Author's Note: Loosely based off the song Savior by Rise Against. Contest entry for the DeviantART group Circle of Magi. Vote for me, if you like it!
What makes this story slightly AU is that Lily never went to Aeonar, and Jowan never escaped long enough to poison the Arl.
30 Dragon
He saw the mist in her eyes, the shifting of her feet; it was silent, yet shrill, and the sensation of his blood slithering down his fingertips made it feel as if it were not only she that was scolding him, but The Fade as well.
The entire Foyer seemed to shift in that mid second - the moment where he'd seemed to call forth the wrath of the Maker himself with a simple wave of the hand - and so did the connection between he and them, the better mage and the Chantry's child. His elven sister appeared as if she absolutely refused to acknowledge the forbidden workings that'd occurred mere feet from her; her eyes remained planted to the stone beneath her, her fists clenched as though demons had taken hold of them.
And beside her was flowing robes that bore the Maker's insignia - cloth of brown and magenta, fringes of gold that draped before him in layers, as if they were made of flowing roses that cradled she who wore it. He saw hands, delicate pale hands that he could just recall caressing his own, and in the silence, he heard his heart skip a beat.
His eyes traveled up the body, the piece of art before him, searching for visage that he could place with the graceful form. And in the moonlight that shined through the vast windows, he saw it: the face, and the way the hair framed it; the eyes, and the way the brow supported it; the lips, and how they felt placed upon his. There was nothing that could challenge the serenity that simmered in his belly at that moment - what he had wished for, what he had longed for in the darkness of those apprentice rooms - and in the mist of blood and betrayal, he found himself smiling at the figure.
The form seemed to have caught his gaze, seeing the blood that still radiated around his hands, fallen protectors of the Magi in his wake. A scowl shredded its way across the face, and he gasped from the impact of his stomach lurching; and then, in the moment of their recognition, his of devotion and misguidance, and hers of condemnation and disbelief, the sight of her completely left his memory - the eyes, the hair, and the face he so cherished. And then he heard the whisper, so low not even silence could decipher it, yet it echoed throughout his mind.
I don't know you, blood mage. Leave me to my fate.
The room began to fade, the moonlight becoming a mere memory as shadows cascaded over the two of them. And though there was no light, he saw it as clear as day - one lone tear, mirroring a diamond in the night sky, falling into the noir air.
He was surrounded by darkness, but smelled the salt that fell from forgotten irises; there was nothing he could even think to say, nothing he could do, to calm the trembling, ease the terror in her heart, destroy the betrayal that danced over he, them, and their love.
Crimson began to rise in the distance, the substance that he had used instead of mana, and it engulfed him, along with the memories that sealed him inside his own redundant prison.
60 Dragon
A straggling gasp was the first sound he heard that spring morning; he jolted, yanking himself upward and in a sitting position, the crisp covers clutching onto him as his breath hitched, bouncing off the dark stone walls and ricocheting back onto his face. He slung his legs out of the bed and onto the floor, his heart beating so profoundly he could barely determine the difference between what used to be and reality.
He brought his hands to his lightening hair - the dark strands were slowly succumbing to grey - and snapped wide blue eyes shut, struggling to see the masterpiece in his mind, but there was nothing there; not the shade of her eyes, or how vibrant they were; not her smile, or the feel of her skin, or the length of her hair. Nothing. It was not real; it did not exist, not anymore. Not even as a memory. Yet it was what was deserved for what he'd done: being robbed of what he had wished to protect so badly, what he had sinned for in order to gain eternal peace.
Jowan brought his hands down from his head to his face, feeling the wrinkles, the wizened skin that had begun to form there. This was real; this was what he deserved.
He put a gap between his index and middle finger, giving an eye passage into the world before him - cramped darkness, a cell in a prison that seemed to sit in the alternate planes of Thedas...something that did not exist. Or something that was as forsaken and forgotten as he.
There was something heard in the dark space - a low, miserable cry, and a whimper. And in the darkness, Jowan wept.
61 Dragon
He thought he heard something in the distance - shallow whispers, light footsteps, and the crackling of flames. There was small persistence in going to the bars in his cell - the end of imprisonment and where freedom began - as he loathed the sound his creaking bones made when he walked. Yet he felt declined to do so this one time, as a somewhat pleasant sound such as this one was a rare occurrence in Aeonar. There was no pleading cries for mercy, no words of the Maker spat at the victim. Just calm walking, and conversation.
Jowan crouched over to the steel bars, the size of the cell forbidding him to stand.
Moments had passed before the sounds came more profound, and the sight of amber lit up the ebony shadows on the walls; he clutched a filthy hand around the steel, bringing his head forth as much as the barrier would allow.
"The maleficar are all in here, madam. Are you sure you wish to be alone with them?" gruffed a male voice, echoing in the distance.
