Whare Potae (The House of Mourning)

Epilogue

Author's Note: That last chapter was a little weirdly personal for me, maybe more so than I intended.

All right, let's finish strong.

Epilogue

For a long time after Maui had left, Moana stood by herself on the beach with her feet in the surf, trying to make sense of what had just happened. The ocean, bubbling sympathetically over and around her toes, felt soothing and real, which was refreshing after what had just happened, which Moana still couldn't quite believe had actually happened.

Things like this just don't happen to real people, she told herself. I mean, ancient magical demigods don't actually just profess their undying love for real people down on the beach only moments after sacrificing themselves to save the world, and my village, and...and me. I mean, this isn't something I expected to have to handle. I figured the most I'd have to deal with, in terms of men, would be having a crush on someone who didn't like me back, or maybe not being able to find a guy on my island who I didn't play with when we were kids. Nobody told me it was going to get complicated in such a legendary way. I was not prepared.

Then again, she realized, she'd never let herself live what anyone would call a "normal" life. At sixteen, she'd been fighting off monsters on her way to save the world from a terrible darkness. At twenty, she was sneaking around in the realm of the dead, plotting the rescues of gods.

"I have lived a legendary life," she sighed. "People may even write songs and tell stories about me for years to come, all because you decided I was the right person to save the world. Sometimes I'm not sure if I should say thank you."

The ocean swished around her ankles, and Moana raised an eyebrow at it.

"And," she went on, "all of that has gotten me...where?" Glancing over her shoulder, she looked up the path towards her village, where, by now, most people had recovered from the earthquake and were going happily about their daily tasks. Moana could hear her father singing, her mother laughing, probably at something silly or stupid that Pua had done or that one of the village children had said. Everything in Motunui was mundane, everyday, and Moana had a sudden, intense longing to go home and to stay home for good.

"Being a hero," she mumbled, "is...complex."

As she turned back around to face the sea, the ocean chose that moment to spray her directly in the eye.

"Aaah!" Wincing and blinking frantically, Moana wiped her hand across her face. "Hey, what was that for?"

She felt the tattoo of Maui's fish hook against the back of her hand, frowned, and looked out at the horizon, listening despite herself for the cries of a hawk, which she didn't hear.

"So," she asked the ocean, "where do you think he went? Back to that island? No, probably not."

A wave surged out of the water, then collapsed back again, almost as though the ocean was shrugging.

"Yeah," agreed Moana. "I guess it doesn't matter, right? He's probably fine on his own. I should just...I should let him cool off. Maybe we can talk about this when he's feeling a little better. He's kinda been through a lot, lately. Sure, I get that. I can wait."

She said it to reassure herself, really, but Moana remembered the genuine anguish and anger that she'd seen on Maui's face before he'd transformed himself and flown away. She hated the idea that she had been the cause of all those terrible feelings.

"Yeah," she asked herself aloud, "but what else could I have done? I mean...maybe he'll get over it. Maybe once he's over it, he'll come back and we can just...we can just be the way we were, twenty minutes ago, before anybody was in love with anybody else...before everything went totally insane! Yeah...that would be nice."