10.

Vol Dorma was a three days' journey from the spot the dwarves had joined them, and the trip thankfully passed without any significant mishaps. No news was good news, as far as Leto was concerned.

"This is the closest I've ever been to Weisshaupt!" Anders announced, staring out into the west as the sun set on their camp. "My family is from Hossberg, you know." He glanced to Leto to make sure the elf was listening to his story, and was pleasantly surprised to see that he was. "The city was so destroyed, my great-grandfather moved to Minrathous when he was young, to find work. He met my great-grandmother there. She was a magister, and the rest is history!"

Leto wasn't particularly interested in Anders' lineage, but he was interested in the Anderfels. "Weisshaupt... isn't that where the Grey Wardens originated?"

Anders nodded. "Yes. We haven't had a Blight in so long, though..." He smiled ruefully. "I wish they still had griffons. I would've loved to see them."

Leto scoffed, but there was no cruelty in his voice. "Elves are not told the same fanciful stories as children."

"And why not? There are elven Wardens."

Leto laughed mirthlessly. "And that is precisely why we are not told about them. No magister would want their slaves thinking they could be heroes."

Anders was willing to consider the conversation over at that point. He debated whether to offer an apology, but Leto rarely wanted sympathy from someone who'd been on course to owning his own slaves. And who could blame him? The fact that Anders had chosen to reject that life didn't seem to make a difference.

In the morning they approached the city gates, the impressive stone walls rising formidably above the surrounding land. The tower that housed the Circle of Magi was visible even at a great distance, and may as well have been a fortress itself. The magisters in Tevinter each had their own luxurious estates, for the most part, and the tower served primarily as a political building rather than any sort of living quarters. The option was always available, of course, but few would choose the modest accommodations there over their own grand mansions in the city.

Bartrand and Varric wasted no time, and began to go through the necessary channels to sell their wares in the city. They'd stay for a few days, make some deals, and then move on. Leto was fairly nervous about being in any one place for longer than they absolutely had to, but Anders was excited to explore everything. His parents had a friend here with whom they exchanged letters, and occasionally gifts. With his mother and father vacationing in Antiva for the next year at least, seeking out help in Vol Dorma was the only other viable option.

"Hey." Anders tugged at Leto's arm and pulled him away from the crowd, keeping his voice hushed. "While we're here, there's someone we should try to track down. He's a magister, but my family knows him. He can help us!"

Leto narrowed his eyes. "A magister."

Anders nodded. "He's a good man. You'll see."

"You'll understand if I am reluctant to believe a magister is going to help us with anything."

Anders sighed deeply. "You're just going to have to trust me, all right? I promise, everything is going to be fine."

Leto didn't have a chance to say anything further, because Bartrand waved them over, barking orders to them as well as the men he'd hired. They were staying in a largish room at a fairly upscale tavern - if a tavern could ever be referred to as such - and the two boys were expected to help carry in the crates of product. As far as Leto was concerned, this was simple work, and hardly paid his way. Anders, who'd never had to lift more than a stack of books, was not handling the task as well.

By they time they'd carted in all of the dwarves' spices and other assorted merchandise, Anders' hands were blistering. He sat on a spare bed and tended to his assaulted palms, wincing at the pain and gingerly applying healing magic.

"The beds are not for us," Leto noted, diligently setting up their own bedroll in the far corner. He wanted to be able to keep an eye on the door while still staying as far away from it as possible.

Anders glanced up at him, distracted away from tending his wounds. "I can sit down for a minute, can't I?"

Leto shook his head. "With the state your robes are in? Not wise."

For the first time in days, Anders was suddenly very aware of how positively filthy he was. "Is there a bath here, d'you think?"

"I would imagine so."

Anders stood up and wandered back out into the hall, in search of anyone who would help him draw a bath. An elven slave, no doubt. Leto grit his teeth, frustrated with the other boy. How could anyone be alive for so long and haven't the slightest clue how to do the simplest tasks? He wondered if the mage knew how to wipe his own ass, or if his family had slaves for that, too.

