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He could delay looking in the mirror for only so long, but stubbornly, he refused to give his image even the slightest glance. He smoothed his fingers over the white gaberwool tunic one last time, pinching it slightly, and straightening the cuffs. It was a motion he’d done so often over the last few days during the endless fittings that he could tell you the thread count more readily than could his tailor, a fact that irked him, but not because of snobbery or high expectations. Thrawn was simply annoyed that he knew the feel of the fabric so well so quickly.
It shouldn’t feel different from the drab green fabric of his previous uniform, but the truth was that it was different. The prior uniform had worn soft from daily use and so many cleanings, the fabric even threatening to go threadbare in spots before his vanity made him replace it.
This fabric was thicker and of a finer quality, meant to both last for years and display the standing of its wearer, so that someone who had no idea what the rank on his chest plate meant or perhaps had never even heard of the Empire - if such a thing was possible now - would know that they were standing in the presence of a great man. Or at least it should in theory, for truly he didn’t know if he was a great man, and that was the reason why he was so reluctant to meet his own eyes in the mirror. Years ago, in another time - another life, it seemed - he had hungered for the white uniform of Senior Command in the Expansionary Defense Fleet. That uniform truly was a symbol of greatness; to put it on you had to display not only courage but the ability to sacrifice your needs and desires, as well as the needs and desires of your family, for the greater good. To put it on, you had to earn it, and he’d come so close, but everything fell apart. In the end, he still sacrificed everything for the greater good, to keep good people in places where they could do good works and to keep the system from falling apart due to the avarice of a few, and in return, he’d gotten exile - and exile with a purpose was still exile, no matter if there was a veneer of a tactical gambit.
It was a hard lesson to learn that sometimes, the needs and desires that had to be sacrificed were your own ethics and conscience.
When he finally looked at himself, he could hear the young man he’d been screaming in the back of his head, horrified at what he’d become. He’d sacrificed to earn this white, too, but it wasn’t a piece of himself that had been shed. He hadn’t needed to be there on the ground to know what the screams of someone burning alive sounded like, nor hear the screams of the dying each night as he tried to sleep. The Battle of Batonn had been a bloody end to what he’d planned to be a bloodless victory, and it had earned him this pristine white uniform.
Worse than any of that, he could have said no, he could have admitted that the whole ordeal disgusted him and that he wanted no part of the highest reaches of the High Command if this is what it took to reach it. He could have set everything to rights, in his own mind if nothing else, by admitting that he’d placed too much faith in a selfish person, who’d lit the fuse that took so many lives, but to do so would have angered the Emperor, and that usually proved to be a fatal mistake for anyone who found themselves on the wrong side of the shriveled old man’s ire.
Did that make him a coward, or did that make him smart? Thrawn couldn’t decide, or rather wouldn’t decide. He knew the answer, and he didn’t want to face it, no matter how loudly the man he’d once been howled in the back of his mind. Never had he desired more strongly to reach inside himself and strangle that voice, those memories as he stood there staring at his own reflection. Reaching the highest heights always meant, in some way, the death of a piece of yourself, but he just wasn’t ready to kill what little was left of his conscience. He’d need it, he reasoned, when he attained his goals - when the Chiss and the Chaos were safe, when the Emperor was dead and he was there to help pick a new person to sit on the throne, when he could finally silence the ghosts not by rote victory but by being able to live as a good man again.
His reflection sneered, angered by the sight of white and not rusted red, and Thrawn turned away. It was time to leave in any case, as someone’s voice floated through the comm, reminding him that it was time for the meeting. He paused outside of his door out of habit, waiting for someone who wouldn’t arrive, and now never would. What would Eli think of this uniform? After all, it had been him who’d advised Thrawn to smile and be gracious when the Emperor lavished praise on him for perpetrating the deaths of countless civilians, but he’d left before getting to see the new uniform. No, not left. Thrawn had sent him, a move that he couldn’t truly regret as Eli’s talents were wasted in the Empire, which saw him as a political pawn instead of a brilliant potential advisor. The Chiss could use him, and Ar’alani would protect him, which was more than Thrawn could do for him in the Empire.
He was silent for the entire ride to the conference hall, forcing himself to be alone with his thoughts, as though it would serve as penance alongside the meeting. The pilots had not attempted any small talk, either sensing his mood or having enough experience with other High Command to know not to try, cloaking him in a silence that lasted until he stood outside the door to the conference room itself, where he could hear laughter and generally excited chatter of the supposed best and brightest within. He closed his eyes, and took in a deep breath, knowing full well that he’d been the one to call this cackling gaggle together to introduce himself as a member of the vaunted Twelve. Then there was the other reason: to see if he could discern allies from problem children among those he would be working closely with, both within his fleet and without.
Everyone went silent as soon as he entered, their last words ringing in each ear as every hand saluted him, save one - a hand he hadn’t invited. Grand Admiral Savit merely nodded his head and smiled a knowing smile. Whatever the intention behind that smile, whether sympathy or savagery, the first problem child had identified himself willingly. Thrawn returned the smile, falling back on Eli’s sage advice to smile and be gracious; if the rest of those assembled in that room were geese wearing the skins of men, he and Savit were the hounds.
