A/n: And, with this chapter, I conclude the story. I extend a huge "Thanks!" to everyone who has read/ left a review! I appreciate every piece of feedback that I've received, and I hope that you all enjoy the final chapter.

Obi-Wan was standing in a field that was a thousand times more beautiful than the one he had envisioned in his meditations so very long ago. It was like he had been thinking of Anakin as powerful and had seen Rhiannon for the first time: the standards were raised to a point so high that the first normality could hardly even be considered 'not bad' anymore.

His feet were placed upon a carpet of grass far greener than the other meadow; his lungs were breathing air so clean that it was as if it had just been bathed and scrubbed with rose-scented soaps. Flowers sparkled beneath a golden firmament, twinkling beneath a haze of multi-colored lights, flashing off of some great, invisible disco ball.

In the center of it all stood Rhiannon. She was clothed in a long gown that seemed to be woven of moonlight, with threads that were silver when they weren't reflecting the colorful swirls of light. Flowers had been braided into tresses that were darker than the darkest length of velvet and smoother than the smoothest silk. Her locks fell well past her shoulders, where butterflies were sitting, drawn in by her beauty and grace.

She had been standing with her back to Obi-Wan when he first entered the tiny bit of paradise, but she turned as he came to a halt in the center of the tree-surrounded clearing. Her skin sparkled, sunlight,
moonlight, starlight, or whatever it was catching on the tiny diamonds that were inlaid beneath transparent skin.

"Oh, Padawan," he whispered, and his voice sounded like he must have looked: far too clumsy and mortal to belong in such an ethereal place. "Padawan, I'm so sorry. I never wished for this to happen..."

She smiled at him, sad and gentle and forgiving all at once, which was really very expressive for something that had universally come to symbolize happiness. "Master, the Force works in ways that no mortal can ever understand. My death wasn't your fault. Certainly, you could have worked harder to prevent it, but all paths would have eventually led to the same destination."

"Here?" he asked, looking around. His awe shone through his tone, as well-hidden as a Sith's lightsaber in the middle of a duel in the Temple. "Is this where we come when we join the Force?"

"The lucky ones come," she replied, wearing another kind smile. "But all mortals are inherently unlucky, and you need to leave now, Master Kenobi."

"No," he whispered. "Not back there… I don't want to have to deal with all of that again –with the war, with the Senate, with Anakin…"

"You'll come back here one day," whispered Rhiannon, and Obi-Wan understood that it was a promise that would she would never dare to break, just as her hair would never dare to break apart and lower itself into the land of split ends. "And before you go, there is one more thing…"

"What?" The light had begun to change from a gentle polychrome haze to one that bordered on psychedelic, and Obi-Wan understood that time was of the essence now.

"I've met your Master here. Qui-Gon Jinn. He says to tell you that he realizes now that you weren't as big a failure as he thought you were, and to quit your angsting and do something productive."

A great lightness overtook Obi-Wan, and it wasn't because the strobe was giving him a headache. In a few words, his late Padawan had managed to completely absolve him of all of the guilt that he had been carrying. It was a gift far greater than any "World's #1 Master" mug that he had ever received from Anakin, and he realized that there was nothing that she could have said that would have made him feel better than he now did.

"Thank you, Padawan… thank you for-"

"I think he's waking up."

"Kriff! It was so nice, not having to behave with him out." There was a brief pause, and then the voice, which Obi-Wan was fairly certain was property of a young Togruta female that was currently his first Padawan's Padawan, added, "He can't hear us, can he?"

"Of course not." The aforementioned first Padawan scoffed. "I've woken up from comas more times than you've woken up from sleep. You never know what's going on when you start to stir."

"Good. So we can keep talking about him?"

It was not the sort of conversation that Obi-Wan enjoyed waking up to, nor was it the type that he would typically be eager to join in, but now wasn't a good example of how his time was usually spent. In fact, if the ordeal on Hoth was a stereotypical day (or two days, or what-have-you; he wasn't very clear on that) then this was about as far from standard as he could get.

For one thing, he was warm. Not "it's midday on Tatooine" warm, but something like "I'm lying on a bed in what might or might not be a med-bay with a blanket wrapped around me" warm. He was quite familiar with the latter degree; Force knew he had experienced it enough.

For another, he didn't seem to actually be on a planet anymore. As comfortable as modern-day space-travel was, engineers still couldn't get ships to imitate land to the point where that little instinct that informed you that you were flying through a giant void was silent.

The contrast that both of those factors provided to the situation that he remembered being awake for last was startling, and he decided that speaking was not only an option; it was a darn good idea. "Please do persist, Padawan Tano. I'm fascinated to hear what you have to say."

