Work Text:
HobbitofHobbiton
.i. They are not allowed to say his name.
They cannot acknowledge he ever existed.
They cannot question the second mug, tainted with old muddy stains, nor move it from its post in Thrawn’s office. And so it stays, the chipped sentinel, one of many pieces to a larger puzzle.
This is only day one.
.ii. Who checked this order? They ask. Who’s initials are these? There’s no one on the ship with that name - never was, and never will be.
.iii. They are warned not to stare when, eventually, the Grand Admiral forgets himself. When he speaks in strange tongues to the air at his left, as if expecting someone to be there ready and waiting, listening attentively.
He does it more than once.
.iv. Every grief they have is measured with analytical eyes and they know Thrawn is judging them. What is an extra duty in the grand scheme of things? Is it so bad to cover a job that once belonged to someone who is now gone? By the end of their lament, they cannot help but conclude that their grief is an easier size to wear than the Grand Admiral’s.
.v. There is a room unavailable. It has been locked for months now. You’ll just have to bunk together, the quartermaster sighs, this one is out of bounds. There’s a ghost in that room, the rumour goes. There are noises in the night. A figure paces behind the door, murmuring, muttering, but saying what? Well, that’s anyone’s guess.
.vi. Of all the people who could forget the rules, no one expects Faro. His name slips from her mouth - it’s been so long, someone asks, who? - a memory awakens and there lands a biting chill. No apology is fast enough, no words are sincere enough.
His name is echoed, like a hushed-up wrong, bouncing off the walls and into their heads. That old happiness Faro had felt for his memory is unreturning for Thrawn. He is cold. He is betrayed. He is hurt.
.vii. The Grand Admiral is a ghost of his former self. Whoever Thrawn had once been, now lay in the ether with him. It’s been too long since Faro thought of him, it hurt to think what he would make of this; it hurt to know she had failed him by enabling Thrawn for so long. How had he done it? What magic words had he danced around Thrawn to make him bearable?
“He wouldn’t have wanted this,” Faro says, undeterred by her fear. No one should be afraid of ghosts; living or dead. Red eyes meet hers with a challenging will.
“Then, he shouldn’t have died.”
Diamond Dove
Thrawn entered his quarters. He didn't spend much time here other than sleeping at this point, at least for the last few weeks. He hadn't used the tiny kitchenette, he hadn't sat on the couches in the lounge. He had even been showering in the dojo so he didn't use the fresher, only to relieve himself before bed and in the morning first thing.
Now he walked around the small space. He ran his hand over the back of the couch. Eli's favorite blanket was still in a heap on the cushions. He picked it up and brought it to his face, the smell of Eli's moisturizer still lingered on the fabric. Eli used navy regulation soap but he had moisturizer from his parents he liked to use. He said the ship was so dry, this was the only thing that worked.
Thrawn folded the blanket and draped it over the back of the couch.
He moved deeper into the room. The kitchenette was darkened and Thrawn didn't bother with a light; the semi-darkness was not an issue for his eyes. He saw Eli's favorite mug still sitting in the sink, two week old caff leaving a dark circle in the bottom. Thrawn picked it up, he ran his fingers around the rim. Thinking of Eli's lips on that very same spot, it seemed so long ago.
He looked in the cooler, Eli's favorite juice, candy, a container of his favorite fruit well past its prime. Thrawn almost just shut the cooler but at the last second he took out the moldy container and threw it, out ignoring the sting in his eyes over this action.
Thrawn moved from the kitchenette to the fresher. Eli of course took his toothbrush but his depilatory cream and toothpaste were still on the counter, his soaps in the sonic, his towel, used, hanging over the sonic door. Thrawn stripped out of his uniform and stepped into the sonic. He choose the water setting, used the bottles of soap and shampoo that were Eli's, indistinguishable from his own but still special. He wiped his body with Eli's towel and headed in the bedroom.
Eli's clothes still in the dresser, Eli's pillow on his side, studiously ignored for weeks until now. Thrawn slipped into Eli's side, took his pillow and hugged it to his chest. The biting sting his eyes spilling over. Thrawn took a shivery breath and lay there, the ghosts of Eli all around him.