He'd lost himself in sharpening the ceremonial knife, when it occurred to him that Anders was still carrying all of their coin. He didn't have enough faith in the mage's common sense to trust him not to leave his robes - and their money - unattended while he bathed. Cursing, he affixed the knife to his belt and hurried out of the room, skulking around until he found where the mage.

Anders' robes and cloak were in a dirt-encrusted pile on the floor, and the boy was scrubbling feebly at himself with a wet rag. He dipped it occasionally into a small bucket of what may have once been hot water. Leto felt a twinge of sympathy when he saw the mage shivering, but quickly waved it away. He'd dealt with cold baths his whole life; Anders would have to learn sooner or later.

Despite his bare feet, his steps did make enough noise for Anders to notice. He stared wide-eyed at Leto over his shoulder, miserably chilled from the water evaporating off his skin. "W-What? Why are you here?"

Leto knelt beside Anders' clothing and dug around for the small pouch of silver. He tied it to his belt and pulled his shirt down to conceal it. "I had to be sure you wouldn't be pickpocketed during this... excursion."

"I'm not stupid!" Anders snapped, glaring at him. "Have you no faith in me at all?"

Leto glared back, and kept his eyes very deliberately trained on Anders'. "No."

"You're an asshole!"

Anders threw the rag at him, and Leto caught it before it could hit his face. He stood up and shoved the washcloth into Anders' hands, regarding him calmly.

"And you are a child."

Anders grunted in frustration, and turned his back on the elf. "Maker, just let me wash in peace."

Leto scoffed and left the room as quickly as he'd entered, leaving Anders shaking wiht anger and cold.

The silver clinked in the pouch against his thigh as he walked, and he clutched at it to silence the noise. It would do them no favors to attract undue attention. Discretion was the entire reason he'd taken it back from Anders, after all.

Leto promptly returned to tending the knife, and hardly batted an eye when Anders tormed in ten minutes later, his hair dripping onto his shoulders, his robes bunched in one arm while the other held a towel around his waist.

"You'll get splinters on this floor," Leto noted, amused.

"You go barefoot all the time!"

"Yes, and I am accustomed to it."

Anders scowled, and dumped his clothing unceremoniously onto the floor. The rifled through the dwarves' supplies for something simple he could wear while he washed the robes. Even if it was too small, it'd be more acceptable than walking around naked.

"So I take it you just hate me, then?" he asked, his voice bitter. "And here I thought we were getting on so well." He found a shirt and pulled it on, frowning as it caught too tightly around his shoulders.

"Is this still for kicking over the stew? I'm sorry, by the way. I thought you could figure out that much."

Leto watched as he put on a pair of pants that became culottes on his lanky legs. He continued to idly drag the blade along the whetstone, even though it was now sufficiently sharp.

"It's not that," he muttered, irritated with himself as much as Anders. "I am... concerned for our well being, in this place."

Anders was surprised to hear him use the word 'our,' but didn't bring it up. "You don't trust the dwarves, either?" he asked. "Is there anyone you do trust?"

Leto pressed his lips into a thin line and stared down at the blade. "Other than myself? No."

Anders sighed. "I could've guessed that."

Leto looked up at him, and gave him a severe look. "And you pity me for this? For my self-preservation?" He stood up and had the knife against Anders' throat before he had time to blink. Anders' breathing turned quick and panicked, and he grabbed for Leto's wrist to force him away. The elf pushed the knife harder against him, turning it to press the flat of the blade against his neck. He didn't intend to draw blood; he'd made his point.

"You trust too easily," he muttered, backing away and leaving Anders trembling in his wake.

Anders clutched at his neck defensively, and watched Leto's back with betrayal in his eyes.

"You will note," he said, his voice carefully measured, "That I've never used my magic against you."

He picked up his clothing and made for the door, shooting Leto a long look. "You're too quick to turn a knife on a friend." He laughed darkly. "Oh, but we've determined we're not friends, yes? Forgive me. It slipped my mind."

With that, he left to tend to his robes, and Leto struggled to convince himself he'd done nothing wrong.