Chapter Text
They were planetside on Coruscant for a week of maintenance, so it was decided that Thrawn could do the photo shoot in the interim. Faro agreed eagerly and prepared her dress uniform. Thrawn, however, had to have one made on short notice—his rapid rise in rank meant he rarely bothered to have a formal uniform tailored, as standard issue usually sufficed.
Thrawn stood in the dressing room of the studio as an Imperial seamstress fussed over him, her assistants cinching and tucking his dress uniform for final adjustments. Though it was already tailor-made, he couldn’t fathom why so many alterations were still needed.
The uniform was the same shade as his standard-issue admiral’s tunic, complete with rank plaque, but it bore subtle changes: a sewn-on badge with silver-threaded stripes denoting his rank, and an Imperial insignia on his left shoulder sleeve. It had been starched so thoroughly that moving his arms felt stiff and restrictive. The same went for his formal trousers.
Just as the seamstress announced he was ready, the door opened after a perfunctory knock, revealing Eli Vanto dressed impeccably in his own dress uniform. His hair was slicked back in a regulation part, every bit the sharp officer—something Thrawn had to admit.
“Faro… uh…” Eli stuttered slightly at the sight of Thrawn. Thrawn was always polished—his consistent adherence to dress regulations would bring a tear to any inspecting officer’s eye—but today he looked especially sharp. Eli took a deep breath. “Faro got into an accident last night after a drunken brawl in the lower levels. She can’t make the shoot. Do you think it can still go on? I could replace her, if you’re fine with it.”
“Is she hospitalized?” Thrawn asked, adjusting his cufflinks around the too-tight sleeves, a faint note of concern in his voice.
“Nothing serious—just a broken arm from the fight. They patched her up, but she’s got a nasty cut above her eyebrow. Wouldn’t look good on camera.”
Just then, a camera assistant entered to announce they were ready whenever Thrawn was.
“I would be pleased to have you in the poster with me, Lieutenant Commander. It would be a shame not to commemorate this moment, especially since you’ve taken the effort to look as presentable as you do today.”
Eli’s face warmed at the compliment. “You flatter me, sir. You don’t look too bad yourself.”
The session passed in a blur of poses and flashing lights. All Eli would later recall was standing close to Thrawn, a sense of pride and fulfillment swelling in his chest. In that moment, he knew Thrawn had a place in his future. And in his heart, he silently admitted. How odd—ten years ago, he would have thought anyone mad for suggesting such a thing. His life in Supply would have been smooth and easy, but dull. He would have never known how he could thrive and excel under an exceptional leader… and friend.
After the session, Thrawn left for an audience with the Emperor, and Eli returned to their quarters to check on Faro.
“Well, don’t you look dashing all dressed up like that? Every inch the officer, Vanto!” Faro boomed as Pyrondi set a lunch tray before her in the mess hall with an exasperated sigh.
“That’s because he is.” Pyrondi deadpanned.
“And you look busted up. You were looking forward to the shoot—what happened?” Eli sat beside Pyrondi and began his meal.
“Ooh, you sound like an officer too,” Faro commented, wiggling her eyebrows. She struggled to scoop peas with her uninjured hand, scattering them across the plate and table.
Pyrondi sighed. “The medics said she has a concussion, too.”
That explained why she seemed off.
“You should rest, Faro. I’ll leave you to it.” Eli finished his lunch in three large bites and headed back to his quarters.
Once he was gone, Faro leaned in conspiratorially. “I think I did well pushing those two idiots closer together. It was getting tiring, watching them so lovesick yet so dense.”
“Your commitment to matchmaking is unparalleled. Starting a bar fight just to get Eli into the shoot was a bit much,” Pyrondi grumbled, picking at her food. She’d been looking forward to some rest, but now she was stuck babysitting. Maybe she could rope Hammerly into helping…
“I only meant to get roughed up a little to make it believable. But they insulted our CO and our fleet—I had to set the record straight. It got out of hand, but it was worth it.” Faro smirked deviously.
Pyrondi shook her head, but Faro was right—the silent pining between those two on the bridge was getting old.
Two weeks later, the finished poster, processed and edited, now floated on Thrawn’s holodesk. His eyes lingered on Eli’s face—more angular now, the youthful roundness gone from his cheeks, but most of all, his eyes. Thrawn had once read that the eyes are windows to the soul, and it was true. Eli’s shone with a determined, fiery light, promising wit and success—the epitome of a capable warrior.
Eli’s talents were wasted here. Perhaps it was time to send him where he could truly help his people. Thrawn could only give him so much within the Empire; in the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet, Eli could become more. But Eli was also a vulnerability—a bright red target that could undo Thrawn. The Emperor had begun to pry, and it wouldn’t be long before he noticed Eli’s influence.
Yes, he would prepare Eli for departure. And perhaps prepare himself as well.
Years later, in the Ascendancy…
A figure stood ramrod straight, silver now streaking his temples, posture still proud. He studied a portrait of two individuals—one in crisp white, the other in black—both wearing honor chains, gazing forward. The frame was gold-accented, with burgundy drapes cascading down.
“Remind you of something?” A familiar drawl broke the quiet of the hall, lined with portraits of stern officers and their partners who had served with distinction. The Hall of Equals. They had finally made it.
Eli approached the taller figure.
“You knew about this all along, didn’t you?” He smiled, joining Thrawn, who had been standing there since the unveiling ceremony. Thrawn wore his CEDF admiral’s whites; he’d been promoted after returning from Lesser Space. Though he hadn’t brought back a full fleet after Lothal, he had secured technology and blueprints from the defunct TIE Defender project. His return was met with mixed reception—some celebrated him as a hero, while a certain Syndic made reintegration nearly impossible. Thanks to Supreme Admiral Ba’kif, Thrawn had been honored as a war hero, his honor chains restored along with his rank.
“I have always admired those who find each other in service. Through good and bad, a bond forged in adversity is truly precious,” Thrawn remarked, his eyes lingering on the portrait before shifting to Eli.
Eli, too, had aged—the stresses of Ascendancy politics and his own hard-won rise had weathered him slightly. The youthful light in his eyes had softened into something wiser, edged with faint crinkles.
“Well, Admiral Raw’nuruodo… geez, what a mouthful,” Eli grumbled.
Thrawn gave a soft chuckle. “You may still address me as you always have.”
“I shall always remember you as Thrawn. Just as you still rarely use my given name here.”
“Equals need not stand on formality of address, do they?” Thrawn teased, eyes bright with humor.
Eli laughed. “No, I suppose they don’t.”
He had found his cahito von’ot—and now it was immortalized in art, for both Empire and Ascendancy to witness.