Chapter Text
When the guards arrive to retrieve Grand Admiral Thrawn from his New Republic prison cell, Thrawn expects that he will be led to his execution and finds that he is shockingly okay with that.
With a cool detachment, Thrawn reviews the last several years of decisions, surveys his surroundings, and comes to the conclusion that there is nothing left for him to do but follow towards his ultimate defeat.
There is nothing left for him in this life but to look at his failure head on and hope that the next life will be more forgiving.
It is with this mindset that Thrawn enters the courtroom, chin held high, ready for the final verdict.
He is most certainly not expecting to find the excruciatingly familiar face of his oldest friend, cold and frozen into a hard mask, winged by Chiss warriors in the charcoal gray of EDF uniforms.
Thrawn’s detachment falters.
“Grand Admiral Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” Chancellor Mon Mothma says, sharp disdain hidden beneath the veneer of a politician’s pleasantness, “as a show of good faith to our new allies, the New Republic hereby passes custody of the last Imperial Grand Admiral to the Chiss Ascendancy.” Her words are ostensibly for him, though the timbre and direction of her voice makes it clear that it is as much, if not moreso, for the audience; General Syndulla, Senator Organa, Admiral Akbar, all witnesses in his trial, an abundance of New Republic officers and politicians, and of course, Ar’alani. The chancellor’s eyes hone in on his, and this, Thrawn knows, will be for him. “You have been given a new chance. Do not let yourself be found in New Republic space, or it will be your last.”
Heart beating traitorously fast, Thrawn inclines his head and says nothing.
Of all the eyes trained on him with varying degrees of hatred, wariness, and fear, Ar’alani’s piercing gaze stands out the most, not least of which because he cannot read it, cannot peer beyond the marble-like mask of her expression like he once could.
He dare not guess or hope. It is unclear whether this unexpected change in events will prove to be in Thrawn’s favor or not, and Thrawn can’t quite decide whether he cares. Perhaps death would be favorable to the worst his people could do to him. Perhaps he deserves the worst his people could do to him.
Ar’alani extends her hand to Chancellor Mothma, speaking in deeply accented Galactic Basic, “On behalf of the Chiss Ascendancy, we thank you Chancellor Mothma, and return your favor with one of our own.” She gestures to one of the warriors, who passes something small to the chancellor, perhaps a data chit. “Please do not hesitate to contact us, should it become necessary.”
Mothma’s face turns grave. “I pray that it will not.”
Ar’alani blinks, and for a brief moment, Thrawn can read her as clearly as he could three decades ago. Whatever negotiations have occurred behind the scenes, whatever exchange of favors has taken place to forearm against a hypothetical threat, Ar’alani believes it will indeed be necessary.
She wouldn’t be here if she did not.
Thrawn says nothing as the Chiss warriors guide him silently from the room, ignoring the jeers and glares of the gathered audience. It is not difficult to keep his eyes trained forward, he very much believes this will be the last time he ever sees anyone belonging to the New Republic, for better or for worse.
Neither the warriors, nor Ar’alani speak to him as he is guided through the building and out into a vast shipyard, feeling the warmth of the sun on his skin and the caress of the breeze through his hair for the first time in recent memory. They say nothing as they lead him to a ship, undoubtedly of Chiss design, yet wholly unfamiliar to Thrawn, and they say nothing as he is secured in what appears to be a holding cell.
Ar’alani lingers, eyes searching, though what she is looking for, he cannot tell.
“Thank you, my friend,” he says finally, the Cheunh words embarrassingly unfamiliar after decades of Basic.
Ar’alani’s mask doesn’t change, her voice cool and even. “Do not thank me, Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” is all she says before disappearing from sight, leaving him to his devices.
Thrawn closes his eyes, settling in for a long trip confined to the cell.
Thrawn is bustled through various layers of security tests, physical, psychological, medical. He is poked and prodded, questioned, interrogated and ignored. His mind is probed with Second Sight, he is forced to recount several decades worth of bad decisions and account for every single one of them. His loyalty to the Ascendancy is brought sharply into question, and Thrawn wonders whether his insistence is even worth anything.
All this he submits to. Not with grace, though outwardly it may appear so, but with a resigned sort of depression that has gripped his mind for years. He cannot tell if it is better or worse now to be with his people, or whether it truly matters.
He does not see Ar’alani again, nor anyone else he recognizes, before finally being led to a cell, without anything more than instructions to wait. But wait for what, he is unsure.
The cell is underground—of that he is quite certain—leading him to believe he is on Csilla, likely Csaplar. He has not met with any representatives from the Mitth, confirming his suspicion that his standing within the family is still uncertain.
