Chapter 20. What's in a name?

Her little brother always jokes that words are her weapon of choice, while lightsaber is his. Usually jabs like this earn him a smack on the head - a small reminder that she still has plenty of other choices at her fingertips, pun intended. Leia has never shied away from admitting that she prefers words to be reinforced by the power of real weapons: it tends to make the other side much more willing to actively listen. Still, Luke has a point, if only to a certain extent: she knows the measure of words, has mastered their margins and learned their power, uplifting and destructive in equal measure. It never ceases to amaze her how seemingly trivial words, harmless in regular circumstances, can tilt the world off its axis in others.

Today it takes just one short sentence to shutter a delicate balance of invisible, precariously thin lines she has been trying so hard to tip-toe.

"Flattery is a way to manipulate the insecure and the ordinary. You're anything but."

Had he stopped here, she would've been able to convince herself that the lines are still intact, that mutual respect and appreciation of an ally is all there is to see in the harsh light of the day, and everything else is just a folly of her own making, a mirage weaved by shadows, late-night conversations and a misplaced yearning for a connection. But then Thrawn adds, as if stating the most obvious thing in the galaxy.

"It does look good on you, by the way."

An offhand, blink-and-you-miss-it remark that twists, blurs, moves the lines around, like a tide sweeping a shore and everything on it, leaving Leia no choice but to start drawing them anew.

They aren't quite where they were just yesterday, though, irrevocably pushed out by those simple words.

Mitth'raw'nuruodo.

The name hissed by Admiral Ar'alani - and it's unmistakably a name: Threepio fails to translate or repeat it, meaning it's not in his database - sounds foreign. As it should, of course, just like any other name in a foreign language. Like hundreds and hundreds she had to learn before, both in the Rebellion and in the Senate. Like many more to come.

And yet.

This one is different, for it may be her only chance to find out something that stolen ISB files failed to give: one more glimpse of the man who lurks somewhere behind the facade of Imperial Grand Admiral, a military genius and a ruthless strategist. She knows nothing of his life before the Empire, and while in her heart of hearts Leia doesn't agree with Thrawn's obsessive need to ascribe all of individuals' actions to cultural patterns, a politician in her knows all too well that upbringing and home worlds do shape people, if only to a certain extent.

If that's her only chance to find out more, she'll be damned, if she lets it go. Blame it on her insatiable curiosity. Actually, scratch that - it's just getting both of them on equal footing - Leia has always been a proponent of equal chances and opportunities, and it's blatantly clear that Thrawn has had an unfair advantage all along: art holograms, manuscripts, or artefacts are much easier to find - all one needs is HoloNet, old Imperial Archives, a willing art dealer or a bounty hunter. While the Chiss Ascendancy is shrouded in secrecy, or rather, intentional isolationism. So that's all there is to it, just levelling the playing field.

If this reasoning feels a little bit like yet another little white lie, Leia prefers to ignore the fact. She has much more pressing matters to deal with, like figuring out a secret communication network together with Lieutenant Commander Eli Vanto. Now, that's a familiar name - she does recognise it from the appendixes to ISB reports – up until a certain moment it time, it was inseparable from Thrawn's. Leia purposefully waits for ten minutes after they wrap up their code plan, before finally asking what she really wants to know. Her question has to sound impersonal - she cannot afford to seem too curious, after all.

"I imagine, Chiss names bear some hereditary references?"

"For the most part, yes…"

Thrawn believes that he can understand the soul of a nation through its art. Well, Leia knows that she can tell vices and frailties of each by looking at its political system. Every nation gets the government it deserves, after all. It's an intricate game, in the sense that there are questions Lieutenant Commander Vanto will not or cannot answer, out of respect to whatever oaths of secrecy he gave to his new masters… but, if words are Leia's weapon of choice, then asking right questions is her preferred attack pattern. He probably thinks he shares a bare minimum, but in reality she gets exactly what she needs to draw a pretty accurate picture of inner workings of the Ascendancy… that turns out to be a facsimile of the checks and balances established between the Elder Houses prior to the dawn of the Republic, only on the scale of one nation rather than the rest of the galaxy. Not new per se, but, presumably a more limited sphere of influence would fuel underlying rivalry, spilling out into all branches of government.

