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Lost Glory


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This is a short fan-fiction I've been throwing around for a few years, but only recently (today) got around to starting it. It surrounds Pellaeon as a Fleet Admiral and Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet in the last weeks/months leading up to the Pellaeon-Gavrisom Treaty 19 years after the Battle of Yavin. As you can imagine this relies heavily on Tim Zahn's Specter of the Past and Vision of the Future, but also alludes to much in Heir to the Empire, Dark Force Rising, The Last Command, and Darksaber.


Personally, I would call the story a character study as it has nearly no action, but rather focuses on Pellaeon and his feelings of guilt for failing Thrawn's vision for the Empire. It'll also study Pellaeon's adoration for the Chiss Grand Admiral and the post-trauma disorders Pellaeon suffers from concerning the numerous battles he's been in, especially Operation Shadow Hand and the Battle of Duro where he lost the Chimaera. I am also including some of the most of the very minor characters present in the above named novels and their relationship to Pellaeon and his decision to sue for peace with the New Republic.


The working title is "Lost Glory", though I also fiddled with "Glory Denied". If anyone has a better title, let me know; I'm open to suggestions. I warn you, this is a work in severe progress, which means this starting point is likely temporary. I will edit matters and add to the beginning and the end as I write it. For now, enjoy and let me know what you think.




Lost Glory


Thrawn's original fleet officers, Pellaeon's most trusted subordinates. In those days, in the time when the Empire once more had come to life, they'd been rivals, each seeking the Grand Admiral's favor. To have a Grand Admiral select one's vessel as not only his personal flagship, but flagship of the entire fleet, was honor beyond anything they could have dreamed. In the days of the Emperor, being captain of a flagship meant assured promotion to the Admiralty, but now there were too many admirals and too few competent ones, captains and crewers alike. Being Captain of an admiral's flagship meant you possessed something others did not.


So it was no secret that when Grand Admiral Thrawn chose the Chimaera as his flagship and living quarters, the others had come to resent Pellaeon for he now had Thrawn's ear as his personal aide and de facto second-in-command. Relations before Thrawn's arrival had been professional, the others following Pellaeon solely based on the Chimaera's status in the closing moments of the Endor, not on rank or merit, for they were all of the same rank and standing within the command structure; indeed, if not for the death of the original captain of the Chimaera's at Endor, Pellaeon would have been nothing but another fleet officer. No such luck, and nine years later, relations among the Star Destroyer commanders were cold and quite sour. But if Thrawn's arrival had, at a personal level, kept them apart over petty jealousy, then the events that preceded the Grand Admiral's death had matured them all.


What they had seen following their commander's death had been nothing short of shameful. Their resolve, though shaken, was still guided by Thrawn's purposeful command, as though the Grand Admiral's spirit had alone been enough to keep them in line, and so, despite earlier aversion, they were determined to remain together if only to be an example unto the rest of the Empire and not fall prey to the dividing forces of the fanatical warlords, bleeding the Empire of its life. This fact, their ability to withstand a great defeat and remain united for a common cause, had been the reason the reborn Emperor had placed them all at the top of his list of commanders in the fleet. It came as no surprise that when planning for Operation Shadow Hand was conducted, "Thrawn's armada", as they were called, were tagged. Each man captain was promoted to the head of various squadrons and task forces, divided among the more raw and less-favored forces under the theory that if every man was not perfect, then they could at least be lead by competent commanders. Once more they'd seen the Empire rise from the ashes of Endor and, more recently, the ashes of Bilbringi.


And be utterly defeated.


Pellaeon had lost his ship in combat and a better portion of his crew, divided among the squabbling fools who had inherited the pitiful remnants of the Galactic Empire. The Judicator and Death's Head remained in the Outer Rim with warlords there, while others died in the great retreats that had so characterized the many engagements the Empire had undertaken. Pellaeon remained with the other half of the forces, stranded in the Core, and with no true hope for success had cast his lot with Teradoc, the one with the largest force and, in theory, the greatest chance of reuniting the Empire, but Teradoc's vision of the Empire varied with Pellaeon's for rather than seeking to unite the Empire, he sought personal glory. For his part, Pellaeon did all he could to keep some form of discipline and Imperial pride within his part of the fleet, training and otherwise doing wonders with Teradoc's flotilla of Victory-class Star Destroyers, Crimson Command, but everything he did felt too little, too late.


