Chapter Text
Twenty-four years before our story begins
Anakin Skywalker had felt the brush of darkness before. But not like this. Never like this.
It clung to his wife like a sickly shadow, revealing itself in the pallor of her skin; the taut, tired lines across her face. Padmé, sweet, strong Padmé ... was dying.
And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
Anakin struck the table before him with such force that the wood cracked and splintered beneath his hand. His advisors backed away, no doubt still on edge from his last outburst. He couldn't control it. The fear was choking him, snaking its way into his soul and whispering awful promises there.
She’ll die, and your children with her.
No. Not if he could help it.
“You’re sure there’s no other way?” he finally managed to croak out, meeting the pitying gaze of his most trusted advisor.
Obi-Wan dropped his head. “I’m sorry, Anakin. We’ve tried everything.”
A sob tore its way into his chest and Anakin turned violently away, unwilling for an entire throne room to see him cry. He was being weak. He knew he was. What good is a king who cannot hold back his own emotions? But then he thought of Padmé, the feeling of her life slowly slipping away as she lay on their bed and stroked his face, whispering promises and reassurances that I’m fine, I’ll be alright, I’ll pull through this you know I will, Ani.
Both of them knew her promises rang empty.
Pulling himself together, Anakin drew in a shuddering breath, returning his attention to the table and the map laid out across its surface. It was littered with crossed-out landmarks, locations that had proved fruitless in their search for perhaps the only thing left that could help Padmé - if it even existed at all.
The Wellspring of Life was a myth. Known only from words passed reverently down through generations of sorcerers that whispered of a place where magic itself was born. Even as a boy, when he'd felt the unfamiliar stirring of power awaken deep within his bones, Anakin had always passed them off as just stories.
But desperate times made for desperate men, and Anakin Skywalker was no exception.
“It has to be here somewhere,” Anakin groaned, running a finger across the map as though he could wade through its contents himself and sift out what he was looking for.
“I can assure you, sire, we’ve scoured every inch of the kingdom and found nothing." Obi-Wan came to stand beside him, the man’s familiar presence comforting even if his words were not. “If it were real ... we would have found it by now.”
Anakin sighed. “I can’t give up hope, Obi-Wan.”
“And I would never ask you to. But perhaps we’ve chased a myth for too long.”
“But what if it’s not a myth? What if it’s real?” Anakin ran a frantic hand through his ragged and dishevelled hair. “Master Yoda once spoke of a place with magic pure enough to cure all ails. He saw it, Obi-Wan! It has to be out there. It has to.”
Obi-Wan huffed. “Master Yoda was an immensely powerful sorcerer, yes, but also an eccentric man. He may have just been spinning another story, sire.”
Anakin whirled on him. “Padmé is dying, Obi-Wan, and our children with her! If that means chasing the stories of a crackpot old fool then that is what I’ll do. But I will not stand here and do nothing.” The fire died from Anakin’s words, his shoulders sagging. “I won’t give up on her.”
Obi-Wan rested a gentle hand on his friend’s arm, gesturing silently for the roomful of advisors to leave them be. “And neither will I, Anakin. You know I never would. I just can’t help but worry about you.”
Anakin grimaced. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. And there is no shame in that."
“No shame?” Anakin raised a tear-stricken gaze to his advisor. “Then why does everyone look upon me with such pity?”
Obi-Wan said nothing, choosing instead to wrap his arms around the young man he’d come to love like a brother, letting Anakin sob softly into his shoulder.
“Did you know she’s already picked out names for them?” Anakin asked softly, voice muffled. “Leia and Luke. That’s what we’re going to call them.”
When he had asked Padmé how she was so certain that her unborn children were to be twins, a boy and a girl no less, his wife had laughed.
I don’t need your sorcery to know this, Anakin. A mother’s intuition is the most powerful force of all.
Obi-Wan hummed thoughtfully. “Good, strong names. They will make fine children. I’m certain of it.”
Anakin wanted to smile, but he was tired. So, so tired. The relentlessness of his pursuit to find a cure for Padmé had begun to take its toll. He felt the pull of exhaustion becoming stronger each day, draining his strength and slowly weaning the hope and light from his soul.
Guilt clawed at him, too. He knew the kingdom was suffering for his distractions, but nothing was more important to him than his family. Even his own people.
What kind of king did that make him?
