Down an unknown road
To embrace my fate
Though that road may wander
It will lead me to you
- Michael Bolton, "(I can) go the distance"

Vigil's Keep was a positively ancient, crumbling castle that wobbled precariously on the edge of a cliff above the small city of Amaranthine, in the shire known as Amaranthine, in the north-eastern part of Ferelden. Once upon a time it had been the castle of Teyrn Howe, the ruler of Amaranthine, but about a hundred years ago it had come into the hands of the templar order. No one knew quite how this had come to pass, although there were rumors. The most popular rumor involved a card game, a handsome young templar, and a donkey. How exactly the donkey fit in varied depending on who told the story, though. At the present, however, Vigil's Keep was a gigantic stone colossus that looked like a strong breeze was going to send it toppling into the ocean with its leaky roofs and patched walls. According to popular opinion the place should have been decreed unfit for habitation at least fifty years ago, but to this day it was still filled to the rafters with templars, recruits, random soldiers and a suspicious amount of merchants. The hustle and bustle of the place was constant, and the only times it was silent was when something shady was going on. Or at night. But then again, those two things usually coincide.

At the present time there was approximately fifty templar recruits in training at Vigil's Keep, and they were all gathered in the exercise field just outside the castle. They were supposed to stand in neat lines, face the podium and be completely quiet, but the Knight Commander, serah "call me Duncan" Kinloch, had given up trying to get them into something vaguely resembling order twenty minutes ago and just watched them mill around in exasperation. They looked like ants in a molehill. No, that was unfair to the ants. Ants were usually organized, not milling about like demented chipmunks and chittering amongst themselves like squirrels fighting over an acorn, generally causing a ruckus. To provide contrast for this, there was an elven woman sitting in a high chair on the dais above the exercise field. She was exquisite in her fine silk gown and long dark hair, but the mark of tranquility on her forehead ruined it a bit. Behind her chair stood a templar in ceremonial chainmail, with a heavy broadsword strapped to his back. He looked to be in his forties, greying at the temples. To their side stood Duncan with a scroll in his hands. The woman had a name, Kallian Andras, but she was more known throughout the known world by her title; Matchmaker. It sounded a lot more romantic than it actually was, for in fact she was the only living person in the world who could see the bond between mage and templar before it had manifested. A manifested bond was visible by anyone who concentrated hard enough and had enough second sight, but only the Matchmaker was ever able to see the link between unbonded mages and their future templars.

Icthlarin Lavellan tried not to feel self-conscious about his messy red hair and bare, dirty feet as he stepped onto the dias. To be fair, this was how he looked normally; boots were something that happened to other people, and combs were just a waste of time. Why bother when he was going to be messy in a few hours anyway? And the other templar recruits were rather used to his unkempt appearance at this point. Even the Knight Commander had given up on trying to make Icthlarin look respectable within the first month. But now, when he was face to face with the blank, lifeless gaze of the Matchmaker, he felt every bit a heathen from the wilds. There was something about those wide, dark eyes that seemed to look straight into the depths of your soul, and he did not like it one bit. There was too much there he'd rather forget about. Still, he found himself caught by her eyes like a fish on a hook, unable to look away. At last she blinked, dismissing him with a quick flash of long, dark lashes. As he returned to the other recruits waiting in the courtyard, his knees felt decidedly shaky.

Later in the afternoon, Duncan put up a large sheet of parchment on the notice board by the exercise field. It listed the templars that were considered ready for their positions at the circles, and therefore every single recruit in the Keep seemed to be crowding around it like merchants around a wealthy but not particularly intelligent nor subtle noble. Icthlarin swiftly realised the futility of trying to get close enough to read; he was the only elf currently training at Vigil's Keep and stood almost a foot shorter than the others. Instead, he skulked at the edge of the crowd, hoping the excitement would die down soon so that he may have a shot at checking if he himself was considered ready yet. Just as he was starting to feel truly dejected, he spotted his hero in disguise; striding across the exercise field like a scythe through a wheat field was Cernunnos Ashaad. Ashaad was a positively gigantic qunari, about twice as tall as Icthlarin and three of him widthwise.

