risked his life to save those on the other side. It's an image the galaxy will believe in. Thrawn seems so bewildered by what she's doing that she has to explain.

"The galaxy just saw the shots, it can't be business as usual. Let them see what they have done."

"I'd say in this case it was you…"

"Semantics." She waves a dismissive hand. "Appearances matter. Sometimes a trace of vulnerability in a leader can convince faster than power ever could."

She gestures to herself as well – she wears her senatorial robe, the only fitting choice in this building, but hair is in a simple crown braid rather than a more intricate style.

"As long as the said vulnerability is turned into resilience, I image."

"And that's what we will do, Grand Admiral, time for the grand finale."

In a few minutes, under blinding blue flashes of holo cams, the galaxy witnesses an impressive show of unity.

The Imperial Grand Admiral, who has risked his life and helped to upend the attack.

The Jedi, who has jumped straight into danger, regardless of a political divide.

The Symbol, who has overcame the loss of her home planet to build trust and lasting peace.

"My father, Senator Bail Organa, stood as viceroy of Alderaan at the beginning of a dark time for our entire galaxy. He helped Chancellor Mon Mothma create the Rebel Alliance, even while still fighting to preserve what little integrity and authority the Imperial Senate had left. He used to say that dark days will come, we have no control over it. But it's how we respond to those dark days and rise to the challenge that determines if we can hope for a better dawn. What we've seen today is a striking contrast between factional interests and a true dedication to peace, bravery and selflessness on both sides. I wouldn't be standing here, the Chancellor wouldn't be alive and recovering, if not for the bravery of Grand Admiral Thrawn… Many more people would've died today, if not for the willingness of General Skywalker and Admiral Faro to cooperate and stop the attack as fast as possible.

My father gave me one legacy more precious than any other—hope for a better dawn, and it means working to end the conflict rather than prolonging it. Thousands of worlds have suffered because of this war, it scarred the galaxy with tragic loss of life, families torn apart, disruptions in infrastructure, social services, industries and education. Everything we're trying to rebuild is too new and too fragile. We're not as secure as we'd like us to be. Not yet. But all of us here today have inherited a responsibility to build and preserve peace from this day forward.

At least I know that only by doing so can I truly honor father's legacy."

Her voice hitches at the last sentence, throat involuntary constricting.

She didn't lie to Thrawn, a trace of vulnerability is a mandatory part of any political speech after a tragedy, but… it doesn't mean that the trace isn't real, it doesn't mean it's staged, or that it hurts any less. Her emotions and grief have ceased to be hers since the day Death Star destroyed Alderaan, over the years she has learned to share them with the entire New Republic, whether she likes it or not.

They extend the talks by a few more days, for obvious reasons, and opt to keep the signing ceremony on Coruscant rather than Chandrilla.

"We cannot look as if we're trying to flee," Mon insists.

Her mentor is slowly but surely getting better, for now she's still confined to a hoverchair but expected to fully recover in a week. Mon opts to avoid public appearances until the week is out, though, for the press and the senate are bound to create more drama than necessary.

The Chancellor starts following the talks over her comlink and holos, while Leia has to step in during in person meetings, since Councilor Fey'lya and a couple of other members of the cabinet were caught in the fire.

Her next meeting with Thrawn takes place in the middle of the night, again, and she muses that it, indeed, looks like a pattern, and quite an unhealthy one at that. Although this time he sends a message suggesting to meet in the Great Hyperspace War hall, rather than their usual places.

She spots him standing in front of a large bas-relief sculpture. A familiar stance, such a peculiar and contradictory mixture – he may seem relaxed to an outside observer, engrossed in a sculpture in front of him, but he's fully alert and focused, Leia spots the moment he registers her presence without even turning around, sees it in a slight tightening of his uninjured hand around a datapad he's holding behind his back. Yet, his eyes don't turn to her, remaining glued to the piece of ancient art in front of them.

Another tragedy forever frozen in time and durasteel. The Old Republic grew and expanded for many generations, encountering no worse than a few interplanetary squabbles and civil wars, but them, for the first time in its history, it came across the Sith Empire, that even managed to invade Coruscant itself.

Of course, leave it to Thrawn to painstakingly select an art object that gives him the best chance at a historical parallel. She's not so much irritated as moderately amused, though. Still, the urge to let him know that she sees right through the choice prompts Leia to speak up first.

"It's said that the Great Hyperspace War was so devastating that it tore apart the fabric of hyperspace, a conflagration spanning the galaxy…"

"Indeed, Councilor." Her new title still sounds foreign to her ears, too much, too soon, but she has no choice at this point. If the New Republic needs Councilor Organa to step in, then who is Leia to argue. Meanwhile, Thrawn continues, "It's also said that this bar-relief used to adorn the office of Chancellor Palpatine. Such an obvious hint, by his standards."

"Pity no one could see through it then."

"Indeed." Finally, his glowing red eyes turn to her. Funny, but she no longer finds this gaze intimidating or unsettling, it's still sharp, penetrating, calculating, yet… it's a familiar sort of flame. She will never admit it out loud, but Leia knows she can make it blaze with surprise, respect and even carefully hidden admiration. But… it doesn't matter now, she shouldn't get distracted. Anxiety twists her stomach with its cold hand, as she wonders what shade of red she'll see in a few minutes. Meanwhile, Thrawn continues, oblivious to the fact that she's about to unrepentantly interrupt his lecture. "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."

The familiar red eyes seem to spark with interest and surprise. Yes, she's taking the lead, disrupting whatever carefully staged path he wanted to lead them down this time. Leia extends a datapad for him to see, an outtake of an urgent report from Madine in full view, coupled with her own notes. Leia bites the inside of her cheek, and follows Thrawn's gaze to catch a flicker of an emotion. Something, anything, she doesn't quite know what she prefers at this point.