"Nothing motivates nobility more than seeing their rivals fall," her mother rolls her eyes in the most undignified manner, making teenage Leia giggle despite the importance of the lesson, "and nothing does a better job of paralysing a government and clouding the judgement than placing a family ego above common interests."

Leia doubts anyone else in the room has ever viewed it as such, not for the lack of critical thinking, of course, but probably because she's the only one who has this particular point of reference, given that her mother took great pains to coach her in the long and winded history of the Royal House Organa and, by extension, other royal houses in the galaxy. Seems like it may be useful, after all.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Commander Vanto finishes his answer, "… so, it's definitely as different as it gets. Never ever have I thought I'd find myself here, of course."

"Actually, how come you joined the Ascendancy in the first place?"

It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together, so a reason, or rather the culprit is pretty obvious, but she needs something trivial and harmless to divert attention.

"As my mother used to say, God moves in mysterious ways."

"I know it may come as a shock," Leia chuckles and makes sure to enunciate every word she's about to utter, "but Grand Admiral Thrawn is not God."

"Well, will you tell him, or shall I?"

A small laugh escapes her lips, "I'm sure there are lots of sentients vying for the honor, suggest we draw lots."

Despite the gravity of a situation they find themselves in, both share a quiet laugh at the mental image. Then Leia adds, previous evening still fresh in her memory, "Insufferable though he may be, he does have a talent for seeing hidden potential and abilities in others, and creating perfect conditions for those to manifest themself," she heaves an exasperated sigh, "whether we like it or not."

Judging by a strange look in her companion's eyes, she's just hit the bullseye.

"Do you think it's always for the best?"

"Too early to tell, let's see if we manage to get on the other side of this whole ordeal."

Then she feels it – a faint sensation, airy and light, travelling from the back of her head to her shoulders - it isn't physical, nothing about it is physical, but it's a pull that defies all laws of logic and physics and leaves her no choice but to turn around, only to meet a pair of familiar glowing red eyes looking at her from the other side of the room.

"But I think… I do."

Leia refuses to sleep that night, all too conscious of visions that lurk in the dark, should she close her eyes: the shot, phantom screams, that deafening echo and a piercing ache of a broken melody mixed with her father's message, now lost forever. By now, in her mind at least, her dreams have become a creature in their own right. It takes two to play the game, and tonight she makes a conscious choice to decline the invitation. Again. She won't be able to keep it up for long, given that blasted human nature is not on her side, and sleep is an essential part of life, but she can try. Leia is nothing if not stubborn.

She turns on her datapad and starts drafting a list of potential alliances she needs to establish over the next few months. She won't challenge Mon, but she will run for the Chancellor, if and when the time comes. She'll win, of course, failing is not an option. It doesn't matter in the least of she feels ready or not, the stakes are higher than her own fears and doubts.

Ironically, once she uttered these words out-loud, everything fell into place all too easily, seamlessly fitting together like pieces of a holo-puzzle. An intricate net she'll have to weave… just like Alderaanian embroidery she wore earlier today. Her fingers trace the lines on her cape, now discarded at an armrest of a chair in her quarters on Chimaera. A delicate, impossibly detailed net of trade-offs and deals, leverage and quid-pro-quos, ambitions and egos to play on – almost as enthralling and intertwined as the map of the galaxy in Thrawn's office. Enthralling though it may be, she doesn't have to like it: Leia feels sick in her stomach at the mere thought of dealing with some of the senators she'll have to get on her side. Councilor Organa, however, proceeds to schedule appointments and plan seemingly accidental meetings with the said politicians, so that her own symphony of action will be ready to unfold once she will be back.