He wonders why his people would bother to go through the effort of extraditing him, only to leave him in a cell on Csilla indefinitely. Surely it would have been easier to allow the New Republic to execute him, perhaps it would have even further ingratiated the Ascendancy to them. Perhaps they simply want the honor of executing him here.
He is given no indication of the passage of time, nor any explanation for how long he can expect to wait. He doesn’t know whether he will receive a trial, or even for what crimes he is accused.
If Thrawn were to hazard a guess, he would postulate that discussions are being had over what to do with him. Discussions behind closed doors, in the Syndicure, on the bridges of warships.
Or perhaps he is simply low on the list of priorities and other matters have taken precedence. It is not like he has received any indication one way or the other, and Thrawn no longer trusts his intuition.
Someone does eventually come for him, a security officer who unlocks the cell door and hands him an unmarked and nondescript tunic to wear, but at least it’s clean. He is given the opportunity to groom himself in something other than the small sink in his cell, before finally being led into a council room. The council room, Thrawn notes with a start, swallowing down his sudden nervousness and unease.
After so long alone, with only the brief and cold company of the security officers, the sight of so many eyes on him is jarring. Even more so is the fact that he recognizes most of them, even garbed in the white uniform of flag officers. Ar’alani, Tro’owmis, Mak’ro, Dy’lothe, In’daro, countless others, as well as dozens of aristocra and lower ranked Chiss Defense Force members. Their faces are blank, eyes glowing red, gazes trained directly on him, and Thrawn finds suddenly that his legs do not work as they are supposed to. It takes everything in him not to stumble as he is led to the center of the room and seated at a bench, alone, light shining in his eyes.
The room is silent for several moments, save for the sound of blood rushing in his ears, before whispers swell like waves cresting on the seas of Rentor.
Thrawn keeps his face studiously blank. He does not know why he is here, he does not know what proceedings are about to occur, and he certainly does not know what to expect.
Ar’alani meets his gaze, and he can see now that she is wearing the rank pins of a supreme admiral.
“We are here today to decide the fate of Mitth’raw’nuruodo, former senior captain and current exile. Mitth’raw’nuruodo faces charges of treason against the Chiss Ascendancy as well as desertion from his post.”
Thrawn doesn’t bother pointing out that as an exile, he technically could not have deserted anything. While true in its most literal sense, even Thrawn knows that his crimes go far deeper than mere desertion.
“Does the accused have any defense against the charges?”
Thrawn considers for several moments. He could argue that his actions had been in defense of the Ascendancy, that he had done what he genuinely believed would best protect his people as well as the galaxy at large, that he never truly betrayed the Ascendancy, even as he was forced down a path that he could never predict.
In the end, he says none of this, simply dropping his gaze and inclining his head. “I do not, ma’am.”
Ar’alani’s gaze is inscrutable as she considers him, and Thrawn simply allows his mind to go blank. The council will do with him what they decide. He no longer has any power over his fate. It’s an oddly freeing thought.
His attention is drawn by the sound of a commotion behind him, though Thrawn dares not look. The whispers are subdued, but undoubtedly heightened, and several pairs of eyes that had previously been trained on Thrawn, shift to something several paces behind him.
“I would like to petition the council for the immediate release and reinstatement of Senior Captain Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” the newcomer says from behind Thrawn, voice confident and commanding, heedless of the gasps from the audience or Thrawn’s sudden tenseness. His heart pounds so loudly he is sure everyone can hear, and he takes shallow measured breaths as he clenches his hands in his lap, trying desperately to regain control of his senses.
Thrawn had not been expecting this.
Ar’alani’s eyes narrow, posture suddenly rigid. “You were not invited to these proceedings, Senior Captain Ivant.”
The temptation to twist around and study Eli Vanto, get a glimpse of what he is thinking, is all consuming, and Thrawn is just barely able to resist. It would not do to appear unsettled at this juncture, though he is sure the sharp set of his shoulders is blatantly apparent to anyone who dares look.
“Per Chiss Defense Force regulatory guidelines, judiciary hearings are open to petitions from officers ranked Senior Commander and up.”
Ar’alani’s narrowed gaze does not falter. “So they are. Make your petition, Senior Captain.”
Thrawn does not know what to make of this. Does not understand the purpose of excluding Vanto from the proceedings yet allowing an avenue for his presence regardless. Does not understand why Vanto would bother speaking for him in the first place.
The human steps forward, coming into Thrawn’s line of sight for the first him, and he finds his breathing has become suddenly laborious. His face, no longer youthful, is marred by twisted scars, shocking in their brutality, though his posture is perfect, not an inkling of uncertainty or nervousness in sight. Thrawn can’t take his eyes off of him.
