Chapter Text
The bedroom was sparse, even for a young child. Even on Tatooine, he had had more things. Electronic devices he could tinker with, holo-books he had traded with other children in exchange for speedster’s parts, and even the third member of his family, 3PO himself. But this room…
It was the first time that Vader saw a room and decided it was not enough. Even in the Jedi Temple, he had accepted the room he had been given without throwing a fuss, knowing that he would need to detach himself from most things that existed. That was to be expected of Jedis. They did not need frivolities, only the Force. They learned how to control themselves, how to protect others before protecting themselves and to be a part of something that encompassed the entirety of existence.
But this room ? This was a sad excuse for a chamber. Two beds, a chest at the foot of each bed, a wobbly table and a rickety-old chair. A few fading tapestries of wolves running on great white fields. This was not a chamber, but a comfortable cell. Sitting on the bed nearest to the small window, the boy’s sister -Alys, he believed- was busy brushing her hair with a simple brush. She had no mirror in the room, and used nothing more than her own memory of her hair to brush them.
It was as though she intimately knew every inch of her body, knew how each part worked and interlocked with each other, and could control everything without a problem. Never would he say it, for he was far too proud to utter such words, but he was impressed by this control she had over the Force, even at such an unconscious level. She could use it to understand herself. It was not the skill of a great soldier or a commander of military forces that would lead a legion into battle, but it was there nonetheless. It was the Force.
Vader knew one thing, and such a room was unworthy of him. He may not be in his own body, but that did not matter to him. He would improve upon this room, and he did not care how. Whether he needed to earn the credits -gold- needed to buy new furniture, beat up someone until they gave it up or just take them, he would do whatever he needed to do to ensure that this room was worthy of his status. It was not for the children. No, he did not care about them. It was merely a coincidence. Nothing more.
But before he could actually do anything, three knocks on the door echoed into the small bedchamber. The boy hopped off his bed and walked to the door, opening it. There stood Eddard “Ned” Stark, as Vader had heard others refer to him as such. His gray eyes were full of compassion as he looked at the twins, and he knelt down to look at the boy.
“Is everything alright, Jon ? Has… Has he been difficult ?” Eddard asked the boy, referring to Vader. The boy shook his head side to side.
“No, father. Vader has been quieter since last night. He told me he wants to… what was it again ?” The boy suddenly said, looking to the side. Vader rolled metaphorical eyes before appearing where the boy was looking, standing in his full height, black armor shining like terrible darkness.
“To invent, boy. To make things that would have the world remember you -and I- for milenia.” Vader explained to him once, before already retreating into the depths of the boy’s mind. The boy then turned back to look at Eddard Stark.
“He wants to invent. Yesterday, he made something called soap. He said it was useful to bathe, because it was cheaper than bathing oils, easier to make and far more useful in actually removing the ‘grime’ of someone’s body. Vader’s weird, father.” The boy’s last words made both Eddard and Alys chuckle a bit, while Vader himself snarled inside of his mind, giving a slap to the back of the boy’s head. Though he did not expect the boy to react to it with a sharp “HEY !” as he turned back to face him with anger in his eyes.
Vader looked down at him, surprise written in his eyes behind the red lentils. “You felt this ?” He asked the boy, shocked by the fact he had somehow managed to hurt him. The boy merely nodded once, an angry look on his young face.
“Jon, what- what happened ?” Eddard asked him, a hand on his shoulder. He looked afraid, shook and surprised. This entire situation must have been grating on the shoulders of a man that had never witnessed even an inch of the Force before. Now, he was stuck with a Sith Lord in his son’s mind.
“He cuffed my head, I don’t know how.” The boy answered Eddard, and he nodded once at the answer. The Stark lord rose up to his full height, something similar to five feet and ten inches. He was by no means a small man, but he did not reach Vader’s towering six feet and eight inches in his full suit of armor. Even the King, Robert Baratheon, was smaller than him, though he was also a bit fatter. His shoulders were that of a warrior, but drinks and feasts had started to ruin the figure of the warrior.
