Chapter 22. Optics
There are different kinds of darkness – menacing, suspenseful, deceptive – Leia has learned them all by now. They all lure her with a false promise of sleep only to pierce her unguarded mind with hundreds of shards shortly after. Each and every one of them, no matter how different at first, inevitably shutters into a mix of unwanted visions, haze and light, blinding and sharp in equal measure. The mix that has become… if not totally familiar (there is no predicting what a dream will bring), then, at least, expected. By now, it's her most faithful and loyal bedfellow.
And yet, to her surprise, the darkness that envelops her tonight is unexpectedly… soothing.
For once, there is nothing.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
No haze, no visions hiding in the shadows, no phantom echoes or screams.
Who said you need to be afraid of this? Why, when silence is such a precious, marvelous sound? Why, when tonight this blissful, velvety darkness covers her like a warm blanket?
It's peaceful here. Calm. Safe.
When was the last time she felt that way? Long ago, in another lifetime, on the planet that no longer is.
As if on cue, a small flicker catches her eye. She knows it all too well, would recognize this luminescent mix of pale orange and gold anywhere, out of a thousand different shades and hundreds of motley lights. Slowly, gently, it blooms. Of corse it does, it's night, after all.
Another flicker, then another. There they are, blossoming in the royal garden, dozens of soft lights shimmering on delicate petals opening up around her….
Magical. Ethereal.
"Still is, isn't it?" Her mother's soft voice breaks Leia's reverie. She hasn't changed at all, not since the last time they saw each other: same heavy, intricate braids on top of her head, black tresses adorned with first streaks of silver, same familiar lines in the corners of her eyes and mouth – an imprint of a thousand smiles, frowns, arguments and secrets. Forever frozen in eternity. It's a memory, not a vision. The realisation is bittersweet.
"When you were little, you thought the lights in my chest were a bouquet of glowing candlewick flowers."
"Before I learned they were pulmonodes..." A stark reminder of her mother's accident and a testament to the fact that Appenza Peak was, indeed, as treacherous, as it was beautiful. "Yes."
"Such a precious child you were."
"Naive, you mean?"
"Caring, too much for your own good." There is no reproach in her mother's voice, on the contrary, a small, wistful and fond smile is hiding in the corners of her lips. "I learned the most powerful lesson of all that day, even if the reminder lasted forever."
"And that is?"
"How to fall. Sometimes you have to."
Leia extends her hand, yearning to touch silky soft petals, as if the memory can extend beyond her mind's eye, as if she can will the phantom sensation into existence.
"Candlewick flowers blossom only at night, dear, you'd do well to remember that."
True to her mother's words, they move out of her reach, one by one, and their soft glow, still shimmering, stats slowly, but surely dying down like an ember, dissolving into the velvety darkness.
For the first time in a long while, Leia wakes up well-rested, even if a bit disoriented. She stretches on the unfamiliar sofa, feeling as if a heavy, suffocating weight has been lifted from her shoulders: she can breathe and, dares she say, hope. Naive as it may sound, misplaced as it may seem, irrational as it definitely is, the feeling takes root. Defying all laws of logic, just like the cool touch that caressed her yesterday, igniting a soft fire somewhere deep inside. For a few minutes, she lets herself bask in the sensation. And yet, as her rational mind kicks in, alarm bells start ringing. Figuratively, of course.
Han.
Guilt traps her in a vice-like grip. They have to talk, before she lets this… whatever it is between her and Thrawn… go any further, she has to explain, Han deserves that much. Leia bites her lip. Any pain she will inflict on Han will ricochet and keep burning her conscience long after the conversation will be over. As it should, of course, she makes no excuses for her choices.
She takes a deep breath and catches the sight of Thrawn in the other corner of the room. As unguarded as she's ever seen him: sitting behind the desk, his chin resting on steepled fingers, mind clearly light years away from his own quarters, possibly plotting a yet another elaborate scheme. Just like the one he used yesterday to trick her to rest. Impossible, annoying, frustrating man… Leia fights back a smile. She doesn't regret the choice, not in the slightest.
What a difference a day makes. Or a week? Or a month? She cannot say for sure when it all started, when this new, fragile, uninvited and completely inappropriate feeling… blossomed.
Out of sheer impulse, she tiptoes towards him.
