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‘Is it dangerous?’
Despite his words, the large blue eyes stared at Vader unfazed, an exact replica of himself as a child. There was little that had frightened him, too. There was no way the boy’s parentage could be denied. Physically he was completely Anakin Skywalker, but the purity of his soul was hers.
‘No. It’s completely harmless. Look.’
He held out his arm- the one he had lost first. The flakes settled in a soft shroud over the black armour, which he brushed away before they could melt. Water and machinery did not mix.
Luke’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ of wonder.
Tentatively, he stepped off the ramp of the Executor into the powdery blanket of snow. He shivered- his thin robes, while perfectly acceptable for moisture farming in the far reaches of Tatooine, offered little protection against the biting cold.
Holding out his hands, he let the shards gather in his bare palms, turning the tan skin pink before melting away in rivulets. He inspected the delicate flakes, marvelling at the moisture that had descended from the heavens in such glorious abundance. Reverently he reached down to swirl his hands through the thick carpet that was quickly collecting around his ankles, meaning he had to wade rather than walk. There was a momentary flash of panic as he remembered that he’d never learned to swim, and he was far too young to drown in a snow bank- but it was answered by a wave of reassurance through their hours-old bond. Of course, his f- the man would not let him die after all the trouble he’d gone to in trying to retrieve Luke. It was strange in a way, to have someone in his head who could pick up on his emotions so easily, not to mention someone he’d only just met. But it also strangely felt like the most natural thing in the world, like an empty part of himself was now whole and fulfilled. It also meant the added bonus of not having to constantly explain himself- the man knew automatically what he was thinking and feeling, and acted accordingly. While Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen loved him, they didn’t always understand him.
They would never understand his current fascination with snow, for example. His Aunt would probably have a fit if she saw him now, half drenched in flakes and his nose red from the cold. He didn’t care. It was soft and cool and wet, a miracle when he came from a land scorched to barrenness by the twin suns. It was worth his sodden feet, his soggy sleeves. The snow soothed his sun-browned skin, quieted the anxiety that had been building in his chest ever since the strange cloaked figure had scooped him up beside Grandma Shmi’s grave and proclaimed, fantastically, that he was his father.
He wanted to fling himself head first into the mound, bury himself into its welcoming coolness, and hibernate there until he knew exactly what to make of this newfound parent who had taken him away from his home.
As it was, he got the feeling that the man would be far from impressed. Instead, he contented himself to fling his arms out wide, neck craned up towards the heavens with his eyes shut, as the snow christened him- a desert wormie no less, who had against all odds escaped the dull dusty zones of the outer rim.
He felt the man- his father- come closer, probing at him in his mind, using the thing he’d described as the ‘Force’; a power that they’d both been blessed with at birth, a tool they could wield to gain whatever they wanted. Luke had always known he was different, but had viewed his powers as an extension of himself rather than a weapon. Still, he supposed the armoured man must know what he was talking about.
You are happy, little one.
At another insistent probe he turned to his father, a small smile blossoming on his face. Had Vader still owned a heart, it would have melted at the sight. He wanted to bottle it, preserve it for eternity, keep it safe away from prying and undeserving eyes.
‘I…I like the snow very much.’
Vader had had no idea of the treasure he would discover on Tatooine when he set out to investigate the disturbance in the Force. On the contrary, he had been relishing his long-overdue reckoning with his traitorous former master. So, when the Force had led him to a painfully familiar moisture farm in the wilder lands outside Mos Eisley instead of a hermit’s cave, he had been perplexed. Until he saw the small child sitting cross legged next to the grave of his mother, talking animatedly as if she were smiling down at him.
‘You’ll never guess what I did today, Grandma Shmi! I fixed the old speeder in the shed, and I’m going to compete in the next race and become a pilot like my father, no matter what Uncle Owen says! I’m the best pilot on the whole planet, I bet he’s just jealous…’
The child trailed off as he belatedly noticed the dark towering figure flanked by guards, the hulking Imperial starship casting a shadow over the small Lars farm. A quick probe of the child’s Force confirmed a few interesting details. Firstly, he was hopelessly naïve and had little thought for his own safety- he was intrigued by the visitors, and there was a small flare of excitement at the thought of the farm finally seeing some action. Secondly, beneath a small but growing layer of fear, he was impressed by the ship, and had catalogued the make and design correctly. Thirdly, he had the brightest Force signature Vader had ever encountered. It swarmed around him like millions of tiny lanterns, jostling for attention; a beacon in the Force.
