Chapter 24: A thousand flames
Luke is endearingly sweet in his misguided attempt to protect her. He truly is. It takes all Leia's willpower to suppress a laugh when he finally broaches the subject, a full two minutes after knocking on her door, that is. Well, to be fair, subtlety has never been his strong suit. But loyalty is, so instead of a laugh Leia just feels her lips tugging slightly upwards in an amused and fond smile. It would be too embarrassing to actually listen to his probing questions, especially given that his intention is evident from a mile away, so instead she opts to focus on carefully masked worry in his blue eyes, his kind, coaxing tone and a wave of infinite care and unyielding support that he's sending to her through the Force.
Fleetingly, she wonders if his father's eyes have ever been filled with similar devotion. At some point, at any point at all? Luke's voice, still taking some nonsense here and now, comes back to her as a memory from not so long ago.
"It happened behind one of those columns. Our mother told our father she was expecting…
Two people, standing behind the column. A woman and a taller man, too close to be just strangers."
For one surreal moment, she sees Luke's blue eyes on another man's face.
He's young, probably younger than she is now, but weathered and hardened at the edges - an unmistakable imprint of constant pressure lingering in the tense set of his shoulders, as if always ready for a battle, never truly at ease. A scar does nothing to distract from the brilliant blue shade of his gaze, troubled yet hopeful. The man's voice is a study in contradictions, just like his eyes: a touch anxious, tender and reassuring at the same time.
"We're not going to worry about anything right now, all right? This is a happy moment. The happiest moment of my life."
The vision flickers and evaporates in an instant. A figment of imagination too absurd, too ephemeral to be true, especially with Vader's durasteel-like grip on her shoulder and his mechanical breathing behind her back still feeling all too real.
Leia squeezes her eyes shut to chase away anything but present and opens them just in time to catch the sight of Luke dramatically lowering himself in the chair after his impromptu speech.
"I am not trying to start playing the role of a protective big brother, of course."
"Good, especially given I'm the eldest."
"That's not…" Credit where credit due, this time Luke doesn't fall into her trap and refrains himself from offering a dozen reasons why he mistakenly believes himself to be the eldest. "Leia, stop it."
"Sorry, you're too easy to bait."
Whatever else he wants to say, Leia cuts him off with, gently squeezing his hand in reassurance. She isn't sure she's ready or willing to put into words whatever is happening between Thrawn and her: words mean definitions, definitions mean certainty, and certainty is the luxury she cannot afford at the moment. She has something much more precious – hope, and that's enough for now.
Meagre and under-developed though it may be, her nascent mastery of the Force is enough to reach out to Luke through their bond and try to put his worry to rest. It works: the sharp vertical line of tension between his eyebrows slowly but surely smooths out, leaving in its wake a barely-there whisper of a crease. Her brother returns her small gesture, his palm warm and firm in hers.
"Are you happy?"
"Too early to tell. But I am… hopeful."
There are many shades of hope, however, and hers is a luminescent mix of pale orange and gold, irresistible against the pitch-black night, but, just like delicate petals of candlewick flowers, too fragile to withstand the harsh light of the day.
"Luke, I hope it goes without saying, it stays here. I may be making a mistake, but not a political suicide."
Her brother's face is a mixture of momentary confusion, surprise and affronted dignity at the implication.
"Why would you even think that I'd…"
"Not that," she waves off his question before he can even finish: Luke's blissful ignorance of political power struggles is adorable in its complete and absolute sincerity, he would never let anything slip on purpose, "you simply have the worst sabbac face in the galaxy, try looking more like an impenetrable Jedi Master when we come back, would you?"
"Your word is my command, Your Highness." He mockingly bows down to her, dramatic effect somewhat ruined by the fact that he's still sitting in the chair, then stubbornly raises his chin and adds. "But you can't stop me from talking to Thrawn."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
He turns to leave, all his rightful indignation and determination clearly shimmering beneath the surface.
One, two, three.
"Leave your lightsaber here, if you please."
"Why?"
"As far as I know, you don't talk through your lightsaber, do you?"
Luke rolls his eyes but obeys, then turns to leave again.
One, two - he's reaching for a control panel on the door - three.
"And your blaster."
He bites back a curse, and Leia mentally pats herself on the head.