Once the lines on her datapad start blurting together, whether from too much strain on her eyes, lack of sleep or both, Leia turns it off and starts walking across the room to chase the fatigue away. After all, they're in deep space, and until they come back, she doesn't have to obey any planetary night and day cycles if she doesn't want too, no matter what schedule is instituted in Chimaera. One can pretend that unless a sunrise or a sunset is clearly seen, it's all the same day, like living in the state of eternal dawn or perennial twilight.

Perennial twilight.

The words taunt her, running round and round in her mind for no reason. There is something there, something equally important and illusive, just within her reach, yet not quite. As always in times of distress and confusion, she starts wringing her hands – fidgeting is most unbecoming for a princess, but also most efficient to soothe her nerves and help her think, so royal protocols can really go to Sith for all she cares. First, knuckles of her left hand, then her fingers, rubbing up and down.

Perennial twilight.

Twilight. Forever frozen in time.

Leia stops in her tracks.

In time and in moss, to be precise.

"I believe Councilor Organa can help you here, she's an expert in sending hidden coded messages. Or have I misinterpreted a true value of the infamous Killik Twilight for Shadowcast?"

That insufferable man!

"You knew about Killik Twilight!"

She strides in even before he can properly move to the side to invite her to, but to be fair, he should be used to it by now, and to be absolutely fair, she couldn't care less. In a moment, she's staring up at him from inside his quarters, while Thrawn remains frozen in the doorway, as if confused by this outburst. Clearly, he didn't expect this. Good. Serves him right for getting her into this mess in the first place. In a mili-second, though, his features settle into a familiar impenetrable mask.

"So I've mentioned earlier today, yes." Thrawn presses a push button to close the door, then, once their privacy is secured, takes a step towards her, arms once again clasped behind his back in a habitual gesture. "And I believe experience from that operation should've allowed you and Lieutenant Commander Vanto to work out a…"

"No." Leia cuts him off an impatient wave. "You've seen Killik Twilight, even up close, I bet."

Given he knows about the painting's connection to the Rebellion's secret Shadowcast keycode, knowing his penchant for art puzzles and mysteries, there is only one possible explanation – he had to see that painting in person to figure it out.

"Naturally."

"Hence, you've seen a moss painting… before."

Before their first meeting at the former Imperial palace - that illusive memory that has been taunting her the entire evening.

"Breathtaking, isn't it?" A voice with a strange accent remarks behind her, breaking the spell.

"I have heard a lot about Alderaanian moss painting technique, so could not resist…"

"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 a challenge in this case…"

"Of course, I have."

Thrawn's voice is perfectly calm, as if stating the most obvious, trivial thing, as if he's taking about the weather.

"Yet, you told me you haven't, that first evening in the Palace." She takes a step towards him, but fails to calculate the distance, so in her attempt to enunciate her point with yet another furious wave of her hand, Leia ends up poking him in the chest. It seems to have a desired effect though - a flicker of recognition registers on his face.

"If you think carefully, you'd come to realise I did not."

"…has definitely been a challenge in this case…" A challenge is not an absolute...

"You just chose to believe it."

That insufferable man!

"Remarkable, truly. I commend your ability to make this connection, most people would've missed it." A corner of his mouth tilts upwards. "As impressive as ever."

She will not let him distract her, though, so Leia brushes the praise away.

"So, our meeting wasn't an accident?"

"I'd say it was a well-timed coincidence."

Typical of him: he hasn't fully answered the question. But, to be fair, she hasn't voiced the real one that matters. Yet. Before she can, Thrawn beats her to it.

"What really brothers you?"

Nothing about it bothers Councilor Organa per se, she even applauds this attempt at probing a potential ally in an informal setting and coming up with a believable cover story for the encounter.

Something bothers Leia though. Something minor, so minor it should've disappeared long ago and yet it still persists - that shadow of an impossible possibility between them… she doesn't know if it's part of his plan or not.

"If it was a pretence from the start, were the other… meetings… orchestrated too?"