And then came Daala. Admiral Daala, freelance ambassador between the forces of the Deep Core, she'd taken the reigns of command from the warlords by sheer force of will, murdering them and uniting their forces. At first, no one had known was to expect and half thought she would behave like Ysanne Isard, essentially crowning herself Empress, but none of that happened. She took on the formal military title of Supreme Commander of the Imperial Fleet and swore to lead until another, more politically-minded person became apparent. But where Daala achieved unification, she failed in action for she had a single weakness: revenge. Revenge against Skywalker and the Jedi for the destruction of her command years before and the death of her lover, Grand Moff Tarkin, aboard the Death Star. For all he bravado and might, Daala had only been another warlord, bent on carrying out a personal agenda. To her credit, she'd begun the process that had eventually brought them here, to this place, but at what cost? Warships, competent commanders and crewers, and resources lost at the hands of trainee Jedi. What good had it truly done?


Pellaeon sighed heavily.


It had been then, and only then, that he'd realized following the lead of others would take them nowhere except disaster. Hesitantly, reluctantly, Pellaeon had taken the reigns of command. He was no Thrawn, but he hadn't any other choices: he would unite the pathetic pieces of a divided Empire, or die trying. He allowed himself a flicker of praise. He'd been marginally successful, leading the forces of the Core to unification with the Rim, but they'd been marginal, nothing more. Perhaps if he had taken command sooner, before the disasters in the Deep Core and Yavin IV--it wouldn't have mattered, he told himself. They'd lost, which was precisely why he'd sent an emissary to the Rebellion--


He closed his eyes.


To the Republic to ask for peace.


Where had the spark of idealism and patriotism gone for a cause greater than any one man gone? Should he not be dead before the Empire ever acquiesced to surrender? Under his command?


He turned away from the viewport and glanced around the room at the officers assembled in the Chimaera's officers wardroom and found realization. Wherever it had gone, it had left his peers, companions, and indeed friends as well. They'd been with him since Endor, since Thrawn--through it all, and they, like he, understood the reality of the matter.


The Empire was defeated.

Edited by SOCL
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Forgive me for posting only snippets, but I'll post it as it comes. At least you'll be able to tell where I've run out of time to write for the time being. I should also explain when scenes fade in and out of pre-exisitng scenes in the novels, namely Specter and Vision. The first scene takes place not long after Pellaeon talks with the Moff Council in Specter and sends Colonel Vermel to contact Garm Bel Iblis.


Here's some more, short and probably boring. Thanks for the feedback so far. More, please! And don't be shy; let me know if it's truly boring.




With a quiet hiss, the door opened, and without drawing attention to himself, Captain Ardiff entered and gave Pellaeon a stiff nod. Everyone was present.


With a long, deep breath, Pellaeon straightened himself to the posture he believed suited a man of his rank and post in the fleet, though he did not feel as such. A few of those gathered, those who knew him best, saw the motion and understood it. The low hum of conversation fell to a murmur and then silenced.


“Please, be seated,â€

Edited by SOCL
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It was dull, poorly written, and truly boring. I feel as though I wasted my time.


Just kidding with you, mate. Well, granted, it is kinda boring, but that's just for me because I'm reading it without having read the latter three books you listed, nor the majority of the EU books for that matter.


Your writing style is smooth, and flows well. This reads much better than most fan fiction (And by 'much better' I mean infinately better) and, as an added bonus, has a fairly small number of grammatical and spelling errors! W00!


The only downside is that there seems to be no real hook- it's almost as if your seeing this from the perspective of a stone skipping across water as opposed to one which is actually immersed in it. That may be a result of the snippets, but it still exists for me.


Other than that one issue it's very good- write some more, SOCL!