Such a fascinating picture taking shape on the datapad screen.

She recognised some faces, saw them in the training gym during his chess match with Admiral Ackbar. Other names sounded familiar, while she's no Winter with her holographic memory, she did run a search through her intel reports before coming here to confirm her suspicion.

Gilad Pellaeon and Karyn Faro are promoted to Grand Admirals, each taking over one of the remaining Imperial fleets, leadership positions so conveniently left vacant with the conspirators taken out of the picture.

Further down, the second echelon of the Imperial Navy command suddenly transforms into a curious mixture of former Chimera and Thunder Wasp officers close to Thawn.

Maximilian Veers and Freja Covell are propelled to Grand Generals overnight.

The ISB, risen from ashes, is headed by Soontir Fel of all people. Thrawn has a peculiar idea of loyalty, unless he has figured out the way to ensure Fel doesn't deflect again. Still, the ISB of all places?

All appointments are swift, drastic, and there is zero, absolute zero regard for a potential political fall-out. For a person who lectured her on the inner workings of the Imperial military, Thrawn has definitely decided to ruffle some feathers. Or, he doesn't care because there is no one left to question him. At least, not now – the remaining imperial moffs are politically weakened by the aftermath of the attack and the spectacle she put on during the press conference. No one is reckless enough to challenge the hero, not when he has the entire Imperial military might on his side.

No one apart from her, that is.

"Tell me, what do you see, Grand Admiral?"

"A list of quite talented warriors and tacticians." His voice remains calm, tone dry and the matter of fact, as if they're talking about something as self-evident as trivial as weather.

"And all would've had problems getting to these posts in a normal world."

"Which, perhaps, is more of a testament to the fact that using the word normal to describe it, is a contradiction in terms."

Leia swallows her irritation. Thrawn either doesn't get her veiled hint, or pretends not to. Well, luckily for them both, she has never been the one to hide under polite ambiguity of diplomatic protocol of a situation calls for a direct question.

"You are an Emperor in all but name!"

She doesn't mean for it to come out as an almost cry, really doesn't, but the invisible cold hand twisting her stomach with fear is there again. She feels a sting of irrational disappointment, too. How could she have missed it? Such an amateur mistake… And why, why in the name of stars does it feel personal, a bitter taste in her mouth has nothing to do with the implications for the New Republic, but everything to do with a sense of being blindsided by… an adversary? An ally? Well, whatever he is to her.

"Supreme Commander, rather, but I would caution against putting labels on things."

"How would you call it then?"

She crosses her arms over chest.

"A temporary tactical position."

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

There is a new shade of red in his glowing eyes, she saw it once, a faraway expression that settled deep in his gaze as he spoke of his home world that night in the Alderaan memorial hall. Then, a pause, filled with tense silence, as if he is pondering the weight of her words. Seems like she has hit something without even knowing it.

After what feels like an impossibly long stretch of time, but may be just a few minutes for all she knows, Thrawn clears his throat, his voice more pensive than she ever heard.

"Perhaps… you may have a point here, Councilor. There are, sometimes, circumstances that are beyond our control, but you have my word of honour that I have no intention of making this state permanent. On the contrary, my ultimate goal is to be able to leave all of this behind. Eventually."

"I wish I could believe you." It's not the worst though, what scares her more is the second part. "I… want to believe you."

Instead of answering, he takes her datapad and offers instead the one he's been holding this entire time.

"It seems, Councilor, that great minds think… well, if not the same, then alike. I aim to sign a peace treaty with the New Republic in three days, we have delayed it long enough already."

"Not enough time."

"Plenty of time. Military matters have been sorted."

"Yes, but the trade lanes, the markets, banking guild regulations… humanitarian aid."

"You seem to be adept at handling these matters."

"What?"

Her aunts would've schooled her for such an unrefined slip of the tongue, but she doesn't care. Meanwhile, Thrawn turns on his own datapad in her hand.

"These," he gestures to the screen, "are the starting positions of the inner council, and not my preferred battlefield. But with your assistance and input, I can take it over the finish line in a way that will be mutually beneficial, should the New Republic follow suit."

"You want me…"

"To review and adjust as you see fit, yes."

And suddenly the datapad in her hand feels like an assassin's knife from her dream. A couple of wrong words, few hidden sentences… she's mastered the art of appendixes enough to hide the real extent of a trap. It would be easy, all too easy for Thrawn to overlook it, his Moffs will smell blood though, and will strike, if not now, then later.

But… she cannot. Not after he saved her life.

"How can you be sure that I won't sneak in something there that you won't have time to check?"

"But would you, Councilor?" And the tiny tilt of his lips proves to her that he also knows the answer. "I also want to believe you, if it matters at all."

Stars. She'll have to honestly adjust it, make it work for both kriffing sides. Of all predicaments she could've found herself in… She trusts him, and he does trust her. A small fact that puts them both in a unique tactical position. Mutually beneficial. Potentially mutually destructive as well. Both now equally and uniquely vulnerable to one another.

No turning back now.

Author's note.

Well, that one came out longer than I expected, blame it all on a rainy weekend

The press conference takes place in the same hall of the Senate where Padme told Ani that she was expecting, not far from the Senate landing pad, if you recall ROTS. I love those marble columns and parallels only I can see, so sorry not sorry…

Leia… underestimate her at your own peril, our girl is both – emotional and super sharp at the same time. That's why I love her so much.

PS. Realistically, it was Leia who triggered Thrawn's ultimate downfall in the EU, regardless of who wielded the knife. But the Force works in mysterious ways, but one alternative future is forever shuttered by mutual trust, as you may have guessed.