"Having been found guilty of fratricide, you have been sentenced to exile and death by the Assembly of Orzammar."
Guran could do nothing but hear the words of Lord Harrowmont in stunned silence. The coarse fabric of the clothes he had been made to wear during his stay in Orzammar's prison chafed uncomfortably, but it was as though his physical pains were in a world separate from his mind, which could do nothing but replay the events of the last few days, over and over.
"Guran. Look me in the eye and tell me that you did not slay your brother. For your father's sake." Harrowmont's voice was as a weak and pale imitation of its usual self. Guran recalled having heard the old dwarf speak before the Assembly once, on a matter of taxation or trade tariffs or some other question that had bored him out of his skull. The one thing he had remembered was how powerfully and emotionally Harrowmont had argued his case, with a powerful, booming voice that had echoed throughout the hall, even though he could now remember neither the question nor Harrowmont's position in regards to it.
The iron longsword that Gorim had given him as they parted ways weighed heavily on his back. He knew that he could strike the old dwarf down where he stood. Harrowmont had been a great warrior, once, but Guran reckoned that age and soft living had weakened his body long ago. Turning his head to look directly into the High-General's eyes for the first time in days, he could see that Harrowmont was thinking the same thing. Guran clenched his fists, then released them, then clenched them, then released them again. The motion felt good. He had barely moved at all since his imprisonment.
"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" The old dwarf's voice was hopeful, begging. Guran straightened his back, feeling his vertebrae crackle. Harrowmont winced at the sound, and Guran noted that his impression of King Endrin's chief advisor seemed accurate. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on Harrowmont's eyes as he opened his mouth to speak.
"No." He had meant to say more, but the words would not come. He could feel a lump forming in his throat, and he lowered his gaze again. Harrowmont, no doubt, would take this as an admission of guilt, but it did not matter any longer. Nothing mattered. In Harrowmont's eyes, and the eyes of every other dwarf in Orzammar, he was already dead. He was less than dead. His name was to be removed from all records, all evidence of his existence destroyed. It would only be a matter of days before he was dead in body as well as in name.
"So be it. Open the gates and let the condemned walk forth." At the High-General's words, the giant, elaborately carved stone gates swung open, as though the Stone itself would not suffer Guran's presence in Orzammar any longer. Slowly, stumbling, Guran stepped forward. He felt as though he would fall over forward if he walked any faster, and as he looked out towards the Deep Roads before him, he realized that for the first time in his life, he was truly alone. Gorim had always been at his side before, and on the few occasions that Gorim had been absent, there were always others. His brothers, Frandlin Ivo, Adal Helmi and her sister, Nerav… Even if none of them had been present, there had always been guards, servants, and others seeking to gain favour with House Aeducan. And now the Deep Roads lay ahead, and he was alone. As the gates shut behind him, for the first time in his life Guran Aeducan, former prince and commander of Orzammar, felt truly afraid.