Disclaimer: See chapter 1 for general disclaimer. Padawan healer Towani Nal and Jedi Nai'gia are my OCs.

Author's Note: Here's chapter 11—THE FINAL CHAPTER! Sorry for that rather... um... Sith-like cliff hanger, but the temptation was too delicious to resist! Mwahaahaaa... I mean, I sincerely apologize to those readers who curled into fetal positions to weep uncontrollably in the corners of many a darkened room, but ready or not here is the conclusion of our tale. I hope you have enjoyed the ride. Please take a moment to leave a review! Thank you all for your continued support throughout this endeavor. Now, get to reading!

A/N 2: Oh, by the way, in this timeframe, Satine is not dead... yet.

Thanks:

TheGirlBetweenMindAndSoul14: I'm glad you enjoyed it and don't worry, I'm pretty sure Nai'gia knows what she's doing... mostly sure anyway...

ErinKenobi2893: Indeed yes, that chapter was a strain on me and my muse to put it mildly, (thanks for the back rub by the way) but I was mostly pleased with the results. Anakin does have some major anger issues and I am not his biggest fan (which often makes him difficult for me to direct... sigh), but I hope I did him justice. Oh, and yeah, Nai'gia could so take him. :)

Jedi Kay-Kenobi: Happy belated and I am so jealous of your cake! Glad you like Nai'gia. I have a feeling she will be making other appearances in the future so keep a look out. I'm not a big Anakin fan either (I find him too whiny most of the time, but he is Obi-Wan's buddy so what's a girl to do...). I hope this chapter lives up to the phenomenal happening you are expecting. It's okay... you can come out of the corner now...

Please R&R!

And on to the show...

Obi-Wan is nowhere. He is surrounded by a vast and profound nothingness. It is not a void or an emptiness. There is a somethingness to the nothingness. This place is both the absence of substance and the substance of absence. Here there is light without shadow, but the light is dull, muted, suffused with the abundancy of nothing. All is a hazy shade of gray; a true colorlessness abides reaching from the edge of his skin out to a nearly visible infinity.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. He breathes deeply and reaches out to the Force. What he finds is... puzzling. The Force is both here and strangely not here. Its presence is ghostly, ephemeral, almost notional, but not absent. The master can still feel it, touch it, pull it around him, protecting like a suit of armor, comforting like a thermal blanket, but its caress is wisp-like, bordering insubstantial.

He open his eyes as a familiar something penetrates the omnipresent nothing. There is a shadow ahead in the distance. At first it is too far to be distinct, the clouded form too nebulous for recognition, but as it draws closer... a figure, humanoid. Closer... tall, broad shouldered. Closer still... beard, long hair, crooked nose...

"Master," comes a whispered gasp is greeted with a lopsided grin.

"Hello, Padawan," answers the figure in that oh-so-familiar baritone. Only Obi-Wan's disbelief keeps him from dissolving into tears on the spot. Oh, how he has missed that voice!

"Master Qui-Gon, how are you here?"

"I am here because you are here."

"No, I don't understand. Am I... dead?"

"Yes, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon answers. A line appears between the younger master's brow as he looks out upon the vast grayness. The older master places a knowing hand upon his shoulders.

"You are dead, Padawan, but not yet one with the Force," he says. Qui-Gon places his hand under Obi-Wan's chin, forcing the younger man to meet his gaze. "I have missed you, my Padawan, but you are not supposed to be here."

"But I am," Obi-Wan stammers feeling very much like the awkward apprentice of his youth. "The force virus... the Vessesl said... she told me I had to die, that I needed to,"

Qui-Gon places his large hands on both of Obi-Wan's shoulders, griping them tightly to ensure the man's full attention.

"The Vessel told you what you needed to hear. Think, my Obi-Wan, what exactly did she tell you? What has the Force been telling you?"

"That... That I had to let myself die."

"Yes, but there is no death. There is only the Force," Qui-Gon answers releasing his grip on the master's shoulders. Obi-Wan's hands immediately rise to his chest, one placed thoughtfully under his chin in concentration.

"I was never meant to join the Force... only to die."

Qui-Gon nods displaying a proud smile on his leonine features.

"Exactly," he says, but the younger master is still confused.

