Chapter 18. Chasing Shadows.
"Thank you, for listening."
Looking up is a mistake. Too close. Breaths mingling. Eyes meeting eyes. Close enough to notice that red, like a flame, has too many captivating shades. Close enough to believe she can glimpse a new spark, a new sort of intensity there. Close enough to forget what a flame can do.
He opens his mouth as if to say something but, for once, remains silent, a barely-there touch of his hand on her back keeps Leia rooted to the spot with the power of a gravitational field.
Night is made of and for shadows, and right here, right now, a shadow of a possibility blurs the lines, usually so clear during the day. He looks at her and for a moment, one delirious, impossible, tantalising moment, she thinks he may kiss her. The worst thing – Leia wants it, and while the realisation should startle her, it doesn't, not in the slightest.
But he tilts his head up, and his lips brush… her forehead. A light, gentle touch, a bit cold, or possibly, it seems cold against her flushed skin. She, for once, doesn't dare to breathe, or worse yet – move. She wants to stop time, freeze the moment in eternity to study, savour it at night and pick it apart in the harsh light of the day to understand how in the name of Stars they got here. She wants to laugh, for this is how a shadow of a possibility dies – with a light, barely there brush of his lips against her forehead.
She can do neither, because the moment is over all too soon, before she can fully take in this surreal mix of unexpected comfort and irrational disappointment, which is probably a good thing.
He straightens and takes a step back, but Leia remains frozen on the spot, eyes glued to the same space in the middle of his chest that she breathed against just a moment before. Thanks Starts he doesn't wear his uniform now, for if she had to look at the Imperial plaque on his chest, a reminder of not just personal but a political the transgression she has come so close to committing, guilt would eat her alive.
Guilt of another sort, though, promptly rears its ugly head - the one that has nothing to do with politics but everything to do with commitments, with that faint prickling in her fingertips, which yearned to trace faint constellations of scars on his chest; that small involuntary shiver of anticipation that went down her spine as his face got closer to hers; with that irrational pang disappointment as his lips brushed her forehead instead of her mouth, and unexpected warmth and comfort that still filled her at the contact. This guilt crawls under her skin, it burns, corrodes her soul inside like acid, pulses in her ears as she hurries back to her quarters, replaying the scene and her own reaction to it over and over in her mind.
Too close.
She almost came too close to crossing the line. With Thrawn of all people. Han does not deserve it.
If it was any other time and place, she would've made a point to avoid him the next day, out of sheer embarrassment and guilt. The thought is still tempting, it gently brushes her mind when she wakes up, lulls her for a second with a false illusion of choice. Yet, her own words come back to haunt her the next morning, shattering her little make-believe, "No one is more important than the cause one serves."
Her conflicted feelings notwithstanding, they have a galaxy to protect. So the best thing she can do is pretend that yesterday never happened, and carry on as usual. She spends half a day in her allocated quarters - precisely enough to go through everything he shared about the Grysks - no more, no less.
The more she mulls over her options, the clearer it becomes - time is her main enemy. She needs time to push funding through the Senate, push being the operative word. Her new title may give some leeway, but not nearly enough, while every month of a delay may well end up being lethal for all too many. The realisation weighs heavily on her shoulders.
Unexpectedly, it's Luke rather than Thrawn who coms her first asking to meet in one of the hangar bays.
The space that greets her looks like any other nondescript hangar bay, save for two rather bizarre additions to standard Imperial protocols - a large black durasteel hexagon in the middle, large enough to fit a person, half-open to reveal blindingly white walls inside, and a couple of funny-looking yellow lizards, lounging near it unperturbed, seemingly at home at the Imperial star destroyer. She spots Luke and Thrawn nearby, conversing in hushed whispers. Leia is able to catch only the last part, the moment she comes close enough.
"… you suspect but want me to confirm?"
"Given project Necromancer, it is only a reasonable assumption that the Emperor would put in place similar precautions for himself. Alas, I am no expert in the matters of the Force, so have no way to ascertain a probability of his success."
Leia is listening to Thrawn's answer with half the mind, more intent on finding any traces of… she doesn't quite know or want to acknowledge what she's looking for in his perfectly put-together posture: hands habitually closed behind his back, face unreadable, not a wrinkle on his pristine white uniform.
As if sensing her gaze, Thrawn turns around and nods.
"Councilor Organa, thank you for joining us."