“It seems our connection runs deeper than I initially expected. Further testing will be needed.” Vader spoke to himself, looking down at the boy. The glare he got for his words would have made him chuckle, once. Not anymore.
He then looked back to Eddard, who was still kneeling down in front of the boy. “Why has he come here ? He is not the kind of man to wake you up by himself.” Vader commented to the boy, who glanced once at Eddard before nodding.
“Aye, I know.” He told Vader, before turning back to face his father. “Why have you come, Father ? We usually don’t see you until we break our fast.”
Eddard’s face twisted in slight pity mixed with anger and helplessness. “The… The King wishes to take you south. He wants you to train under the Kingsguard, to hone your power, as he and Lord Tywin stated.”
But at those words, great and mighty was the anger that arose in Vader’s heart. For he was a Dark Lord of the Sith, a master of the Dark Side, a once-master of the Light, one of the greatest duelists in the Jedi Order. He had bested countless foes, whether mere men or mighty Jedis while on his relentless hunt to rid the Galaxy of them. And now, he was made to listen to a lord of a backwater planet, stuck in the middle of nowhere, and to train under simpletons ? They did not know the difference between the Force and that disgusting thing known as Magic, and they dared speak of training. He was of half a mind to snap a neck, and would have done so had he still been in his own body.
Instead, all he could do was let his wrath course through the boy’s body, as the Force responded to his anger. Cracks appeared on the walls of the chamber, great sounds of stone being split open from the pressure that he exerted through nothing more than his raw anger. The boy sought to fight back, even just the slightest bit, against the dark anger of Vader. His hands flew to his head, trying to hold a wall that was quickly crumbling down against the assault of his anger.
“THEY DARE ?” Vader screamed in the space that he shared with the boy, his eyes blazing like twin fires under his red lentils, while the lentils burned crimson like blood. “I WILL RIP THEIR THROATS OUT AND MAKE THEM SWALLOW THEIR INTESTINES !”
“STOP IT !” The boy screamed at him, and he felt a push in his own mind, a warm blanket on his spirit. Vader lifted the blanket and threw it away, but the surprise of the feeling lessened his wrath, turning it into an interest he did not want to acknowledge. The blazing fire of his eyes lessened, and they slowly -though not fully- turned back to their expected color. One yellow red, one sapphire blue. Vader did not know how to feel about this mismatch and decided not to think about it. Out of sight, out of mind, was the only possible thing he could believe in the current situation.
“Stop… stop screaming. Please.” The boy begged him, voice raw with the scream he had just unleashed. Weariness spread in the boy’s spirit, for he had used the Force -unknowingly- to calm Vader down. Slowly, Vader took a knee to look the boy in the eyes. “Rest. I shall deal with them on my own.”
“Don’t- Don’t hurt them. Please, don’t hurt them.” He spoke, voice weak from the exhaustion. Vader took longer than usual to answer such a question. Usually, he just killed whomever annoyed him. But the way the boy had looked at him, pleading for the safety of men he did not know nor cared about, it tugged at the black and rotten thing he once called a heart. He did not answer his question. But he nodded. For the boy, it seemed enough. He did not care about him, of course he did not. He… he merely needed the boy to be calm. That was it.
Right as the boy fell into sleep’s sweet embrace from the great pressure given unto him by the Force’s use, Vader took over the body. He stood back up from the position on the ground that the boy had fallen into, a groan escaping his lips at the feeling of the rawness in his bones.
“Jon ? Wh- What happened ?” Eddard asked Vader, a hand getting closer to him. Vader looked up at him, and the glare that he sent Eddard’s way was enough for the older man to understand the situation. “You… What have you done to Jon ?”
