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“Warden Commander Surana!” the yeoman called. “The ship is ready to embark at your order, ser.”
“Good,” said Semper. She was standing on the Amaranthine docks, gazing out onto the sea to the East. She couldn’t quite see the unbroken horizon from here — the island of Alamar in the distance stood in the way — but she’d been pondering the view all the same. She turned to the yeoman. “Double check all the cargo — the lyrium supply, healing potions, the rations, water, everything. If there isn’t enough to last us at least a year, it’s not enough.”
“Yes, ser,” said the yeoman. He turned to leave, but Semper caught his sleeve.
“And… tell everyone to say their goodbyes.” She swallowed hard. “Tell them to take one last long look at the people they love, and commit their faces to memory. Once we leave, there’s no coming back.”
The yeoman’s eyes went glassy, but his voice was steady when he said, “I… I’ll tell them, ser.”
She nodded. “We leave at nightfall. Be ready.”
The yeoman saluted her before turning to carry out her order. Semper turned her attention back to the sea ahead.
She would have to say her own goodbyes, soon. Leliana, Cullen, and Inquisitor Lavellan would be there to see them off, ostensibly representing the Inquisition’s involvement in making this expedition possible. The Champion and her lover Fenris would be there, of course — she had gotten well acquainted with the two over the course of several months at Weisshaupt, and without their efforts Semper may not have unravelled the tangled web of clues and leads that ultimately pointed her to whatever lay across the sea. Zevran and Isabela would also be there, which was bound to bring some levity to an otherwise solemn departure. And lastly, Morrigan and her son. Semper… did not know how to feel about that. She wondered if the boy looked like him, and if he did, whether that would be a curse or a boon. Would it even matter? Nothing could bring him back. Nothing would give her the chance to say goodbye.
Semper hated goodbyes, but she’d give anything, anything to see him just one more time. To say goodbye, or even just to know. Did he suffer? Did he think of her, at the end? In death, sacrifice — it was their sworn oath, they both knew it, but its inevitability could never make the loss sting any less.
She would join him in the Beyond, soon enough. Oh, she would tell her friends that she would come back with a cure, but she knew the truth. She was going to die out there; she could feel it in her bones. She was already living on borrowed time — what could she do but make the most of what time she had left, leaving a trail for those that came after? There was a cure for the Blight out there somewhere, she was sure of it, just as she was sure that one day, becoming a Grey Warden wouldn’t be a death sentence. But she would not see that happen, not in her lifetime.
She might have been bitter about that prospect, before. Now, she couldn’t bring herself to care. What would she do with more time, anyway? If she couldn’t spend it with him, the gift of time was no gift at all.
So, she steeled her heart, and she put on a brave face, like she always had. She would never know what it was like not to have the weight of the world on her shoulders, and she would never know what it was like to grow old with the person she loved. When she said her goodbyes that night, she saw Cullen and the Inquisitor, Hawke and Fenris, and mourned what could have been, if they had only had time. Alistair, she thought, I’ll see you soon, love.
And then they embarked, into the great unknown, never to return.