Work Text:
Thrass doesn’t like to consider himself a petty man, but he is. In his defense, though, what politician isn’t? He has served under Thurfian for decades now, biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment to strike a blow to his cocky, self-righteous facade.
And now, he knows exactly how to do so.
Standing across the hall from him at this swanky EDF affair, is the alien Eli’Van’to, sent to the Ascendancy by his brother, and an absolute disgust to the current Mitth Patriarch. Thurfian hates this Lieutenant Commander Ivant possibly more than he hated Thrawn, and that is saying something. Ivant, despite his general existence, has caused very little rifts in the proverbial pond of the Chiss Ascendancy. He has not commandeered any ships or befriended any aliens or worse, offended any. From what Thrass has heard—through the unofficial EDF grapevine, of course—is that the brown alien keeps to himself.
Which is only confirmed tonight.
Ivant shifts his weight uncomfortably and takes a sip of his Csillan wine. His eyes don’t drift to the artwork decorating the hall, like Thrawn’s would have, instead his gaze flickers methodically around the room—left, center, right, repeat. A warrior then, one who is used to watching out for sudden attacks.
It makes Thrass worry about his brother, about what he has had to endure that this alien would be so ready for some nefarious plot. Pushing those thoughts away, Thrass saunters towards his target, smoothing out his syndic robes as he goes. Ivant, of course, catches the movement almost immediately and steels himself for a clearly uninvited conversation.
He is so much like his brother it wounds him.
“Good evening, Lieutenant Commander Eli’Van’to. How are you enjoying the party?”
“It’s lovely,” Ivant lies, just as his brother would have done. “But, you’ll have to pardon me, what was your name again?”
“Ah, yes, how rude of me to begin a conversation without properly introducing myself. My name is Syndic Mitth’ras’safis, but you may call me—”
“Thrass. I’ve heard of you, sir.”
“Please,” Thrass offers a warm smile, “if you have heard of me then we are already friends, no titles.”
Ivant suddenly looks guarded, like he is analyzing their conversation and trying to decide when the other shoe will drop. “Alright,” he says slowly, his Cheunh round with his alien accent.
“Have you been enjoying your time in the Ascendancy?”
“I have.”
“There is nothing you would change?”
“With all due respect, it’s not my place to criticize a system I just arrived in, sir.”
He tuts. “Just Thrass, please. You were close friends with my brother, that practically makes us family.”
Ivant’s dull eyes narrow. “You want me to join the Mitth, don’t you?”
Clever. Thrass glances around, hoping no one has overheard Ivant’s impossibly quick deduction. While they may be similar in personality, Ivant clearly knows more about politics than Thrawn could ever. “Let us talk in private.” Thrass motions to a hall where some conference rooms are located and Ivant deposits his drink on a waiter passing by.
They walk in tense silence and once they are in a conference room, Ivant levels a steady glare at Thrass. Bold, as well. One could never tell what Thrawn was thinking, this Eli'Van'to attempts no such impassivity. Nevertheless, Thrass tries not to be offended that Ivant distrusts him so.
Apparently, his brother had not been forthcoming about their relationship.
“I’m not an enemy,” Thrass says, holding his hands up in defense.
“Perhaps not,” Ivant agrees, albeit begrudgingly. “But I don’t appreciate being woven into a political web.”
“On this we agree,” Thrass says and lowers himself into a chair, old injuries making his back throb from loitering on his feet all evening. “And I sense that you are not one for indirect conversations, so allow me to speak plainly. I would like for us to be allies against a common… political enemy.”
Ivant arches a dark eyebrow.
“Patriarch Thurfian was never a fan of Thrawn and he was instrumental in the exile of my brother. One day when he returns, because I know he will, I would like to welcome him wholeheartedly into our family once more.”
“Our family?”
Thrass grins. “Yes. You see, there are some… traditional laws that are truly closer to archaic, but a law is a law.”
Ivant lowers himself into the chair next to him. “I’m listening.”
“There is an old Chiss tradition that states that if two individuals share a room they are legally married, united under one roof and therefore joined as one family.”
“And as Thrawn’s legally bound husband, I would secure his place with the Mitth upon his arrival.”
Thrass can feel his eyebrows rise. Ivant is savvy indeed; he sees why his brother took a liking to him. “With an added benefit of well and truly pissing off Patriarch Thurfian.”
Ivant grins, sharp and lethal. “Where do I sign?”