“Nothing whatsoever.” Vader answered through the boy’s voice, but with a different accent, the one from Tatooine. “He succeeded in calming my spirit down through the Force, but the effort left him weary. He is resting in our shared mental space, and I shall conduct the current situation in his stead. There is no might upon this planet that would make me do anything. If your King believes I shall follow him, he is sorely mistaken.” Vader spoke up, and the looks he got from Eddard and the boy’s sister, Alys Snow, were of surprise at the idea of a man refusing a King’s command.
“The King’s word is law-”
“Your King. He is not mine, therefore I have no obligations to follow him in any way.” Vader retorted before Eddard could speak up any more. “His crown does not encompass the rulingship of my person, for I am not a citizen of these ‘Seven Kingdoms’, as you call them.” His words were true, but Eddard did not look like he enjoyed hearing them nonetheless. Whatever, Vader did not care about the feelings of a random lord from a random planet in a random corner of the galaxy. He would act because it was the only way for him to try and understand why the Force had decided to bring him back to life, not because of the two children. They were nothing.
“I shall deal with this situation by my own self.” Vader finished the conversation, passing by Eddard’s side and moving towards the training yard. He knew where it was from the last day’s walk. The stone was cold beneath his boots, and he wore a simple black shirt, dark trousers and a fur cloak. He felt a bit more himself dressed in a whole black outfit, cloak thrown around his shoulders. The missing weight of a lightsaber hilt was a reminder that he was no longer Darth Vader, the feared Sith Lord. He was just Vader, the presence in a bastard’s mind. The feeling was heavy on his heart.
His steps were lighter than he was used to on the stone, small puffs of fog coming out of his mouth and nose with every breath he took. His hands were gloved, the leather rough on his skin. He balled his hands into fists to keep them warm and the blood moving through them. He passed several servants, with some greeting him by the boy’s name, others nodding once, and a few not even looking at him. The feeling of being smaller, lesser than others made him grit his teeth. He could not afford to act on those feelings, however. Only weaklings and fools let their rage rule their minds and bodies.
The yard was, in Vader’s humble appreciation, severely lacking. In about everything a yard needed to own in order to actually be a training place.
Young men were training under the eyes of one lone older man, repeating drills that consisted of thrusting practice wooden blades forward, before slashing to the sides and downwards. They held a wooden shield, round and crude in its design, in their left hand. Their armor was made of boiled leather, chainmail and simple iron on the vambraces. Helms were fashioned in a simple manner, each one the same as the last. The lack of singularity was a good way to keep an army disciplined. Soldiers were soldiers, they would need to earn the privilege to distinguish themselves through the battlefield. Just like Rex or Cody…
He shook his head to remove the thoughts, his eyes searching for the broad figure of the king and his courtiers. They proved themselves easy to find, for the king was ever louder than the others, surrounded by endless sycophants and bootlickers, eager to curry his favor for as long as it was worth anything. He scorned them all with something nearly reaching glee, recognizing their types as weak-willed and spineless men that could only survive in a hostile environment by attaching themselves to a stronger man.
He walked towards them, keeping his hands behind him, head held high and eyes piercing. He would not let them look down on him any more than what they already were doing simply because of the height difference. As he neared them, he saw the face of the older man with green eyes -Tywin Lannister if he remembered correctly- sharpened at his sight.
“Your Grace, the boy has arrived.” The man informed the king, who turned his broad frame to look at Vader. “HA ! There’s the magic boy. Come closer, let us take a good look at you.” The king waved to Vader, and he decided to approach them. Not because he was ordered to, but because it was genuinely the only interesting thing to do.
“What ?” He asked everyone, and his blunt tone combined with his accent and deadpan look surprised the sycophants that surrounded them, who shouted out at him, to respect the presence of his betters, and to know how to speak to a King. He had half a mind to send them all flying, but knew it would annoy the boy, and frankly, Vader had no desire to argue with a child. He did not do it because he thought the boy didn’t deserve the punishment that might follow, no.
“Silence !” The king suddenly boomed, his voice roaring like a stag’s bellow in the open yard. The courtiers and sycophants that composed his gathering all quieted down in the same moment, as he looked at Vader, his sapphire blue eyes piercing into Vader’s newly gray eyes. “You’re not the boy, are you ?”