Owl Party
Long, cold tentacles wrap around Thrawn, squeezing tightly, the muscular arms crushing him slowly with each shallow breath he manages to take in. He can feel his bones crack under the force of their embrace - an arm, a leg, some ribs. The broken bones shift inside him, slicing open muscle and skin and organs, leaving him gasping for air with lungs that will not fill, dripping blood from where his flesh is torn open.
He opens his mouth to scream, but he cannot pull in enough air to manage more than a harsh wheeze. Blood pours from his lips and splatters on the arms holding him in place.
Thrawn bites at the nearest tentacle - let it not be said that Mitth'raw'nuruodo of the Chiss Ascendancy went down without fighting.
Even when the effort is futile.
He can no longer breathe; what ribs are not already fractured are breaking one after the other like wet twigs, and the pressure on his back is nearly unbearable. His vision fades in and out; he hears a loud crack, and suddenly the pain is gone. The purgill have snapped his spine.
It is only a matter of moments before he suffocates. His vision goes black, and then he knows only silence, and then, nothing.
Thrawn opens his eyes.
He takes in the scene before him with a sort of detached annoyance. His body, bloody and broken, contorted into sickening angles by the purrgil that still hold him, not aware that he is of no threat to anyone anymore. The eyes he peers into are dull, their glow extinguished. He is dead. All his efforts, wasted. Is he to remain here, alone, trapped with the constant reminder of his failures? Intolerable.
“I gotta say, this was not how I expected you to go.”
Thrawn looks up sharply at the sound of the familiar voice. Eli should not be here. He turns, and the man is standing there on the now empty bridge, smiling.
“Eli?”
“Hey, Thrawn.”
Thrawn’s brow furrows.
“I am dead. You should be in the Ascendancy.”
You should not be dead here as well, is what he means. Eli smiles, sadly.
“I never made it back. I’ve been here, with you, the whole time.”
“Why?”
Eli laughs and reaches for Thrawn’s hand, pulling him away from the empty shell he no longer needs. He leans up to kiss the former Grand Admiral, once, gently.
“Where else would I go?”
Thrawn smiles.
“If this is the situation we must find ourselves in, then I am pleased to have you here with me, Eli.”
Eli grins.
“Always. Forever. But there’s someone else that’s been waiting a lot longer to see you.”
Thrawn looks up curiously as Eli releases his hand and points to another figure, leaning against the wall and watching the two with an amused expression on his face.
“Hello, Brother. Long time no see. For you, at least.”
Thrawn does not reply. He simply rushes forward and wraps his arms around Thrass in a tight embrace, and does not let go.
Perhaps, he thinks, death will not be so intolerable after all.
Draculard
There's a ghost that grabs his hand when he can't sleep.
He doesn't like to hold hands. He doesn't like hugs. His mother jokes about it to strangers; she puts on a fake smile and says her son is the perfect model of Chiss stoicism, has been since he was just a baby, when he never cried and rarely ate, when he didn't like to be held. But he can tell it hurts her; but when he tries to just endure the hugs, she can tell he's just enduring, so there's nothing to be done.
But he doesn't mind the ghost.
***
It's his father who scoops him out from beneath the ice, gets him out of his wet clothes, sets him by the fire. It's his mother who swaddles him in blankets and dries his hair, who rubs his arms and chest until he stops shaking. Vurawn is cold, but not so cold that he couldn't do those things for himself — it's just that the adults won't let him. So he sits still, he clamps his jaw shut, and he glares into the fire so he won't get mouthy.
There's a ghost who doesn't touch him or try to do things for him when he's perfectly capable of doing them on his own. She sits inside the fire, eyes burning bright, and whispers to him. She tells him stories — old Chiss tragedies she read at school before she died — the same stories she used to whisper when they lay in bed together, underneath the furs. Stories that reflect her dreams of adventure and her simultaneous fear of crashing, of dying alone somewhere beyond the stars.
He doesn't mind the ghost.
***
He walks away from home at sixteen, alone. His parents can't come see him off; they weren't even home when he came to gather his possessions. They have work, and they have no form of contact, and no way of knowing that he's been adopted, so it's the ghost who sees him off, her tiny hand clinging to his cloak, her footsteps matching his as he walks across the ice.