"You should've woken me up!"
Turns out, she can still catch him off guard. Turns out, he's once again completely, helplessly blind to social subtexts – a small flaw, that, deep down, she finds a tiny bit endearing – but Leia still fixes him with a look: the one that usually spells trouble for anyone in the vicinity. Thrawn, however, doesn't even bother feigning remorse: his impossible ruby eyes, shimmering with amusement and fondness, never leave her face, and corners of his mouth tilt upwards in a shadow of a smile, all the while she's ranting in the earnest.
Desperate times call for desperate measures… the ones that seem fitting in the moment, yet, on sound reflection, are anything but. One move, and alarm bells start ringing literally, as well as figuratively.
Yet, as her fingers run through his blue-black hair, learning that it's softer than it looks, she is tempted to stay a little longer. To pretend that the world outside doesn't exist. Why should it, while she can enjoy her newfound height advantage for once? It's quite an intriguing angle, looking at him like his. From above, barely so, of course, but… something worth exploring later.
Once she gets back into her room and catches her own reflection in a mirror above her dressing table, Leia bites back a curse. Hair in disarray, eyes suspiciously bright, faint color in her cheeks. But it's not the worst part. How did she miss it? Thrawn's uniform jacket is still on her shoulders – a glaring, damning evidence of the mess she got herself into. Thanks Stars she didn't run into anyone in the corridor on her way back.
When the alarm dies down, and she gets a couple of hours to properly prepare for the day, Leia starts re-braiding her hair. One strand at a time, one brush stroke after another: the ritual, filled with practiced motions and familiar rhythm, never fails to bring her jumbled thoughts to order. And that's when reality - that stubborn, unyielding thing - finally catches up with her, proving that one can never run away far or fast enough.
People and sentients at large underestimate and overestimate her at the same time. Underestimate her mind and overestimate her privilege. They think that only because she tends to be emotional, because she's younger than others in the New Republic cabinet, she must be naive, forgetting that she's been in the Senate for almost a decade now, and has had to learn the hidden, ugly side of politics for longer still. They also think that her title shields her from any political fallout. While Leia herself is under no delusions: nothing is written in stone, the more so, as there is no proverbial stone to write on, thanks to that blasted shot of the Death Star, may it burn in eternity, together with Tarkin and the Emperor.
Princess Organa, forever entrenched in people's memory, is nothing but a symbol. The Symbol of the Rebellion that is only just as good and as relevant, as it is untainted.
In politics, where optics equals truth, Councilor Organa has no right to get involved with Supreme Commander Thrawn.
His new status as a hero, a supporter of peace, an indispensable ally notwithstanding. None of this would matter, once HoloPress will drag back to light the tragedies of Batonn and Lothal, or anything else they will dig out in the decades of his service to the Empire. Leia has no doubt they will find something: when there is a will, there is a way.
None of this would matter, once her political rivals will start calling her judgement into question. After all, the optics of a young, naive Senator falling for the man who saved her life, being manipulated to support the peace treaty as a result, is so obvious, so cliched and so deliciously fit for front pages, that it would be a shame not to exploit it to their advantage. Leia knows she would've, had the tables been turned.
Never mind that nothing could be further from the truth. Truth, just like nuance, has no practical value in politics.
For as long as she needs to take over as the Chancellor of the New Republic in their grand plan, Councilor Organa's judgement, her impartiality and ultimate loyalty cannot be questioned.
For one surreal moment she sees it again: 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.
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.
Leia takes a deep breath and slowly exhales.
As she secures the immaculate braid on top of her head with a pin, her mind is made. Whatever it is between her and Thrawn - this still new, fresh, fragile, yet profound something - she wants it, needs it in her life…. But it means living a lie and keeping it a closely guarded secret.
Her mother was right: there are things than can blossom only at night.
The best laid plans have a tendency to go astray. Yet, she is surprised at how quickly this one goes downhill: barely an hour later, once Threepio catches up with them as they are boarding the Chiss ship.
"Mistress Leia, before we leave, would you prefer to keep Grand Admiral Thrawn's jacket, or should I return it to him, like the last time?"
Should she wipe Threepio's memory? Wait no, too tiresome, she will have to do it too often. Should she damage the chip or link it to short circuit every 24 hours? Right, that's it. And plaiting, no golden plaiting, just the soft one that he hates, that's what he'll get.
