Can't in all honesty call this exact canon, but I've tried to keep it as close as possible, so not quite AU.
Crumbling
Morgana
Redcliffe Castle
She wonders why the walls aren't crumbling around her.
Alistair being put forward for the crown. Jowan about to be executed.
She argues for her friend to be freed, talks about how he has helped them all. Her companions stay silent even as she steps forward, looking into the Arl's eyes. The Arl who she's wishing she'd let die. "You have to let him free."
The Arl refuses, and she grits her teeth at hearing Jowan's options. Have him killed or send him to the Tower? She isn't sure which is worse.
It can never be simple - she's not stupid. He's a blood mage, they can't just let him live as he did before - they've had the consequences of being a so-called maleficar drilled into them since they could barely pronounce the word. Sending him to the Tower means having him made Tranquil.
She swallows. "I... I can't make that choice. It's not mine to make. I need to see him."
Eamon opens his mouth, and she sees in his eyes he will deny even this to her.
"I need to see him."
The Arl still looks doubtful. She looks to her side in surprise at hearing Alistair's voice. "He was her best friend. Give her this, at least. I'll... escort her, if necessary."
The Arl still looks hesitant, but nods.
Their footsteps echo on the stairway to the dungeons. Silence hangs between them. They both know what they're not saying. Alistair, king?
She speaks, eventually, but it is Jowan she talks about, not the man at her side. "But... he's a blood mage."
He looks down at her. "He's also your friend, no matter what I think. I thought you might want to say goodbye."
"I do."
She is surprised when he stops at the entrance to the dungeons. At her questioning look, he explains, simply, "I do trust you, you know."
Thank the Maker Duncan recruited him - he would have made a terrible templar. She determinedly ignores the voice in the back of her mind that says she needs his company (it's not true, anyway, she argues back), nods once, and walks to the cells.
Even with the supplies she gave him, Jowan is thinner than ever, his skin unhealthily pale. He looks up from where he is slumped against the bars when he sees her, his face brightening in a way so desperate it nearly breaks her heart. "Ana."
She longs to tell him that she can't help him, that there's no way out of this one. "Jowan..." She swallows, and a tear, the first in a long time, escapes. It trickles down her face, cooling quickly in this dank place.
"What's wrong?" He reaches out a hand to brush it away, not quite able to touch her through the bars. Why does that somehow make it so much worse? She steps forward, to his hand, and, as his fingers finally reach her cheek, she meets his eye, then quickly turns her gaze to the floor, not wanting to see his face.
"I tried. Maker, Jowan, I tried. They... they won't let you free - they want to execute you. Or... send you to the Tower. You know what that means."
"They'll make me Tranquil!" he gasps in horror. "The Pact... please."
In the darkness of the Tower library, having sneaked from their dormitories, three apprentices crouched in a corner, features partly obscured by the gathering shadows.
"Well, this is cheery," one of them remarked, sandy blond hair - unusually - loose.
"Don't, Anders. This isn't funny," another said, dark, shaggy hair even shaggier from his pillow.
"It's funny if I say it is. It was my idea," Anders retorted, shooting him a glare.
"Can we just... get on with it?" Morgana quietly interrupted, looking to the both of them.
Anders was, for once, silent, Jowan bowing his head - the two of them clasped hands. Anders' muttered comment of, "Maker, your palms are sweaty," didn't exactly help Jowan's nervousness. Morgana looked over her shoulder briefly - for templars - before giving them a hand each.
The three of them murmured quietly, "Death before Tranquility," finally meeting each other's eyes. A whisper of magic swept through the air, and then it was gone, the library dark and silent once again.
She looks Jowan in the eye, nods once, and hugs him as best as she can, bars between them. She spends all of her mana, sees the healing glow coming from her arms, and when he steps away, he is unmarked, his skin a healthier hue.
"Thank you," he says, weary resignation settling in his eyes. He pretends his eyes aren't watering, and she pretends too, a last favour. "Please... tell Lily I love her, if you can. Give her this for me, and... Don't come. Don't watch." He hands her two pieces of parchment.
"Of course." Her voice is quiet, but it echoes in the emptiness of the dungeon. "I... I don't regret a thing."
She walks away slowly, wiping away her tears as they fall, so that neither Jowan or Alistair will see her cry.
When she reaches Alistair a few short minutes later, most traces are gone. It doesn't matter - even though she doesn't look at him as she passes him in the corridor, he sees her face, her expression, and she sees it mirrored. Even with all that's happened - or maybe because of it - she doesn't have the heart to shake off the hand on her shoulder, warm through the gaps between the armour plates.
They walk on in silence.
She stands through the Arl's words about the treaties, and then the issue of Jowan raises its head. What is her decision?
Three words. "Make it quick." She turns her back on him, and walks out of the castle.
The wind at the gates blows Jowan's parchment out of her belt. Alistair hurries to pick them up, as she does, handing them to her. "Morgana..." He looks down at a piece. "One of these is addressed to you."
She takes the pieces, tucking the one on which she sees her name in a separate compartment in her belt. "Thank you." Her voice cracks, and she is angry at its betrayal.
He looks at her for a moment, a long look. "Any time."
They pretend not to watch each other slowly crumble.