The dungeon was rancid with the smell of rotting corpses that had been brought for later burial. She reeled at the scent, but the only other living thing had seemed to grow used to it or stopped caring.
The way she still doubled over at the presence of the dead was a cruel reminder it had only been a few months since a woman had died and a Warden had rose from the ashes. She tried to live up to this role- to appear unwavering and perfect in front of those who looked for guidance- but the dark had a way of unravelling a soul to its very core.
It had certainly worked on the hand that gripped the iron bar.
"The guards have already come. I've been told you'll be the one to…"
"Yes"
There is nothing to soften the blow, and in no way will she try to. Jowan knows the only love she gives is in the form of cruel mercy.
He says something about how this was his doing and thus should be his consequences but the Warden does not listen. She instead looks at the way he cradles his arm, the lines of scars that had not been healed properly. Five cuts from knives were visible alongside the sign of a stretching rack pulled to its limits.
When she had last come here, it was in a haze of adrenaline and blood. He had mentioned the torture from behind his cell but it had barely sunk in before she'd unlocked the doors and told him to run, run as far away as he could. Of course, he didn't leave and later offered to help in the only way he appeared to know how- at the cost of someone else's life.
But this was Isolde's mess- she protested to no one- Jowan's pain was her doing. She would not say as much to Alistair after flecks of spit had landed on her face with his screaming, but she was glad the Orlesian wretch was dead. She deserved no more.
She remembered their patronising expressions as she stormed from the hall- Arl Eamon, Lelianna, that assassin Zevran- and hated every single one of them. Was this the Maker's whim? Why should she save these people who meant nothing, and yet murder those who meant everything?
Her brother- her almost brother- seemed to see the same distant rage in her eyes as he did when she decided to go through with the blood ritual, and waits. She was like this in the Tower, but never before had it been so all-consuming and used as such a sinister coping mechanism. Mouth taut, he worried not for himself, but for a girl who he will leave behind.
"Why did you turn to blood magic?"
Jowan stops, and seems to flick through his mind for the answer he had rehearsed. Out of all the questions, he expected this one the most. "You'll laugh at me." A humourless smile that was not returned, "It was because of you. I watched from the side-lines as you grew to become a great mage and I-"
They both jumped at the sound of a brick dislodging from its place to fall to the floor.
"- You were arrogant, and with good reason. I knew blood magic was wrong the second I used it but… but I'd only dabbled until Lily."
Months of intermittent physical and psychological torture and that same passion threatened to spark in his eye at the mention of her name. He loved Lily, and it asphyxiated the Warden. He had ruined every one of their lives for love.
She had to stifle a snort at that thought. It seemed like such a foreign and childlike emotion these days.
"She wanted me for being… me, and I was happy. I would have left blood magic alone if it wasn't for the Rite of Tranquillity. I would have, you know that, don't you? Don't you?" He begs her for some kind of reassurance then remembers who she is. There are no more words for him to say. Not much time before she must plunge the knife and walk over his corpse.
Silence. Cold calculations run inside her head, and he is the only conclusion. There can be no reprise. A woman will walk back into the halls of Redcliffe Castle covered in the blood of her only friend and she will move on.
In the back of her head there was a voice that cried for the need to go home, but then it realised there was no home to go back to.
"I wish you had left me out of this. I wish I had died."
The confession is out of nowhere and she doesn't even remember wanting to say it. Jowan stares, like he is seeing her for the first time, and presses his head to the prison rods. There is no longer Surana, but a husk with eyes like tunnels that reflect the evil of man's heart; a Grey Warden.
Then his gaze fall to the bandages wrapped around her hand.
"What have they done to you? Oh Maker, what have I done?"
He thought he was finished with this. He thought he was finished with crying, and although no tears came out he is wracked with frustrated sobs. He'd just killed another person without realising it.
The shadows seemed to titter at this weakness but the lack of any kind of reaction from his friend hurt more than any execution could.
It shook her more than he thought. The air she holds falters, and for a moment the brash but innocent child that was thrown into the hell of Ostagar screams for dominance. The overbearing truth of war pins it down, then the soft scratch of a dagger being taken from its sheath silences it.
"I'm sorry" It's a hollow apology, but there is a crack on the last syllable.
"No, I am. You didn't deserve-" He takes a moment to gulp down the stagnant air "-this. Please, I…"
"What do you need me to do?" Cold in every sense, but dutiful when he least deserves it.
"If you ever see Lily again, tell her I only tried to protect her. Tell her I loved her until the end." A nod. Jowan's knuckles were white with clenching the metal bars "And… for my sake, keep going."
She didn't understand. Keep going? She was moving, wasn't she?
"You're my sister and a good person" He grabs at her scarred hand through the alcove and grips it "Don't make my mistakes."
The façade shatters with his final request. The arrogance lay in ruin at her feet and underneath it sheltered a woman barely in her mid-twenties that cried for the loss of innocence, a life she will never have and the death of a friend who deserved better.
"Maker keep you. Maker forgive me"
Steel shatters his heart. Release.