"I hope", Thrawn's voice is matter-of-fact, even a bit bored, as if he's checking on a status of the most mundane task, "you've managed to put the code transmitters into the data cylinders as agreed, Councilor?"
Oh, this brilliant, impossible but brilliant man.
Just like the first time, he took off only the rank plaque, leaving the Imperial data cylinders on his uniform jacket. Given that she's been working with Lieutenant Commander Vanto on their new coding system, it sounds plausible. Even if impossible in reality, but only one other person knows it. She steals a quick glance at Eli Vanto and prays he won't call them out: if his exaggerated nonchalance is any indication, he won't. Leia settles on a business tone, the one she uses to steer the New Republic cabinet through particularity boring items on the agenda.
"Bring it to Grand Admiral's quarters after we return from the Steadfast, Threepio." So that anyone who happens to run into her droid, including their present company, will see the said data cylinders on the garment. She dismisses the droid with a wave of her hand. "Let's hope it works this time. Hardly a chore that could've been delegated elsewhere, given the circumstances… although, have to admit, not the pinnacle of my career."
It should work, it has to work. She doesn't need all of them to believe, if they have any shred of critical thinking, they probably won't, she needs the optics of it. A reasonable doubt is enough.
"Appreciate your help. I'll test it this evening."
Leia just prays no one would be curious enough to probe deeper. No one does, although she can tell Luke is anything but convinced, while Lieutenant Commander Vanto just seems mildly amused.
Once they board, Luke is quickly whisked away to talk to the Chiss woman introduced by Admiral Ar'alani as Vah'nya, while Thrawn and Lieutenant Commander Vanto start quietly discussing something near the viewport. Leia is left to her own devices, and she cannot help stealing glances all around, taking in foreign command control panels, convex floor- to-ceiling viewport and unfamiliar engravings on the walls.
"I believe we haven't had a chance to properly talk yesterday, Councilor."
Admiral Ar'alani remarks in Meese Caulf, catching Leia off guard. Right, they have opted against this language, given that Luke and Lieutenant Commander Vanto don't know it. But now, with only the two of them standing side by side, it seems like an obvious choice.
"Is this a correct title?"
Her accent is familiar: certain vowels come through more prominently than others, similar to what she sometimes hears in Thrawn's speech – cadence, pause, the way the admiral accentuates some words. Bit harsher though. In Thrawn's voice, these telltale intonations are blurred, muted, like a reflection coming up from the seabed. In Admiral Ar'alani's case, they shimmer right on the surface. Leia wonders if it's because Thrawn has lived longer in the Empire, or if it's his natural vocal pattern.
"Indeed, although I am still getting used to it."
"I take it, it's a recent development?"
"You could say that." Or a well-timed coincidence as the culprit of the said development would say. "But I wouldn't want to bore you with ins and outs of the New Republic cabinet and its hierarchy, it's way too convoluted for any sane person to make sense of."
"Good evasion."
"Comes with the territory, I guess."
"I have to admit, my knowledge of the Lesser Space is limited, but if intelligence reports are any indication, it must be an unusual state of affairs." The older woman gestures to her, then to Thrawn, "for your Republic and your Empire to cooperate."
Leia wonders if her via-s-vis realises how much she has just let slip in this simple question. A politician in her instantly latches on words such as "lesser space", "your" republic and "your" empire, reaffirming her yesterday's assumptions about the Chiss Ascendancy. Of course, Leia also clearly hears the question behind the question, the one that was accentuated by the movement of hand and a slight tilt of the other woman's head. Still, she opts to acknowledge only the part said our loud, feigning ignorance of the subtext. Thrawn's favorite tactics may be rubbing off on her.
"All empires are founded on strength, but eventually become arrogant and tyrannical, it's their nature. Just like republics are born from diversity and respect, but inevitably become chaotic and feeble. On this rare occasion, we happen to have both." She chuckles, "Let's hope we manage to counter-balance the frailties of each."
They exchange a few phrases, but then Leia sees that the older woman's gaze keeps fluttering to the secluded space where Luke is speaking to Vah'nya. Too far to make out what they're discussing, the more so, as their lips are not moving. Leia suspects Luke is trying meditation to get what they need. Yet, tension lines around the admiral's eyes and the stiff set of her shoulders scream apprehension. Something tugs inside her: a protective instinct that kicks in whenever it comes to her little brother. The idea of someone not trusting Luke, Luke of all people, is preposterous.