"Hey, big guy" Icthlarin said as he smiled in his most charming way, "Would you mind checking if I'm on the list?" Ashaad nodded once, craned his huge horned head slightly and squinted.

"You are" he rumbled with a voice that sounded like distant thunder. "Skyhold. To be bonded." Icthlarin paled and felt a bit faint.

"Bonded? Me?" He winced. "Gods and Goddesses help us all" he muttered. "Poor sod." The last bit was referring to the mage that was going to be stuck with him. Just then, a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and he nearly toppled over from shock.

"Ah, there you are, Lavellan" The Knight-Commander's voice cut through the air like a fine blade. "Come see me in my office, hm? We need to talk."
"Y-yes sir." Icthlarin squeaked.

"And no hiding in the woods" Duncan admonished, but the look on his handsome, weathered face was one of fond amusement. "I don't have time to track you down today."

"No, sir" Icthlarin hung his head. Damn, there went his usual way of dealing with this sort of thing. He stood there for a few moments, ignoring the cacophony going on around him as every single templar recruit in the field seemed to talk all at once, not listening to any of the others. Then he sighed deeply and, head still low, trudged off to meet his Knight-Commander. He looked like a man walking to his execution.

Knight Commander Duncan Kinloch of Vigil's Keep looked at the dainty red-haired elf with two wicked looking daggers strapped to his back with a thoughtful air. He had to admit, even if only to himself, that the matchmaker's choice had surprised him this time. Lavellan wasn't what he would describe as stable, and if he asked around the Keep most of them would probably be in complete agreement. Lavellan was flighty, thoughtless, flirty, and an expert at getting himself in trouble. But he was also fiercely loyal to the select few he called friends. The maker worked in mysterious ways, indeed. He cleared his throat and started speaking.

"You have been assigned to a mage on Skyhold. I'm sure you know a little about the kind of trials you will face there." The statement was met with a blank stare. He sighed deeply.

"Knight Commander Pentaghast occasionally employs a band of mercenaries to escort traders up the mountain, and lucky for you I managed to get in touch with them. You will join the next caravan to Skyhold, since there is safety in numbers upon this dangerous path. On your arrival, you will report to the Knight Commander. She will be responsible for your bonding to one of the most powerful mages in the keep." He drew a deep breath. "You will leave in the morning, I suggest you prepare accordingly and say your goodbyes." Icthlarin nodded obediently.

"Well, off you go, then." Duncan said dismissively and turned his back. Icthlarin closed the door behind him softly, with a quiet click.

"Well" Icthlarin tried to look at the positive side of things even though his knees felt like water and his stomach was rolling, "As long as he's handsome."

He flashed his trademark flirty grin at noone in particular, trying his best to ignore the queasy feeling of impending doom.

The mercenaries the Knight Commander had talked into taking Icthlarin along turned out to be a rag-tag band called 'the Chargers', led by a tall hulk of a Qunari that answered to 'Iron Bull'. His second in command was a handsome tevene called Krem that immediately had Icthlarin batting his lashes and shimmying his hips like a courtesan at a fancy brothel. The rest were the most eclectic mix of people he had ever seen, and that was saying something. And then there were the traders… but the lesser said about them, the better.

The little group set off for the long journey to Skyhold one early morning in late autumn, when the sun shone brightly on trees turning yellow and there was a hint in the air of heavy snowfall. The chargers proved to be good company, as quick with a snarky quip as with their weapons. The Bull ran his crew with an iron fist (pardon the pun), but it was most definitely covered with a silken glove. It was clear that the chargers were not only fiercely loyal, but they honestly liked their leader. Icthlarin liked the chargers; he had been shot down firmly by Krem the first night he tried to crawl into the human's tent, but it had been done kindly and they had since become friends, jesting and laughing about the differences between their cultures. He spent most of the time flirting with everyone, and to the company's amusement Bull flirted nearly as much with the handsome elf.

These antics made the trek almost enjoyable, and the days passed as swiftly as autumn faded into winter. After near two weeks walk, Bull stopped at the rim of a large hill and gestured towards the snow-clad mountains in the distance.

"There" he said, pointing with a thick finger. "there she is. On top of the mountain. Skyhold, the Mage Keep. Strongest magic users in Thedas up there."