"Hey, how is the man supposed to defend his sister's honor?"
She snorts in the most undignified manner, opting not to remind him that he never took it this far with Han.
"You've always been creative, I'm sure you will figure something out."
Judging by Threepio's affronted "Master Luke, wait, it is my task" she hears from the corridor a few moments later, Luke has done just that.
Well, if Thrawn cannot deal with it, she'd be sorely disappointed.
Of course, Thrawn diffuses her brother's overly protective impulse, and, naturally, he does so in the most bizarre, yet most fitting way. Still, Leia enters the Chimaera sparring gym with the full intention of letting her mild annoyance at both of them be known. Loud and clear. As all best laid plans, that one goes downhill remarkably quickly.
It may or may not be due to the fact that it's easy to get distracted, while watching him power off the last droid standing with a series of quick strikes – power, precision and concentration - quite a reflection of the man himself. She doesn't allow herself to dwell on the thought, still fully set on telling him off (Luke got an earful on his way back to his quarters).
Yet, as she comes closer, she feels it again – that invisible gravitational pull, that phantom prickling in her fingertips, yearning to trace faint constellations of scars – the old ones on his chest, hidden beneath his black training gear, and faint lines on his right shoulder from blaster shots at the Senate Plaza, left in full view tonight. Innate stubbornness keeps Leia rooted to the spot, however, with hands crossed over chest - either to emphasize her point, or to stop herself from succumbing to this irrational impulse, probably both. Clinging to a rapidly dissolving annoyance, which hasn't run that deep in the first place, is difficult, especially while Thrawn once again proves his peculiar ability to say the right thing at the right time.
"Although I did point out to General Skywalker that his desire to protect you from anything is misguided at best."
"See… now I cannot even be mad at you."
Her hands unclench and fall to her sides. Perhaps, there are, indeed, better ways to spend this evening, Leia muses, as a mischievous idea comes to her mind.
"Never knew you were ambidextrous," she nods towards his melee sticks.
"I am not, but needs must, wielding weapons with both hands gives the advantage of surprise in a battle."
"Does it now?" She raises her eyebrows, and extends her palm, silently asking for a permission. Thrawn instantly hands over one of the weapons, while putting the other one away in the corner. Solid weight, but lighter than what she would've expected from reinforced durasteel, normally a preferred choice for this type of combat sticks.
"Thought they stopped using wood for this long ago, even before the Old Republic."
"Let's say, they're always exceptions to the rule."
"Or you just like owning a relic from a bygone era."
"Perhaps."
"Show off."
She huffs and twirls the stick around in her hands to loosen up her wrists. Her martial arts tutors back at Alderaan would have been proud, had they lived to see the day. The Princess was notorious for her preference and mastery of combat training rather than etiquette and history, at least in her teenage years, before the weight of responsibility and her father's lessons made her chose her true battlefield in legislature.
Thrawn comes to stand behind her, barely a breath between them now, and she feels it rather than sees it - glowing red eyes following her fluid movement with avid interest, while their sudden proximity ignites every nerve ending in her body - it's a familiar sort of flame, the one that prickles her skin with yearning to get closer and closer still.
She is about to spin around, but instead of going for a side strike as she turns (his position does give her a perfect opening), prefers to succumb to an utterly irrational impulse. He does have an unfair height advantage after all, so she's just levelling the playing field – the blow isn't that powerful, of course, his face doesn't even flinch, but her strike on the inside of his knees brings them roughly to the same eye level.
"Surprise attack," Leia whispers into his lips, enjoying their new position: his mouth is cool, and she can feel his small, wry smirk against hers. Once she discards the melee stick, her hands fist in his black-blue hair, still mused from whatever sparring session he had with Luke. His hands study the outline of her back, tracing intricate patterns that are sending small shivers of want down her spine.
"Is falling into your former enemy's hands part of your style?"
Smoky velvet of his voice is just as distracting as his hands - all that measured, familiar cadence, coupled with new depth, new, intimate texture she's still getting used to - wrapping around her like a caress.
"No but bringing them to their knees may be."
"For future reference, all you have to do is just ask."
Heat flushes to her cheeks, and Leia prefers to let her mouth linger on his instead of answering, to feel his teeth grazing her lower lip and get lost in a kiss, heated and all-consuming.