"Is he being sarcastic, Skyguy? I didn't know that you could be sarcastic after being asleep for two days."

"Two days? Really?" Obi-Wan finally opened his eyes, and confirmed his suspicions: he was indeed aboard a spacecraft, on a bed, with a blanket wrapped around him, although he wasn't in a med-bay; merely a regular sleeping compartment. Anakin and Ahsoka were apparently too lazy to stand, and were sitting down on opposite sides of the bed. "What exactly have I missed?"

"Well, it's a pretty epic story. If flashbacks were real, I would definitely be flashing back to it now." Anakin leaned back, nearly tipping over his chair. "Where should I start?"

"You should start by not asking me silly rhetorical questions whose answers you already know. Why exactly would I need a recap of all that took place while I was awake?"

"You never know. I've heard that memory starts going pretty early these days." Anakin raised his hands, predicting the slew of protests that Obi-Wan was about to let loose over him. "Which isn't to say all people lose their memories, leaving them behind like hopes on a desert wasteland planet. Just some.

"But that's beside the point. On Hoth, what Rhiannon did was put you into a Force-induced sleep. She confessed that she might have overdone it, but you looked as though you needed the rest, so it was okay. She told me to carry you, which I did. Ahsoka somehow got holo-pics of it, and trust me, it's a lot worse than it looks; it was an awkward angle to be holding you at -you know what? Never mind. They'll never get out anyway.

"So, I had you and Ahsoka had herself, and as soon as Rhiannon dissipated the Force-field, we left the factory the same way we had come, although it was more difficult, since we had to Force-jump up, instead of jut relying on gravity to do the job. Rhiannon was protecting us from the droids; I guess that her powers had reached their zenith, or something, letting her go out in a blaze of glorious... glory. Ahsoka and I, and your unconscious body, had just reached the end of the tunnel and felt the first flakes of snow brush against our cheeks like the kisses of angels, when the factory blew up.

"It was pretty awesome, like this giant fireball bursting out of the top of the mountain. We stood around watching for awhile, and then I realized what Rhiannon had meant when she said that we'd find the means of escape from her death. The fallout from her powers was strong enough to boost my already impressive skills, and I was able to relay a Force-message back to Master Yoda. He sent a ship to us, one that was in the area. It belongs to some family he knows that I think are smugglers, except according to him they're just businessmen."

"What's their family name?" Obi-Wan wasn't particularly interested on a personal level, but it seemed polite to greet his hosts by something other than, "Good sir" or "Madam."

"Calrissian. Nice enough. They apparently owed Yoda a favor, but neither party was too specific on the details. Anyways, they came within a few hours of me sending Yoda the message through the Force, so Ahsoka and I managed to wait out the blizzard."

"And we didn't even need to resort to taking off our clothes and huddling together for warmth," added Ahsoka cheerfully. "Which meant that we didn't have to strip you down while you were unconscious."

"I'm very glad." Obi-Wan leaned back onto his pillow. Although he was thankful that he was safe now, and grateful to know the whole story, he felt empty, as though his soul had been a child handed its favorite sweets, and then the hand of its parent, Fate, had reached out and snatched them away, announcing that they were to go to the favored child, Afterlife.

"Rhiannon…"

"If it's any consolation, she probably died –went to go join the Force- left this world very quickly. The way I see it, there are two ways to die that involve fire: in a blaze of glory and sacrifice that causes a cave-in preventing your bones from ever being found, or slowly, like being roasted on a bed of hot coals. Or lava." Anakin shuddered. "I pity anybody who has to go through that."

"It isn't as bad as being 'saber-skewered," objected Ahsoka, which then led into a very graphic debate regarding death and, more specifically, what caused it, around Obi-Wan's sickbed. It was the most eventful occurrence of the following hours as the ship flew to Coruscant. The other highlight was meeting the Calrissian family, and watching Anakin teach the young son how to gamble, which Obi-Wan pretended not to see.

Still, time seemed to go by at a much greater speed going back to Coruscant that it had going to Hoth. The likely explanation was that Obi-Wan had spent most of the trip asleep, but whatever the reason, the point was, it didn't feel like long at all before the trio-that-had-been-a-quartet was back on Coruscant.

Yoda was there to meet them when they landed. He had abandoned his traditional homespun robes for a black shimmersilk cloak, an old tradition of mourning that was apparently still prevalent in his species' culture. Obi-Wan was too polite to mention it as he went to greet the wiser Master.

"A success your mission was, but at a great cost," said Yoda, not bothering to ask how he was first. "Mourns the extinguished Moonfire, the Temple does. Her funeral, you are to attend now."