“I just wanted to stop by, and say congratulations,” Savit said, as he pushed his way to the front of the room, offering his hand in a polite gesture, which Thrawn took, aware that all eyes were on the two. Be gracious , Eli’s voice warned him, and everyone in the room seemed to relax when the two Grand Admirals merely shook hands instead of ripping one another’s throats out. “I’ll leave you to it. Don’t go too hard on them, eh?”
This time Savit grinned, and showed himself out, leaving Thrawn to face down a sea of faces, each one marked with some form of ambition, jealousy, or fear. Problem was, he wasn’t sure which was which, and exactly who felt what. This had been a mistake - what if he couldn’t identify those who would be helpful? What if he was merely in a room full of Pryces when he needed another Eli? Or another Faro or even - gods forbid - a Samakro? He found his seat, lest his hands betrayed the nerves that his face would never show.
So the meeting began, and as it continued, he found that nerves were the least of his worries. His initial impression of the present company had been the correct one, for the infighting and subtle sniping had taken all of five minutes to begin, and never stopped. It was a constant battle to keep his lips from twisting in annoyance. None of them had a clear vision for the future, and all of them had the emotional maturity of children - children who wanted what everyone else had, and had no concept of the value of their own skills.
I ask for hawks , he thought, his eyes flicking from one speaker to another, no longer bothering to listen fully to what was being discussed. And they bring me crows. There would be no finding sense among the cawing and squawking here tonight, and now he faced down the arduous task of merely surviving the rest of the meeting. One thing, however, was at least abundantly clear - he was dealing with rank amateurs, for if he could see through their machinations, then there were no direct threats in the room. The time and effort spent tonight was not a waste in that sense alone.
When the meeting was over, he seemed to be the only one overtly glad that the ordeal was done; far too many loitered in the room, and helped themselves to more water or wine, but for all his agony over his new rank, it came with certain perks, and one of those was the ability to simply leave. No more would he have to linger and socialize when it was well past time for his mask to slip, and he was ready to take full advantage of that.
“Grand Admiral Thrawn, sir?” A voice interrupted his flight from the room, and he turned to see a man slightly shorter than himself, with a neatly trimmed mustache and vaguely arrogant air, despite his politeness.
“Yes…?” Thrawn said, arching a brow at the interloper.
“Konstantine, sir. Admiral Kassius Konstantine. You’re…not staying behind?”
“No, I have business to attend to before the night is over, Admiral.”
“I see.”
I doubt that . “Is there something I can do for you?” Thrawn asked, willing his hands to stay loose and not clench into fists at the sudden hot flash of irritation.
“I won’t keep you, but I was hoping that you and I might speak privately at some point, away from…” Konstantine trailed off, and glanced back at the crowd, who were now smiling and laughing like old chums, and not the hissing snakes they’d presented themselves as over the table. He turned back, and lowered his voice. “Away from the rabble. You understand, sir.”
Smile, and be gracious. “Of course, Admiral. Contact me tomorrow, and we can set up such a meeting.” And now the second problem child had asserted himself. Not a threat, perhaps, but a poseur, which could cause problems of a different sort.
Konstantine beamed, and saluted, before stalking back to clap the back of one of the men he’d just called part of ‘the rabble’. Thrawn couldn’t understand it, this two-faced nature, nor did he like having to participate in it, but his chance for escape had arrived, and swiftly made his exit before another supplicant could stop him. Was this what the rest of his life would be like? Was this what it always had been, and he could only see it now that he had the vantage that power gave? And just how was he better than any of them, when he’d swallowed both pride and morality to accept this costume he was now wearing?
That last question swirled in his mind for the entire trip back to the Chimaera, wearing his nerves raw by the time the shuttle came to a stop in the docking bay. He looked forward to nothing moreso than sitting down at his desk, and puzzling over his data and his graphs until he became too tired to do anything but fall into the oblivion of sleep.
It was late, and the only other person lurking in the hallways was Faro, her duties also keeping her from retiring. She saluted when she saw him, her sparse smile looking just as tired as he felt.
“Good evening, sir,” she greeted. “Did the meeting go well?”
“As well as can be expected, Commodore.”
“Mhmm. I’m sure.” By this time they had worked together long enough that she readily doubted his evasive statement, but she was also wise enough not to push him too hard. “Any standouts we should take notice of?”
“Two, it seems, but just how they will stand out remains to be seen.” He paused, taking a moment to actually look at Commodore Faro, the woman who, like most of those he’d come to trust, had been suspicious of him, and learned to put that suspicion aside, even becoming friendly - to a point. While she hadn’t stepped up to take Eli’s place, she was currently the person Thrawn trusted most upon this ship, and he had absolutely no clue how to take that fact. “For now, I’m afraid I will have to continue to lean on you for the foreseeable future, perhaps even more than I do now.”
She smiled another tired smile, and stopped at the junction that would lead to her berth. “I hope I can live up to your expectations, Grand Admiral.”
Smile, and be gracious. “I have no doubt that you will.”