This, paired with a complete lack of self-preservation and an unusually keen interest in ships and piloting, had confirmed the unequivocable truth. This child was the son of Anakin Skywalker.
The same realisation hit him now with no less impact as he stared at the tiny boy, almost knee deep in snow and quite unbothered by the fact. The Force did not grow bored of proclaiming the truth either; it rejoiced at the reunion between father and son, the resolution to a travesty of a parting that should never have been allowed to take place.
From that moment, all thought of revenge against Kenobi had been forgotten. All that mattered was that he retrieved his son, and kept him by his side. Where he always should have been.
Luke’s smile bloomed into a wide grin as the snow fell faster, thicker, settling like fairy dust over his fair head. Some flakes had become stuck in his lashes, and he blinked them away, laughing in delight at the impending flurry.
With his small stature, golden hair and white clothing, he looked like…
‘Are you an angel?’
A beaming smile, so like their son’s, that had captured his heart from the very first moment.
‘You’re a funny little boy. How do you know so much?’
Padmé would be so proud of their child- their inquisitive, intelligent, wonderful child, who shone as brightly as his mother.
She would also be furious at Anakin for allowing Luke to freeze to death in a moment of over indulgence.
‘For kriff’s sake Ani, be responsible!’
Gently so as not to scare him, he approached his boy and knelt down in the snow, his mechanical joints creaking in outrage at the adverse conditions.
‘You’ll catch your death, little one. You must come inside now.’
Those blue eyes, so eerily familiar, widened in dismay.
‘But all the snow will melt! I’ll never see it again…’
His face crumpled into a pout, and Vader was reminded of another young boy with blond hair and blue eyes, disappointed as his Master refused to let him go out in the snow.
‘You have no appropriate snow wear, my very young padawan. I would be remiss as a Master to let you catch your death and cut short a very promising Jedi career,’ the loathsome man had said, his turquoise eyes twinkling.
Vader batted the memory away furiously. Little had he known that it would be Kenobi who cut him short- in more ways than one. Perhaps he should turn around and fly back to Tatooine, finish what he’d started and end the miserable rat’s life-
He suddenly noticed Luke trying to edge away unsuccessfully, his shaking knees pushing fruitlessly against the snow. His anger had clearly filtered over the bond, and Luke had assumed it was directed at him.
Curse Kenobi. As if it was not enough that he’d kidnapped his son and sequestered him away on Vader’s personal nightmare of a planet, he now continued to meddle in their affairs. He would not let the man stop him from bonding with Luke. With a concerted effort, he smoothed the bond over until all traces of anger and resentment had vanished. Pleased, he watched Luke’s small shoulders slump with subconscious relief.
‘The snowstorm has settled in, Luke. It will be snowing throughout Christmas. You may go back out in it when we have found you some appropriate clothing.’
It was very difficult to try and soothe his son given his monotonous vocoder; regardless, the boy’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.
‘Really?? You really mean I can come back?’
‘Of course.’
The boy sprang towards him, taking even Vader by surprise at his speed. He looked as if he was going to fling his arms around him, but stopped short at the last second, his hands hanging awkwardly by his side.
‘I mean, er, thank you….’
The boy hung his head, embarrassed.
Before he knew what he was doing, Vader enveloped the small child into a hug- painfully carefully, as one wrong move could snap the tiny bones and mangle them out of shape, turn him into a monster like himself. That could not be allowed to happen, ever. Luke was pure and good and light and everything that he was not. Even when he’d been known as Anakin Skywalker, he’d never held anything with such care before- not even Padmé. There was no value that could be placed on Luke, on the spindly arms that wrapped around his deformed frame with unconditional love and acceptance, on the soft damp hair that tickled the underside of his helmet.
It was at that moment he knew he would continue to kill to keep Luke by his side. Even his own Master.