His adoptive family doesn't come from him when he's accused of cheating. He sits before the board, unable to speak, knowing every word he says in his defense is useless. But the ghost is at his side, her cool red eyes fixed on the men before him like she can kill them with a glare.
There's a ghost in the booth next to him when he meets Thrass for drinks. There's a ghost dogging behind him on his first command, her footsteps echoing down the hall. There's a ghost in the copilot's seat, calm and collected, whether it's just a training exercise or a real battle. She asks him questions about the controls; she draws pictures on the dashboard, always loved to draw, always slightly better at it than he was.
And then Thrawn becomes a bridge officer and sees a skywalker for the first time, learns the Fleet's biggest secret, and the ghost goes away.
**
The Springhawk is ready for action. Ufsa'mak'ro doesn't trust him, but he's a professional; he'll follow orders no matter what he thinks of his captain, and that's all Thrawn can ask. The men will follow Samakro's lead.
In the meantime, Thrawn massages his throat, still sore from the Outbound Flight incident, and gazes out the viewport. The door to the bridge hisses open; soft footsteps, strangely familiar, cross to the navigator's seat. Their new skywalker. He turns to meet her eyes.
Clear and cool. Confident, with a bit of temper. She chafes under her caregiver's gaze, wants to do everything for herself, prove she can do the job. Later he'll learn she likes to draw. Later he'll learn she's afraid of crashing and he'll teach her how to fly. He'll learn how her mind works, utterly rational, wise beyond her years.
Thrawn's heartbeat slows. He turns away from Che'ri and stares out the viewport again, to the stars. In the reflection he sees his sister at the navigator's seat, making tentative conversation with the adults around her. She smiles. He hasn't seen her smile, really smile, since he was three years old.
He doesn't mind the ghost.
BeeBee76
Their pity at his aloneness was needless. Thrawn was never alone, as She was with him, always. The crew could not see Her and some would claim her as a ghost if they did, but She was real: in his head, in his heart.
Nighttime was best. Alone in his quarters, it was at this time that She took form, and Thrawn could almost feel Her warmth. It was also when he could be at his most vulnerable.
He could not recall exactly when She first appeared, but he could not remember his life without Her. Museums. Art Exhibits. Missions. She was with him – a reassuring presence, a reliable sounding board during those late-night visits.
Thalias came to Thrawn with unexpected news: Borika was alive. His sister. His formerly dead sister…was alive. He had not thought of her in decades, nor was he consciously able to conjure an image of her in his head. She was almost all but forgotten. A ghost.
It was quickly decided: there would be no reunion, as both sister and brother had no recollection of each other, and they mutually agreed that a reunion would be awkward at best. Thrawn shrugged it off, as he did most all things deemed irrelevant.
He looked forward to discussing this new discovery with Her. The shift had been busy, and there was no time to connect before ending his rotation. He anticipated Her insight, reflections, and general thoughts on the matter. He needed Her.
He waited.
As time dragged on into what would be otherwise late evening, it was clear that She was not going to appear. The cycle ended and a new one began. A strange vacancy enveloped Thrawn’s psyche. She was not there.
The shift passed uneventfully, and once again, Thrawn anticipated retreating to his quarters to be with Her. She did not appear. In his heart, he knew that he would never see Her again.
For the first time in his life, Thrawn was truly alone…and lonely. He cried.
She was gone.
Raelilac
Thrawn could not see Lorana Jinzler just as he could not see the open, bloodless faces of his countless victims.
Lorana watched him from beyond his peripheral vision, her eyes narrow and lips cast in a grimace of permanent youth. It was wrong for a Jedi to feel anger, never mind hatred, but the former knight had abandoned the principles long ago. It mattered little now, not when the Order was little more than ash and bone.
Thrawn could not see Lorana, and she could not touch him, not with her flesh. Her translucent hand cut through his skin like a stone, gracing the water's surface before sinking to the bottom of eternity.
But Master C'baoth had taught her different ways of scaling beneath the vulnerable tissue of those who would not listen. Her anger carried the weight of a thousand swords, each meeting its mark, over and over until only swallowed sobs and congealed puddles remained.