P.S: If you kill me now, I will A) Be severely irritated and B) Become more powerful than you can possibly imagine!


Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la

Not gone, merely marching far away

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So last bit officially draws to a close Scene 1. Yes, it took that long and that many posts to put out just the first scene. I'll try to, in the future, make each post a single scene, so as to help avoid confusion.


Thanks for the feedback!

Tofu brings up a valid point, namely that much, if not all of this will make little sense to you if you haven't read Specter or Vision, both of which I consider to be excellent novels. The significance of some of the characters is always only apparent if you're a big fan of the "little guy" in Star Wars since I'm sure most of you have no idea who Brandei or Harbid are. If anything, check the Wookieepedia for these guys, the locations, and so forth to better understand what's happening. If this doesn't help, just ask. And be sure to give me the most critical feedback you can! What's the worst that can happen? :twisted:




The other officers eyed Brandei with a mixture of reluctance and shocked betrayal. During Thrawn’s campaign, Brandei had been the most outspoken of the bunch, speaking his mind on every matter, which was probably why he’d never been given command of a squadron. Thrawn had recognized Brandei’s abilities, though, and kept him as part of his private armada, using him for autonomous missions where Brandei’s single-mindedness came in most useful. Undoubtedly the others realized this as well, and if someone with as strong convictions about “right and wrongâ€

Edited by SOCL
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Captain Ritton of the Star Destroyer Vanguard slammed his fist against the tabletop. “If they desire a fight, then let them come to us. A strill may be capable of tearing a man to shreds, but we can still bloody them! Let them stick their muzzles into our homes and we will bloody their faces.â€

Chaos, Panic, Disorder, Destruction.....

My work here is done.


Grand AKmiral

Commander-in-Chief of BEAK Forces


"To BEAK is Divine!"

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"A strill" means what exactly?
A strill according to Wookieepedia. It's a dog-like animal. I originally actually wrote dog and thought about keeping it since the A New Hope novelization includes mention of dogs, but then decided against it. Strill came to mind, but I actually worried readers who had not read Republic Commando: Triple Zero wouldn't know what I was talking about, so I thought about using a vornskr. The problem with vornskr is two-fold: 1) everyone and their grandmother has used it (like the Corellian and odds thing), and 2) vornskrs are native to Myrkr, a relatively remote planet, which, according to Thrawn, would be unknown to most anyone who is not a "dreg or malcontent", so not just anyone should know about the animals (despite the fact EU authors make overuse of it). So I went with strill, which has only been used in Triple Zero, but I guess that didn't work so well... :lol:


I'll try to have the next scene (it includes memories, flashbacks, and action!) posted tomorrow.


Thanks for the feedback!

Edited by SOCL
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Okay, so I lied, big deal. :roll: This next scene does not include any action. I had to get more of this relationship stuff out of the way before I got to that. I have to deal with some Pellaeon's personal thoughts and observations, as well as justification for his decision, before I can get to the rest. Next time, I promise...


...I'll try. :roll:




It took just a little over an hour before Pellaeon was convinced that the best officers the Fleet had to offer were backing his decision, even if some were reluctant. Keizar had been right in saying that Pellaeon needn’t ask anyone for their permission, but the history of the Empire had proved time and again that disgruntled subordinates made for poor command and leadership. It was too nearly democratic a process to settle well in Pellaeon’s mind, only because it was a military institution, not a government, but it would have to do for now.


The last person to leave was Harbid, the grizzled Vice Admiral lingering long after the others.


“I suspect Bel Iblis will be as surprised as they were,â€

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This is the scene I'm having the most trouble with, specifically with the sudden event towards the end of it. I don't want to do it, but when I thought it up, it seemed...well, it seemed right--it fit perfectly, that is, with this particular story. I'm worried about how to make it convincing with the plot in Specter and Vision... Well, I'll post it anyway, but I need as much feedback about the following scene as possible, after which I will ultimately decide whether or not to keep the scene or scrap it.


