I remember the silence, first of all - it was like a fog, thick enough to slice through with a lightsaber. I felt as though I would suffocate in it. Vader's breath was loud in my ear, and my own seemed even louder.

I don't suppose I will dress it up; I was terrified - terrified of seeing what kind of man it was who could control such a Jedi as my father; terrified at the thought that he could very well do the same to me; but mostly, I was afraid of myself - afraid of what I might do if tempted with that dark power. It would be the easy way out, I knew - a way that I would be desperate to find long before this was over.

The turolift moved swiftly, but it nonetheless felt like an eternity.

I remember suddenly wondering if perhaps I had made a terrible mistake; thinking that the idea that I could turn Father from the dark was a ridiculous one, and that I might have been better off if I had stayed with the rebels.

I was going to die, whether by the hand of the Emperor or by that of the unknowing Rebel fleet; and I had forgotten to say goodbye to Han.

I had quickly pushed these thoughts from my mind. There was still good in Darth Vader - I was in absolutely no doubt of that, and if it took my death for him to remember his true self, so be it. I remember determining as I stood there, alone, unsure of what was to come, that I would not forget why I was there: because I loved Anakin Skywalker, my father.

The doors slid open, and I prepared to meet my destiny.