“These proceedings are a farce, and you know it,” Vanto says, drawing a renewed wave of whispers from the audience, and further narrowed gazes from the council. “Mitth’raw’nuruodo was in exile, he could not have deserted his post. Furthermore, no actions taken by the accused meet the strict definition of treason as defined by Ascendancy penal code section fourteen, subsections A through F.” The room is dead silent, save for the echo of Vanto’s voice through the stone chamber. Sparing not a glance to Thrawn, Vanto continues. “While misguided, and arguably detrimental, the accused’s actions do not warrant such proceedings. I move to end this hearing and renew proceedings to reinstate Mitth’raw’nuruodo in the Expansionary Defense Fleet.” Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “where he belongs.”
In’daro leans forward. “Senior Captain, do you argue that Mitth’raw’nuruodo’s actions did not cause irreparable damage to the Chiss Ascendancy.”
Vanto clasps his hands calmly behind his back. “No. I argue that Mitth’raw’nuruodo had no control over said actions. He did not choose to be exiled to another galaxy, nor did he choose to be manipulated by Grysk subjugants. The damage caused to the Ascendancy should be attributed to the Grysks, not the accused.”
Ar’alani studies Vanto for several moments, and Thrawn, though he admittedly can no longer read her, gets a sense of bone deep exhaustion. “What do you suggest, Senior Captain.”
Vanto’s gaze doesn’t waver, even as the audience’s muttering swells once more. “I suggest Mitth’raw’nuruodo be reinstated and assigned to my ship where his skills can be put to use fighting the Grysks from within the Hegemony.”
Ar’alani shifts, studying the faces of the other council members. Even Thrawn, with his limited and simplistic view of politics, can appreciate the elegance of Vanto’s ploy. It would not be the first time that someone has suggested sending Thrawn out into the dangers of the Chaos to keep him out of sight.
“And you purport to be up to the task of keeping Mitth’raw’nuruodo from prompting another near disaster?” Mak’ro asks.
Vanto blinks, and Thrawn senses rather than observes a touch of humor in his response. “I do not expect it will be an issue.”
Ar’alani leans forward, expression shrewd. “Please allow the council to discuss the matter in private. We will reconvene in an hour.”
Bodies begin to swarm from the chamber, noise suddenly deafening, grating on Thrawn’s already very thin nerves. He assumes he is to exit the council chamber as well, though he doesn’t know where to go, paralyzed by his confusion and powerlessness.
A hand grips his shoulder. “Come,” Vanto says, leading Thrawn out of the large echoing room, Thrawn doesn’t even think to do anything but follow. He is guided into a smaller, sparsely furnished waiting chamber, empty of anyone else but Vanto, blissfully quiet. Thrawn is unbearably grateful.
It is the first time he’s been alone with his former aide in over a decade, and this somehow hits him the hardest. More than seeing Ar’alani, more than being ushered onto a Chiss ship, or stepping foot on Csaplar, or even facing the Defence Hierarchy Council. Eli Vanto studies him, gaze inscrutable, but warm in a way that no one else’s has been. Thrawn doesn’t know what to make of it. Not Vanto’s expression, nor his own feelings on the matter.
Vanto settles back, leaning casually against one of the tables in the room, studying Thrawn.
Evidently, Thrawn does a subpar job disguising his survey of Vanto’s scars because Vanto laughs. “My ship exploded with me in it a few years back,” he offers by way of explanation, giving no further details. Thrawn is surprised by how unsettled he feels by the information.
“I am glad to see that you are well despite it,” Thrawn says softly, trying not to think about how his chest feels suddenly tighter when Vanto smiles warmly at him. He is so unused to being treated with kindness that Vanto’s stings. “I must admit that I am thoroughly confused by today’s events,” he confesses. “May I ask what it is I’ve done that got me accused of treason?”
Vanto’s eyebrows rise, creating deep furrows in his face, furrows that weren’t there the last time Thrawn saw him. In a way, it’s disconcerting, though Thrawn is all too aware of the passage of time. On the rare occasions he had allowed himself to think of his former aide, he had remained eternally young and enthusiastic in Thrawn’s memories, untouched by the ravages of age or war. To be faced with reality, that Eli Vanto has been as scarred by the past decade as Thrawn, if not moreso, and still come out the other side smiling warmly, with humor intact and a high rank to boot, unbalances Thrawn, though it is not entirely unpleasant.
“You don’t know?” Vanto asks.