“The boy is resting. I assume you would prefer to discuss with me.” Vader answered him, keeping his eyes on the man’s face. “You mentioned something about training my powers, I believe.” He continued. At that, the king’s face lit up like fireworks. But it was not he who continued to speak.
“It is necessary that you learn how to… control your abilities, in the name of the Realm’s safekeeping.” The older man with the balding head and the green eyes spoke. Vader was not sure why he believed he should be the one talking, but decided to follow the flow of the conversation. The sooner he understood the political field of this planet, the better. The feeling of being lost was ever on his mind, and he hated it.
“I control the Force better than you control your digestive system, Lord Lannister. It is not you who will teach me anything about it.” Vader retorted, and where he would have once choked the man to show off his words, he knew he could not do this here, not without drawing problems on the boy and his sister. But the older man did not seem to wish to understand this.
“Then what about this scene in Lord Stark’s solar ? You lost control of it, did you not ?” His words were said with a tone that implied he had pricked a very particular thread. One that Vader… completely did not care for. “A power like the one you demonstrated must be understood and trained, under watchful eyes. Loyal eyes.” He concluded.
“Those words are enough to prove you know nought of the Force. It is not a lightsaber or a blaster.” His words had them all confused, but he did not care. “I do not need training. The boy and his sister, however…” He concluded, his face taking a pensive look as he already began planning training sessions.
But the king would not let this matter go. He had seen a weapon of formidable power, and Vader could sense his greed. “Then come south with us. Show us how this ‘Force’ of yours works, teach it.” He pressed on, trying to make Vader into his… his tool. The feeling was a reminder of the Emperor, of what he had been for twenty-three years of knowing only pain and misery.
“I am not here for your amusement. Keep up this charade of yours, and I will enjoy tearing your lungs out through your mouth without a single movement.” He threatened him, the Force leaking into his voice as he said so, and shivers of fear ran down the court’s back as he spoke up. “You may believe your crown gives you authority. It may work on others, but I am not a citizen of your realm, and hold no civil duties to you. I am… a tourist, would be the best word to explain my situation.” Vader spoke, using the rhetoric he had learned from Thrawn and his Master and… him and her.
He didn’t want to think about the two of them. He couldn’t, he did not deserve to. He was… better. And she… he did not want to think her name, fearing for the blackened and shriveled little thing that was his heart.
“Now that my personal situation has been resolved-” It had not been and he knew it perfectly. “-Let us discuss other matters.” The sycophants that surrounded the king and the older man with the green eyes, with a lion stitched on his breast, all nodded with some degree of acceptance. They were stupid but not foolish. They had felt the difference in power and status shift with Vader’s words and resolve. Besides, no one wished to test his patience any further.
“We will concede the fact that you know more about this… Force than we do.” The man with the lion sigil eventually said, and it was painfully obvious how much he hated saying that others knew more than him. “But in Westeros, one needs to learn how to fight, whether a trueborn son or a bastard. All must serve their Houses.” He finished his speech by straightening himself in his boots, while the sycophants nodded and whispered amongst themselves about how smart and capable he was. Vader could almost taste the pride radiating off the man’s soul.
But the words that he had spoken captured his attention far more than the pride that was leaking out of the man’s soul.
“Learn how to fight ?” He spoke the words, drawing them out slowly, like nails on a chalkboard. “You want me to learn ? I have killed more than enough people to say that I know how to fight. I killed more men than you ever met people. I slaughtered thousands upon tens upon hundreds of thousands, all by my lone blade.”
His words made the gathered crowd shiver in fear, the Force acting as his support in the cold that ran down their backs. He could taste their fear the same way a wolf could. It was one of the best things he knew in life. The singular moment where someone realized they were not as strong, as mighty as they believed themselves to be. How he loved this moment.