"Which one?" Icthlarin panted as he climbed the steep hill. "All I see is a mountain chain." Bull laughed, a deep rumbling noise.

"The tallest one, where else? The Foothold of Heaven. And on the top lies ancient Skyhold."

Someone groaned behind him.

"I need a drink."

Krem rolled his eyes.

"You always need a drink. Now shift it, we've got a ways to go yet and the day is nearly over."

That seemed to end the conversation and the wanderers started moving again.

When the weary travellers finally arrived at the Foothold of Heaven, the wind was howling around the mountain in a way that sounded like a few dozen ravenous wolves. At the foot of a steep staircase that appeared to have been carved into the mountainside itself stood a weathered templar in ceremonial chainmail, leaning on a staff.

"Afternoon" he grumbled in a voice nearly as gruff as his face.

"Nice to meet you" Icthlarin said sarcastically, jumping from foot to foot and cursing his lack of boots. To his defence, he had never been so far up north before, so that he was freezing was no surprise to anyone but himself, really. The templar just looked at them blankly, then made a vague gesture to the steep incline leading up the mountain.

"Better hurry up" he said, "if we want to reach the keep before dark. You do not want to camp on the mountain, and the path is nearly impossible to climb at night. Well, unless your name is Cole."

That said, the greying man turned and started walking, ignoring any questions the templars might have. The men looked at each other, shrugged, and followed, trying to see where they trod through the snow. The sun was already moving towards the horizon, and it looked to be a long trek.

Up in the keep, inside the thick walls, the snow wasn't falling at all. This would probably surprise the unwary traveller, but if you knew that the keep was stuffed to the rafters with the most powerful mages in Thedas, it would be no surprise at all. At first glance the courtyard was a rather peaceful place, with the usual sort of people milling about doing the usual duties. There was, however, one exception. A tall, dark-skinned woman in what could loosely be described as white robes strode across the courtyard in her high-heeled elegant boots, a grim set to her full mouth.

"Who is the idiot who set Dorian off today?" She demanded of the harried looking servant who tried desperately to keep up with her.

"Not Dorian, First Enchanter, he's up on the battlements. Someone stole Wren's shoes!" First Enchanter Vivienne pinched the bridge of her nose, sighing deeply. Honestly, that prank was older than the Black City. It was days like these she regretted taking on the mantle of First Enchanter. She started walking towards the keep.

"Get Cassandra and Leliana. Tell them to bring rope." She ordered the servant.

"Yes First Enchanter."

Cassandra Pentaghast, Knight Commander of Skyhold and bonded templar to First Enchanter Vivienne, put her hands on her hips and scowled at nothing in particular. She stood in the middle of Skyhold library, which was famed for its historical tomes, and looked up at the ceiling looming far, far above her head. Well, to be more specific, she was looking more at the mage pinned to it. Said mage was a human in his mid twenties, with short dark hair that tended to curl and impish brown eyes. Wren Trevelyan, the bane of her existence.

Wren was a young mage who so far had not showed any particular powers, apart from the one that had got him sent to Skyhold in the first place. Levitation. Well, to be more precise, weightlessness. That was why his boots were so important - and it was a never ending source of amusement amongst the younger apprentices and templars to steal them. Without his leaden boots, Wren floated straight up until something stopped him or he managed to grab hold to something. The last time he had lost his boots outside, it had taken half the keep all day to get him down from the highest tower spire. It had rained too. This time the library ceiling had stopped him, which was lucky. The issue was that they had no direct way to get him down. Therefore Cassandra stood on the library floor, waiting for Leliana to show up with her bow and arrows.

Vivienne was standing on the top floor in the library, which really was Leliana's domain rather than a part of the library, attempting to calm the rather upset mage. She could clearly be heard promising retribution and bloody murder when she got her hands on whoever had stolen his boots this time. Wren was a merry man, always ready with a quip or joke or song, but even he had his limits and the boot thefts had been increasing lately. It made him feel as if he was being picked on, maybe even targeted. It wasn't a nice feeling. Cassandra said nothing, but she too was plotting retribution and bloody murder.

Where the hell was Leliana!?