Leia hates the way her voice wavers, hates that words, treacherous words that are supposed to be her weapon of choice, now turn against her, threatening to come spilling out before she can control and mould them to her liking. Before she can pick safe ones, the ones that won't betray a fact that she came to view their first meeting and all others as a start of something much more personal than just a strategic alliance, something much more profound that she doesn't dare to name. A politician in her, though, has to press on, for there is no such thing as a well-timed coincidence, unless there is an underlying plan behind it. Knowing Thrawn, there was.

"Did you set them up so that I would choose to believe what you wanted me to believe? For no other reason but to increase your chances of getting a willing ally?"

She has to know if glimpses of the man she saw in their late-night conversations were real, or if they were nothing but a carefully staged facade. After all, she saw it in his ISB files - scattered, diametrically opposed facets of the man, invariably changing depending on an eye of a beholder.

And what better facade to show to her than… the man who spoke of regrets with an unmistakable trace of personal experience, who shared with her a twisted, agonising bond over home worlds, lost forever; the one who could be infinitely infuriating, incredibly perceptive and absolutely clueless at the same time. She needs to know if it all was also a pretence, a performance put up for her sake to mix personal with political and secure a potential alliance.

Somewhere at the back of her rational mind Princess, Senator, Councilor Organa all whisper that everything personal has always been inextricably linked with political for her, that completely separating the two is impossible, dangerous even, like tearing a plant out of the soil without its roots. But Leia is too damn tired of listening to whispers.

Ironically, if all personal snippets of him were nothing but pretence, it absolves her of any guilt for any feelings she may've developed, given nothing was real in the first place. Problem is… Leia doesn't want an absolution. Not anymore.

"I see you once again insist on putting labels on things, indiscriminately at that…" Thrawn shakes his head slightly. "I needed reliable allies, you're, indeed, correct. The balance of probability suggests that getting the Chancellor on my side would've been easier, given her reputation for being rational and pragmatic, and your well-known suspicion of all things Empire. Still, I prefer to observe people before jumping to conclusions, so yes, I had to orchestrate the first meeting in private, knowing that there would be only one place in the palace where you'd likely to go alone..."

His palm weightlessly covers her hand that is still resting on his chest after poking him – a small fact that, somehow, she didn't even notice.

"A brushstroke can have a lot of personality. Traditional Alderaanian moss painting technique is limited by the Alderaanian moss – its high density requires a lot of pressure to apply. Many times this gestural exercise tires the painter. That is why moss paintings can end with neutral brushstrokes."

Oh, please… leave it to him to start a yet another lecture. Still, she doesn't interrupt, hoping against hope that the man she saw wasn't a facade, that whatever calculation he had was tactical and political, not personal. If she doesn't take her hand away, it's because she's too distracted by his words, that's all there is to it.

"The Alderaa Peak painting was created after the destruction of Alderaan, so a painter was bound to use more flexible types of moss, meaning lower density would allow for more expression through the brushstrokes, and cultural patterns would be more likely to manifest themselves much more prominently. I had two objects to study that night, you and the brushstrokes." A muscle in his cheek twitches, as if he's not comfortable with whatever will come next. "Ended up studying you most of the time."

"Well, wasn't that the goal?"

Sometimes, silence is the loudest sound.

She can hear it ringing in her ears, while she's waiting for an answer.

"Not to this extend, no. Since then, you kept messing up the entire board. Time after time." Thrawn chuckles wryly. "So no, orchestrating anything related to your actions is beyond even my strategic talents." He catches the sight of her sceptically raises eyebrows and adds. "Predicting some – yes, but never orchestrating."

He said it be before: red is the color that travels the farthest. She feels it now, as his gaze seems to get under her skin, awakening nerve endings with the intensity that has no right to be.

She's always been a proponent of equal chances, and now it's time to turn the tables.

"What really brothers you?"

"Facts and problems, for the most part. I know what to expect of Senator Organa, that's the fact."

His eyes glow a bit brighter than normal, or she's just imagining things. His voice is even, it takes on a new texture though, new depth if it's even possible. "But still find myself at a loss as to what to expect from… Leia."

