After spending many years with a person, attachments form, whether the Jedi Council would have admitted this or not. Certainly, having been raised in the Temple, I had not realised, nor expected such attachments, nor was it until my later years that I even admitted to them myself. I didn't realise I had formed an attachment to my Padawan until Master Yoda told me I would be able to track Anakin down if I used my feelings; Mustafar was where I found him all those years ago.

There are, however, other forms of attachment which a Jedi must be wary of. Entering into romantic relationships with another human being is precarious indeed, but there are some relationship of which that are so much more than just the physical, a type which is so profound, it is only granted to a few.

Such was—is—the blessing of my relationship with Sabé, the woman who is the other half of my soul. There aren't any defining words to express or to accurately paint a picture of just how our souls converse—have always conversed since before we could identify the magnitude of our initial attraction.

But oh, my darling Sabé, my love, my wife…parting ways with her was the hardest challenge I have ever faced.

Luke didn't know the full weight of our farewells. I asked him to wait outside, knowing—but at the same time not knowing—just how difficult it would be.

From the moment Leia's message played, I knew the Force would have us parted. I had a feeling training Luke on Alderaan was a fool's dream—that there was so much more to this—and that I would soon confront my former Padawan once more.

I did not know what the outcome of that final duel would be, I just had a feeling all of these events—Anakin's droids returning to Tatooine and finding Luke, Leia's message—the past was rearing it's foreboding head and I knew I wouldn't be back to Tatooine in the flesh.

I did not have to tell Sabé, for she knew as well as I did. She could feel it.

I wanted to apologise, for everything once again, though she had long ago assured me none of this was my fault. The will of the Force is something no Jedi can fully understand until they have become one with it, having reached enlightenment. I do not know why good people must suffer, but I have to believe those who are evil suffer far worse. There is always some pain in love, but there is so much happiness and joy and good that outweigh the bad.

The last few moments, my love and I shared are like a distant memory to me…holding her, kissing her, running my fingers through her greying hair, the taste and smell of her, and the final glances we shared as I turned back to cast her one final look.

'Goodbye,' I whispered to her for the first time.

Outside of our home, I leant on the doorframe momentarily, fighting against the urge to rush back inside saying I was wrong and changed my mind—that the universe didn't need me as much as I needed her, but Luke called to me and I returned to my duty.

The will of the Force is a funny thing. The dread and apprehension continued building throughout our stunted trip to Alderaan. I began piecing it together when the Imperial space station came into view and Vader's Force signature pierced me like a reopened wound. There was no doubt in my mind then that we would face each other again, but I planned on killing him this time. I felt a reluctance and dread which cautioned me that we might take each other to the other side, though I hoped this would not be the case.

Qui-Gon taught me the Whills's lesson quite well and I was prepared for it. It was only when I—during our duel—felt Luke's Force signature approaching that instead of me wielding the Force in my movements against Vader, the Force acted through me. Such a thing I had never experienced before. I knew then what the Force would have me do. A sense of rightness and calm overtook me and just before Vader lashed a deadly blow, I had accomplished the Whill.

Though the Force acted through me and I was struck down, it was not Vader's lightsaber that caused the onslaught of ripping pain, causing me to feel like I was being torn to pieces. No, Qui-Gon had explained this to me too—it was only now I knew and felt the meaning of his words:

Attachment.

Luke was devastated. Despite what little contact I had with him recently, we had formed a bond from the time he was born. However, the worst of the pain was that of Sabé's recognition. My beloved's soul was in agony and that was why I felt I was being torn apart.

But it was precisely this pain which allowed me later to return. I had no idea until that moment just how my sorrow at Qui-Gon's death had aided him in the Way of the Whills. Though I immediately regretted sobbing openly for him, since a Jedi ought to accept death more readily, such ancient thoughts were soon banished as I sensed Luke was in trouble.

Run, Luke! Run! I commanded and he promptly obeyed.

Once he was safe aboard Solo's ship, my grip on the physical world slackened and I felt my consciousness drifting to another plane.

I found myself coalescing in a garden very much like those of Theed or the area of the Garden of a Thousand Fountains in the Jedi Temple which had become a special meditation place for me. It was so very much like it, but different somehow. If it were possible, I would say it was more serene.

My heart went to my throat when I saw Qui-Gon approaching. However, it was not Qui-Gon who brought tears to my eyes, but the little girl he carried in his arms. As they neared, the little girl, who looked around the age of three, scrambled down from Qui-Gon and rushed over to me, embracing me.

'Someone's been quite eager to see you, Qui-Gon said.

I looked from Qui-Gon's smiling face to the little girl, her hair as dark as Sabé's, her shining eyes as blue as my own… It did not take the Force to identify her.

'Isellé,' I whispered, falling to my knees before her. Tears ran unbidden down my cheeks as I held our daughter and kissed her. Memories of her premature birth and almost immediate death flooded my thoughts, but these thoughts too were soon banished as though unhappiness could not exist here. It felt as though eighteen-odd years had been washed away.

'You finally come home, Daddy,' she said gleefully.