"Yes, Ser Templar," remarked a light, feminine voice, so beautiful Jowan found himself blushing. "Preying for their souls is a private matter. It shall only be between me, them, and the Maker."
He heard a sigh. "Fine. I'll be right outside. Let me know if there's trouble."
"I doubt there will be, but you have my thanks. Go to your original post." She said, and the door slammed shut.
He heard footsteps again, light, fragile footsteps that sounded as if they were afraid to hurt the floor by their padding. And as she walked, he panted; there was something so familiar to the sound, so near that it made him almost nauseous.
She suddenly appeared, draped in brown and magenta, gold laced on the outlines of her robe, the cloth hugging her frame still as she strode towards him, hands placed over a large book. They were not so delicate as they were before; the skin had begun to wizen, and the veins were protruding.
Jowan frowned at her, head tilting as his mind seemed to go into a blank space. Who was she?
The woman, however, did not seem to share the same thought as he, as her eyes had widened, and her mouth had spun agape; green eyes, Jowan observed, and full pink lips that were a bit too wide for her jaw line.
The sound of a book slamming against stone brought him out of his thoughts; he jumped, looking up at the woman. Her hands were trembling, and her mouth quivered profoundly, as if she wished to speak, but couldn't find the words.
Jowan continued to stare at the woman, not knowing to be confused or fearful. Silence surrounded them, after the echoes of the falling book left the corridor.
The woman looked on at the man, her old memories fading and being replaced by new, tainted ones: a young, youthful face being replaced by an old, scarred and wrinkled one; thick ebony locks taken by thin wisps of grey, vibrant sapphire irises turning to dull tarnished rocks, a joyful, shy smile triumphed by a defeated, lifeless stare.
It was eons before she found her will. "Maker's breath..." She gasped, teeth digging into her skin. "Jowan?"
Jowan jumped at that, letting go of the bar. "Y...yes?" He questioned, voice quieting as he heard himself; he had not spoken in years, and the croak was just as unnerving as the creaks his body made.
She could not stop herself from trembling, yet she was able to force herself to step over to the bars that separated her from him; her hand clutched onto a pole, in the same manner that he had done not too long ago. And though she loathed herself for it, she could not stop the whisper, "You don't remember me?"
Jowan stepped back, analyzing her: the way her auburn hair framed her aging face, and her eyes shone a vibrant green spawned a twitch in his belly. His brow furrowed, as his mind's eye took him to a place it had locked away decades before: towering stone walls, dark but somehow inviting, with enormous windows that brought in sunlight. People in long robes, blues and reds and gold. Humans and elves; men and women. And amongst them was her, standing before them all. Him locking eyes with green pastures, and her and endless sea. Her catching his stare, then smiling the most beautiful smile he had ever seen at him. Then that scene fading to black, and words spewing,
I don't know you, blood mage. Leave me to my fate.
His heart seemed to stop for a moment, as he stared into the vibrant green eyes that had faded, just slightly. And he forced himself not to weep. "Lily," He breathed, and it was not a question.
She raised her chin, not taking her eyes off him, the vulnerability showing itself for a moment, then leaving. "Hmm. Still alive, I see. Barely."
She saw the hurt in his eyes, even when he tried to hide it. "You...you can't still be angry with me about that, could you Lily? Maker, I'm so sorry. I'll always regret it. It happened thirty years ago, and I still regret it."
Lily scoffed at him, scowling. "Sorry? Is that all you have to say? I was considered scum for years!" She shrieked, and the echoes seemed to linger, even minutes after she had spoken. "I am only alive and free today by the mercy of those above me. I had to work thrice as hard to prove myself, all thanks to you!" She pointed a wrinkled finger at him, green eyes becoming clouded by mist. "And all I get from you is sorry?"
He stood there like a sorrowful child receiving a lecture from his mother. Once again, there was nothing he could say to soothe her. Three decades later, he had failed her once more.
"Lily, please..." He uttered, so weak an infant could defeat it.
She scoffed again, giving out a small, bitter laugh. "Please what? Please forgive you?" She paused, bringing a hand to her hip. "Please try to understand why you did what you had to do?" She laughed again, this time sarcastically. "Please. I will not humor you by even considering those pitiful excuses."
She picked up her book, clutching it so closely to her bosom it looked like it pained her. "You do not deserve my blessing," She hissed, so low and apathetic it sent chills down his spine. "And neither does the other swine in this place."