"You don't approve of it."
"Approval has nothing to do with it. I've come to accept and trust Mitth'raw'nuruodo's theories… but I still have a duty to protect those who depend on me, and Vah'nya is one of them."
Which is fair, Leia supposes, she would've done the same. Well, time to put her assumptions about the Chiss society to test.
"As the head of his family," Leia subtly includes her head towards Luke, thanking stars that her little brother doesn't hear her now, otherwise he may've succumbed to a silly notion of arguing that he's older, "I can guarantee that my brother won't do any harm to your team, or to the Ascendancy. As for Grand Admiral Thrawn's theories, they usually prove to be right, even if illegal, reckless and insane in equal measure."
She hears a wry laugh from her the older woman, who mutters:
"Don't you say."
"In my experience, it's safe to trust his assumptions, though. All the while presuming that he will need help cleaning up the fallout."
"Not the kind of arts he excels at, unfortunately."
"That's putting it mildly…"
"You know, Councilor, in another life, you could've had a stellar career at the Syndicure."
Leia let's out a small laugh, "Not sure if you meant it as a compliment, or an offence."
"I am not sure either… but take it as the former, for a non-Chiss, your perceptiveness is remarkable."
They fall into a strangely amiable silence shortly thereafter.
A few hours later, once Luke gets the insights he needs, and their new coding system proves viable, they finally part ways. The Chiss ship leaves the system first, taking course back into the Ascendancy, while Chimaera follows a couple of hours later, but in a completely different direction.
Leia should be relieved that the first part of their plan has worked. Instead, she feels on edge, as if they've just triggered a countdown to the inevitable.
Back in her quarters, her private countdown comes to a halt, mocking her with a familiar frequency that promises to connect her to the Millenum Falcon. She swallows past sudden tightness in her throat and turns on the holovid connection with slightly shaking fingers. Even light years away from each other, even with connection spotty and unreliable as it is, she has to do it face-to-face. Ideally, she should've waited until they return to Coruscant to speak in person, but Leia's conscience is on edge as is. Plus, that's the part that has been hanging over them like a thunderous cloud for a while, even if both preferred to ignore it: Leia has no idea if Han is actually going to be on Coruscant when she returns. Their lives are moulding in two parallel lines, never meant to intersect in the first place.
She has rehearsed the speech in her mind, truly, she has. But as soon as she sees familiar hazel-green eyes, coupled with that small smirk, a trademark mix between boyish and arrogant, she cannot make herself repeat a string of meaningless platitudes. Instead, Leia utters, voice thick with emotion.
"I'm so sorry, Han…"
The rest is a blur, she hears her own words as if coming from under water, past the thundering of her heart in her ears. Leia knows she won't be able to recall details of their conversation the next day, but she will forever remember the hurt in his eyes, and that overwhelming sensation of something invisible yet irreversible tearing the fabric of her life into "before" and "after". She felt it only once before - when that blasted shot hit Alderaan. Time loses its meaning, it stretches and stands still, then starts racing, as if spurred by her words.
The feeling subsides only when her fingers reach for the disconnect button to finish the call, but before she can press the smooth plastic square, Leia has to add. If that's the only thing she will remember from this evening, then:
"No matter how much we fought, I've always hated watching you leave. Please take care, Han."
"You too, your worshipfulness, you too."
Author's note.
Just had to close some loops in this chapter, so here I present to you: candlewick flowers (it's one of my favorite under-explored themes in the canon, on so many levels, but I fully blame it on Thrawn and his impromptu exhibition of the Alderaanian art), Appenza Peak (from chapter 2, the place of Breha's near-fatal fall during her Challenge of the Body, for those who recall), and, yes, Leia's farewell to Han is taken from the Force Awakens, what can I say, I have a penchant for drawing parallels and mixing things up a bit…
Ar'alani is a queen, obviously, but we all know that she can be slow to trust aliens, and that she is quite set in her attitudes to the Lesser Space, but i do believe that the two women behaving as protective elder sisters for those around them would've found some things in common ;)
PS. A Skywalker and a secret relationship… what could go wrong…