Discaimer: I own nothing of this.

A/N: Thanks to frodogenicand skywalker05 for grammer suggestions. Since English isn't my first language, I tend to do mistakes with it. They should be somewhat fixed now.

Memoirs of Past


Had he foreseen it all wrong? Had his master been right after all? Had he truly lost the child even before he had found him?

Lord Vader could not say, could not think. Something swarmed inside him, something oppressive, dark…a small flame that had previously, almost unseen, unknown and denied from him flickered; and once more, and then died leaving him alone into the darkness.

He watched as the boy, his son, released his hold, leaned backwards and flung himself into the abyss below.

The face of the child was grim and determined, but feelings were betraying him. They radiated like a small sun – confusion, grief, betrayal…and desperation. The Force scattered around him like a desperate dying snake, reaching its tendrils toward all possible directions; shouting for rescue. The boy was shouting for help.

Ben! Help me!

Lord Vader shuddered, lowered his arm and followed as the boy vanished, escaped him – The Dark Lord – into his own the death. The child had denied him! Had denied the truth! And though he ought to feel anger and hatred for this immature and untrained boy who wrecked and spoiled his and his Emperor's plans; this youth, who didn't possess even half of Vader's knowledge over the Force; despite of Lord Vader's apparent failure in converting the boy…

For it was apparent, the boy was lost from the Dark Side, Vader realized now.

But still, despite of all this…Vader wasn't angry.

No. He wasn't, but almost proud. Annoyed – yes, but nonetheless proud. The boy had guts. He had spirit, courage and self-esteem. He had held himself together where any other would have cracked apart; fought against him until the very end. He truly was his son. His son… the son of Skywalker. Vader halted and frowned behind his mask. A flame of annoyance flickered inside him. The name should be dead already! He had left the remnants of that man to Mustafar. There was nothing left of Skywalker. Of that, Vader was sure.

Vader shuddered once more, turned his back and walked quickly away from the platform; away from the memories. He had left them a long time ago. They were not to be awaken; not now, not ever.

They were dead along with his son.

But as he stepped out of the turbo lift, Vader stopped and took a deep breath. The Force told the youth was still alive.

So, all wasn't lost after all… A flame flared again: hope, and along the hope came a freezing feeling of dread. He dismissed these feelings and took a hurried step forward.

"Bring my shuttle," he ordered the officer, his mind focused on the boy. Through the Force, Vader could sense the boy's desperate cries for help. The boy knew he knew; and he had lost his strength. Vader almost smiled. The flight had taken the remnants of his energy. It would be all too easy…

He sobered. He was the Dark Lord of the Sith, and he would bring the boy –his son– to the Dark Side. There would be no regrets. The Skywalker was dead for good; and good riddance. Vader grimly thought. He did his best not to pay any attention to the small voice whispering in the back of his mind.

It was a familiar voice. A voice that ought to be dead. No!

Vader pushed hastily these thoughts away. Skywalker was dead; and yet, the voice whispered, his son is alive…