Obi-Wan eventually drew back, planting his hands steadily on each of Anakin’s shoulders and holding him there. “We will find a way,” he assured, gaze solemn. “I promise."
The vow held strong and bright in the space between them. And for once in Anakin's life, perhaps fate decided to listen.
The door to the throne room slammed open. A red-faced palace guard stood in the entrance, gasping and hunched over for breath.
“I ... we ... the Spring, it .. it’s-”
“Spit it out, soldier,” Anakin growled, but something inside him lifted. Could it be?
“It’s the Wellspring,” the guard finally said, breaths heaving. “We found it.”
—
A day’s ride later, Anakin found himself standing outside the mouth of a tunnel, hidden by trails of hanging lichen and moss-covered rocks. It was only a few miles outside the city, deep within the forest that Anakin himself had ridden through more times than he could count; and yet, somehow, he’d missed it. The answer to his ails had been right beneath his nose the entire time and he was none the wiser to it.
But he could not bring himself to be frustrated. The relief that it was here at all was palpable enough.
A symbol was carved into the stone above his head, and Anakin recalled trailing small fingers over the exact same symbol on the cover of the book Master Yoda used to read to him as a child. It was the place. It had to be. Anakin could feel the power, the magic, emanating from it down to his very bones. He’d never encountered anything like it.
Obi-Wan stiffened beside him. “You feel it too, I presume.”
“I do,” said Anakin.
"It's very powerful. You know there may be something dangerous inside."
"Indeed there might."
"So we should approach this with caution and sensibility."
"Of course."
Then Anakin pushed back the lichen and strode inside.
He was immediately plunged into darkness, Obi-Wan's sharp protests cutting away behind him. It was like he'd been sucked into a vacuum where light and sound had become void. He could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing. Only the ground beneath his feet and the steady yet fast-paced thrumming of his own heart.
He stretched out a hand. First to the front, and then out to the side, reaching for something he could use to guide his way through the darkness. It was only when he stretched his arm as far as he possibly could that he felt something cool and rough brush the edge of his fingertips. The unexpected sensation made him gasp, and he edged closer to it so that he could place both hands flat on the tunnel wall, solid and unyielding beneath his palm. Silent footsteps led him further into the cavernous dark as he followed the wall forward.
He did not know how long he'd been walking - time slipped through his grasp in this place, as silky and elusive as water - but the air around him had gradually begun to grow warmer. Light returned, and first he could see his hands, then his feet, then the mossy stone of the tunnel beneath his fingers.
Then suddenly the ground beneath his feet dropped away, and the tunnel opened into a vast, sprawling cave so mesmerising that it almost took his breath away.
Everything was green. The walls were moulded from a deep emerald stone, the polished surface reflecting a single beam of light coming from the ceiling in a blinding, brilliant glow. The floor of the cave was covered in a carpet of long and lush grass that speckled with dew like tiny gemstones, tossing slightly in a soft phantom breeze. There was a hum in the air, too; it sounded like a song from a long-forgotten memory. Anakin found unbidden tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.
Only one thing looked out of place - a single golden flower planted at the very centre of the cave, and Anakin knew, without truly knowing, that the flower was what he needed. What he had spent so many of his recent days searching desperately for and the very thing that could save Padmé. All he had to do was take it.
Magic is not something that comes without a price.
Anakin started. The fractured, disembodied voice felt like it had spoken into his very soul. It was ancient, that much he could sense, but who it was .. he did not know. It was as if every voice he'd ever heard overlapped into one.
Who are you? He found himself thinking back curiously, and with a touch of fear.
The voice said: I am the Guardian of all power that resides in this world. You have come to seek answers, have you not?
Anakin nodded, resolute. I have.
Then you already know what it is you need.
He eyed the golden flower, petals still swaying in the faint breeze that drifted through the cave. Will this save my wife? Will it heal Padmé? he asked the phantom entity.
Yes.
Then please, let me take it.
The voice hummed thoughtfully. You have yet to ask what it will take from you in return.
It may take what it wants. I don’t care. I only wish to heal the one I love.
Then I grant your wish. You may take the flower, Anakin Skywalker, and it will save her.
Thank you. His legs finally decided to move and he dove forward, falling to his knees and scooping the brilliant golden flower delicately into his hands. It was warm to the touch - he felt like he was cradling pure sunlight in his hands.
Take heed, young Skywalker, the ancient voice spoke up again. Do not forget the price of this magic.