She had let the now Grand Admiral be for too long, the shared sacrifice of his brother always lingering in the back of her mind. But Thrass had departed her hollow perpetuity when Outbound Flight kissed the Redoubt's unforgiving surface. Only he had been so lucky.
Reaching out with the force, Lorana concentrated her gaze around the unguarded flesh of Thrawn's neck, teasing her grip until the Chiss lazily moved his hand to his neck as if he didn't even register his own pain.
Lorana followed the grand admiral as he dismissed himself from the bridge before locking himself in the fresher.
As Thrawn's gaze locked with the mirror, Lorana felt her heart thunder within her chest. Over forty years had passed since the knight had followed Thrawn to the dreadnaught docking bay and silently pleaded for him to reconsider.
"Your Master C'baoth is both arrogant and stubborn," Thrawn had commented decades ago as they walked. "A bad combination."
"He is all that," Lorana conceded. "But he's also a Jedi Master, and as such, he has knowledge and power hidden from the rest of us. For your own sake, I beg you not to underestimate him."
"Yet if this knowledge is hidden, how can you be sure it is accurate?
Lorana had grimaced. That was, unfortunately, a good question. "I don't know," she said.
"Surely you don't stand alone," Thrawn pointed out. "There must be others aboard who oppose Master C'baoth's tyranny."
"We don't intend your people any harm," she told Thrawn as they stopped at his shuttle's hatchway.
"I believe you," he had said. "But intent alone is meaningless. Your actions are what will determine your fate."
Lorana swallowed. "I understand."
"You have one hour." Inclining his head to her, Thrawn turned and disappeared into his vehicle.
Lorana found herself locked with Thrawn's dark gaze as the memories faded. They both had only wanted peace, yet where did that leave them now?
Thrawn, a grand admiral to a totalitarian regime
Lorana continuously tethered to this plane out of blind antagonism.
Their eyes met for a heartbeat longer before Thrawn slowly shook his head before he left the fresher, leaving Lorana once more alone.
Cordage
She’d flick up on the sensors - sometimes drifting at the edge, a fragment of a dot visible against those little holographic ripples. Other times she’d be so close that it appeared as if the Chimaera was being consumed. The more sceptical members of the crew claimed that the sensors were misconstruing the exhaustion of fuel as an entity.
That excuse, of course, was flimsy at best. The amount of radiation present to create such a large ping would not have been found in many fuel trails - if any at all, and the results on the heat sensors?
The 37,000 people on board the Chimaera could just as well be a spark from a lighter compared to this ghost’s burning torch.
She’d first been spotted a moment before the Star Destroyer leapt into hyperspace, pulling concerned murmurs from those at their stations, but nothing more. Perhaps they’d need to report such a large ship, but she was soon forgotten about. When the Chimaera dropped into realspace, fifteen hours later, the entity lingered, and concern was aroused among the crew.
Their calls into space were met with no reply; their calls for a superior officer were.
“Sir, there’s…” One tech gestured to the screen, as if it wasn’t plainly obvious, “The scanners say there’s a ship there, but we haven’t been able to get any imaging of it.”
“Is it possible that there’s some type of cloaking device on it?” Another chimed in.
“Why would they hide their appearance when we can plainly see them on the sensors?”
“There’s no issue. Recalibrate the scanners when we are next called to Coruscant.”
The Grand Admiral stalked away, stiff - his back ramrod straight and his hands tensed in their usual clasp.
“Is there something wrong with him, do you think?”
She had chased at his heels, ever since –
She’d always been silent. Only his eyes would see her ghost on the sensors, the glint of her hull in the distance. Her appearance now? Surely an omen of some sort.
For now, Lothal hung heavy in the space before him, obscured behind the Outbound Flight and the 50,001 lives aboard her.
45,000 civilians. 5000 crew. 1 brother.
Mitth’raw’nuruodo would not allow her to be an omen of death again.
Bextia
Faro looked up from the console screen she was working on. There was an urgent call from the bridge. She flicked the call on instantly. Commodore Deo had the bridge, if he was calling her while she wasn't on duty there must be something important.