“Then prove your words, my lord.” A voice suddenly came out from behind them, and Vader turned his head to look at whoever just spoke up. A tall man, perhaps six feet one or two, with long bright golden hair, high cheekbones, green emerald eyes and a grin playing at his lips. A man of high birth, used to power and leverage over others. Young… accomplishments are minimal, using family power over personal fame, hand on the hilt of his sword indicates fighter’s instincts, bright golden armor and white cloak indicates a status of importance.
Vader remembered the man from the last few days. Ser Jaime Lannister, a name he had heard spoken of in hateful speeches from the guards of the castle of Winterfell, and with some degree of respect from the men dressed in the crimson cloaks and armors. His emerald eyes were the same as the older man. Father and son. The son is using his father’s reputation and power to protect himself from retribution. A single defeat would shatter him more than death.
“Why would I waste my time on proving the worth of my word ?” Vader retorted. He knew they would answer, and already planned for it.
“Because your word has no worth in Westeros. Whomever you were before, that is no longer you.”
“Yet I keep all that I am and was. If memories and skills are not a man, what is ?”
At that, the man’s grin faltered for a few seconds, twisting into ever so slight anger at not having an answer ready. Vader’s eyes poured into Jaime’s and he enjoyed the feeling of besting him in a spoken joust. It was reminiscent of Thrawn, of… her.
He did not know why he could not think of her name. Or perhaps he did know and would not allow himself to realize it fully. In either case, the name remained shadowed. And with it the memories. Some were joyful as a summer’s day, dancing through great fields of golden flowers. Some were dark as starless night, blood pouring down heavy skies of endless clouds.
“...Then again, it would be good for me to stretch.” Vader spoke up, eyes of the small crowd pouring down over him. Jaime’s smirk reappeared, as though anxious to beat up a six-year old child. How brave. Vader thought with a smirk in his head, one he would deny to his dying day.
But before he could depart, the two were stopped by the king’s words. “Kingslayer ! Why did you call him a lord ? He’s just a spirit in a bastard’s body.” Jaime -Kingslayer, apparently- turned to face the king.
“He referred to himself as Darth Vader, a Sith Lord, whatever that means. If he is a Lord, then even as a spirit, I will refer to him as such. My father instilled my manners into my bones, Your Grace.” Jaime answered the king’s question with a shallow bow. Manners… Vader allowed himself the word.
The crowd whispered amongst themselves, but Vader moved before they could come to a conclusion. As long as they did not take the opportunity to discuss every little detail, they would internalize some information as true despite having been unable to actually discuss them. This was just another one of Thrawn’s tactics. If you overloaded someone with information, there would always be a few that would trickle into their mind as true. He had seen it work masterfully several times.
He followed Jaime Lannister into the training yard, as the man moved towards the weapons rack. “Use your sword.” Vader told him before the blonde man could take a wooden blade. He wanted an actual stretch, not a kiddy match. Jaime’s body nearly whirled around in a very undignified manner as he looked back at Vader with eyes wider than a noble’s should be.
“I- I don’t…” He did not finish his sentence, because he was stopped from it by Eddard Stark. “There will be no live steel near my son’s body. Not will I stand here.”
“Oh, come on, Ned. Let the man breathe a little.” The king tried to argue, but Eddard’s eyes moved to him with great fury.
“I will not have another situation like two days ago, Robert. Not again.” His words had been barely more than a whisper, and so much more powerful than a roar. A man who knew how to speak and not merely shout. The king seemed to want to argue further about it, but eventually relented, only nodding once at Jaime Lannister.
“Wooden swords, then. Hope that doesn’t bother you too much, my lord.” Jaime told Vader, a smirk playing at his lips as he took a sword in his hand and another that he brought to Vader.
When he had the sword in his hand, he looked it over, then at Jaime. Then, he assessed.