Oh, and as always, just because it's posted in a certain order doesn't mean that I won't add, crop, change, or delete scenes later since I am nearly certain that should be a scene between this one and the last one... Don't worry, I'll post the "final" version at the conclusion. For now, I am using all of you as "forced" audience and reviewers. :twisted:


Oh, and if it's bad, just tell me so. I had a hard time getting my thoughts into writing this time around...




Klaxons sounded, telling of the Star Destroyer's pain. The Chimaera was sinking and soon she would be dead, but despite the screaming of alarms and the flashing of emergency lights, the crew behaved themselves as though nothing out of the unusual clatter of combat were occurring. They knew just as well as he, though, what was coming.


"Admiral, we have a breach along the ventral side fire control station aft of the forward hangar," an operator called from the crewpit.


"Nemesis signals its availability to pick up. Stormhawk is moving into covering position," another reported.


The damage control reports kept flooding his command station as they continued to fight a losing battle to keep their ship from dying. Already Chimaera was beginning to speed up as its orbit continued to decay. To the lower starboard side, the otherwise lifeless hulk of the Mon Calamari battlecruiser continued hammering away with its oversized turbolasers and ion cannons, ripping more and more of Chimaera apart. It'd come out of hyperspace very suddenly and, what seemed on purpose, collided with their rear, crippling their engines, then limped underneath and along side the Star Destroyer and opened fire. It had been a desperate move, but it'd worked.


Commander Quintal, the Chimaera's commanding officer, gave Pellaeon a pained look. So he'd realized it, too.


With a deep, burning anger...and resignation, Pellaeon turned to the bridge officer. "Lieutenant Tshcel," he called, the not-so-young officer looking up from his board with concerned eyes. "Give the order to abandon ship."


Pellaeon woke with a start, a near-scream escaping his lips. It had happened too many nights, and it happened the same way, always with the Chimaera abandoned, nearly annihilated, just as had happened some eight years ago at Duro. So much lost for the glory of a mere victory, a victory abandoned when the Emperor had died his second and final death.


He looked around the darkened room. The VIP living quarters were the same Thrawn had used during his time aboard Chimaera, though then it had served as a sort of secondary command center. Now it was nothing more than personal quarters, and an office.


He jumped when the comm at his nightstand chirped. Angry with himself, he pushed the button. "Pellaeon."


"Admiral, this is Major Tschel on the bridge. We have a priority signal from the Star Destroyer Death's Head."


Harbid. What could he want at this hour?


"I apologize for waking you, sir, but the message came over your private frequency, so I assumed--"


"No apologies necessary, Major," Pellaeon said towards the comm's voice pick up. "Have it relayed to my office."


"Yes, sir." The comm clicked off.


Pellaeon swung his legs out onto the side of the bed and worked stiff muscles in his back and shoulders. The chrono at his bedside told the time at a few hours before dawn on Coruscant, Galactic Standard Time. He would have been awake in an hour and Harbid knew that. Whatever was the matter was important, or at least had better be.


He pulled on his pants and walked to the mirror, fixing his blouse. The eyes that stared back startled him. They were the eyes of a tired, shamed man. Amidst all those battles and all those defeats, the boy who'd lied about his age to join the Navy was gone, and now an elderly man stood in his place. The fire that had once blazed in those eyes was gone, and as much as he tried, he could not recall when it'd disappeared.


Gravely, he walked into the outer room he used an office and keyed the comm on the desk. A hologram materialized, but the face that appeared wasn't what he'd expected. The face that appeared was round and considerably younger than Harbid's grizzled own.


Pellaeon's brow furrowed. "Report."


Captain Madej, commanding officer of the Death's Head, shuddered away from Pellaeon's strong and commanding tone, but recovered quickly and straightened. He noticable set his jaw and began, "Sir, I apologize for calling you on your private frequency, but it was an urgant matter, so I--"


"Then why isn't Admiral Harbid contacting me?" Pellaeon purposefully made his tone low and irritable.


Madej swallowed, noticably unsettled. "Sir, it's about Admiral Harbid." He closed his eyes. "An orderly was the first to discover it, and by the time the medtechs got there--"


"Captain, what has happened?" Pellaeon was nearly out of patience.


