Under the clearing skies, the ship sat on its blanket of white, hull silently gleaming with reflections from running lights that were left on, though no one could say why – perhaps, it was unimportant, distant from thought on this mournful night.

None of the Jedi looked forward to the morning, for none truly wished to find confirmation of their worst fears: finding Obi-Wan pale and still in death and snow dusting unseeing eyes that had once shone so brightly. None of them, either, wished to leave him behind, those same eyes staring forever sightlessly into eternity.

They were Jedi, but they were also human, all except Aneil, and there was something deep within them that demanded certain duties to the dead. It was human of them to wish to close those once luminous eyes, to say a final goodbye, to bring Obi-Wan home so that his fellow Jedi could pay their final respects and release their grief as the body was sent to join the spirit in the Force.

Jedi or not, there was still something in them that wished for the impossible and dared to dream of the unlikely – finding Obi-Wan, somehow, alive. He wasn't, of course, could not be, but – still…they needed confirmation of his death to move on, before they moved on, for once they left this planet, they would not return. Should they be forced to leave without finding his body, it would always be a haunting fear: had they left one of theirs behind, still alive, only to die.

Aneil and Mace were sound asleep, years of experience in dealing with tragedy and grief serving them well. Garen and Bant each slept restlessly, thoughts of Obi-Wan over the years intruding on their rest. Weariness and grief pushed Anakin, finally, to sleep, his arms unconsciously reaching out for his master, giving Obi-Wan something to come home to.

Anakin dreamed that night of his master. Obi-Wan was here, coming to him…feel his presence, reach out to him. Obi-Wan! Master! He could feel him: the tiny glow in his mind that was the training bond, open; feel him, the certainty of his presence nearby. The dream pulled him awake, positive that Obi-Wan sat by his side, watching over him as he did when Anakin was sick or had nightmares, a warm hand resting on his arm and a gentle smile creasing his face.

"Master!" he whispered, waking with a joyful smile, collapsing back on his pillow with tears in his eyes. There was no warm weight on his arm and no smiling face at his side. He lay alone, shivering under the weight of several warm blankets, and wondering illogically if the dead also shivered. He was cold, far colder than the temperature warranted. Cold, like a man outside in the snow for far too long. Cold, like the chill of death that had claimed his master.

The cold called to him and he had to obey, for the cold was of the Force. Go, you must go, for tomorrow you leave. By his side you must be tonight.

There would be no funeral pyre for Obi-Wan, for no body would be found; no body recovered. The depths had swallowed all sign of his master and forever would Obi-Wan slumber deep within his tomb. Anakin knew this in a way he couldn't explain and knew that he had to spend that final night in vigil as the Force whispered, far above where his master lay below. He could not sleep, warm and whole, inside, as his master lay dead and broken, outside.

He dressed, wrapped blankets around him, slipped on his now dry boots and carefully jumped from a cargo access, not daring to lower the ramp and awaken the sleeping Jedi. He needed to be alone for this and he needed to be allowed to do this.

Anakin trudged forward, careful where his footsteps led him, yet not caring if one misstep took him to his master's side. A master and a padawan belonged together, but Obi-Wan hadn't wanted his padawan to die with him. He had chosen to leave his padawan alone, grieving and in pain – leaving Anakin in the same pain that Obi-Wan had been left in when his master had died.

Even if Obi-Wan had tried to hide it from him, he knew how much his master had suffered: the sorrow and the grief he tucked within his heart and that shone deep within his eyes. It had lightened a lot, that trip in the snow, but it had not entirely disappeared.

How could his master wish that same fate for him? His master had not just allowed, but chosen, to leave his padawan alone once more, abandoning him to both fate and the Force. He was a child of prophecy, but a child of destiny as well – a destiny of being left behind, adrift and alone.

At last, the forlorn anchor stood before him, leaning at an impossible angle, the only marker to his master's final resting place. It mocked him, standing in the snow: here you failed, I stand here as witness. Anakin whimpered, for if he hadn't stopped to catch his breath, if he had directly thrown himself on the anchor the very moment he came over the edge, he would have given his master another second or two to hang on, another second or two which would have saved his life.

His foot suddenly lashed out, knocking the anchor free, but without any weight on it, it merely fell over and lay there, accusing him with its presence. "It's your fault! You didn't hold! If you had just stayed in place, Master would not have needed to die!" He kicked it again, a second time, and it flew into the air and disappeared.

What if it landed on Obi-Wan? Sharp edges digging into flesh, shredding clothing, piercing an eye? Noooooo! His master didn't need that indignity added – and what would Garen, Bant, say when they found his master's crumpled body with an anchor stuck in him?

His fault. Everything was his fault! Obi-Wan would be alive if he hadn't been so curious. Obi-Wan would be alive if his padawan had just been faster and more focused. Obi-Wan would be alive if Anakin just followed instructions and listened to his master.

Anakin dropped to his knees in the snow, meaning to apologize, hoping the Force would carry his master's forgiveness to him. He had been truly worried about Obi-Wan, the way he stumbled behind Anakin and the slightly glazed look in his eyes; the way he had not protested when Anakin changed course.

He had allowed a boy who had only been on snow once to shepherd him down the mountain, an injured man. He had allowed Anakin to lead them both into danger, because of both concern and curiosity. He had allowed Anakin to lead them into danger where Obi-Wan had no choice but to die, to save his padawan.

It was Obi-Wan's fault that his padawan was alone and grieving. It was Obi-Wan's fault that his body would remain buried forever within ice, and it was Obi-Wan's fault that Garen and Bant hurt as much as he.

"I hate you!"

His hate was unanswered, alone in the night. That was when Anakin finally and irrevocably knew that Obi-Wan was dead. He had not truly known it before, as he did now. Before – before he had come to admit it, in his mind if not his heart. Now – now he knew it. Obi-Wan would not allow his padawan to hate. Obi-Wan had seen hate, felt its fingers touch him and nearly take him, and would not allow it anywhere near his padawan. Facing hate, feeling hate, renouncing hate – that was Obi-Wan's trial; that had been his passage to knighthood. Obi-Wan knew hate and Obi-Wan would not allow it.

"I – hate – you!"

The words rang in the air, echoed amongst peaks and came back untouched – Obi-Wan was not there to fight the hate with him. Obi-Wan would never be with him again.

"I hate you," he repeated, softly this time. That was when the tears came, and the words were the opposite of truth.

As if the words had the power to summon the dead, a shimmering apparition built of ice stumbled and wavered into view. Anakin scrubbed his eyes hard; for a moment he thought that Obi-Wan was coming towards him, a ghost, or a demon, clad in white robes and pale of skin, crowned by a halo of blood.

The dead, summoned by his mind; the dead, summoned by his hate. A specter, a ghost, something his mind created to torment him in his grief and anger.

"Go away," he shrieked. "My master is dead, I don't want to see you, go away, go away, go away."

The ghost fell to its knees and one arm reached out weakly, its lips moved like it was trying to utter words, but it neither spoke or went away.

"Go 'way!" For a startled moment, Anakin thought the ghost had obeyed, for it had vanished from sight. He stood up, and saw that the ghost was collapsed on the ground.

It was trying to trick him. It wanted to lure him to its side. He could see an arm, reaching – reaching for him.

He was a Jedi, and he wasn't scared of ghosts. He would make that ghost disappear.

"Go 'way, go 'way," Anakin shouted, running to the ghost and pummeling it with his fists, striking blow after blow as the ghost stared at him with dead eyes. "Master's dead, Master's dead – I don't want to see you – leave me alone…," and he screamed as one chilly arm of death reached him, wrapped itself around him, and squeezed.