He had gone to great lengths to keep his son’s discovery a secret. If the Emperor found out, he would kill the boy, or worse, take him for himself. Therefore he had disposed of all the guards that had laid eyes on Luke while the boy’s face was tucked into his chest as he’d re-boarded the Executor. Only Piett had escaped the slaughter.
‘This is the best Christmas present ever!! Well, not that I’ve ever really had a Christmas…’
Vader carefully extricated himself from the boy, his babble cutting through his thoughts. He held him at arm’s length with a firm grip on his shoulders.
‘What do you mean, you never really had a Christmas?’ he said calmly, attempting to push down the anger that was already rearing its head.
‘We never really celebrated it. There wasn’t much point.’
‘…much point?’
Luke shook his head nonchalantly.
‘Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru couldn’t afford a Christmas tree. Or decorations. So we just never bothered.’
The leather of Vader’s gloves squeaked. His boy- his son- had been the first freeborn Skywalker in generations. Yet they had barely given Luke- his son-a better upbringing than he’d had. He wished he’d prolonged their suffering.
‘This year will be different, young one. I promise you that.’
Before Luke could protest, Vader lifted the boy into his arms, carrying him securely into his private quarters.
Piett’s eyebrows had almost escaped off his face as he’d taken the list from Vader a few days prior.
‘My Lord, are you quite sure-’
‘Do not ask questions, Admiral. Remember, discretion is key, and if the Emperor should find out, I will hold you entirely responsible.’
Piett definitely deserved a raise, he considered idly, as he felt his son’s Force signature erupt with delight. The room, usually a sterile grey which was more reminiscent of a morgue than a suitable play den for a child, had been transformed into the scene of a Christmas holo. A towering tree was festooned with lights and ornaments, and a pile of neatly wrapped presents spilled out from under its branches. Vader had gone to great lengths to procure everything a boy of Luke’s age would want, but more importantly, what a Skywalker would want.
‘My very own speeder?!’ Luke exclaimed, tearing the last of the wrapping off the extravagant gift.
‘Only the best for my son,’ Vader replied, watching with satisfaction as the coveted smile made its way onto his son’s face. ‘If you are going to become as great a pilot as me, you will need personal lessons.’
‘From you?’ Luke’s eyes were round as the Tatooine suns, mouth wide in wonder. ‘But you were the only human to ever win a podrace! I could never compete with that…’
‘You are my son, Luke. You are a Skywalker. By my side, there is nothing that you cannot accomplish. I will give you the galaxy, should you ask for it.’
This prompted another hug from the soft-hearted boy, and Vader revelled in it, the pure light curling into what remained of his dark and twisted soul.
‘I love you, father. I’m glad you decided to bring me with you from Tatooine,’ the boy said earnestly, giddy with the excitement of presents and a real parent for the first time in his young life. Beneath his helmet, Vader smiled at the boy’s innocence, as well as his acknowledgement of Vader being his father for the first time. Willing or not, there was no scenario that would have ended without Vader taking back what was his.
For now, however, the boy was too young to understand this. He would have to wait until Luke was older for him to fully understand that family meant everything.
‘And I love you, my son. Merry Christmas.’
The words were alien on his burnt tongue, a cruel joke that had been left half finished from years ago. But it was worth it to see the light in his boy’s eyes.
‘Merry Christmas, father.’
When Vader looked back, it had all begun to unravel when the boy grew old enough to start asking questions.
They were innocent enough at first.
‘Where are Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru? When will they come and visit us? I miss them.’
At first, Vader had answered vaguely, noncommittally, then he had stopped answering altogether.
‘You don’t need them. You have me.’
That was the last time Luke had ever asked that particular question.
They kept coming, however, sure and steady as the years went past and his curiosity grew into fear.
‘What exactly do you do for the Empire?’
‘Why do you call yourself Vader and not Anakin Skywalker?’
Then, most damning of all:
‘Did you kill my mother?’
That had come only days before Palpatine gloatingly revealed to Vader that he knew of the boy’s existence, that he’d known all along, that Vader had failed to keep his child safe.
On the eve of his favourite day, Luke had been forced to visit Palpatine, alone, while Vader stood outside stiff as a board, cut off from both of their Force signatures. It had been utter torture, not knowing whether Luke was to live or die.
