Chapter Text
Contra mundum — against the world; defying or opposing everyone else.
The white veils of the aurora alba shimmered overhead, against the thousands of stars that pricked the blue-black bowl of the sky. Thrawn stood on the icy sweep of the K’surt’k’tusah glacier, below the jagged peaks of the Htisah’lak mountains that surrounded the glacier like a closing fist.
This was a dream.
He knew it was a dream, because no matter how long he stood on the ice, the cold never touched him. It was a dream because Luke was a few paces away, his face open in wonder as the lights shifted above their heads. Mara was beside them—though Thrawn was sure she hadn’t been there a moment before—it had to be a dream. They stood together in a conspiratorial huddle on the ice, watching the sky.
Mara’s expression was anxious, and he cupped her chin and turned her face up to the lights, as his mother had done for him the first time on the glacier. Her worry displeased him. He wanted it to melt away in the light from the sky. Luke was babbling something about deserts and the cold that Thrawn still didn’t feel—but Thrawn didn’t pay much attention to the words. He bent his head and kissed Mara, her lips soft and inviting as the aurora danced above their heads.
The dream grew muddled after that point, overlaid with fantasies and memories of their bodies twined together, until everything melted away as he drifted toward consciousness. He was left with a heavy feeling that clung to him after the dream was long gone.
The Force-sensitive, he was given to understand, could dream of the future. His dreams were all of the past—of Csilla, of a life abandoned, and of a world he had left behind. And the past was dead to him.
Whenever he thought fondly of Csilla, his mind turned toward the beauty of the K’surt’k’tusah glacier and the aurora alba. He remembered the way the morning light swept over the spectacular Retan'cobtin'v Mountains above the frozen Suraal plains. He recalled memories of watching metak and drinking tecahi. He missed speaking with a few friends from his youth, and missed discussing the philosophy of craftwork with Laheyla under the tapestries in the Sahitik’ital Collective Center.
He did not, as a rule, feel what others would call homesickness. It was common, he had found, for people who traveled the galaxy to feel a deep, tribal longing for their home planets. It was not an emotion he felt himself.
Thrawn did not long for Csilla. The deep fervor his fellow Chiss held for their homeworld did not beat alongside his own heart. Since his youth, he had been consumed with curiosity for what lay beyond the borders of the Ascendancy. It had developed into an obsession with studying the art and cultures of other worlds. Interest in anything outside of the Ascendancy was not considered a virtue. It was closer to an abomination, and, by association, he was an abomination as well. He had known he was different since his youth, after his questions about the wider galaxy were met with scorn and censure, over and over again. How could he love a world that did not love him?
His people had managed, in spite of their disdain, to instill a sense of duty and loyalty in him; a sense of honor strong enough to ensure that he would always protect his world and its secrets. But after tasting the satisfaction of a battle plan falling into place and the sweetness of victory, he knew he could never return to a life in the smothering confines of Chiss society. It was a society that abhorred the violence of conquest, and his talent in the arena of war set him even further apart from his elders, his contemporaries, and his family. He would have laid the entire galaxy at the feet of the Chiss if they wanted it, but they never would. It was his alone to take.
In retrospect, his exile had been inevitable. Thrawn rolled onto his side, pushing away memories sharp and bitter even after all these years. The betrayals of his youth, while not unexpected, were still painful.
The shock of the verdict and the swift series of reprisals and abandonments. The final frantic days working to ensure all his contingency plans fell into place. The last time he looked out over the Suraal plains. Light snow had been falling. His hands were bound in heavy manacles, his breath ghosting in the air. The soldier beside him tightened his grip and shoved him forward into the shuttle. Thrawn looked back, one last time before he was manhandled up the ramp. There were no windows in the back cabin of the shuttle, and he never saw his homeland again.
He sat up. A movement-activated sensor activated a series of soft lights that lined the bottom of the walls. He scrubbed a hand over his face and reached for his robe, hanging from a hook beside the bed.
The lounge beyond his bedroom was lit by the streaming glow of hyperspace. He reached out and touched the thin neck of a bottle of Corellian whiskey sitting on the sideboard before dropping his hand. It wasn't a drink that he wanted. Alcohol wouldn't soothe the restless feeling that crawled under his skin.
His mind turned back to the same track it had been following when he had woken from his dreams. He crossed the room, turned down the hall, and stood at the door that connected his suite to Luke's rooms before he had considered where his feet were leading him. The door slid open and Luke stood there, blinking at him in surprise.
"Oh," Luke said. "You're up. I thought I'd felt something."
"Did I wake you?"
"I don't think so. I woke up to use the fresher and something felt off. Is anything wrong?"
"No, I... I couldn't sleep."
Luke stepped closer, warm hands stroking up Thrawn's arms. "Is there anything I can do for you?"
His eyes fell shut as Luke nuzzled along his jawline. It was tempting. He could ask anything of Luke's body, and his companion would happily comply. Luke's hand had begun to drift across his bare chest and Thrawn trapped it under his, holding it still against his chest. "I would like to join you in your bed."
He could demand entrance, but he had always respected his companion's personal chambers. Luke glanced back over his shoulder, toward the bedroom. "Yeah, of course. But Mara's sleeping in there—"
"Not for sex," Thrawn clarified.
Understanding broke across Luke's face and he smiled. "We might wake her, though Mara's not as light a sleeper as she believes."
Mara was still asleep, sprawled out over more of the bed than a single person required. Luke padded across the room ahead of him and leaned over her. She made a small, muffled sound as he tried to ease her to the side of the bed. Luke huffed a soft laugh. “C’mon, sweetheart, you have to share.” He coaxed her into turning over and curling onto her side toward him.
Thrawn lifted the sheets and slid into the open space, still warmed by the heat of their bodies. Mara sighed and leaned back into him as he draped an arm over her. Luke glanced at him over Mara’s sleeping form, but instead of slipping in alongside her, he moved to the other side of the bed and crawled in behind Thrawn. He felt Luke press a kiss between his shoulder blades before he wound his arms around Thrawn’s waist.
In a few hours the heat from two human bodies, pressed on either side of him, would be unbearable. For now, the warmth sunk into him, relaxing his body and mind. The sound of Mara’s breathing in front of him mingled with the sound of Luke’s breathing behind him, in a steady, asynchronous rhythm. Sleep, which seemed so far out of his grasp moments before, began to fog his thoughts.
The dream came back to him, in soft, unfocused snatches. He hoped to see the K’surt’k’tusah glacier again one day, and stand under the glimmering aurora—but he doubted he ever would.
There were a thousand worlds within the Empire, an Empire he hoped to one day claim as his own. There were worlds that welcomed him and worlds that feared him. Worlds with their own breathtaking vistas—sparkling shorelines, ice-tipped mountains, cities teeming with life and culture—every single one within his grasp.
There were worlds with auroras that shimmered with breathtaking colors—crimson and green, mauve and blue. As Thrawn drifted into unconsciousness, he imagined himself standing on an ice floe beneath an alien sky, the shimmering light of an aurora dancing above. It was cold. Luke stood behind Mara, his arms wrapped around her waist, face half-buried in her shoulder, features screwed up in misery at the temperature. Mara’s nose and cheeks were pink, but in Thrawn’s fantasy, she was otherwise unbothered by the cold. She flashed Thrawn an amused look as Luke shivered dramatically against her. When Thrawn reached for her, she took his gloved hand in her own. Looking up into the sky, she smiled.