“You stand at roughly six feet and one inches. I am in the body of a six year old. The difference in arm length alone allows you for strikes that I am physically speaking incapable of countering. Every exchange will favor you solely because of our height difference.” Vader began speaking, but his tone was not that of a child being annoying and complaining. It was a general making a list of advantages that his opponent held over him.
“The grip strength of Jon Snow’s body is absent. Tendons, bone density, muscular development, all are absent in the appropriate necessities of a grip. I am unable to hold the sword for any longer than one powerful strike, which is exactly what you will begin with.” He continued to explain, while the crowd leaned forward a bit, a smile spreading on Jaime’s face. He seemed to enjoy being praised.
“The bones of a child have not yet begun calcifying. A direct strike would break any limb, most probably wrist, arm or leg. Possibly ribs if you strike the center.” The lack of concern in his voice had shivers running down everyone’s spines. He does not care for his own safety, was the thought in their minds.
“You surpass my weight by-” Vader made a quick estimation. “-Fifty kilograms. Or a hundred pounds and something, to the uncivilized.” He spoke the last three words to himself, and none heard them. “In any grappling exchange, wrestling or contest of momentum, physics has already deemed you superior.” The word physics seemed to confuse one or two of them. Great. They don’t know physics. How primitive. He thought in the privacy of his own mind.
“Then of course, there is the difference in physical experience. Do not believe you are a greater fighter than me, if that is what you understood from my words.” Vader quickly explained before Jaime’s head grew any larger from the ego inflation. “This body lacks any sort of muscle memory needed to outmatch a man with two decades of fighting in his bones.” He said with unmasked disdain, hating the mere months of training that the boy had been put through. Useless body.
“Then of course, there is the equipment disparacy-”
“We both have training wooden swords.”
“Your sword is longer than mine. Do you need my explanations on basic geometry ?” Jaime didn’t answer for two seconds before his grin lessened just a bit from the insult.
“How could I forget my cardiovascular capacity ? The heart and lungs of a child are nothing compared to that of an adult. A minute of strong sparring will have me panting. You merely need to wait to win.” Vader noted this in the same way someone might note the weather.
“And to conclude, the psychological expectation.” He got a few strange looks and nearly sighed before continuing. Nearly. “Everyone expects you to defeat me in a humiliating show of force that will allow your king to state my training is greatly lacking and I will need to accompany your company south, and train in your capital. That is the only advantage I have over you.” He said those words to Jaime’s face, who did something complicated he did not wish to waste time trying to decipher.
For a few seconds, the yard was silent, until Jaime spoke up. “Have you finished with your little speech, my lord ? Or do you still want to find excuses as to our little sparring session ?”
Vader did not answer him for five more seconds, instead looking deep into the man’s green eyes. The Force is going to bear down upon your shoulders.
“Those are the conditions under which I will defeat you. I wanted them documented before we began so that there is no confusion once the spar is concluded and my victory is dismissed as a mere stroke of luck” At Vader’s words, Jaime laughed. It was a powerful, roaring laughter. The kind of a man that had never heard such a great joke, and he had a hand on his stomach from the shock of laughter. He was not the only one. The king and his courtiers of sycophants were laughing as well. Only three people in the yard were not laughing : Vader himself, Eddard, and Tywin Lannister, who he now knew as Jaime’s father.
For Jaime, this was a man in a child’s body reciting a text he had learned over years of practicing in front of a mirror. It was not. It was an improvised explanation that Vader had gathered from a few second’s worth of looking at Jaime Lannister, and looking at his new body.
Finally, the fight began, once the laughter died and Jaime Lannister took his sword in his hand. His arrogance showed in his speech, his eyes, his grip on his sword, and his stance. All of it told Vader he was sure of his victory. Confidence was good in a fighter. But arrogance got you killed. He had learned this lesson for twenty-three years.
Jaime was the first to move. Whether by th sheer impatience of ending this fight as quickly as possible, or the idea of just testing Vader, but Jaime lunged forward.
He made perhaps three steps towards Vader, before his feet no longer found the ground.