"Admiral Faro here"
"Ma'am, there has been a contact with the Chimaera."
"I'm on my way. Hold the communication. "
She jumped on her feet and rushed to the turbo lift.
She used one of her cylinders to override the usual protocol of turbo lifts, stopping the first one available on her floor. An ensign looked in confusion at her and the level number, but stepped off, coming to attention.
Faro pressed the button for the bridge three times, for the emergency protocol, and braced herself on the railing, slipping her feet under the floor railing. The turbo lift jumped upwards at four times the usual speed.
In less than two minutes she was storming in the bridge. Commodore Deo was waiting for her, by the communications console, and nodded at the lieutenant in there, who put the transmission on the loudspeakers.
~ BZZZZT Please, transfer your ID code BRRRZZT ... missing digits KRRRKKXXXSS protocol~ came a transmission, full of static.
"We are still too far to establish a good communication channel with the Chimaera, we have sent our ID code following the procedures, but they seem to have trouble receiving it." Deo explained
Faro's eyes bored into Deo's.
"Are you sure it is the Chimaera?" she asked, unable to hide the emotion in her voice.
It had taken the high command two and a half years to agree to send a rescue mission for the Chimaera. With how the war was going, the Death Star destroyed and the rebellion gaining momentum all over the galaxy, she had pushed her luck arguing how his skill will be of great help in the war and managed to get sent in search of Grand Admiral Thrawn.
They had been patrolling a 30º arch of space regions in the exit vector the Chimaera had in Lothal the last time it had been seen. They were at nearly two hundred parsecs from the planet and had been at the task for seven months non-stop, finding nothing but several pirates nests while their search brought them closer and closer to the galaxy edge.
Deo showed her his data pad, with the ID code they had received over imposed with the Chimaera's ID. The transmission was incomplete, but the bits received conformed 80% of the whole code, not missing a single digit.
It was the Chimaera.
"Chimaera, this is Admiral Faro, from the ISD Perseverante. Do you copy me?"
~HRRKK signal weak. Will send... BRZZZ ..position. ~
The lieutenant transmissions frowned, trying to amplify the weak signal they were getting, as the coordinates tried to get through." Chimaera, keep sending coordinates. Transmission gets interrupted, we are trying to reach you."
~HSSSZZZZZ…~
And then silence.
"Chimaera! Do you copy?"
Senior Lieutenant Gelu, from navigation, stood up.
"Ma'am, I could try to and triangulate their position from the transmission with the help of sensors."
"What will be the estimated accuracy?"
"We are between fifty and thirty parsecs away from them. But we could cut it short to ten parsecs in one quick jump, and communications will have less trouble making it through."
"Proceed." She ordered without hesitation.
The bridge was quiet, all operators and officers waiting for sensors, communications and navigation try and get a first estimation of the Chimaera's position. While the communications lieutenant kept on sending the call signal for Chimaera, with no answer from their part.
Fifteen minutes later they had the jump coordinates.
Deo authorized the jump and all they could do was stare at the swirling landscape through the viewport while they made it there.
Once they dropped from hyperspace, communications resumed their efforts to contact the Chimaera again.
"Ma'am" called the sensors first officer. "I'm getting a big mass and a source of radiation two parsecs away from our position." Faro rushed to his side to check the readings on his screen "This anomaly isn't listed in our navigation charts. The charts for this sector are outdated, but an anomaly like that should be present in there.
“Micro-jump” ordered Deo without hesitation.
The collision alert blared upon dropping from hyperspace and shields, auto engaged as protocol dictated, deflected the unexpected debris that disintegrated against them.
"What's that?" asked Faro, walking up to the viewport.
"It's from organic origin, ma'am," sensors confirmed.
"No, what is that " she pointed at the huge silver orb that floated in front of them, surrounded by dismembered purrgil corpses. A carnage.
~This is ISD Chimaera HRRRKSSSXX … unidentified vessel, send clearance code~
“That is a solar ionization reactor.” Deo stopped beside her “They ejected the reactor?”
“They did… to get free of the purrgil,” she whispered
“Ma’am,” the sensors officer looked up at them “I’ve found the Chimaera. But… it’s black”
Faro frowned, a black ship meant an inert one, without energy at all.