I will pay it when it is due, he promised, as he clambered onto unsteady feet and began making his way back toward the tunnel, eager to bring the flower to his dying wife.
To finally save her, like he'd vowed he would.
He felt the mysterious presence watch him go, and it seemed almost ... sad. The price may not be yours to pay, it whispered softly.
But he was already walking away.
—
Anakin thought he had known true happiness.
He thought that the day he married Padmé, in their private ceremony on the twilight sands of Naboo, was the happiest day of his life.
Or that he would find no greater joy than when he finally watched the glow return to his wife’s cheeks, her essence restored by the healing powers of the golden flower.
But nothing compared to the feeling of being tucked up against Padmé’s side, holding a tiny, swathed babe in each hand and gazing down upon the faces of his newborn children.
Obi-Wan was right. Luke and Leia were perfect.
He couldn’t help the tears that rose unbidden as he watched them, eyes roving over their every feature in wonder. These tiny, wondrous little beings ... they were his. To love and cherish and hold in his heart forever.
Anakin pressed another kiss to his wife’s forehead, their own combined joy floating in a pleasant haze around them. She tucked her head into his chest and murmured quiet words of love and happiness. If a moment could be frozen in time, Anakin decided he would live in this one forever.
Such a pity that moments couldn’t last.
—
Later that night, Anakin was just brushing the edges of sleep when he heard movement in their bedroom.
Immediately alert, he jumped to his feet, careful not to jostle his wife but hand automatically reaching for the weapon he knew to be hanging by his belt. Reason and logic said he was being paranoid, that the slight rustle near the curtains was a simple trick of the wind.
But instinct said otherwise, and Anakin never knew his instincts to lead him astray.
Padmé slumbered on, oblivious to her husband’s anxious search of their quarters. He didn’t know what exactly he was looking for, but that strange feeling kept him searching, kept him on guard and ready. Something wasn’t right - he could feel it like a quivering hum in his very core.
And then, finally, something in the darkness moved.
He barely had the chance to raise the hilt of his sword before the glowing blue blade met red, sparks flying as the two weapons clashed against each other. He gazed, startled, into a pair of sinister yellow eyes tucked beneath a dark hood. They were filled with rage, with power, with unbridled greed, and Anakin felt a stab of fear deep in his gut.
There was a wrongness to this man.
He was old - Anakin could see it in the ashen skin, the heavy wrinkles that marred his shrunken face. But he was powerful, too, his strikes and blows laced with a strength and precision that spoke of unnatural prowess.
Anakin realised with a growing dread that he had met his match.
Padmé was awake now, backed up against the wall and shielding the two cribs with her body, arms splayed out protectively on either side. She was afraid; Anakin could feel it as clear as day, but her eyes smouldered with the fire of a mother prepared to burn down cities to protect her children. Anakin felt a rush of fierce love for his wife, even as he struggled to keep a glowing red blade from slicing across his face.
“Give it to me,” the man hissed, his words dripping with poisonous venom. “I know it is here. I can feel it.”
Anakin parried a particularly powerful blow, feeling the heat of the blade rush past his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he barked. Who is this raving man?
Bloodshot eyes flicked frantically around the room. “Where have you hidden it?”
Anakin growled, deftly flicking away a strike. “Hidden what?”
But the man did not answer. His eyes landed on the children's cribs, a haunting smile crawling across his face, and Anakin’s blood ran cold.
He swung his blade down in a high arc right as the intruder dove for the children, the blow aimed to kill. But the man simply flung out a hand and an invisible force sent Anakin flying across the room and into the wall, the impact ripping his breath away.
He watched as the man shoved Padmé roughly aside, gnarled hands reaching for the babies. A hand shot out again, and this time the force sent Padmé tumbling dangerously close to the edge of the balcony. Fear tore through Anakin like a thunderbolt. He dove after his wife, grasping onto her hand desperately and pulling her away from the hundred-foot drop to the tumultuous waters below.
A sharp, pitiful cry rang out behind them, and the two parents swung around in fear.
The cloaked man held Luke in his arms, cradling him and looking down at the child with an almost possessive glee. Anakin felt a surge of blind rage. He leapt forward, sword raised to deliver the killing strike he promised only a moment ago-
Only for it to fall through empty air.
Because with a swish of his cloak and a cold, sinister laugh, the man was gone.
And so was Luke.