Work Text:
A delicate ripple in the force pulled Luke Skywalker from his dreamless sleep.
Honing in on the muted undulation, he brought his fingers to its shadow, allowing the light pulse to brush against his skin. Its presence was neither malicious nor callous, and yet he couldn’t wholly label it as harmless.
Pushing his blankets aside, Luke reached for his bathrobe before he padded across the floor, not bothering to pocket his lightsaber as he slipped into the dark hallway.
If Luke had encountered a presence like this in the past, he probably would have alerted Leia, perhaps Han, of its existence to keep them both safe while simultaneously in the know.
But much had changed over two years.
As he descended to the main floor, Luke hardly felt more than a prickle of surprise as Grand Admiral Thrawn came into his vision, standing with one half of his body in the ysalamiri’s protective bubble and the other half outwards.
The elder Skywalker didn’t bother concealing his presence as he neared the man’s back.
In response, Thrawn stepped to the side, leaving the ysalamiri’s protection entirely, allowing Luke to perceive the frameless painting that hung on the wall.
With a respectful gap of space between them, Luke let his gaze melt into the weathered canvas, noting the thin layer of dust that seemed to have infused itself with the aged paint. “How old is it?” He asked, a genuine hint of curiosity resting within his voice.
Thrawn’s eyes narrowed as they stole a sideways glance at Luke. “Is it possible to decern age through the force?” He responded, his tone neither condescending nor brazen.
If anybody else had asked him such a direct question regarding the force, Luke probably would have merely shrugged and gone about his day; what significance did labeling the age of forgotten masterpieces hold in an hour of warfare?
But Thrawn was no mere wide-eyed recruit dreaming of falsehoods and heroics. He was the man who nearly brought the New Republic to its knees, splintering their ideologies and bruising their egos in ways Palpatine could only dream off.
Yet, he remained a far cry from the late Emperor.
He respected life on both sides of the armed conflict – a trait Luke was willing to bet few Imperials held. The Grand Admiral did not view the Empire’s quarrel with the rebellion as a game; it was not a series of moves and counter moves for him, instead, a charted course, possessing both a beginning and an end.
“I’m not entirely sure, I never tried it.” Luke said honestly, returning his attention to the painting. “I suppose there is a first time for everything.”
A faint smile tugged on Thrawn’s lips as Luke allowed his eyes to slip shut; inhaling slowly, he reached out with the force. It was easy to melt into the landscapes rolling hills, and mellow sunset, almost as if a single thread of light had revealed itself, coaxing him to unravel its veiled meaning.
The further he followed the fiber, the easier it became to understand what was flowering before him. It only took another moment before Luke found himself present within the hill scape, a great paintbrush residing in his grasp as the scene colored itself before him.
It was an odd sensation to see through the artist’s eyes, not bothersome, yet a far cry from a pleasant experience.
Letting his mind further meld with the artists – an Arkanian by the name of Apre Marr, the information circulated Luke’s thoughts at a gentle pace.
He was in Naboo’s Gallo mountain range during the summer solstice, the transition from action to nourishment.
Although Apre wasn’t native to the shallow sparkling pools nor the ancient, sunbaked capital of Theed, he had grown accustomed to the planet’s delicate beauty – leaving the cold shadow of Arkania on his twentieth birthday with nothing but a worn pallet and a map.
The young man hadn’t intended to stay more than a handful of nights but had grown akin to a Theelin of similar age.
The two married three years later on the summer solstice, 349 years before the battle of Yavin.
Their shared life had been one with love; Apre made a career in painting while Shirvi ran a bed and breakfast. Luke couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy as he drifted through their seventy years in marriage; the only war they knew was that of holo movies and fictional stories.
Returning to the peak, the Jedi now understood.
The painting was for Shirvi – an early anniversary gift, a memory painted from beyond his mind.
He thoughtfully studied the canvas, feeling a smile touch his lips as the sunset illuminated the wet paint. Taking a final look at the two smooth yet sinuous silhouettes who lingered in the dying light of dusk, Luke allowed himself to return to the present.
“279 years ago, it was an anniversary present.”
Thrawn looked pleased as he turned to face Luke.
Giving him a single, polite nod, Thrawn uncrossed his arms. “Very good, Apre held a personal fascination with the solstice; his life goal as an artist was to freeze the sunlight, preventing the scene from ever leaving his memory.
Luke softly huffed, “I believe he succeeded.”
Wordlessly, Thrawn inclined his head downwards.
A beat of silence elapsed between the two before Luke spoke.
“It’s of Naboo.” The eldest Skywalker said, his voice soft. “My mother was born there.”
