Thrawn's thoughts as he is dying in "The Last Command."
Author: Deja Vu
Summary: Thrawn's thoughts while he is dying.
Rating: No language, a little violence.
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Wars, but this story is mine.
Rukh struck swiftly and noiselessly, as if he were one of the legendary rocs of Kanbum XVII. His assasin's knife dug into the middle of my chest like a thorny talon, hitting with all the clean precision I had so prided the Noghri on.
And I was still proud of the Noghri, traitors though they might be. For Rukh to temporarily paralyze Captain Gilad Pellaeon and attack me, for him to have planned such treachery without my knowledge and successfully carried it out---this was worthy of pride.
Yes, worthy of pride....
As I gazed calmly down at my chest, my head was filled with thoughts, which, while not frantic, were nonetheless swift in passing.
Rukh was exactly like the legendary rocs of Kanbum XVII, differing perhaps only in his small stature. In the end,...in my end, and what might soon be his,...he showed cunning, speed, courage, precision---his mind was clever, his limbs were swift, his heart was brave, his eye was keen....
And his art....
I saw the scarlet liquid spreading across the brilliant white of my uniform, and, as I caught my protegÃ©'s eye, I smiled.
Rukh's art was wonderful. The brilliant and angry red, reminiscent of his anger at the Empire, staining the pure white that was my vision for the Empire, spreading over it, covering it, until little was left of its original magnificence,---this was art at its height, in its purest form. It was a natural art that was worthy of repetition in books or paintings, but this epitome of art could never be wholly duplicated, such was the brilliance and uniqueness which sprung from its naturalness.
As I gazed upon the Captain, whose expression was a mixture of horror and bewilderment, among other things, I whispered to him, though I knew none of my words could convey half of the feelings I was experiencing, "But it was so artistically done."
I felt my face slacken as Death strode up to me, and He passed his hand in front of my eyes and my vision began to fade out. But as it did so, another, almost whimsical, image came to my mind, that of Rukh growing in size and gaining brilliant brown wings, flying off into the sky for but a moment before being brought back down to the ground by a blow of some sort.
Was that the fate of every sentient creature? To have one moment of full and shining glory before everything suddenly ceased to be?
...Regardless of the fate and purposes of sentients, I was thankful that this was how I was to leave this realm of existence....As a piece of art, which, though it might be imitated, could never be duplicated.