Chapter Summary:

The story begins right before the fateful #6 issue of Marvel's Darth Vader, where Vader finds out from Boba Fett that Luke is his son.
Darth Vader has a disturbing dream, and then a vision, which leaves him even more unsettled...

This chapter is rated "mature" for some very suggestive dream content.

Lord Vader

Four standard hours past the midnight shift call aboard the Devastator, the heavy durasteel doors silently shut behind the Dark Lord of the Sith, and for the first time in what seemed like an entirely too long of a rotation, he felt blissfully alone. He longed for the relative comfort of his meditation chamber, and the droid aides were quick to assist him in taking the accursed helmet and mask off. The enriched atmosphere inside his pod supplied pure oxygen which burned what was left of his lungs, but he welcomed the feeling. It was just another descant in his cacophony of pain - a constant and most loyal companion - which filled him with cold, detached hatred, and sharpened his focus. The Force swirled around him in torrents of icy eddies. He was in control of the pain. He was in control...

Vader submitted to his weariness, and allowed himself to drift off. Past the twilight of consciousness, a light breeze grazed the scarred features of his face, and he heard water, gently splashing… a fountain, yes… sparkling under the soft glow of familiar, intricately wrought Naboo lanterns. He had to be dreaming then, for she was there, too, at the veranda… just where she liked to stand, admiring the nightscape, a lifetime ago. A lifetime when he was weak, confused, tormented… but he is not that man now.

The vision is crisp and haunting - she stares into the night, the delicate lines of her back caressed by her ornate nightdress, half hidden under a silky cascade of curls. He senses that she is waiting for him, frozen in an endless moment, silently beckoning. He surrenders to her spell and moves closer, stands behind her and lifts his hands - both real, warm - to gently pull her hair aside, and trace her bare shoulder. She arches gracefully into his touch, then turns around. In the soft twilight, he can't quite read her expression, but he knows what she needs, like he always does. Where she wants to go, and how she longs to get there - he understands, and his whole being silently screams in anticipation. Yes, he will help her leave her power behind, and her reason. For she secretly longs to surrender. Only to the worthy one, only to him.

And he will oblige her, for he would give her anything - anything she asks. He would tear the galaxy apart, rebuild it in her image, and lay it at her feet… Raw feelings flood his being like red-hot razor blades, but he slams them aside - he will deal with them later... Now, he will simply sink in this moment forever. He strips off her power gently, but his touch is one of concealed steel, unbending, ripe with dark promises he has her taste on his lips, and she lets him, allows him to lull her reason, hold her tight, bare her to the core. And he takes her on a journey in the darkness, soaring over peaks of tension, diving into seas of smooth silk, through harsh breaths and soft whispers, in a symphony of pleasure, inescapable, saturating, overwhelming all senses…

He presses on, and she welcomes him, meets his fervor, surrenders fully to the way he moves. He demands so much - she can't bear the pleasure any longer - her eyes, unfocused, hold his entire universe, ready to be born, explode… And he loves having her just so - vulnerable, trusting, undone, as he holds her at the edge of the abyss, at his mercy, for his own pleasure. She pleads for him to let her fall, but he tightens his hold instead, intoxicated, because her body, her soul are his now, she belongs to him, like she ought to, and he revels in her expression as she finally comprehends the truth, and accepts it, accepts him, and moans his name as if in despair, his name, not Anakin's... His control shatters… he lets her off the edge, into the abyss… But she does not fall, she soars, they soar together in exquisite abandon, and in her rapture she calls out to him in sweet reverence…

Vader woke abruptly as if struck with a live wire, struggling to catch his breath, the illusive feeling of perfect bliss swept away in a single cold, sobering instant. The recurring theme of this dream was his very own brand of self-inflicted torment. He knew that she would have never accepted him. She had told him so herself, she had betrayed him… and now, it was too late, far too late. He stood helpless as the red-hot razor blades returned to cut deep into his forsaken memories.

The shrill sound of the comm was truly welcome. It indicated a personal transmission of some importance, and he struggled for several minutes to restore a semblance of control before answering. His quiet, icy tone, sent fireworks of shivers down the responding lieutenant's spine.

"My Lord Vader..." the lieutenant hid a cautiously worried expression under a thin veneer of painstakingly projected professionalism. "The bounty hunter you expected has made contact. He believes that he has some information of value to you, and will rendezvous with us within two standard hours."

"Alert me when he arrives. Engage with highest level of security should he bring a captive."

"Yes, my Lord," the lieutenant nodded enthusiastically as Vader cut the connection.

The long awaited news from Boba Fett was another welcome distraction, but he needed some time to compose himself and restore self control before taking the mask back on. Vader knew that he needed meditation to recover, but he could not reach the cold hatred at his core… grief always managed to penetrate his apathy, to dampen the anger and hatred. He closed his eyes, and allowed his mind to wander in hopes that by letting the feeling take over fully, it will begin to dissipate.

His mind roamed aimlessly, and for a few long seconds, he felt like he did not want it to return, for there was nothing here, nothing of value left. Suddenly, a wisp of silvery smoke appeared in his consciousness, right at the edge of the abyss. He turned to it, and slowly drew closer, reaching out. The shimmering thread unraveled further, leading him higher, and he followed it. The wisp swirled around and hovered atop a bridge, which had now materialized over the abyss, and he heard her voice whisper:

"Anakin…"

To that name, Vader had not been subjected to in a long while. It struck him and filled him with disbelief.

"Anakin…" she went on, softly, "You must protect him, Anakin…. You must keep him safe."

Vader, still stunned, lost his last grip on reality.

"Him?..." he managed to rasp out.

He felt his old connection to her flaring to life, and grasped desperately with all willpower for a hold on the glowing wisp. It swirled through the grip of his mechanical fingers, then split in two strands, unraveling in separate directions. Without hesitation, he followed the closest one. It continued its swirling dance, leading him to an isolated place in his mind - the location of a shrine that he had built, but never visited. It was a mental marker, a headstone crafted from shards of pure despair, placed here when he had lost everything, and had died, and had been brought back. Here, he had informally buried his unborn child.

Vader did not want to come near, but the light circled and danced over the headstone. He thought of the child, the grief drowning him again, but with it this time returned the anger, and the hate, and the will to live, to punish the universe... and foremost himself. He approached the shrine, steadied his mind, and laid a hand on the stone, seeking out the full, gruesome weight of the crushing silence he deserved. Instead, the shimmering wisp calmed down to a soft glow, then settled itself comfortably beneath his palm.

"Father?..."

The word rang clear through the Force, and Vader swiftly yanked his hand away from the stone, as if burned. He had had enough. His rare, self-indulgent dreams of her, he was used to. He accepted them, and they were worth the aftermath. But this? It felt different, too real, and for a brief moment, he entertained the thought that he was finally losing his mind. But Padmé's voice was unfeigned, he had felt her presence… and who had she spoken of? The shrine — he could not even think of it. It was infuriating for his visions to intrude upon and mock that particular loss. There was no one left to protect.

He hesitated, then very carefully reached out in the direction of the shrine. He sensed the little wisp of light, still there, dormant and quiet, but very much alive. Vader circled it, but did not attempt contact again. He did not understand what was happening, but he was going to find out soon enough, and when he did, there would be hell to pay.

The comm interrupted his reverie.

"Lord Vader," began the lieutenant, "Boba Fett has arrived, and has requested an audience."