14.

Bartrand was furious that their business in Vol Dorma had been cut short, but made the necessary preparations despite his anger. To tell the truth, most of his dealings had been just about wrapped up anyway. If they'd lingered any longer, Bartrand would've accused Varric of stalling, and wasting opportunities elsewhere.

The sudden rush had the hired help raising questions, but several convincing explanations rolled easily off Varric's tongue, and the men were placated. By afternoon, they were leaving the city, the draft animals' hooves clopping against the smooth stones of the Highway.

Since the nightmare in Danarius' mansion, Anders had stayed at Leto's side like a duckling follows its mother. The experience seemed to have shaken him considerably. Whatever sort of power he'd summoned to kill the magister, he hadn't breathed a word about it.

It was a long journey to Nevarra. The only confirmation the boys had that the dwarves would continue on this path was their ultimate destination of Kirkwall. Even so, despite Varric's promises, Leto feared it was a matter of time before they were cast aside as too much trouble.

Anders had curled up on himself in the back of the wagon, leaning his back on a sack of spices. He mumbled something under his breath. Even with his elven hearing, Leto couldn't quite make it out.

"Hm?"

Anders lifted his head to meet Leto's gaze. "I said, I want to go home."

A pang of pity gripped Leto's chest, but he shook his head. "You're nothing but a slave there. We can't go back."

Anders let his cheek rest against his knees and closed his eyes. "I know."

Leto frowned, and shifted towards the mage. He hesitated, remembering how Anders had moved away too soon back in the prison cell. Was this truly wise? Perhaps not, but comfort was a rare thing in days like these.

He laid a hand on Anders' shoulder, and tried to smile. "Once we find my mother, she'll set things right. She always knows what to do."

Anders kept perfectly still, his arm tensing beneath Leto's touch. "I've no hope of seeing my parents again, have I?"

"Ah, that's..." Probably true. "That's up to the Maker to decide, is it not?"

"Stop it." Anders shrugged away and turned his back on the elf. "You're not helping."

Leto stared at him for a long, awkward moment and reluctantly put some distance between them. These tactics were not working. He needed to take Anders' mind off their circumstances. He hardly enjoyed discussing magic, but perhaps it would get his friend to perk up a bit.

"What spell to you like the most?"

Anders hazarded a glance at him, confused. "Why?"

Leto shrugged. "I'm merely curious."

"About magic?" Anders huffed. "Color me surprised."

This wasn't working, either. "You healed my hand very well. That ought to count for something."

Anders smiled despite himself. "I like helping people. Not just people, but I hardly ever get to practice with anything else."

Now this was getting them somewhere. Leto folded his arms across his chest and made damn sure Anders knew he was listening. "What else do you heal?"

"Animals," he replied, stealing another quick glance at the elf. "A tomato plant, once. My mother had tended to it all summer, but no matter what she tried, it couldn't keep its strength."

The wagon passed over a dislodged bit of stonework and jostled roughly. Anders gripped onto the heavy cargo for support. Leto followed suit, and braced himself against a crate.

Anders continued his story as if nothing had happened. "It was for a gardening contest with the other ladies in the estates beside ours, so using any sort of magic was considered cheating. A violation of the rules would've disqualified her for that year, if not forever." He grinned at the memory. "So I snuck out at night to give it a boost. By the morning, it had the broadest leaves you've ever seen, and perfect, ripe tomatoes just in time for the deadline."

He lauged. "I've never breathed a word of that to anyone, until now. I was so afraid my mother would find out, and feel guilty over winning that year." He shook his head, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "But at any rate, I mostly heal people."

Anders hugged his knees to his chest again. "It must seem so silly to you, using magic to heal a plant."

Leto shook his head. "It was a kind thing to do. You raised your mother's spirits, besides."

"Mmm. That's true, I suppose." He tilted his head to rest once again on his knees. "I miss her so much."

Leto knew better than to question whom he meant. He felt the same, after all. "I miss my mother, as well."

"Don't we all?"

Anders and Leto both jumped, startled to see Varric poking his head back into the covered section of their wagon. The dwarf laughed - but only at their expressions, not the topic.

"I'm as much for reminiscing as anyone, but for now we need you to postpone it and help set up camp."

Without another word, Leto leapt down from the still-moving wagon, landing easily on his bare feet and grunting just slightly at the impact. Anders waited until it had pulled to a stop, then followed the elf, albeit more carefully.

Dinner was a flavorful, heavily spiced dish that originated in Antiva, if Varric was to be believed. Bartrand's cooking left much to be desired, but Leto was always thankful for a chance to eat. Without any coin of their own, the significance of a free meal was not lost on him.

Anders wondered if his parents were eating similar in Rialto, and if they were thinking of him, too. Was it foolhardy to think that they'd have Caladrius pardon him, upon their return? Could he ever go back to Tevinter, a mage with no hope of becoming a magister? Would he ever speak - or even write - to them again? What if they thought him dead?

All but first watch soon retired for the night. The rich food sat like a lead weight in his stomach, and he lay on his side of the bedroll, homesick and miserable. By the time the campfire had died to embers, Leto was stirred from his sleep by Anders' back trembling against his. He kept his breathing steady, and despite his empathy, pretended for Anders' sake that he didn't hear him crying.

In the morning, Leto spoke nothing of it, and they continued their journey south. It would be another three weeks before they reached the Nevarran border, and two past that before they hit the capital city. No one was looking forward to crossing the Silent Plains, but if they wished to stay on the Imperial Highway proper, it was their only choice.