“Padmé Amidala.” Thrawn’s features mellowed as he met Luke’s gaze. “She was an extraordinary woman.”
“You knew my mother?” He couldn’t help but practically blurt out the words as all traces of sleep left his mind.
In the recent years since Luke had learned of his true lineage, he and Leia had worked tirelessly in unearthing every scrap of information regarding their mother’s life.
Few were still alive who remembered her, let alone knew her. Yet together, they weaved an unwavering image of a woman, brimming with unflinching courage, yet holding unconditional love for the Republic and their father.
Luke dreamed of his mother, with her soft yet fearless eyes sparkling in the heat of the day. Although he did not remember her, Luke couldn’t help but feel that he had spent lifetimes with her. He was confident that he and Leia both would reunite with Padmé in some shape or form; whether it be in this lifetime or the next, he never relinquished hope.
“And you father,” Thrawn said, bringing Luke back to the present.
“What were they like?”
A faint smile graced Thrawn’s upper lip as if he were wading into a moment that seemed akin with another life.
Turning his gaze back to the painting, the Grand Admiral’s voice was thoughtful as he spoke. “Your mother’s ingenuity was comparable to that of my own people. She was resourceful, yet far from naïve. If it was not for her, the casualties within the Clone War would have been increasingly higher.” He paused, raising a single black eyebrow. “As for your father, he was reckless, yet calculative, willing to achieve any risk no matter the cost for the safety and wellbeing of your mother. He was unwaveringly brave, but also a friend.”
Luke smiled. “How did you cross paths with them anyways? I was under the impression you didn’t come across our region until after the fall of the Republic.”
The Chiss lightly shrugged. “I was on assignment in the far corners of the galaxy, it seemed your parents had a similar idea.” Thrawn said, giving little away.
The Jedi held the Grand Admiral’s amused stare for a moment longer before returning to the painting. “Did you know who he became?”
Thrawn gave a single solemn nod. “I was one of the few who did, an arduous burden to carry.” He finished mildly.
As Luke leaned further into Thrawn’s words, he instinctively bit the inside of his cheek as a fresh wave of curiosity prickled beneath his skin. The chance that the Grand Admiral would be willing to participate was slim, but if there was one thing Luke Skywalker had learned in his near-decade since leaving Tatooine was that it never hurt to ask.
“Can I see them?”
For a heartbeat, Thrawn didn’t speak as his eyes swept over Luke’s face, most likely searching for malintent or a treasonous motive against the infantile alliance between the Empire and the New Republic. Yet, to his surprise, Thrawn merely extended his hand, beckoning for the Jedi to observe his own memories.
With a slight, appreciative nod, Luke closed his eyes and reached out with the force, allowing his fingers to lightly brush against Thrawn’s skin as the flashes presented themselves.
He couldn’t help but sharply inhale as the image of his father – Anakin Skywalker presented itself. Garbed in dark robes of battle, Luke watched his father move with an air of grace only a Jedi could possess.
The bright surrealness that clung to Thrawn’s memories was almost intoxicating; it was evident that Thrawn guarded his memories, taking painstaking care not to let irrelevant details slip his mind, even in the haze of the present.
Still witnessing the retelling, Luke allowed his lips to curl into a warm smile as he saw his mother, her eyes narrow with concentration as she pointed her gun at a battle droid.
She looked so much like Leia it made his chest ache; she would have been so proud of them both.
Lingering in the memory for a moment longer, Luke recalled both his parent’s faces to memories, the shine in their eyes as they embraced, the warmth in their features as they spoke.
Never in his life had he wished more for them to have been a proper family, one who knew little of war, one who was whole, complete in every sense.
Letting the images fade, Luke released Thrawn’s hand as his gaze melted into the floor.
“War can compromise even the most sacred of things.” Thrawn said, his voice distant.
“Yes.” He replied, his lips numb as he met the Chiss’s gaze once more. “Thank you.”
“Everybody deserves to have a fragment of their past.” Thrawn’s voice was thoughtful as his hand drifted to his pocket, absently clutching whatever veiled object resided within it.
Luke nodded as he stole a final glance at the painting before saying goodnight and turning on his heel.
As the Jedi slipped back into his own quarters, he couldn’t wholly quell the question that resided just out of reach; did Thrawn remember his family, his parents in such piercing detail
Did any connection to his previous life still linger on? Aimlessly continuing onwards, awaiting a reunion that would never come?
Or had all traces of the disgraced Chiss been forgotten, leaving only the bittersweet taste of memories he could never fully recover nor forget?
Luke’s mouth felt dry as he settled on the latter conclusion.