"Ready to admit your defeat, Grand Admiral?" Her voice sounds more out of breath than she expected.
"I see only advantages of this strategic position for now, so no, thank you."
When his mouth travels from her lips to her neck, Leia decides that they both won today. Not not she minds.
While it would be too easy to get carried away, neither of them has the luxury of forgetting the world outside. He needs to make an appearance on the bridge, she still needs to prepare for their return. It should be uncanny, really, how attuned both of them are to the fact, how easy and seamless the switch is, despite a small pang of disappointment, how the notion of higher loyalty to galaxy at large unites both of them in silent understanding. No words or platitudes are necessary, not when they have only two days before they come back to Coruscant. That is, again, a change from her previous… no, she won't go there, the more so, as she cannot and will not define whatever it is that is happening between them.
"I wish we had a private communication channel. Just the two of us."
Leia broaches the subject as they exit the gym a few minutes later, all too aware that holo press and her political rivals will be studying her every move through a magnifying glass the moment they land. Needless to say, she won't be able to fully rely on her personal comlink any longer, encrypted or not, it's the first and most obvious target to break into. While the coding system Eli Vanto has developed may be genius, she has no desire to use it for anything… personal. Luke has almost had a stroke as is, no need to add insult to the injury, given that everyone in their small group has access to these transmissions.
They don't get to meet again that night, but a standard imperial astromech droid delivers a small parcel to her quarters. Once she opens the box, Leia twists a small device in her fingers in mild amusement and presses a call button.
"Another relic from a bygone era?" The model looks like those hand-held devices they favoured on Naboo back in a day, "Sorry to disappoint, but it looks too small to have a long-distance coverage."
"Indeed, and like all things hidden in plain sight, that's what makes it most powerful." Thrawn's voice is as clear as if he's standing right next to her, indicating high-speed, high-quality transmission that definitely hasn't been part of the original model. "I may have ordered to make some adjustments," he seems to read through her surprised silence. "I told you before and it still stands: I need your help to prepare the New Republic, and anything that could compromise your position would, in turn, compromise my plan."
So, he has thought of it as well. Of course, he has. For some reason this small fact fills her with more gratitude and awe than any grand gesture ever could.
If subtlety has never been Luke's strongest suit, then patience has never been hers. Or, perhaps, it's her private countdown to their return to Coruscant that makes her feel more anxious and restless. Time is running through her fingers like cold water of Alderaanian springs.
There will be no place left for Leia, only Councilor Organa for a while. No place for their late-night meetings either: the New Republic will move the Senate to Hanna City on Chandrilla at Mon's insistence, while the Empire gets to keep the Coruscant. Leia knows all too well that Thrawn doesn't intend to spend any extended time in the Core Worlds either, set to travel extensively across fleet bases and former imperial outposts as per their plan.
While the small comlink, now hidden in the folds of her dress, brings an ounce of reassurance, it's not enough. Not for Leia. Not anymore.
Possibly, that's what prompts her to knock at the familiar door during her last evening on Chimaera.
She tilts her head up, standing on her tiptoes, savouring the way he looks at her. Red, indeed, is the color that travels the farthest, she feels it down the marrow of her bones, igniting a thousand flames in a strangely exhilarating sensation. It's something of a blur from there: the feel of his lips on hers, breaths mingling, heart racing, every new touch colouring the world behind her eyelids in a dozen of vibrant hues.
Her fingertips and lips finally trace constellations of scars down his chest. She wants to know the history behind them, Thrawn is still something of a disjointed puzzle to her, even if she gets more and more pieces to pierce together. He said it himself: information is not knowledge, not until he chooses to fill in the blanks. She wants to know… but at the same time doesn't, all too aware that some answers won't be the ones she is ready or willing to hear. Leia pushes the thought of conflicting loyalties aside, too late for that, as it seems.
