Chapter Twelve: Blood Brothers

Fire crackling. Quiet voices talking to one another. An owl hooting somewhere. Soft ground beneath him. A warm blanket draped over him to keep out the chill. And then a sharp pain in his side.

His eyes shot open and he jolted upright, looking around wildly and seeing only dark shapes and shadows.

"It's alright!" A voice cried. "Please, lie back down. You need to rest."

Everard did not try to resist the hands that gently pushed him back down. However, he refused to sleep any further. Instead, he turned his head to look at the small fire lit nearby. He watched as the flames danced. He reached out as though to touch them but someone grabbed his wrist.

"You need to sleep," that same voice said. "You will feel better with more rest."

Everard could not resist as the owner of the voice cast a sleeping spell over him. He was just thinking about the irony of that when he was enveloped by the darkness again.

OoOoOoOoO

When Everard came to once more, the fire was out. There were people moving about but they were blocked as a man came into view. Everard focused his gaze on the man; there was a red scar on his face that curved from his mouth and upwards to his hairline, giving the impression of a permanent wide smirk. He had unruly black hair that was a stark contrast to his finely trimmed beard and moustache. The man's eyes were possibly the darkest brown that Everard had ever seen. And his clothes were probably the dirtiest. In fact, his shirt had a rather obvious bloodstain across the front.

"He's awake, Levyn," the man announced, looking over someone that Everard couldn't see.

Everard started to sit up but the man held him down.

"It would be best if you waited to move," he remarked.

"You could be a little gentler with him." Everard knew that voice. The one who had put him back to sleep. But that wasn't all…

"Jowan…?" Everard said slowly, unsure if it truly was his old friend.

Jowan's face replaced the other man's. But he looked different. His hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and he had actually shaved his stubble. Also, he had traded in his robes for doeskin trousers and a grey tunic.

"I didn't know that you knew each other," the man commented.

"I'm sorry, Paxton. I would have mentioned it but I was a little busy trying to heal his wounds," Jowan replied.

"Yes, well, I think he needs to explain to us what happened. And what that…book is that he has," Paxton retorted.

Everard tried to sit up again and this time Jowan helped him. He handed Everard a skin of water and told him to drink it before he tried speaking again. He did this, draining the whole thing in one gulp. He ended up coughing as the water seemed to go down his throat the wrong way.

"By the way," Jowan said as Everard coughed and tried to regain his breath, "your staff was snapped in half."

Everard's face drained of color at that.

"Wh-where is it?" He asked.

"It's not salvageable," Paxton chimed in. "It was snapped clean in two."

Everard reached out and grabbed Jowan by the front of his tunic.

"Where is it?" He demanded through gritted teeth.

He suddenly felt cold steel against his throat and Paxton said warningly, "Back off or I will make you, boy."

The air briefly sizzled with electricity before Everard released Jowan.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, averting his gaze from both men. "That staff was…special to me. We'd survived a lot together, that staff and I."

"Is it the one that you took from the repository?" Jowan inquired.

Everard nodded and then said, "I need to leave. I have to get back to Redcliffe."

"No," Paxton rejoined. "You have to tell us what in Andraste's name happened to you and what that…that book is."

Paxton gestured over to Flemeth's grimoire, which was lying close by.

"You wouldn't believe me," Everard replied matter-of-factly.

He reached out and grabbed the book. A cold chill went down his spine but he ignored it as he brought the grimoire closer. He did not miss the looks that Paxton and Jowan exchanged.

"What?" He asked.

"You need to tell us," Paxton pressed. "After one of our friends touched that…thing," he scowled at the grimoire, "he started to vomit blood. He's alright now but…it was still rather shocking."

[Alright. If he wants to know, then I'll tell him,]Everard thought.

Everard played with the clasp on the grimoire as he said, "I had a run-in with Flemeth and ended up with her grimoire."

"Bullshit," Paxton snarled.

"No," Jowan retorted. "No, he's definitely telling the truth."

Paxton stared at Jowan in disbelief and Jowan shrugged. Paxton shook his head and said, "Fine then. He's telling the truth. However, that still leaves many other questions."

Everard knew that telling Paxton that he was a Grey Warden would be a bad idea, considering how many people believed Loghain's lie that the Wardens betrayed Cailan.

"I don't exactly have the time to deal with this," Everard remarked. "I need to leave."

"Why are you in such a hurry?" Paxton demanded.

Everard ignored him and slowly stood up, holding the book by the binding. For a brief moment, he felt lightheaded and a little ill. It passed quickly, though, and Everard started to try to move forward. But then an arrow flew by his head, narrowly missing his right ear. He stopped in his tracks as he realized that the other people in the camp had drawn their weapons. And some of them had staves. Not including Jowan and Paxton, there were ten others. Some were elves but the majority was made up of humans. Paxton stood up and told the others to stand down. Jowan also climbed back up to his feet, a worried look marring his features.