Thrawn sighs. “Unfortunately, I do not.”
Vanto nods, eyes going distant. “So I was correct in my assumption that the effect of your actions was entirely without knowledge on your part.”
Thrawn blinks. That doesn’t help assuage his confusion in the slightest. “Apparently so.”
Vanto crosses his arms, eyes still distant. “Your campaign to unite the Imperial Remnants under your banner diverted attention and resources, leaving a power vacuum in the Outer Rim and Chaos, one the Grysks were all too happy to take advantage of, using the platform to launch a chain of several devastating attacks on the Ascendancy. There are those in the CDF and Syndicure that argue your actions were a purposeful diversion.”
The explanation is shockingly simple, and yet Thrawn is left entirely speechless. His heart pounds restlessly, and if he could find his words, he would argue that he had no idea, that had he known , he certainly would not have made the choices he did. The accusation that he would have assisted in an attack on the Ascendancy hurts more than it has a right to. After all, his actions did lead to said attack, even inadvertently.
Vanto must get a sense for what is going on behind the shocked mask of Thrawn’s face, because he sighs, lips quirking in a sad smile. “Like I said in the council chamber, you were manipulated by Grysk clients without your knowledge.”
Thrawn shakes his head. “I should have known.”
Vanto shrugs, and says nothing.
“Why did you speak up for me?” he asks plainly, finding that he can no longer ignore the mystery of Vanto’s motivations, when every other familiar face has met him with cool disdain.
“I said some in the CDF and Syndicure believe that your actions constitute purposeful treason. Not all. There are as many who would argue what I have, and who understand that with the war against the Grysks ongoing, you’re too valuable a tool to leave in a cell below Csaplar or allow to be executed on Coruscant. Hence your extradition.”
Thrawn furrows his brows trying, and failing, to parse through the information. “And yet the Defence Hierarchy Council seems unified in their condemnation.”
Vanto purses his lips. “They seem that way, sure. Doesn’t mean they all agree. They just aren’t willing to utilize their political weight to defend you when a far easier avenue exists.”
Politics have never been Thrawn’s strong suit, even now he struggles. But when led to the answer by Vanto like a packbull to water, he has an easier time unraveling the complicated threads. “You mean yourself?”
Vanto smiles, a hint of self-deprecation apparent in the tilt of his brows. “Why waste your own political influence when a human with none of his own is willing to do it for you?”
So Vanto had not truly barged into the hearing uninvited? “Your petition was planned?” he asks.
Vanto shakes his head. “It wasn’t planned. It was simply allowed to happen.”
And just like that, Thrawn’s already tenuous grasp of the situation is lost once more. “I’m afraid I do not understand.”
Vanto huffs out a small puff of breath, not enough to be laughter. “There are those on the council who knew I would stand up for you unprompted. They made sure conversations about the hearing were had in my presence and assumed it would happen anyway.”
Thrawn frowns, making sense of Vanto’s words. It does seem logical from a tactical perspective, allow someone else, someone willing, to take the fire onto themselves. What Vanto’s explanation doesn’t cover, however, is why Vanto would do so in the first place. Why his actions were so assured that the unnamed council members would bank on it occurring, even without explicit planning.
They are called back into the council chamber before Thrawn has the opportunity to ask.
Settled in his chair in the center of the room, this time with Vanto sitting beside him, Thrawn dares to study the faces of the council members, this time keeping Vanto’s words in mind. They remain impassive, entirely closed off, and Thrawn cannot for the life of him guess which of them had hoped for Vanto’s interference and which of them had urged for the proceedings in the first place.
When all have arrived at their seats once more, Ar’alani leans forward. “The council has considered the arguments and facts, and come to the following conclusions: Senior Captain Eli’van’to’s petition is granted in part. The charges against Mitth’raw’nuruodo are dropped, and he is to be stationed on the Dawnfox per the Senior Captain’s request. Mitth’raw’nuruodo will not be reinstated in the Expansionary Defense Fleet at this time, and his presence aboard the Dawnfox will constitute a temporary consultant role, until such time that his position is to be reevaluated by the council.”
Thrawn feels breath drawn from his lungs as if he’d been exposed to vacuum. Voices around him rise to a crescendo, echoing harshly in the stone chamber, and Thrawn wills his mind to go blank.
Despite his state of shock, tentative relief, and relative instability, he notices, almost absently Ar’alani’s small nod, and Vanto inclining his head in return.
Vanto turns to him, a small smile on his face. Evidently, he received the verdict he had been hoping for. “Let’s get out of here,” he suggests, and Thrawn has no power, nor any desire, to do anything but follow him.