"Now? Master Yoda, we just got back from spending two days on a ship without showers, which is quite a long time when you consider that the days preceding those two days were spent as far from civilization as one can possibly get."

"Broke out, riots did, following your Padawan's death," informed the green Jedi, who had, of course, earned that nickname through appearance rather than by having an abundance of care about the environment, which he polluted on a regular basis. "Difficult, it has been, to get them to wait this long!"

"One shower? Please? There will be many more funerals if I go to this one as I am." The statement was an exaggeration at present, but it wouldn't have been much of one during Obi-Wan's teenage years, and that was a time that Yoda remembered perfectly.

"Quick you must be, or start without you, the ceremony will!"

"Yes, Master. Thank you." Obi-Wan bowed and hurried off, leaving Anakin and Ahsoka to deal with Yoda. It wasn't very kind of him, but since the Force wasn't kind to him, he figured that It wanted him to pass along Its message of unkindness, and as was Its will, so would he do.

Obi-Wan stripped quickly as he entered his apartments, and had a trail of garments left behind him by the time he was in the 'fresher. When Yoda told you to be quick, you were quick. Even the death of a loved one that you had known for nearly a week wasn't enough to justify tardiness.

It was a real shower that he took, not one of those wimpy, water-conserving vibro-showers. He let the water stream down over his muscular arms, which seemed to have become even more defined by the long rest he had gotten; had soap froth up on his abs, which could only be described as "totally ripped."

But alas, it didn't last long. He stepped out of the shower, steam rising from his body because of how hot it was, and appreciated his appearance in the mirror for a moment, which was actually a moment longer than he should have, given Yoda's instructions to be quick, but he was a sight too good not to appreciate, so he figured that slacking slightly was justified.

He got dressed much in the same way he had gotten undressed, and had just pulled on his boots as he stepped out the door. Anakin was waiting for him, his eyes covered. "Are you decent?"

"Of course I am. I very rarely walk faster than I dress." One time failing, and that was what Anakin remembered. Not all of the successes; oh, no! The Chosen One's selective memory really did get irritating more often than not.

"Caution kills, but it can be useful when I want it to be. You know, like lightsabers."

"Caution and lightsabers do tend to go hand in hand," agreed Obi-Wan as they undertook the short journey to the Room of the Pyre.

Obi-Wan's apartments were located conveniently close to the place where all of the funerals of fallen Jedi were held. He sometimes wondered if the Council had done that on purpose, but has since dismissed the idea; that would have been them making his life easier, and that just didn't happen.

It was almost impossible for the two to pass through the crowds packing the normally silent, empty room, and they probably would have been doomed to spend the funeral on the purlieus of the chamber, were it not for their combined public image. The crowd parted for them, like the stone hearts of all boys had parted for Rhiannon, and they were able to push their ways to where Master Yoda stood.

"Took you quite long, it did, simply to shower! Arrogant, you seem." Yoda glared at him, and shook his head. "Handsome enough to do that and get away with that, you are not!"

"My apologies, Master. That was not my intention." He bowed his head respectably. It was hard not to be respectful in this room, with a dome that let in sunlight as gold as the hair of the two women that he loved. The far wall was covered with the names of Jedi who had fallen in the field of duty, and the front wall with Jedi who had died in their sleep of natural causes. The back was the one that everyone faced during a ceremony, and that was a very good thing: it was beautiful, shining marble with gold letters making names in symmetrical columns, whereas the front one, despite being made of marble as well, had only a few dozen names on it, not even enough to form a full row.

"Good. Now go! Speak, you must." Yoda slapped his scrubbed-clean shins with his infamous gimer stick, urging him towards a podium that had been erected in the middle of the hall, right where the pyre that earned it the title of Room of the Pyre usually was.

"Speak? Me? Why would I do that?" Traditionally, the Jedi funerals consisted of burning the corpse, Yoda saying how death needed to be celebrated instead of mourned, and then everyone meeting for caf at a local shop. Or possibly something stronger, depending on whose funeral it was, and what time it was being held.

"A body, we have not, and entertain them all somehow, we must." Yoda waved a scrawny arms outwards. "A better idea, have you?"

"Well, you could speak. You're wiser than I; surely you could give a more rousing speech."

"Her Master, I was not, though an honor, it would have been to claim that title." Yoda bowed his head. "Speak to them you will, Master Kenobi, and not because a gift for it you have, or even a mediocre talent: for Rhiannon, you must give your speech! Deserves more than this paltry farewell, she does, but credit for its poorness will not fall to me. Determine the quality you do, not I!"