Better to concentrate on the texture under her fingertips – smooth skin and solid muscle, crossed over by whispers of old wounds every once in a while. Or on the way his breath hitches at one particularly daring gesture. Good to know she can throw him off balance, figuratively this time. His embrace grows tighter, every touch somehow deliberate, tender and fierce all at once, as if committing her body to memory. His lips travel along her neck, which she never thought would be that sensitive, but leave it to Thrawn to guess something she didn't know. He maps the path of kisses along her clavicle and further down to her breasts, stealing oxygen from her lungs. When his breath finally caresses her tights, any rational is lost in a maze of pleasure and perfect agony, until she arches up against his bed, lips parted in silent, breathless cry.
All little crevices left by those damn dreams in her mind – some hollow, an echo of something she never had; some bleeding and still raw; some filled with chilling, sickening sense of foreboding - for a moment, they no longer exist. Tonight, Leia is living only and solely in the present, drawing haphazard patterns on his shoulders with her fingertips and nails, as they move together, and it feels blissful: liberating, a touch reckless and all-consuming. Just like a free fall.
"Ultimate safety does not exist," his voice is slightly hoarse in the morning, and Leia finds herself fascinated by this new cadence. "Those who trust in such will find that hope dashed upon the very rock behind which they seek to hide."
"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine when you wake up?" Leia grumbles in the pillow, hoping against hope that he'll take a hint and let her sleep a bit longer, before the reality will come crashing down on them.
"That said, at one time or another," he drawls his voice softly, cadence mirroring a brush of fingertips along her hip, "every warrior wishes to have an unconquerable fortress."
Damn him, his touch and his mouth, as he places soft kisses down her shoulder blades, his hands move to her stomach and further down, and sleep becomes nothing but a distant memory.
It's a good way to wake up, she doubts they will have many moments like this.
"Such a fortress is perceived as a place of defiance, a rock upon which enemies can be goaded into smashing themselves to their own destruction, or… a refuge."
Now that she has half the mind to actually listen, seems like he's reading her mind.
"I've always doubted the practical use of the first two," he continues in a pensive tone, "but now, I find myself wishing for the last one."
"A refuge?"
"Or a safe heaven, the term has been unjustly appropriated by the Rebellion," Thrawn chuckles, "but may be fitting, given the present company."
She elbows him in the ribs.
"Careful," Leia cannot help teasing, "our tactics are rubbing off on you."
"I don't need it, but I want it. It may prove useful. Occasionally. Do you?"
She squeezes her eyes shut and turns to him, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. It's a huge risk, and that's the understatement of the century.
She tilts her head up, finally pressing her lips to his and whispers into his mouth, "I do."
It's a soft admission, a ghost of a whisper, really. It sounds foreign to her own ears – too small, too eager, too hopeful and impossibly out of place on the Imperial star destroyer. Yet it's private and theirs alone, and that's the only thing that matters.
He extends his hand and helps her up.
Of course, once they get dressed, he takes her to the living room to look at a holo projection of a mosaic. What else did she expect? Leia inwardly chuckles. Still, not that she's complaining – standing like this is strangely comforting: cradled in the safe embrace of his arms, her back leaning against his chest. His chin is resting on the top of her head.
Thrawn takes her hand in his and starts outlining something in the air in front of them. Oh, right, he probably spotted something on the holo-projection of that ancient mosaic. It feels almost like a mirror image of their first meeting, even though it couldn't be more different: there is barely a whisker of space between them now, hands moving together in a strange pattern. Numbers? Frequency? Coordinates? She cannot make herself follow, too distracted by marvelling at the irony.
"Any thoughts?"
"Show-off," she mutters.
The corners of her lips tug in a small involuntary smile, though. She isn't annoyed, not really, not while they stand so close together, not while she can pretend that they can simply be.
She feels him chuckle, as he moves his other hand from her waist to take the remote control datapad. Even if she instantly misses the touch, Leia prefers not to comment. One press of a button, and the mosaic is replaced by the map of the galaxy. Then she sees them: the numbers he outlined in the air – coordinates, they are coordinates – pointing to a small obscure dot on the map.
A planet, carefully hidden somewhere in the uncharted areas of the Wild space.
"Nirauan." He confirms her suspicion.
Their refuge.
Author's notes
I regret nothing, but adding a traditional #sorrynotsorry just in case… Yes, I did take Zahn's quote about ultimate safety almost to the dot and just played with the sequencing and staging… and then my penchant for mixing the legends and new canon intervened… guess what happened? Yeah, Thrawn didn't expect it either ;)