His tone is as even as ever, calm, polite and measured to a fault. For some reason, she wants to scream, forgetting for a moment her own resolution to pretend that nothing happened yesterday. She wants to step in front of him and force him to look back at her, eyes as close as yesterday, to see if it all was just a folly, a shadow of something that couldn't and shouldn't exist. She does nothing of the sort, of course, years in politics have taught her better than that.
"It was the striving of a single individual to imprint the galaxy with his own mark that drove the Empire. Refusing to fade away has always been a distinctive theme with the late Emperor. Look at the Imperial Cross on the walls," Thrawn gestures to the gray walls framing the space, "subtle yet unmistakable, engraved and embossed in durasteel to persist where simple paint would've surely faded."
As always with Thrawn, there must be the second layer to his words, she will bet anything on it. Yet, her own turmoil distracted her enough to miss most of their earlier conversation.
"What did I miss?"
"Nothing definitive yet," Luke brushes her concern away, but remains troubled, lines of exhaustion clear and deep beneath his eyes. "Let's deal with problems one at the time, shall we?"
"A sound suggestion."
"I don't appreciate being left in the dark, and you both know it."
Annoyance, right, that one is easier than chasing the shadows. She is almost all too happy to let exasperation take over.
"Indeed, that's why General Skywalker invited you here."
Leia raises her eyebrows, waiting for one of them to explain. Luke takes the cue, pointing at the black hexagon capsule, his voice strangely subdued.
"This is Lord Vader's meditation chamber."
She expects him to follow-up through their bond, surely, he has more to say in private. Yet, a minute passes, then two, and nothing follows, she can neither feel nor hear Luke. Strange, usually when they're that close together, being attuned to each other's feelings comes almost as second nature to them.
"These creatures," Thrawn cuts in, gesturing to those weird yellow lizards she spotted before, "are called ysalamiri. They're sessile, tree-dwelling creatures from a distant, third-rate planet, and they have an interesting and possibly unique ability - they push back the Force. A single ysalamiri can occasionally create a bubble as large as ten meters across; a whole group of them reinforcing one another can create much larger ones. Fit for, let's say, a hangar."
Oh, that's why…
"Seems like a reasonable," she swallows, looking for an appropriate word, "precaution, given the identity of this chamber's last owner."
"And that's why General Skywalker wants to remove them."
"What?" A yet another undignified slip of the tongue, but Leia doesn't care, these two should consider themselves lucky that a what is all that they got from her. "Luke, what in the name of stars are you thinking?"
Even before she finishes the question, Leia realises that it's a losing battle. She doesn't need to read his mind to read his heart. Judging by a tell-tale glint in his eyes, her brother has glimpsed a shadow. The shadow of his father, and Luke has never backed down from chasing those.
"I'm thinking that in a strange way, this chamber is his legacy," Leia suppresses a sigh, yes, a losing battle indeed: when he frames it like this, there is no changing his mind. "I've been able to start going through files, reports, ship designs, but we all know that his true power was far beyond all that. The Force can potentially do more than fleet and star destroyers ever could."
"I wouldn't go that far," Thrawn wryly remarks, "but it's certainly an advantage."
"So, what do you need from me, if you're already set on what you're going to do anyway?"
"Once we remove ysalamiri, and I'll go inside, I want you to stay close. In case something goes wrong, you're the only one, who will be able to feel it."
And just like that, he leaves her no choice, not really. If it was up to her, she wouldn't stay in this hangar for a minute longer than absolutely necessary, yet, for Luke, she'll stay even if it shakes her to the core.
"It's an alternative reasonable precaution." Thrawn whispers into her ear, while his people come in to remove the lizards, and his voice, rich and deep, lower and quieter than she's ever heard him, brings unexpected comfort.
Once Luke steps into the chamber… it doesn't take her long to feel it. The presence. The one that is forever defined by the mechanical breathing behind her back as she watched Alderaan blow to pieces. The one that would haunt her during her short, ill-fated attempt to study the Force with Luke – pleading for something she was neither willing nor ready to give.
It's sharper now, more vivid, powerful and intense than ever before, possibly having something to do with the chamber, or she simply hasn't felt it for too long, and is shocked by this sudden re-exposure. Leia shifts on her feet, fighting against a reflex to shut her mind, against an irrational desire to run in the corridor and cradle one of those funny lizards in her hands to hide a much-needed vacuum. Yet, she cannot and will not. Not until Luke re-emerges from the chamber.
Suffice it to say that next two hours are the longest in her life. At some point, she feels a hand on her shoulder, not holding her in place, the touch is too light for that, yet… it's gentle enough to be comforting, and for the second time in two days, it keeps her rooted to the spot with the power of a gravitational field.