"But why?"

Here the pleased expression Qui-Gon had worn since laying eyes on his former apprentice falls away and in its place Obi-Wan finds a frown heavy with regret and sorrow. The older man takes a deep breath.

"That is partly my fault," he says as he begins walking; his destination nowhere in the open grayness. Without hesitation, Obi-Wan moves to follow him, his position two steps behind and to the right. The old master releases a light chuckle.

"You have been a knight for many years, Obi-Wan, and now you are a master in your own right. Though you will always be my padawan, your place is beside me, as an equal," he says. Even in death, Obi-Wan can't help but blush at his former master's gentle rebuke. He moves to Qui-Gon's side. The two Jedi walk silently in the colorless pall for several minutes.

"Obi-Wan, what do you know about what has happened to you?"

"Nai'gia said I was infected with a force virus, one that was meant for you courtesy of Xanatos," Obi-Wan replies, then he pauses, a smirk flitting across his soft features. "At least I think that's what she said."

"Ah yes," Qui-Gon responds with an amused smile of his own. "I do recall her answers tended to favor the cryptic."

"Master Yoda is cryptic. Nai'gia is downright abstruse."

"Perhaps," Qui-Gon agrees with a grumbling laugh, but all too soon present realities cause his countenance to once again bear a frown. "But in this, as in many things, she is right. The package you received on Telos IV was a "gift" from Xanatos meant for me. I regret that his need for revenge against me has once again injured you," he pauses, lost in thought for a moment. "Still, the fact that you were vulnerable to his attack concerns me greatly."

"Why? The virus would have infected the first person it came in contact with, or in my case, whoever first opened the box would it not?"

"No, Xanatos researched and obtained this virus because of the specificity of its targets. The virus was designed to feed off repressed negative emotions. Xanatos, of course, was well aware of the deep scar his betrayal left on my heart and though I had eventually moved on I had never truly let go of the grief... or the guilt."

"So he chose to capitalize on your particular vulnerability."

"More than that, Obi-Wan, the virus's nature itself was to draw on those emotions and transform them, twist them toward the darkside all while corrupting one's connection to the Force making meditation and release impossible. Pain quickly turns to anger and anger makes its victim lash out violently."

"So the victim either goes mad or falls to the darkside before ultimately succumbing."

"Yes."

"Infecting you would have been the cruelest revenge Xanatos could have imagined. Whether you fell to the darkside or not, you would have been consumed by your own dark feelings about him," Obi-Wan finishes with a shake of his head. "An ending as tragic as it is ironic."

"Indeed. This method of revenge was tailor made for me, which is why, my apprentice," Qui-Gon says as he stops his perambulation and turns to face his fellow, "I am deeply troubled to find you infected in my stead."

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to respond, but no words he can form seem appropriate. There is no excuse to offer, no defense to give. The truth of the matter evinced in his very presence in this shadow near nothing world.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon continues, "the virus never could have affected you unless you were holding some deep and painful wounds in your heart. I had always hoped in this you would be a better Jedi than I and learn to let these hurts go," he says as he lightly touches Obi-Wan's bearded chin. "Holding stubbornly on to grief and guilt is not the inheritance I wished you to receive."

Qui-Gon let his hand rest on the cheek a moment more before dropping it to his side with a sigh.

"Whatever it is you are hanging on to, you must let go of it, here and now. That is why you are here. That is why you had to die. The virus kept you from releasing your feelings to the Force, but here," the older master says gesturing to the space around them. "Here you can touch the Force, release all that you have been holding on to. This you must do, my Padawan, lest the virus truly consume you. You are not meant to become one with the Force. Not yet. You still have much to do."

Still Obi-Wan can say nothing. Of course he had wounds, deep weeping gashes that he knew would never heal, but he had learned to live with this pain, to bury the hurt until it was hidden in a secreted place down away from his heart where it could no longer harm him. But it wasn't hidden far enough. It had harmed him. It had killed him actually.

"Obi-Wan?"

His former master's resonating voice successfully pulls him out his darkening thoughts.

"Yes, Master?"

"What is it you are hanging on to? What are you afraid to let go?"

"I don't know... I've carried these things with me for so long... How do I know where they end and I begin?"