Everard took one step forward, dropped the book, stumbled, and would have fallen had Paxton not reached out and caught him. Everard then proceeded to hurl all over the poor man's boots. Instantly, Paxton shoved Everard away from him. The young man hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs.

"Just lovely," Paxton grumbled, glaring down at Everard.

"He couldn't help it. He tried to move too soon," Jowan said, kneeling down beside his friend. To Everard he added, "You need to rest some more."

"No," Everard replied, wincing. "I need to get back to Redcliffe. If I'm not back soon, the others will start to worry and then I'll have a whole new problem on my hands."

"What others are he talking about?" Paxton asked.

"His companions," Jowan sighed, running a hand over his face.

"Exactly," Everard confirmed. "As I said, if I don't—"

"Then I will gladly take you back," Paxton interjected. "After you tell us what happened between you and Flemeth."

"I made a deal with her," Everard said, "that involves lying to a friend of mine and giving her the grimoire to help strengthen the lie."

"What are you lying about?" Someone else nearby asked.

"That I killed Flemeth. The grimoire is the 'proof' of her death," Everard muttered. "Except she clearly didn't want me leaving without a wound or two, so she attacked me as I left."

"I still think you're lying," Paxton remarked.

"Must you be so skeptical of me?" Everard queried, getting back up on his feet. "Now that I've told you what happened, I think you should avow your promise to take me back to Redcliffe."

"I still think you should—" Jowan began.

"No," Paxton interjected. "Don't try to make him stay. None of us even want him here."

"Try not to speak for everyone, would you?" An elf remarked, stepping forward. She had wavy brown hair and inquisitive amber eyes.

Paxton glanced over at her and said, "Lyria, how nice of you to join in. Where have you been for the last six hours?"

"Watching from afar," Lyria shrugged. "This shem intrigues me," she added, gesturing to Everard. "In fact, I am quite curious to know what makes him so special that Flemeth would be willing to talk to him."

It was at this moment that Everard realized that Lyria was right to wonder that. And he began to try to think of reasons why Flemeth would save him and Alistair, why she would strike a deal with him…

He couldn't come up with anything except that Alistair was technically a prince. Even then, that seemed like a long shot since Flemeth didn't exactly seem like she would care about politics and, well, it gave no reason why she rescued Alistair andEverard from the Tower of Ishal. For some strange reason, it almost physically hurt to think about it all.

Naturally, Lyria was staring at him, clearly expecting a valid answer. [Yet she won't get one.]

"I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know what she sees in me. There's nothing…special about me that I can think of."

[Well, that's kind of a lie. But I do not need to be advertising that I have strange visions of another man,]he added to himself.

"I cannot bring myself to believe you," Lyria remarked.

"It doesn't really matter, does it?" Jowan declared. "To be honest…Everard attracts the strangest people sometimes."

"I doubt that the Witch of the Wilds has a crush—" Lyria began.

"Well, it depends on which one you mean," Everard interjected without even thinking.

Instantly, everyone was staring at him again. A long, uncomfortable silence followed his words. Everard chose to ignore the incredulous looks that he was getting.

"Jowan? Could we talk…in private for a moment?" He asked, picking the book back up.

"Yes. Of course," Jowan replied.

They walked away, leaving the others in their shocked silence.

"What is it?" Jowan asked once they were far enough away from the camp.

"I wanted to tell you that…I'm glad that you've become a healer," Everard answered. "You were always great at it and I had often wondered why you never truly focused on healing. And now that I know…you were jealous of me…which you shouldn't be. Not anymore, at least."

"What?" Jowan sounded honestly confused.

"Being a Grey Warden comes with its…negative side effects. For example, I more than likely won't live beyond the age of fifty," Everard replied.

"But…you had a choice, didn't you?" Jowan inquired.

"Not much of one," Everard responded. "It was either learning what Irving and Greagoir were going to do to me or going with Duncan and becoming a Grey Warden. As it stands, I'd rather have chanced it with Irving and Greagoir. At least then I wouldn't have had to worry about saving Thedas."

He smirked and added, "Oh, by the way, I'm a maleficar. Wonderful, isn't it? Maybe Anders will become one too. Then we can form a gang called the Blood Brothers. You know what else is funny? You and Anders are healers. But I'm not."

"Anders was always partial to fire magic, though," Jowan pointed out.

"And you always liked whatever I did," Everard muttered.