He heard the lovely soft footsteps again, like bells ringing in the faint distance. He whined a lowly mewl once more, pleading, "Lily, I beg you -"
"I do not know you, blood mage!" She screeched, snapping her head towards him, hands trembling again. It was not a lie; she did not know this Jowan, the weak, pitiful being that stood before her. This was not the Jowan that blessed her dreams every night, the Jowan she longed for since she saw him run from her that night in the tower. This was a being of the damned, a foul creature she could not associate herself with, not even to hate or pity. And with that thought, Lily turned away from the battered mage, robes fluttering around her as she strode. And Jowan watched, recovered memories reminding him of the last time she and him had split apart, except this time, it was he that was left behind.
63 Dragon
He heard the footsteps again, and this time, he remembered. Bells ringing closer and closer to him, not fueled with hate as he had thought. They were calm and collected, and when Jowan saw Lily's face, there was serenity in her eyes, a homage to happier times.
"Hello," she chimed.
"Hello, Lily," he replied, bringing a hand to the nape of his neck. "Um...how are you?"
She ran a finger through her auburn hair, longer than he remembered. "Fine, I suppose. Listen, I...I want to talk to you."
And before she had finished well enough, he blurted, "Lily, Maker, I'm sorry for what I did. I wish there was something I could do to make it right, but all I've done is been trapped in Aeonar for decades. I would have been better off dead -"
"Shush!" She snapped, and all was quiet. "It's..it's all right, Jowan. It's in the past. And I should have known that ages ago,"
He brightened at that, relieved. "Really?"
She nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry for the horrible things I said to you."
He gave a soft, sad smile. "It's okay. Long time coming, I believe. And well-deserved. I'm just glad you don't hate me."
Lily looked taken aback, then her eyes softened. "Oh, Jowan," she sighed, running another hand through her hair. "I don't hate you. I never hated you. I just wanted to save you, help you seek redemption. That's why I pleaded for the Chantry to send you to Aeonar, instead of executed or made Tranquil. You would be alive, truly alive, and able to think of what you did with human emotion. And maybe we could have..." She trailed off then, looking away.
Jowan stared at her, brow raised. She was the reason why he was still alive today, when he had betrayed her and Surana so badly. The thought to ask her why was secondary; what was mandatory was telling her these three words, should he never muster up the courage to say them again. "I love you, Lily. Maker help me, I never stopped loving you. But this...whatever you seek from me..." He trailed off as well, sighing. "I'm not the answer to the questions you might still have. I can't give you what you want. I will fail you every single time, and you don't deserve that."
She was trembling again, but this time he reached out a hand to comfort her. "No?" She asked.
He shook his head, bringing out his arm as far as the bars would let him. "No."
She looked up at him, eyes sparkling with tears. "All right. Perhaps you're right." She sniffed, wiping at her eyes. "I should leave now. I just wanted to clear things up before it was too late."
He nodded, and took away his touch. She walked towards the door, hand reaching for the handle until she stopped herself, head turning towards him again. "I will find you redemption, Jowan," She whispered, quietly. "Whether you'd like me to or not." And she left then, leaving him in the silence.
Jowan drew into himself, screaming at himself for not calling after her.
64 Dragon
It was morning; there were no windows in his cell, but he just felt it. Time had seemed to slow down even further and show him some pities, telling him of when it was dawn or dusk.
His thoughts were interrupted as the sound of metal banging against metal bounced across his ears; he yelped, snapping his head toward the sound. A young templar was standing there, heavy scowl upon his face.
"Oy, Jowan! Get up you old fart, you've been summoned!"
The door was opened, and for once, the sound of creaking did not depress Jowan. He eagerly got out of bed, and when he questioned them, he was silenced and belittled. Another templar joined them, and they pushed Jowan along the corridors, verbally abusing him as he admired the darkness that was just the same as that in his cell's, yet somehow different.
They made it to the Foyer, and another templar came into place, opening a scroll and reading it.
"Jowan the Maleficar, you have been summoned by the Grey Warden advisor Mage Surana to speak with her; this is her final wish, before she ventures out on her Calling. Mother Lily shall accompany you, so that you may speak publicly of your crimes and serve the Maker in your road to redemption."
He was pushed right before the threshold of the open doors, and he saw brightness: sunlight, and sand, the smell of salt filling the air; the ocean was roaring in waves, it's vibrant blue capturing his sight for miles.
He beamed at the old, yet somehow newly discovered world, and asked through a smile, "Mother Lily sent for me to leave here?"
"Yes. Congratulations, you have your own sodding savior," He grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Now get out of here!"
Jowan turned his head away from the templar, ignoring him, for a mere feet from him was salvation; a carriage, horses drawn to it as they stood on the road, with a tall aged woman standing just as proudly beside them, delicate hands on the reins. She smiled at Jowan, and he immediately saw the girl who beamed and blushed at him inside the tower.
And though he tried to fight it, Jowan could not stop the tears from falling out of his eyes; he was free.
Heaviness leaving his heart, Jowan let out the lightest sigh he'd had in years, and stepped out of the steel doors.