"You are not your pain, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon answers gently. Suddenly, large hands again rest on Obi-Wan's shoulders as a slight, but insistent pressure directs him downward.

"Meditate with me, Padawan. Together we will release all that holds you here."

Together the two Jedi fall gracefully to their knees facing one another, but their eyes are closed. They sink down deeply into a familiar tandem meditation; their two minds mingling in the effulgent currents of the Force. Once the two had settled, Obi-Wan directs his focus inward as he has been trained to do as an initiate. With Qui-Gon's presence closely following his own, he travels deep inside himself sliding away mental shields with easy efficiency as they plunge deeper and deeper still until Obi-Wan feels himself brush against a resistance; a well-known inky darkness, a shapeless hurt hidden behind thick mental walls.

What is it, Obi-Wan?

Memories of a lush and beautiful world. A young woman. A feeling. A deep and precious longing shared.

Satine.

Ah. Our mission on Mandalore. A pause. Why does this memory bring you pain?

Not pain, Master. Remorse and... shame. I was... prepared to leave the Order, to... leave you... for her. She had only to say the word. It was the second time I betrayed you, you just never knew of it.

You have never betrayed me, Obi-Wan. Even on Melida/Daan. To have the courage to do what you have to, to follow your heart and the Force honors me and fills me with pride. There is no shame here, Obi-Wan. Let it go...

For a quiet moment the Force around them is still, then the air pulses and gathers itself in a slow, rolling undulation. Finally, a shuddering exhalation echoes through the limitless expanse.

Well done.

Thank you, Master.

The pair continue their journey only to be stopped by another mental barrier. The darkness here is energetic, almost frenzied in its movements. The sound of invisible blaster fire rings in their ears. Qui-Gon is about to ask what pain this is when Obi-Wan releases a heavy whisper.

Cerasi.

Let the guilt and grief go.

A shudder, an exhale, and the air around them stills in quiet, but guiltless mourning. Without a word they press further, deeper, delving until they hit another barrier. Another formless pain. This one burns and rages mephitic in its anger, yet unimaginably chilling in its despair.

Siri.

Let it go, Obi-Wan.

Silence.

Not this. I can't.

Why?

If I let it go, I will lose her.

But you must, Obi-Wan, or you will lose yourself. Is that what she would want for you?

No.

Then honor her. Honor her sacrifice. Honor the Jedi she was.

The Force gathers again, this time tremulous and uncertain, but after a few moments all is quiet. They move on to the next, but this barrier is much thicker than the rest; thicker and much, much darker. Pain radiates from behind its wall blasting the two pilgrims in angst ridden waves.

Obi-Wan reaches out to this memory, but his presence stills just short of the barrier. A deep breath is taken, a stern resolve takes hold. He pushes forward and the shield crumbles before him. Familiar scenes play before the Jedi; each image rippling with long held shame and sorrow. Qui-Gon is unable to stifle his own despondent sigh.

Oh, my Obi-Wan, I never knew you still carried this burden with you.

Bandomeer. How can I ever let this go? This is who I am.

I don't understand.

I was unwanted, unworthy,

Obi-Wan...

No, Master, not just by you, by everyone. You were but the last in a series of rejections. I *was* unworthy and the Order sent me away. My *family* turned its back on me. A weak laugh. You fear that you caused this pain, but Master, you are the only joy within this place.

You were never unwanted or unworthy, Obi-Wan. Things proceeded the way they did because it was the *will* of the Force. You must believe that.

I do believe that, which makes it all the more cruel.

The Force is neither cruel nor kind. It is what it must be to forge us into what we must become; to forge you into the Knight and Master you are. The Jedi who makes me proud to have been his master.

But there *is* truth here, Qui-Gon. There are other wounds... much deeper... but they share this same truth.

Obi-Wan steels himself for an argument, prepares to hear Qui-Gon's oft used mantras, platitudes, and koans, but what is said surprises him.

Show me.

The amorphous dark shifts and churns, folding in on itself many times over before reflecting a familiar visage.

Anakin?

Another dazzling failure.

You trained him, Obi-Wan, brought him to knighthood. I could ask for no more.