Madej opened his eyes and gazed back at Pellaeon, eyes serious and pained. "Admiral Harbid is dead, sir."


An icy knife stabbed into Pellaeon's side.


"He shot himself with his blaster and died instantly. There was nothing the medics or anyone else could do for him."


Pellaeon felt his legs want to go underneath him and collapsed into his chair. He looked past Madej at the repeater display at the front of the room, showing a transmitted image of the starscape outside as though his office, deep in the bowels of the Star Destroyer, had a viewport. The nearest star shown brightly, the image dimming as it came into view on the warship's horizon. He couldn't explain what he was seeing, but in that moment, for some reason, he was far from here.


"I'm sorry for being the barrer of bad news," Madej finished.


Pellaeon waved the holo away and switched off the comm, not caring if Madej had anything more to say.


Harbid, loyal servant of the Empire, too loyal to ever accept defeat. In the terms of the noble and royalty of the galaxy, he'd chosen to fall on his sword than suffer the disgrace of surrender. Which made Pellaeon wonder.


Sitting on a pedestal along the wall was the single piece of artwork he kept in the room. The wall directly behind it was discolored in various places where the bulkhead had been repaired, patched, and replaced following the Chimaera's recapture. There had been those of the reassembled officer cadre, those who had survived those years of chaos following the Emperor's final death, who had wanted all of the battle scars removed and replaced, but Pellaeon had held firm. Ardiff, the new commanding officer, had agreed.


"Abandon ship! Repeat: all personnel, abandon ship!" the intercom system blared on the shipwide broadcast.


Officers and crewers, in a huddled mass of organized confusion, shuffled past him, all heading for the various escape pod sections and what remained of the shuttles.


"Admiral Pellaeon, this way, please!" Quintal called to him. "Admiral!"


Pellaeon ignored the calls and continued down the corridor, toward his living quarters.


"Admiral!" Quintal caught up to him and grabbed his arm. "Sir, we have to leave now! We've lost the helm."


Pellaeon turned on the ship's commanding officer and gave him a venomous glare.


Quintal let go.


Pellaeon turned away and continued. He entered his quarters, and for a moment half-expected to find Grand Admiral Thrawn sitting in the center of the room. He half-expected the great commander to stand and suddenly give an order and fix everything. But there was no one there, just the ghostly images of holo-projected artwork and very few tangible pieces. Pellaeon crossed the room to his desk and took the datapad from the top drawer.


The ship shuddered as though something had slammed into the side.


"Explosion, starboard side," an automated voice reported over the intercom. "All personnel, abandon ship. Repeat: all personnel, abandon ship..."


Pellaeon shut the sirens and alarms out, and turned his attention on the room. Slowly, deliberately, he looked around the room, taking in every detail, recalling every moment, every memory. Since the Grand Admiral's death, he'd purposefully kept the room unchanged, but, now, it was over, and the Chimaera would soon be dead.


He clicked off the artwork and it disappeared, forever, all but a single piece. An ancient dagger, one of Thrawn's mystery pieces from somewhere in the Unknown Regions. With only a moment of hesitation, Pellaeon grabbed the dagger and made his way from the room to this level's escape pods.


And now it sat on a pedestal precisely where it had then, eight years ago, when the Empire had won the Battle of Duro, but lost the Chimaera, and in the process lost the great majority of Thrawn's artwork and, worst of all, the Grand Admiral's memoirs.


And now Harbid was dead, one more casualty to the defeats, retreats, and losses they'd suffered. Harbid, the man who'd been so strong that if not for him, the fleet in the Outer Rim would have surely been lost to factioning and infighting like the Core. Harbid, his most loyal supporter and friend, was gone.


Pellaeon leaned back in his chair and let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. For some strange reason, his practical side surfaced, and he wondered what would become of the Fleet now that it's cornerstone was gone. His support was gone and, as terrible as this sounded, he would have to find someone to take Harbid's place. Duty called. The time for grieving would come later, when this was all finally and completely over.

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