"I thank you for bequeathing the honor of her epitaph to me." No, he didn't. Actually, he cursed the Master as best he could while fully knowing that Yoda could smite him with little more than a glance, but that wasn't something he was wont to admit out loud.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair to give it that perfectly-mussed look, and walked to the microphone. He was about to tap it and request for the attention of his audience, when he realized that he already had it: apparently, they had been so bored that they had been watching and waiting for someone to come and give a speech. Silence had fallen just as quickly as his hopes of a life with his new Padawan to teach had, and that was saying a lot, because his hopes had fallen very quickly.

"Hello." It was a good way to start a speech, Obi-Wan fancied, almost as good as Anakin's, pardon me, my arm has been cut off and I need help. Could you provide it? Actually, that very well might have gotten their attention to be more focused than a generic greeting, but there wasn't a way that he could see to fit it into the context of the moment. "Well, I suppose you're all here for the funeral of Jedi Padawan Rhiannon Moonfire."

The crowd responded with an unenthusiastic silence, and then a voice called out, "It's Rhiannon Guinevere Winchester Avalon Ventress Moonfire, genius."

"My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi," he continued, ignoring the interruption just as his elders had ignored him many times before when he pointed out obvious details that they had a tendency to overlook. "I was Rhiannon's Master. I oversaw her training, and I oversaw the girl that words cannot describe."

"Then you're wasting your time, aren't you?" called another voice. At least, Obi-Wan thought that it was a different one; everything echoed so much that it was all distorted, and really quite hard to tell.

"Rhiannon was everything that a young Padawan hopes to be. She was powerful and confident, but also humble. I could see an inherent generosity in her. Her life before arriving at the Temple was tragic, and her ending is too painful to me to relate. Hers is the sort of story that is retold again and again. She is the Force, and so I say now, may the Force be with you all."

Obi-Wan hesitated, not quite sure if he was supposed to be done or not. "There will be drinks at Dexter's Diner," he added uncertainly. "But the Temple won't pay for them." With that, he stepped from the podium, and began to try to figure out what the best route was from there to the exit.

"Cheapskates!" called a voice, and this time, many more rose up to agree with it. The crowd turned to leave, their mourning cut short by Obi-Wan's lack of vocalizing skills.

"Rich, Padawan Moonfire was! To the Temple, her credits were left." Yoda somehow managed to amplify his voice without the microphone, a skill that Obi-Wan greatly envied. "Buy meals, we will!"

A great cheering rose from the crowd, who turned back towards the podium just as three white doves flew up. "That was a nice touch," said Anakin, who had somehow appeared next to Obi-Wan. "Did you...?"

"Not I. And Master Yoda hates doves; that's why Qui-Gon had requested them at his funeral." They stood in silence, watching as the mysteriously-appearing birds took wing.

"Are you coming to Dexter's?" asked Anakin. "I am. The Temple is paying, and I can usually earn a few more free drinks, since I'm a brave soldier risking his life for the Republic."

"No." A plan had been formulating in Obi-Wan's mind, pushing away his grief. "I can't. I must do something first."

"I need to do a lot of things, but that's not stopping me. What do you have that's so urgent?"

"Ventress was Rhiannon's sister. She carries her genes. If I save Ventress from the Dark Side, I will be honoring my Padawan's memory. It's the greatest gift I can offer her. I need to go and find Asajj, and then I need to rescue her from the grim throes of evil."

"Have fun with that." Anakin paused, considering Obi-Wan's plans. "So you're just running off? Are you sure? Because I think I might have killed Ventress."

"She's alive." Obi-Wan turned his crystalline turquoise orbs to the Coruscanti sky. "I know she is. And I won't rest until I find her."

"It's your life." Anakin clapped him on the shoulder, in a gesture of affection that was far manlier than the man-hug, and turned to leave. "Should I tell Yoda where you went?"

"I'd appreciate that. Thanks."

Obi-Wan watched as his not-biologically-related-but-still-totally-platonically-more-than-a-friend-brother walked off, leaving him suddenly alone in the great room. Only the doves were there to keep his company.

He watched them fly, and hoped that they would find a way out to the freedom of the huge, treeless, smog-filled city. Their wings seemed to be reflecting the rays of the late afternoon sun, but he could still see their true, snowy shade despite the golden accents. They were beautiful, the opposite of Rhiannon's onyx hair, and almost as pale as her skin.

A single tear slipped down Obi-Wan's cheek at the involuntary comparison. He brushed it away, like a hot snowflake from the skies of the snowy hellhole of Hoth. The Jedi Council, in all of their wisdom, forbade crying, and although Obi-Wan wasn't perfect (indeed, he understood now that perfection could not be allowed to walk on this plane for long) he could try. Oh yes, he could try.

"Until we meet again, Rhiannon," he whispered, and he walked out of the Room of the Pyre and off to meet his destiny.

-end-