The Happy Potato
Prologue
The snowy frosts of Starkiller Base bite coolly into the fleshy wounds of the fallen man laying haphazardly amongst the snow, limbs sprawled. The cold nips mercilessly at his frozen skin, leaving tender wounds sure to scar. The battered man dares open his clenched eyes but to no avail: the strong winds force them shut the second his vision returned.
The groan that escapes past his frozen lips is muffled. Unrecognisable for what it truly was. The flaming fury that accompanied his action burns with heated passion as the defeated feeling of hopelessness creeps up behind him and strangles him.
How could you let this happen? he berates himself as his wounds begin to sting from the frostbite. How could a girl who has only just learnt how to baby step her way into the Force possibly defeat you? The truthfulness of this statement leaves a sour trace in his mouth he cannot rid.
Darth Vader would never have let this happen.
This shocks him into stunned silence. The honesty hidden behind the cruel mockery is enough to fan the flames of anger he can feel rising within him but he manages to temper it.
"Your anger and lust for power have already done that."
It was his anger and lust for power that had driven him to his current predicament after he allowed his arrogant pride to surface once the traitor Stormtrooper had been successfully taken care of and he challenged the girl to a duel in which she had no choice but to accept.
And accept it she did. The pain she dealt him stung full force even after the fissure cracked through them, severing their fight. But nothing could compare with the struggle of his defeat.
He didn't know how this could have happened. He should have been stronger than ever; the Dark Side is strong within him and the call to the Light Side already broken the moment he buried his lightsaber half up Han Solo's back.
Han. That was another slight against him. Han Solo. The man responsible for tainting his true power with the blessed light of justice and almost single-handedly damning him with his belief in benevolence and mercy and love. Pointless. Childish. Wrong.
What good does love do you when you're wounded in battle? How can love protect you from the ones intent on harming you? Darth Vader himself loved another more fiercely than even himself - back in a time wherein Anakin Skywalker roamed the galaxy at the Jedi's beck and call. That love only grew for one Senator Amidala as two more were granted his love in a moment of spontaneous joy and euphoria.
"No. No. It's because I'm so in love with you."
It was his love for his one and only son that redeemed the Sith Lord - and murdered him all the same.
If love was deemed to be so good, so sweet and pure and wholly without fault, then why did it take lives without mercy? If Darth Vader did not love then he would never have died. Simple. The pitiful rebels would either have to adapt to that or die.
(Of course, if the almighty dark lord never loved then he himself would never have been born but he decides to ignore that little speck of information in favour of campaigning his fool proof view on the matter).
That was why he had always admired General Leia Organa - before she aligned herself with the Resistance following the decimation of her precious New Republic, that is. She never allowed her heart to rule her head; she was a woman of value. Smart. Disciplined. Strong of will and of mind. He almost found himself honoured to be carrying the same blood as the Force-wielding princess.
Almost. Her decision in allying herself to the latest rebel alliance perished any notion of gratitude he possessed in regards to his biological mother. Han Solo was just another reason for his change in heart. Any woman of self-respecting stance would not choose to settle with a rugged ex-smuggler. Not to mention his apparent lack of the required midi-chlorians to control the Force. If it was just down to Han Solo and his inferior gene pool, he often wondered how strangely placid and simple his life would have been.
A shifting of icy limbs causes a rippling pain to shoot up his spine, cutting off his internal monologue. His back arches with the contusions and his eyes squeeze as he struggles to reign in his composure. That ended that he concludes with a wry glint.
Ah, now, irony. That was something he had learnt over the numerous years being privy to his old parents and their humorously different conversations. Irony. How ironic it was that the man who took pleasure in breaking the rules would end up with the woman who enforced them?
"A princess and a guy like me?"
It was almost as ironic as the tale of his naming. Naming your one and only son after a mischievous Jedi too weak to face up to the might that was his Grandfather. Ben Kenobi had been the one to bring the two star-crossed lovers from the furthest reaches of the galaxy just as Ben Solo was destined to rip them apart and disperse the remnants of their shattered relationship throughout the universe.
"Ben. Ben. What's Daddy got? Ben. Ben..."
Ben. No, that's not his name. Ren, yes, that's it. Ren. Kylo Ren: Master of the Knights of Ren. The undefeated. The undefeatable. Not that that's strictly true now considering the turn of events leading up to his being wounded.
The breeze whips past him in a flurry but he barely registers the sting. The pain is gone and he is left with the startling realisation that perhaps this truly is the end for him. No one is coming to help him. The Dark Side has long since abandoned him in this frigid wasteland ever since the moment the little scavenger girl from Jakku took hold of the ancient lightsaber and danced, head held high.
So this is how I die: cold, abandoned, alone.
But he's not alone - no, never. The Force is always with him. Always. He can feel the security blanket warm him up and he smiles despite himself as he lets go and allows his tired and bruised soul to succumb to the awaiting darkness where he belonged.