Whatever Luke has discovered, he prefers to keep it to himself for the time being, but looks positively ashen once he steps out of the chamber. Leia lets it slide, he'll share eventually, for once, she knows not to push. The only thing he cannot out-argue her on – she orders him to take a break, meditate or simply sleep like normal people, to get rest before their randez-vous with Thrawn's allies the next day.
Conversely, Thrawn and Leia move to his private office to go over possible scenarios and… choices. Two more hours in, planets and systems start blurring in front of her eyes in a sea of motley lights. Sentients, Leia reminds herself as rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands, sentients and worlds, not lights and dots.
"Do you still still believe that a year and a half is enough for you?"
So much for her ingenious plan of pretending that yesterday never happened.
"It has to be," she swallows, "I still need more leverage to push through the funding and fleet reallocations, but I will find a way."
"In this case, one strategic advice." Thrawn moves away from his part of the map and comes closer to her, almost as close as yesterday. Same semi-darkness again, this time, instead of a faint touch, it binds them together by a network of stars, trade routes and planets. His tone is serious though, a clear warning in his voice dispelling any echoes of the previous evening from her mind. "If and when the time comes, don't leave your enemies the luxury if a blind spot, it's usually the most convenient place to strike."
"I don't…" Leia frowns, mentally going over her record in the Senate, "I know it sounds arrogant, but I don't think they have anything on me."
"Then your information may be better than mine," his tone belies his words: he doesn't believe her, and for some reason it stings, she has always prided herself on her work ethics, why should he question that… Meanwhile, Thrawn continues. "Or not. Pray tell tell me, Senator, what is the one thing you won't ever acknowledge out-loud…"
A question shouldn't sound like a statement.
"…the reason why General Skywalker trusts you to sense his thoughts…"
His question does.
"…the fact that can undermine the very core of any case you'll ever make?"
A sickening premonition settles somewhere deep in Leia's stomach as a realisation dawns on her.
It's neither her record, nor her projects.
He knows.
Thrawn choses this very moment to turn the lights in his office back on. If she wasn't stunned into silence, if fear and anxiety weren't twisting her insides in a cold grip, she would've called him out on his need for dramatics. He quietly brushes past her and comes to his deck to take something. Leia narrows her eyes to see what the object is, but she doesn't need to squint hard: in a moment a familial hexagonal music box is placed in her hands.
"How? Why is it even here?"
"It was either here, or in the hands of holo press…" Leia almost drops her childhood memento as the implication sinks in, but his hands, still cradling hers, gently but firmly steady her. "I warned you, your enemies were planning to stab you in the back."
The once familiar object sends a thousand needles prickling her fingers and palms, and Leia swallows an acid bile in her throat.
"Have you listened?"
"No, but I know what it will say, so do you."
There is no sense lying when his eyes see right through her, the red flame illuminating her deepest, darkest secret. No sense when his larger hands are still on hers, thumbs pressing to pulse points on her wrists, slightly brushing them in a soothing motion. A position too convenient to catch a sign of her distress to be just an accident, yet a touch too comforting, too intimate to be a simple calculation.
"I guess, but…"
He takes a step back and turns to leave, possibly in an attempt to give her a little bit of privacy to listen, but she cannot bear to be alone.
"Stay… please."
Thrawn nods but doesn't come closer. Right, it's better this way.
Leia traces the surface with her fingertips – smooth, slightly cold, beaconing – then opens the lid. A familiar tune from her childhood fills in the space, the music swells, washes around her, lulls her anxiety for a while, as she listens to the traditional Alderaani lullaby.
Mirrorbright, shines the moon, its glow as soft as an ember.
When the moon is mirrorbright, take this time to remember
Those you have loved but are gone
Those who kept you so safe and warm
The mirrorbright moon lets you see
Those who have ceased to be
Mirrorbright shines the moon, as fires die to their embers
Those you loved are with you still—
The moon will help you remember.
The music drops slightly in volume, which usually means one more voice will start singing along in the recording. But instead, she hears her father's words.
My beloved daughter…
Oh, no.
She snaps the box shut and takes a deep breath. Too soon, too soon after this haunting, wrenching melody. She didn't hear it as a child, lulled to sleep with Bail or Breha's soothing voices, yet she hears it now – deep, if faint melancholy, a phantom pain and yearning for things lost forever. The once familiar tune is filled with traces of sorrow, an imprint of some inconsolable incompleteness, the one that she could never grasp before, but now it's the only thing she can hear and feel. Now that it's mirrored by the empty spot in the space where Alderaan used to be. She's not ready to listen to her father right after, not yet, not while sorrow still echoes in her soul.