“Put it on the screen,” she commanded.
~BZZZZXSSS … Chimaera requesting HFFXXXKK … code~
The communications lieutenant waited for orders. All eyes on the bridge were fixed on the image on the main display.
It was the Chimaera.
The belly was ripped open, a hole where the reactor had been lodged. The main hull was broken in three pieces and the control tower was crushed and twisted, barely holding to the hull by a couple of structural supports.
~Intruding vessel BBRRXXKKK… clearance code or will be KKKRRXXXXKK is ISD Chimaera~
“Where is that transmission coming from?” Faro demanded the sensors officer, not the communications one.
The man was pale. “There are no energy readings coming from the wreckage, ma’am. I don’t know where or how is that signal coming through. They cannot transmit…”
“Any life form readings?” she asked.
“No, ma’am. It’s blank. There are no life forms in five parsecs around.”
~ HRRRRKKK … Grand Admiral Thrawn, on the ISD Chimaera BHHHKKKSSS … Identify yourselves~
Alric
Grand Admiral Thrawn did not like unknowns. He vastly preferred to be in control of every situation in which he found himself, which by default meant that there were no unknowns. To be in control, one needed to know everything - no mysteries, no half-revelations, not even a misunderstanding. So when members of his crew started complaining about strange noises late in the cycle in supposedly empty bays and whispering echoing down the corridors despite there being no obvious source, he was less than amused. He was even less amused when several of the crew, most of whom hailed from superstitious Outer Rim planets, murmured the word ‘ghost’ in his presence.
“Find out what it is,” he’d commanded, but no answers were found.
As time went on, complaints of noises and voices evolved into sightings of dark figures in the corners of skittish eyes, and with each report, Thrawn’s ire grew. Someone unknown was aboard his ship - an intolerable occurrence by any standard.
And he didn’t like unknowns.
The ship was searched from top to bottom and scans were run. Known pranksters were interrogated, but still, no cause or source was located.
The final straw came when Commander Faro remarked to him that she’d seen him pacing the corridors outside the officers’ quarters late one cycle, and inquired if he required help sleeping. He’d done no such thing, and required no such help, prompting an uncomfortable silence between them.
And now Faro didn’t like unknowns.
The time had come for the Grand Admiral himself to get to the bottom of the situation. He would find whomever it was that was scaring his crew - person or beast- and they would regret ever having stepped foot aboard the Chimaera. When the report came in that items had been flung around a storage hangar, followed by the appearance of a shadowy figure, he’d dropped everything and made his way there - alone, so as not to spook the being.
And so it was alone that he slipped into the dim hangar, balancing on the balls of his feet to prevent his heels from clicking on the metal floor. All was quiet as he passed one shelving unit, and then another, and peered around a stack of crates; so quiet that when a canister fell - or was flung - from a shelf, the noise cracked in his ears loud enough to make him wince. He turned in the direction of the sound, blaster at the ready.
“You might as well come out and show yourself,” he said to the seemingly empty room. “I know you’re here, and your cover is blown.”
For a time, it appeared that nothing was responding to him, but then he spotted movement in the shadows. He smiled very slightly, confident that soon he would know the identity of the intruder. Victory was at hand.
Victory over the unknown.
However, Grand Admiral Thrawn was alone, so there was no one there to hear his gasp when a pair of red eyes peered out of the gloom. No one was there to see the blaster fall from his grip as a pair of blue hands reached for him. No one was there to see the sadness in his eyes when he heard the whisper that echoed in his ears.
“Brother.”
Later, when Faro inquired whether he had discovered the source of the disturbance, he reassured her that it was nothing more than Electromagnetic pulses. He even smiled when she gazed back at him with a skeptical look.
“They cause all manner of disturbances, especially around machinery,” he said. “We must be passing through a strong field.” And then he dropped the subject.
Soon the crew learned to live with the noises and whisperings in unoccupied places. Thrawn himself even learned to live with the reports of him wandering the halls when he was safely tucked away in his quarters.
For the Grand Admiral had learned that there were a very few occasions when he preferred the unknown.