He is still willful, reckless, and far too passionate. Balance eludes him. This is the effect of my training and now the galaxy may suffer for my inadequacy should he truly be the Chosen One.

Obi-Wan, there is...

Gods no, not this one. Not again.

A deafening scream echoes through the space surrounding them. The darkness takes another shape. The air is charged with a sudden burst of anguished rage. The image of a young man cradling an older man in his arms flickers before them. Their senses are filled with the aftermath of battle, the deep swell of despair, the stench of burnt flesh, the cold caress of the dying.

Why? Why must I relive this?

To free yourself you need only let it go, my Padawan.

I can't and I *have* tried, Master, but this is... anchored to me and I to it.

Silence prevails between them as the monstrous dark shifts from images of Bandomeer to Anakin to Qui-Gon's death and round again. Finally, the old master speaks.

Why these three, Obi-Wan? Why are these your deepest wounds?

Because they show the truth.

What truth is that, Padawan?

That I am not... enough. That I have never been enough. A pause. I wasn't good enough for the Order. I wasn't wise enough to train Anakin properly. I wasn't fast enough to help you... to save you.

I think... I understand. These memories have been linked together and, as such, cannot be released individually. They are not anchored to you, Obi-Wan, they are tethered to each other. To release them you must release the tie that binds them. You must accept their lessons and then let them go.

I must accept that I am not enough.

No, you must accept that *no one* is ever enough to save everyone, to be everything.

But...

No buts, Padawan, not in this. I have known you since you were a boy, watched you grow into a man, a master, and a wise and noble Jedi. The many trials you have faced have shaped you, prepared you for the difficulties you have yet to face. Oh, my Obi-Wan, the Force has such great plans for you. *It* believes in you. I believe in you. Now, you must believe in yourself, without doubt or reservation. Believe, Obi-Wan, or else die right here.

A ripple in the air. The Force gathers, contracts, then stillness. The amorphous black writhes angrily.

There is no try, Obi-Wan.

Again the air quivers, then shakes violently. The darkness reacts with fierce paroxysms, spasming viciously, its inky tendrils lashing out like whips brutally slashing at their presence. The Force churns and whirls savagely about them. Space contracts, pulling in on itself, closing, collapsing...

"No response."

"Again."

"Nothing. It's been too long..."

All tightens in on itself. The pain before them continues to flail and thrash under the strain. A wind emerges from the subtle non-existent atmosphere of Obi-Wan's mindscape. It picks up, growing stronger with his mental exertions. Soon the Jedi are caught in a maelstrom. The darkness erupts powerfully, its thrashes intemperate, its lashes vehement in the extreme...

"Anything? Anything at all?"

"No. Nothing."

A burst of breath, a gasp of light. The blackness convulses, shudders, and, in a sudden roar of sound and fury, it dissolves away, melting back into the insubstantiation from whence it was born.

"Wait! I've got something!"

Quiet settles. The air stills. Peace enters where pain once had reign.

You are free now, Obi-Wan. You are free and now you must return.

Obi-Wan can feel his former master's presence begin to pull away from his mind. Instinctively, he moves to follow.

Wait! Master!

So proud of you, my Padawan.

The voice retreats further, faster than Obi-Wan can follow. A dull light obscures his vision. It glows brighter and brighter.

So proud...

The brightness is too much, glaring. Obi-Wan shuts his eyes against it, but even with eyes closed the light is painfully, blindingly bright...

"He's coming around."

"Dim the lights," an unknown voice calls out. Obi-Wan pushes forward toward consciousness, his thoughts slow, muzzy unable to comprehend the chatter buzzing around him.

"Master?" a familiar voice queries cutting through the previous verbal chaos. Obi-Wan blinks rapidly, his beleaguered lashes feeling like leaden weights.

"A-Ana... kin?" he rasps. Without a spoken request water is offered, the glass gently held to his dry and cracked lips. Obi-Wan drinks greedily; the cold liquid as refreshing to his parched palette as it is to his soul. When he has drunk his fill he carefully pulls back from the proffered vessel.

"You had us worried for a moment," Mace says. "We thought you had become one with the Force."