"It's sad," the words slip past her lips before she can stop herself. "Why are lullabies always so sad?"
"Some presume that the musical structure of lullabies is a derivative of dirges or equivalent in different cultures." Thrawn's voice comes in as through a thick fog, created by the ringing in her ears, but does help to bring her back to reality, "in that sense, it could be argued that sadness is merely a musical by-product."
Oh, please. Sometimes the man in front of her can be so...
"I didn't really," she makes the point to emphasise the last word, "expect an answer."
"Apologies. I do sometimes have problems picking up all the subtexts and nuances beneath what you are actually saying."
"I am not that much of a mystery."
"I beg to differ."
Despite herself, she feels the corners of her lips tugging into a small smile.
"Are Chiss lullabies sad?" She doesn't really care, to be honest, but needs a small distraction before she has to open the box again. "Or is it some sort of another purely Alderaanian trait?"
"I think it's safe to assume that it's been far longer for me than it's been for you, so not that I remember."
He chuckles, and she cannot help joining him, despite the situation. And now that she thinks of it, she doesn't know Thrawn's age, the ISB file didn't list it overtly, but given his dates of service, suffice it to assume the gap is there.
"Do you have a theory?"
"Nostalgia. For an illusion of belonging. And the fact that it's out of reach. Just like a moon on the planet that had no natural satellite."
"Not until the Death Star." She marvels at the wrenching irony. "I stand by my words before, you're a philosopher."
There they are again, that strange middle ground, she feels no need for a title, not when they are alone, yet doesn't feel ready to use his name. The latter implies a reciprocal permission. And she has already allowed herself to get too close to that invisible line.
Leia takes a deep breath and opens the box again.
"My beloved daughter," her father's voice fills the room, so clear as if he's standing next to her, "The supreme governor of Birren, whom I trust completely, said that he would keep this here for you when you someday inherit this title. My hope is that this recording contains no new information, that I have had the chance to explain everything to you myself..."
Time flies and time stands still, it expands and condenses at once, decades, minutes, years, all mix together as her father shares with her truth about her birth parents, and the man who once was Anakin Skywalker.
"Your father has become Darth Vader."
But it's the rest of his message that brings tears to her eyes and steals air from her lungs. Once the recording stops, she forces herself to breathe. In and out, in and out.
Then, a small detail, something that she brushed away as a coincidence before, comes back to her. Too convenient to be just an accident. Again.
"Councilor Fey'lya and governor Sindian were both killed during that day at the Senate plaza."
"Indeed."
"Tell me it was a coincidence."
"Is that what you want to hear?"
"I want truth."
"Are you sure?"
That's all the confirmation she needs. Realisation is harrowing, her mind struggling to process that…
"I've never asked for this."
"It wasn't personal, just the most rational solution in the long term."
"Why?"
"Because I need your help to prepare the New Republic, and anything that could compromise your position would, in turn, compromise my plan."
He's calm, eerily so, his voice is firm, full of conviction that sounds perfectly rational and logical, as if he'll explaining the most obvious thing. Stars, she forgot that Grand Admiral Thrawn is not just a brilliant strategist, he's also ruthless.
"Who knows?"
Who pulled the trigger, is what she really asks, and she gets a distinct feeling he understands the question behind the question.
"Those who, ironically, will worship the ground Lord Vader's daughter walks on, so, there is no danger of it ever coming to light."
She closes her eyes and can see it, as clear as day, her recent dream coming back to her.
Shouts, stamps, whistles, the Senate is in disarray, and somehow she's trapped in the middle of it. All eyes are on her, yet Leia cannot make out any sound, not over the rushing of blood in her ears. No matter what she says, no matter what she does, they look at her as if she's a threat, as if they barely know her.
"Can you imagine if she'd been elected? How long would it have been before we were all bowing down before another Vader?"
Chaos rising, engulfing the New Republic she fought so hard to protect. She argues, she plots, makes countless speeches, strikes deal after deal, yet her words fall on deaf ears, suspicious glances following her everywhere.
Another Vader.
Another Vader.
Another Vader.
She grips the box tighter, smooth, cool surface burning her fingertips.
"So, the question is," his voice is near, and Leia opens her eyes to see Thrawn standing next to her again. "What are you going to do next?"
"Do I have a choice? Really?"
