Epilogue: a New Landscape
Meila crested the ridge and paused, taking in the view before her. The mountains sprawled in all directions, save where they met the sea behind her. She could see the lonely shapes of hamlets and ruins alike breaking into the greens and browns of a lush, craggy wilderness.
Her single companion limped up behind her, breathing hard, and all but collapsed on the trail they'd been following. "Are we almost there?" he panted.
"I cannot say just yet, da'lethallin."
He groaned, his head drooping over his knees. "Fantastic. You know, I wish I had been as smart as the wolf, and refused to get on the blasted boat."
That brought a pang of regret. The white wolf had indeed been reluctant to cross the Waking Sea, and so they'd been forced to leave him behind, in Ferelden. Meila could not begrudge their once-companion for that; she had been reluctant to go north as well.
Everything she was had bade her turn west, to Haven. That was where her heart was headed, after all.
However, what she had told her vhenan was true. She would not be able to devote her life to a Maker she did not follow, any more than Leliana could live among the Dalish. Asking her to would have been cruel, because Leliana thrived on excitement and her connection with other people. Among the people of the Dales, she would have gotten neither of those things, and it would have destroyed her.
No, it was better this way. Meila had a duty to her kin to uphold. The security and sanity of her companion was at stake, and that let her set the pang of longing aside.
She was Dalish. She had been trained to treasure the past, to dwell within it. She had always clung to tradition and history, with nary a thought of where that might lead.
But now she had learned otherwise. The Wardens had taught her to live in the moment, instead of clinging to a history that none of them had lived. And Leliana had taught her to hope... not just for the distant dream of Arlathan, but for the wellbeing and happiness of nearer, more attainable futures. Leliana had turned bitterness and blind hatred into hope.
She would treasure hope forever, and never forget the amazing, strange woman who had enabled it.
She turned back to her ward. "Do you need a rest?"
"Just... give me a minute." Kazar ran his hands through his hair. His face was flushed, and his red-blond hair was darkened to copper with sweat. "Where are we?"
Meila turned her gaze back over the wilderness. "A mountainous region, it seems."
He cast her a flat look. "I meant, like, on a map. Where are we on a map?"
"We are not on a map at the moment, da'lethallin."
He looked up at her, narrow-eyed. "Are you... teasing me?"
"So it would seem." She felt the tug of a smile on her face.
"It's official. I'm going insane." Kazar climbed to his feet. "Let's get my inevitable descent over with, then. Where to?"
"The trail of the aravels continues this way." Meila started down the path, and he followed at a slower pace behind.