"I usually failed at replicating what you did," Jowan said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Like that time you set Sarah's bloomers on fire," Everard chuckled.

Jowan laughed and said, "Yes. Exactly. Disaster followed in my wake."

"Like when you froze your own legs together and fell down a flight of stairs," Everard responded.

"That hurt, by the way," Jowan replied.

They were both grinning like idiots now, the seriousness of earlier seemingly forgotten.

"I hope we'll see each other again," Everard declared, clapping a hand on Jowan's shoulder. "Thedas can't be that big, can it?"

"You seem to pop up everywhere so, no, I guess it's not," Jowan agreed, gently removing Everard's hand. "That's my bad shoulder, by the way. I took an arrow there as I tried to slip by a bandit camp."

He did not miss the dark look that crept into Everard's blue eyes nor how his lips twitched slightly.

"I am rather sure that the archer is dead," Jowan assured him. "Now then, you should probably go. Paxton seems to want to be rid of you and…Flemeth's grimoire."

As they headed back towards the camp, Everard suddenly stopped and said, "You know, Jowan, you and Anders are the closest thing to family that I have. I-I meant what I said. The Blood Brothers thing…just maybe minus the blood magic part. Because that's what you two mean to me." A thought occurred to him right then. "Did you hear about what happened at the Circle Tower? That it was overrun with abominations and blood mages?"

"Ah, yes. Three of the mages here escaped at about that time," Jowan answered sheepishly.

"Oh. That's good," Everard replied, looking around.

"What are—" Jowan started to say.

But he was cut off as Everard suddenly hugged him. Hesitantly, Jowan returned the gesture. It was rare for Everard to openly display affection.

When Everard released him, Jowan immediately asked, "You were talking about Anders and then you brought up the Circle…are you trying to say th-that Anders is dead?"

"That is just the problem. I do not know," Everard muttered. "But I am preparing myself for the worst. After all, not much has gone right in my life recently."

He put a hand to his head and looked away.

"Are you—" Jowan began.

"I'm fine," Everard mumbled. "I think it's time for me to leave, though."

When they returned to the camp, Lyria and Paxton were clearly having a hushed argument. The others were casting dubious looks at them as their argument seemed to come to a head. Paxton threw his arms up into the air in a frustrated manner before he stalked away into the trees. Lyria had a smug look on her face as she watched him go. She beamed when she saw Everard and Jowan approach.

"That's not a good a sign," Jowan said quietly to Everard.

"I'm going to come with you and Paxton!" Lyria declared joyously.

"Why?" Everard asked. It was obvious that he wasn't too thrilled at the idea.

Lyria didn't miss a beat, "I want to go visit someone there, of course. Anyway, here's a bag so that you can carry the book easier and—"

"Surana!" Paxton suddenly barked. "Come help me get the bloody horses!"

"Calling me by my last name now? How childish," Lyria called back.

She gave Jowan and Everard a small smile before she went to where Paxton was.

"Horses?" Everard repeated, glancing at Jowan.

"You know what those are," Jowan retorted.

"But they usually pull carts or carriages, right?" Everard replied.

Jowan chuckled and said, "You can ride them as well."

Everard stared at him blankly.

"You will be alright," Jowan remarked, smiling wanly.

"But will you be?" Everard asked.

"Keeping you from bleeding out took a lot out of me," Jowan shrugged. "So, if I look weary, it's your fault."

"Was it that bad?" Everard inquired.

Before Jowan could say anything, though, Paxton shouted, "We need to leave now, boy."

"You could at least call him by his name," Lyria scolded.

She was sitting on the back of a black mare. Everard realized that Lyria was wearing trousers, which was a bit unusual for women to wear. He made no comment upon it, though. Instead, he watched as Paxton got on his own brown stallion and then he imitated the man's actions. Everard couldn't help but notice that his horse was female and smaller than the other two. His jaw clenched but he said nothing about the choice of horse. After all, as long as she got him to his destination, it didn't matter.

"Play nice while we're gone," Lyria told the others. "Jowan is in charge until we get back."

She winked at Jowan as she said that. Then, she let out a soft whistle and her horse started walking off. Paxton said something in another language to his horse and it followed after her. Everard was at a complete loss as to how to get his filly to move. But then, suddenly, his horse began trailing after the other two without him having to do anything. He was rather thankful for that.

OoOoOoOoO

Horseback riding became rather uncomfortable after awhile. Everard kept trying to change position but every time he tried to move, his horse would come to a complete stop. Gradually, he began falling behind the others. He gripped the reigns tighter and tried to ignore the pain blossoming in his thighs and backside.

"Come on," he murmured to the horse, "we need to stay with them or I will never hear the end of it."