Gasps resonated across the yard, as Jaime’s sword fell from his grasp, and he flailed about in the air.
“Wh- What ? WHAT IS HAPPENING ?” He screamed out in helpless rage, his limbs moving but nothing occuring. The crowd watched with eyes widened by the sheer impossibility of the current situation.
Standing a few feet above the ground, Jaime Lannister was being held in the air through the Force. Vader’s hands remained at his side, as he put the sword into the ground, tip first. He looked at the sight of the flailing man with something close to a smirk playing at his lips. Then, solely because he wanted to, he made him spin.
“WH- STOP THIS !” Jaime screamed, as he began to turn on himself, at a reasonable speed. His movements made him look like a twirling maiden of the arts, dancing through the wind. His long golden hair and fair features did not help him in looking otherwise.
The king roared in laughter, his big hand slapping the wooden barrier in delight, while Tywin looked insulted, his jaw tight and eyes narrowed.
“I find I quite enjoy the sight of your twirling.” Vader said, cocking his head slightly to the side, as Jaime’s body moved towards the small crowd at a slow speed. “It fits your prancing manners.”
Jaime spluttered and tried to scream, until he was suddenly thrown to the ground by Vader, who hid a smile at the sight of the proud man being brought to his knees, defeated without a strike.
“And this-” Vader said, turning to fully face the king and his court of sycophants. “-Is the power of the Force. Or rather, what any Force user with a week of training can do.” Those last words made them desire the power of the Force for themselves. Luckily, he could not feel its power in any of them, save for Jaime himself. But Vader was no fool, and would never train a man with such pride as his. He had been the same, once. Perhaps even worse. But his pride had been earned through countless battles. This was a child playing at war.
He was born in nobility and power. A Kingsguard, though more of a glorified bodyguard, meaning he remains to the King’s side. He probaby participated in… three, four wars maximum. And considering that this is a medieval world, the wars are never as cruel and dangerous as the ones I fought. Yes, he is just a child.
Vader’s assessment of Jaime Lannister was growing every time he interacted with him. It was an old practice of his, making character sheets in his mind of every person with some importance that he met or not. It was of use for him, and besides, he enjoyed the mental exercice. Thrawn had raised an eyebrow when Vader shared this with him, before nodding in approval, and he had been surprised that the fearsome Sith Lord would take the time to do such a menial task. And though it was menial indeed, Vader enjoyed it far too much to stop doing it. He had tried stopping once. But the effort of not doing it was harder than the effort of doing it.
“Now that this matter has been resolved, I shall take my leave.” And Vader merely left, before anyone could call upon him to stay in their insipid company. He took his time to walk through the halls of the castle of Winterfell, until he nearly stumbled on a small boy.
“Oof. Watch where you’re…” The boy said, his voice losing itself when he saw the deadpan gaze on Vader’s face. “Sorry, I- I thought you were…”
“He is resting. I wanted to learn more about this castle. There is nothing to do apart from this in this planet.” Vader answered the boy, taking a look at him. Auburn hair, blue eyes, soft look but hint of a square jaw, noble accent. Robb Stark, son of Eddard. Heir to this castle.
“Uhm… do- Do you wanna come with me ?” Robb asked Vader, stroking the back of his neck with his right hand, looking uncomfortable with the idea of Vader refusing his request, feeling he would be insulted if he did so.
“Where ?”
“Just, around. I- I could show you around Winterfell. The hallways, the library, the yard, the armory, the godswood. Everything.”
“I come back from the yard. And I already saw your library. But this… godswood might be of interest.”
“Cool. Cool. Come, I’ll show you.” Robb managed to say after perhaps three seconds without sound, taking Vader’s hand in his own and tugging him to follow. In any other situation, he would have ripped the boy’s arm off. But here… something in his chest told him not to. And mighty as Vader was, he found he could not deny his own heart. Or was it the boy’s heart ?
He did not smile. But he did not frown either.
Perhaps, in time, he will heal.
But not today. And not tomorrow.