"You thought no such thing. You were just hoping for first dibs on my bottle of Correllian whiskey, Mace. I know you've been eyeing it," Obi-Wan smiles, the mirth shinning brightly in his eyes despite his ashen complexion. The tension in the room relaxes noticeably with the return of the master's humorously acerbic wit. Master Vokara frowns.

"I assume the return of your trademark impudence means you are feeling well," she intones with a raised eyebrow. Obi-Wan turns to her with a sincere and serene expression.

"You assume most correctly, Master. I feel...," the master pauses as he vainly searches for the right word. "I feel as I should," he finishes. The hand enclosing his tightens minutely.

"Master," Anakin whispers, his eyes red, his face marked with the shimmering tracks of recently shed tears.

"Don't worry, Padawan. All is well between us. You have my word."

"Different you seem. Hmm, yes changed you are," a grumbly voice says from Obi-Wan's left. "New wisdom have you, hmm?" the ancient master states as he pokes the younger master's leg with his gimer stick.

"Yes, Master. It appears my master still had one more lesson to impart," Obi-Wan replies. Mace cocks his head to the side his eyebrows raised.

"Your master?" he repeats, but before Obi-Wan can answer Vokara raises her hands.

"Enough of this. The patient needs his rest not a bunch of masters pestering him with needless questions or ancient, yet suspiciously cryptic wisdoms," she says with a deliberate glance at Yoda. The Grand Master stands unperturbed, but also noticeably unchallenging of the healer's statement. Mace nods at the master healer, but places a hand on Obi-Wan's leg.

"We will return later," he says warmly. Obi-Wan gives his friend a smirk.

"Don't worry, I promise not to go anywhere."

Epilogue – 72 hours later

Obi-Wan Kenobi has never felt better. With the care evocative of a sacred ritual, he lowers himself onto the plush and vibrant carpet of grass beneath him. He folds his legs, kneeling, his hands resting comfortably on his thighs. He closes his eyes. A brook babbles behind him. Various and innocuous mammalia scurry about in the shadows of the verdant foliage. A Carbraxyn lizard lounges languidly on a small boulder to his left. An iridescent insect flits and darts under the heavy leaves of a Njolla sapling to his right.

Obi-Wan finds the Room of a Thousand Fountains to be welcoming and peaceful.

The Force hums quietly around him as he enters into a light meditative trance. Colors varied and nameless dance and vibrate in threads and ribbons in spiderweb connections between him and the greater world surrounding him. The master is pleasantly adrift in the currents of the Living Force. His thoughts are unworried and easy. His countenance serene; the turmoil of the past weeks a memory, not forgotten, but held loosely—acknowledged then released.

For three days, Obi-Wan had been required to remain in the Healer's Ward; restrained and under guard for the first day, only guarded for the following two. After the seventy-two hours of constant observation and numerous mental probes from healers and Council members alike, the master was finally deemed healthy and free of any trace of the force virus's influence. The virus did, however, leave its mark on the man in the form of the numerous scars that now transversed his body. No longer did angry red and black lesions cover his trunk, arms and neck. In their place, only pale, winding patterns of scar tissue remained. There eventually would be reports to the Council, explanations of what happened in those quiet minutes of his death. He knew they would ask about his scars, why he chose to keep them. Obi-Wan had long meditated during those hours of observation and had ultimately decided not to have the scars removed. He would hold on to these scars, not as a reminder of the pain he had suffered, but instead as a memorialization of the trial he had overcome. But Obi-Wan did not concern himself with that now. Those discussions would later. Now, he only reflected on what had occurred to remind himself of what he had survived and what was made better by its happening.

Many things had changed for the master. The sudden lightening of his burden had revealed a peace Obi-Wan never knew could be obtained. It wasn't the same heady and rich calm given to him by Nai'gia. No, this feeling was understated, subdued, but sustainable.

Yes, things were better.

His relationship with Anakin had improved. The near death, or near permanent death, of his former master had forced some of the knight's long held resentments and anger to the surface and slowly, together, the pair was working through each emotion, each memory, each perception sorting them, disentangling them, analyzing them, and ultimately releasing them.

Obi-Wan had fought hard to finally learn that lesson and it was a knowledge that he hoped to impart to his padawan. It was what he hopes to leave as his inheritance.

Fin.