As if the horse had understood him, she broke out into a trot and it took all of Everard's strength and willpower not to fall off or scream in pain. Once they caught up, the horse slowed down. Lyria glanced over at him.

"Problems?" She asked, smiling knowingly.

"No. None at all," Everard replied sarcastically. "I love horseback riding."

He became acutely aware of a pain in his side now. He hoped that his wound hadn't somehow opened up due to the sudden movement of the horse.

"We need to stop and let the horses rest," Lyria declared after a few more minutes of torture.

Once Everard, Lyria, and Paxton had dismounted, the horses wandered off to the side of the road to graze on the yellowing grass. Their riders sat down underneath a tree that had nearly lost all of its leaves.

"You never did tell us your name," Lyria remarked as she idly braided a few strands of her hair together.

"Oh, who cares?" Paxton grumbled. "We will probably never see him again after this."

Lyria outright ignored Paxton's comment and said, "Well? I'm sure your name is interesting."

"Not really," Everard muttered before he told her.

"Everard Amell? That fits nicely together, better than some names," Lyria responded, glancing at Paxton. "His full name is Paxton Orville Autenberry. Not the greatest name ever if you ask me."

"If you think that's bad, there was this apprentice at the Tower named Florian Phineas Horatio Aldebrant, Esquire. I used to call him Flora," Everard replied.

"Oh, that poor dear! Did his parents hate him or something?" Lyria said, trying not to laugh.

"No. Apparently, they loved him and that name was borne from their immeasurable love," Everard smirked. "And that is why I am glad that my mother did not love me enough to give me such an awful name like that or Paxton Orville Autenberry."

"I need to go check on the horses," Paxton suddenly said, standing up. "Before I kill one of you," he added.

Lyria snickered as he walked away.

"So, you were a Circle mage then?" Lyria queried, focusing her attention back to Everard.

"Yes. That is how I know Jowan," Everard answered. "What about you?"

"Ah, yes. I was a Circle mage before I escaped about seven years ago," Lyria said. "I was tired of living there, having my every move watched by those ghastly templars. My decision to leave was propelled forward when I witnessed a templar…" She trailed off and looked down at her hands. "The poor young man never had a chance."

Her voice was choked as she said it but then she shook her head and pressed on, "I managed to get my hands on my phylactery. I'd gone into the repository after getting permission from Irving. I just had to knock out my templar escort, smash my vial, and then I was free. I swam across Lake Calenhad, the idea coming from when that young man, Anders, escaped that way. I met Paxton not too long afterwards.

He's rough around the edges but he can be a softie at times. After all he took me, a fifteen-year-old elven mage, under his wing. He believed my story about why I left the Tower. Also, he revealed that he was an apostate living under the guise of a warrior. Ever since then, we've been together, helping the less fortunate and any mages that we've found who needed aide.

So, tell me, how did you escape? I already know that you played a part in Jowan's escape from both the Tower and Redcliffe. What I don't know is how you ended up…where you are."

"I…uh…I just…" Everard groaned at his sudden inability to lie and so he went for the truth, "I'm a Grey Warden. There was one visiting the Tower during Jowan's escape and the Warden conscripted me when he saw what was happening. He knew that I was talented and loyal to my friends. Those were good qualities, I guess. Ones that made me Warden material. I've been traveling around Ferelden, picking up…what you might call misfits here and there. Those misfits are my companions and they're my friends…sort of."

"So, you are the one who will defeat the Blight?" Lyria inquired in disbelief.

"Well, I am not alone. There is…one other Warden. He's supposed to help me," Everard answered.

"Can we move on now, ladies, or are you going to keep on gossiping?" Paxton demanded as he strolled back over to them.

"I wonder who he's talking to," Everard remarked.

"Yes, Paxton, who are you talking to? The horses?" Lyria smirked.

Paxton glared at them both and Lyria laughed as she got back up on her feet.

[Redcliffe awaits,] Everard thought resignedly. [Who knows what will happen once I get back considering how I left things...]

Author'sNote:I would like to thank everyone reading, reviewing, favoriting, alerting, etc. I truly appreciate all of you. In fact, I apologize for the long wait for this chapter. Life got rather busy and hectic for me after I got chapter eleven out—illnesses and college can do that at times.

You might have also noticed that Lyria's last name is Surana. Yes, I did that on purpose. I'm actually going to try to include some of the other Origins (mainly my favorite ones) in this story. As for Paxton Orville Autenberry, I just wanted to add in a character of my own…one who definitely detests Everard in case that wasn't obvious. XD

I can't promise that the next chapter will be out within the week but I also can't say that it won't because, you never know, I might finish it before Christmas.

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