Leia swallows, and for the first time, pronounces out-loud the words she's been shying away from. She needs more leverage to push things through the Senate. And all she has is a year and a half.
"I won't challenge Mon, not unless I have to."
She promises more to herself than to him.
"But I'll run for the Chancellor if the time comes."
"When." He quietly corrects, and she prays he's wrong, at least for once he should be. "You aren't content, though."
"The higher you are, the harder you fall."
She places the music box on his desk, then thinks better of it and puts it on the floor.
Secrets never stay buried, even if she hides it, someone will find out. Even if she deletes her father's message, she knows that there are ways to reconstruct it, using traces of the code within the mechanism, music boxes were designed for infinite repetition, after all, that's why they also were passed from generation to generation in the Organa family. Should someone try, it won't be that difficult. She's under no delusions, someone will ultimately try, she has few friends in the Senate, will have fewer still, once she starts pushing for military funding.
At the end of the day, even if it sickens her to the core, there is only one choice, as long as the Republic comes first. As long as she's needed to help steer and protect the still fragile state from itself.
She hates him now, Vader, not her father. For he is taking away the last bit of her parents that she had left, the only part of that message that truly matters.
So let this be my last chance to say once again how much I love you. No other daughter could have brought me more joy. Please know that my love for you, and your mother's love, endures long past our deaths. We are forever with you, Leia. In your brightest triumphs and your darkest troubles, always know that we are by your side.
Leia prays these words will remain engraved in her memory forever, as she extends her hand towards Thrawn.
"May I borrow your blaster for a moment?"
If the question surprises him, he doesn't show. He steps closer and hands it to her without even a trace of hesitation. Their fingertips touch when he passes her the weapon, she prays he won't feel a slight tremor in her palm. If he does, he doesn't comment.
She grips the blaster, targets squarely on a small hexagonal box… then, at the very last moment, closes her eyes, against all training to always keep an eye on her target. She cannot watch, not now, not again.
And shoots.
The bang… is deafening, the shot itself, its echo bouncing off durasteel walls, and a broken cry of a melody, a piercing musical sound tearing the air apart, amplified until it reaches eternity. As if a thousand voices cry again in agony, or she is just imagining things.
For a moment all that she hears is her own blood pumping in her ears, the floor seems to be swaying under her feet, until a hand on her shoulder gently but firmly steadies her. Leia takes a step back and comes against a firm, solid chest, thankful to have something to lean against. She cannot think, will not, not while memories, what if's and why's are burning the corners of her eyes, make it difficult to breathe or swallow past the sudden tightness in her throat.
A cold hand on her forehead is unexpected, but it… soothes her, like cold water of Alderaanian springs. She leans into it, praying for it to quieten the voices and the cries, still ringing in her ears in the farewell echo of a melody, praying for it to put down the fire of anguish and resentment somewhere deep inside.
"As much as I agree with the intention…" his voice is quieter than usual, bordering on a whisper, as if he is taking care not to startle her, "the shot has definitely attracted attention, we'll get company in three or four minutes."
He removes his palm from her forehead, and she instantly misses the touch. Leia takes a steadying breath, still gripping the blaster for dear life. Then, unexpectedly, she feels Thrawn covering her hands with his, putting them both together in a perfect position for a shot.
He extends their intertwined hands holding the weapon towards the wall, as if looking for a target, and whispers.
"Pick a spot."
She selects an old Imperial insignia. Engraved. Let's see how well the Emperor's mark will hold against the blaster fire. If these things cannot be replaced until a wall is taken off, well, time as good as any. She shoots, their hands still intertwined, never taking her eyes off the aim, and hits it squarely in the center.
The door slides open, and true to his prediction, Luke and Gilad Pellaeon both rush in, then freeze in the doorway.
"So that's how it gets you to an optimal angle, Councilor."
Thrawn says, as if explaining to her something, seemingly oblivious to the intrusion.
"Thank you for the lesson, Grand Admiral, you're right, it does help my aim…"
Leia does her best to feign nonchalance and surprise, as she turns around to face their company.
"Anything urgent?"
"We heard the shots," Luke must have been sleeping: his hair is in disarray and he's stating the obvious.
"Apologies, we merely decided to have some target practice with Senator Organa."
Luke sees through her ruse, her turmoil is too evident to him now, without the vacuum of ysalamiri dividing their minds. Yet, bless him, he doesn't comment, as she bids everyone good night.
The trace of Thrawn's hands lingers around her long after Leia leaves his office.
So much for the lines she promised not to cross.