At long last, Luke had stumbled out, looking pale and dazed. Vader had never been able to pull from him exactly what had happened- damnably his son had learned to shield his thoughts by then which infuriated Vader like nothing else. How was he supposed to keep his son safe if he was kept in the dark?
Only a few hours later, Palpatine had informed him that he was pleased with Luke’s progress.
‘He is everything you were, except stronger. He will make a fine heir to the Imperial throne.’
Relief such as Vader had never known coursed through his cybernetic veins, before horror had set the cogs and wheels of his metal heart chundering. Because discovering Luke had proved him wrong- there was still a man inside the machine after all, and Palpatine’s sickening smile confirmed that he was well aware of this.
Luke would be no more than Palpatine’s puppet, a young, sympathetic pawn to sway further systems to their side with his angelic looks and unpolluted Force signature.
It was this proposition that had sparked the argument of all arguments, the biggest feud they had ever had, an inferno of words and sabers and Force shoves. Vader was incensed- at his son, his own flesh and blood, his, for daring to speak that way to him; at his Master, for always taking what was his; and himself, for always letting down the ones he loved the most.
Had he known that was the last time he would ever see Luke, he would’ve tried to be more conciliatory. He’d lost the boy for six years, reclaimed him for barely ten, and now time was meaningless.
Collapsing into the mess he’d made of Luke’s room after he’d discovered his son had run away, he clenched his helmet in his hands. Perhaps if he squeezed tight enough, he could put an end to this pain, all this misery-
No.
Grasping at the ruined floor, he searched desperately. Finding what he was looking for, he cradled the holo of Luke he had flung at the wall, extricating the precious face from the shards of broken glass and splintered wood which stuck into his arms and legs.
As Luke had aged, he had grown more and more like Anakin Skywalker. His nose, however, had begun to resemble hers. The petite frame had not been a mere characteristic of childhood either, and he had remained small and slim, like her. And now he had left him, left his father, in the name of a cause he loved more than him. Padmé would be proud of their son.
Would it soon hurt to hear his name, like hers did?
The clock struck twelve. It was an hour after Luke’s escape attempt that had completely blindsided not only him but all of his men. They were in pursuit, but Vader knew it was pointless. His son was brilliant and resourceful. If he didn’t want to be found, then so be it.
‘Merry Christmas, Luke. Wherever you are.’
Thousands of miles away, Luke felt his father’s pain like a lightsaber through the heart, raw and aching and dreadful.
‘Are you okay?’
Wiping his eyes, he looked over his shoulder at Ezra.
‘Shouldn’t you be up front with Kanan and Hera?’
The dark-haired boy smiled.
‘I think they can make an exception. It’s not every day the rebellion busts the Imperial Prince out of the Emperor’s clutches-’
‘Don’t call me that!’ Luke snapped, though there was no real heat to it. He felt cold, like the snow he had loved as a child. A stupid, thoughtless child who had blindly followed his murderer of a father, lured by presents and excitement and- if he was being honest with himself- the thrill of having his very own parent. ‘I’m not the Prince. I never was, and I never will be.’
‘No,’ agreed Ezra, ‘You’re much too good for that.’
Luke didn’t bother to correct him. How it had taken him an embarrassingly long time to figure out that Vader had murdered his guardians, and seemingly everyone else who knew of his existence.
Ezra sat beside him, trying his best to be comforting to their new recruit.
‘It’s natural to be scared of your dad. Kriff, I’d be terrified if I was related to him.’
‘I’m not scared of him,’ Luke said softly, ‘I’m scared of what I feel for him. I still love him, even now. Even after everything he’s done. I can’t seem to stop.’
Ezra started to look concerned, and Luke rolled his eyes through his tears.
‘I’m not going back on my word. Palpatine-’ he shuddered as he spoke his name ‘- must be stopped. My father must be stopped. But it doesn’t mean I don’t feel it. I’m not a machine.’
Not like him.
‘No, you’re not,’ Ezra said gently. ‘Not a machine, not a Prince, not a thing to be used or manipulated. You’re truly the bravest of us all, Luke.’
Ezra placed an arm around Luke’s shoulders, his cheeks only slightly pink, and Luke curled into him gratefully, gazing out at the stars through red rimmed eyes.
‘Merry Christmas, father.’