Two syllables, harmless, trivial, she's heard them countless times before from other people. Yet, it's the first time her given slips past his lips, like a caress. Once again one small word twists, blurs, moves the lines around with the power of a high tide. Disorienting. Captivating. Intimate.

"And that's the problem."

She finishes for him, and the sense of understanding, heavy and liberating at the same time, lingers in the air between them.

Leia feels his fingertips start drawing soothing lines over her knuckles, then fingers, followed by thin blue vein lines on the back of her hand, rubbing up and down. Damn him and his ability to notice even the smallest things - it speaks to her louder than words ever could. Motions are measured, careful, light, so light they can both pretend in doesn't happen, but real enough to confirm that that shadow of possibility is real and mutual. It's up to her now whether to acknowledge it or not.

Who needs an absolution, anyways?

Kissing him. A strange concept, really. Nothing like a cliche about wrong things that feel right – those belong to holo operas rather than life. In reality, it's a dizzying sensation. Irreversible, like free falling. Equally dangerous, reckless and... all-consuming.

Yet, once the first fateful step is made, all that's left is to fall. To deny the inevitability of a crash and pretend that the world outside doesn't exist.

It doesn't, really.

Not while his hands are cupping her face, thumbs caressing her cheekbones sending small shivers down her spine, as the room fades away. His touch travels down from her neck to her back and her waist - a light, cool sensation defying all laws of logic and burning her alive.

Not while his lips and tongue trace the outline of hers. Definitely not while she can turn the tables, deepening the kiss, as her arms wrap around his shoulders, as if she cannot get close enough, seeking refuge from this dizzying sensation. His own embrace grows tight and fierce, anchoring her. Them.

Not while their kiss grows firm and deliberate - both too used to being in command. Wanting and a touch desperate – both too aware that that reality will come crashing down on them soon.

Leia doesn't care a bit, here and now. She will though, in a few minutes when blasted human nature will let her down once again and will make her break the kiss, given that oxygen is essential.

But for now, she'll just allow herself to fall.

Author's note.

First of, thanks to everyone for waiting! Finally got some free time to write, doubt my writing and rewrite a few times. Posting before I change my mind…

So, a piece of personal headcanon (and I don't care if it's not true, it's a headcon in for a reason): in a galaxy as wide, I imagine each world or system having their own cults, belief systems and religions, on top of Jedi vs Sith Force teachings. With the spread of Basic, I also imagine some sorts common terminology developing to signify a higher power, so that's how in my mind Eli and Leia can joke about Thrawn not being a God, without obviously sharing same belief system or anything. That's all I have to say on the matter, or just give the author an excuse to use a joke that is too good to miss, given that episode of you know what ;)

A quick nod to EU and my personal fondness of twisting parallel storylines and merging them in this fic - Killik Twilight mentioned in previous chapter as well is as in this one was an Alderaanian moss painting that held a hidden Rebel Alliance Shadowcast keycode, also it was one of the last of its kind and could not be replicated since it was made with moss that only grew on Alderaan. We know that in EU Thrawn and then Pellaeon got their hands on it and then Pellaeon gave it to Han and Leia after the Yuuzhan Vong War. Well, this time I wanted to find a better use for the painting, and I thank it for its service of creating a bit of a drama…*Thrawn after this chapter adding notes for future reference: sleep-deprived Leia – prone to over-reacting, thread carefully, handle with care*

I'm purposefully adjusting to my folly moss painting technique itself, absolutely not sorry ;)

Oh, and a small PSA in case anyone new accidentally stumbles on this fic and, given latest tv releases, wonders What in the name of Baby Yoda (aka Grogu) and Darth Plagueis the Wise is happening here. As stated in the beginning of the fic, it's 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. So please forgive the author for self-indulgently twisting the plot lines, universes and timings (underscored three times for good measure!) to her folly, I know it is not everyone's cup of caf

Thank you and may the Force be with you all!