It had been six long months since that fateful battle with Corypheus at the destroyed Temple of Sacred Ashes. Uth'Shiral Lavellan had spent every day since then in the same way. She would wake up, she would wander the slowly emptying hallways, she would visit the War Room to attend to business. Every time she passed the rotunda on her way to the library, she couldn't help but look for him. Every time she spoke with Leliana, she was hoping for news that never came. Then she would go on a long ride on her favorite red hart – the closest thing she had available to one of her halla friends – and wouldn't return to Skyhold until her cheeks burnt from the sun, the wind, and the cold, and dusk had settled firmly over the mountaintop.
Every evening ended only after she stood on her balcony gazing toward Skyhold's gates, and then curled up on a pile of furs she'd thrown at the foot of the bed that she ignored – a pointless, all too human, luxury that she refused to partake of lest she become too used to its comfort to return to her clan and their wandering ways.
That night, as she stood on the balcony beneath the full moon, she realized that it was time to move forward.
He was gone. He had promised an explanation that never came, and he hadn't even said a farewell. He had lied to her, again and again, and she had soaked up his lies just as Skyhold's cats lapped up saucers of milk. She wanted to be angry, but she'd always suspected he wasn't precisely what he said. After meeting Abelas, she had wondered even more. Did she ever even love him, or did she love only the lies he presented to her? Had there been a purpose to his actions, or was he simply as crafty and manipulative as the Dread Wolf himself? On this night, just as every night before it since he had pushed her away, she wasn't sure.
The very evening she had arrived back at Skyhold, with Solas no longer at her side, Leliana had taken her quietly aside to inform her that her entire clan had been slain in a ruckus with the nobles of Wycome. With or without Solas, her plan had been to return to her kin and immerse herself in a sense of familiarity that no amount of time in Skyhold could provide her. Now, that would never be possible.
Skyhold had never been her home. The Inquisition had never been her family. Every day, one more person left her, and another piece of her heart shattered. Finally, it had only been Uth'Shiral and Sera, and the three advisors—Sera, at least, had a home with the Inquisition. Soon enough, Leliana would be gone, as well, off to serve the Chantry. Those closest to her – the spirit, Cole, and the dwarf, Varric – were already gone away. Cole had returned to the Fade, and Varric to Kirkwall. The advisors, particularly Josephine and Leliana, were concerned at the increasing distance between the Inquisitor and those who followed her.
As far as Uth'Shiral was concerned, she'd had enough of being in charge. The Inquisition had completed its purpose. Empress Celene would have to find other ways to defend her throne, for her Dalish ally had no desire to send the Inquisition's soldiers to be Celene's pawns. There had been more than enough death and destruction, more than enough loss and broken hearts. She was not fool enough to believe she was the only one who had lost someone she loved in all of the fighting.
Not only that, but more and more, her heart followed her name. She was the Eternal Journey, the one who could never rest. Always seeking knowledge, looking for a home that would never exist, least of all now, with her vallaslin gone and her clan dead. Who would vouch for her among the Dalish, when only a handful of people could possibly recognize her? No matter how much sympathy she had for the elves of the cities, their lives and their ways were not hers any more than the ways of the Chantry's supporters.
She comforted herself with what Varric had once said – that you won at life, at the world, by simply continuing to get up every morning and face the day again. Yet, it wasn't enough. It had been six months, and it was time to face the reality: Her clan was gone, and Solas wasn't coming back. She could stay with the Inquisition, increasing her power and changing Thedas by spending the lives of her troops. She had considered it, for a time. With nothing else to live for, could she not reclaim purpose by trying to do good for others? The problem was that it was no longer easy to see how causing more fighting and more death could possibly be good for anyone, even if the elves and the mages, and everyone else as a result, benefited in the end.
The Arlathvhen, she had heard, was coming soon. Though she was now barefaced – a child all over again in the eyes of her people – she had a few cousins who had married into other clans and could vouch for her. Others would recognize the Inquisitor who had stood up for her people. Surely there was a clan somewhere who needed a Keeper's First or Second. Someday, when the pain was less, she would find a good man to marry—a good man she might never be able to love, but with whom she could share a culture and a family, and forget about the past and the burden that had weighed her down ever since she had become a part of the Inquisition.
She fought back the tears her reflections threatened to bring and began to throw various small possessions together, bundling them into the furs she'd been sleeping in all this time. She knew that some of the people remaining would see her fleeing across the courtyard; she was a mage, and rarely needed to be stealthy. She didn't give anyone a chance to seek her out or stop her; she didn't even pause to saddle her hart. She leapt onto his bare back and set out into the night, wolves making their fearsome music in the mountains all around her.
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I can't see why kids wanted to be grown ups. 
