Disclamer: I don't own any of Star Wars characters, places or anything. All that belongs to George Lukas, and I'm only playing with his toys for my own joy and nothing else.
No regrets
The hissing of the respirator. Constant accompaniment to my life for the last fifteen years. The hissing of Lord Vader's respirator. Although it's been several months already as this respirator forces air only into the mask. But it is know only to me, Lord Vader and, maybe, the Emperor.
And the clicking of heels. Dark Lord's heavy steps - and the clicking of my ironed heels in unison.
And the unseeing glances, sliding past me. But I don't care for them. The only thing that my attention is concentrated on is Milord's breathing. For several months now his lungs work almost well. With wheezes and - less and less often - fails, but they work. And when they fail, I step in place of the breathing apparatus, Forcing the air into the tired lungs. Making them work while Lord Vader can't do a thing.
Yes, I am Force user. Officially - Lord Vader's apprentice, unofficially... I don't know how to call it. A phrase of some royal guard comes to mind, to whom I once told my story while waiting in some corridor. ⌠It looks a lot like slavery to me!" he exclaimed then. Maybe.
Maybe, it is slavery. But that is not something Milord should know. It's enough that I can't move away from him for more than several meters, that I have no energy for anything else except constant observation of his breathing.
It's enough that if I had a chance to replay the events from fifteen years ago, I would change nothing. Even knowing what it would lead to. Even knowing that upon waking up - too soon for someone surviving an explosion like that - I would hear a voice distorted with breathing mask, the voice which is now used to frighten naughty children. And that I would know that my life cost Coruscant in a dozen bandits - and my freedom.
And after that, kneeling in front of the Emperor's throne (for nobody gave me permission to rise) I would hear this same voice saying "It is a chance, Master". The phrase, that defined my destiny.
But it was defined that very moment when the explosion near the Palace threw me onto the nearby wall and I instinctively caught at the nearest bright life, trying to save mine. That very moment, when my undeveloped abilities tied me to the second man in the Empire so tightly, that being notnear him became painful. That very moment when I wok up and heard the voice, distorted by breathing mask.
Long before the Emperor agreed to let me live. Long before I was officially called Lord Vader's apprentice.
Fifteen years passed since then. I was trained in the ways of the Force as much as it was possible with our talents so different. I got used to follow Lord Vader everywhere. To unseeing glances. To the hissing of the respirator. To having no energy for anything else.
And there is no regrets.