I've been waiting for you all my life,

waiting for redemption,

I've been waiting day and night,

I burn for you.
Johnny Clegg & Savuka - Dela

Icthlarin stood in what he assumed to be the grand square, what with all the people milling around, waiting for someone to point him in the direction of the guard captain. He wrapped his arms around himself, rubbed his chilly skin and tried desperately to stop his teeth from chattering. He was cold down to the bone and really just wanted to curl up in front of a big fire like a cranky cat and not move for about a week, but he felt reasonably confident that such a thing was definitely not in the cards. Instead, he started making small jumps from foot to foot in order to get his blood pumping through his cold veins, ignoring Bull's snickers. After a few moments of this, he spotted a tall thin human woman with close-cropped hair, dressed in traditional templar platemail. She was moving towards him with the long, confident strides of the experienced soldier and as she came closer Icthlarin could see that she wore knee-high leather boots inscribed with runes and insignias. He knew some of them, but the majority were new. He wondered what they meant, but figured it wasn't relevant at this point in time. He could also see that she wore a wide, red sash crowned with a heavy leather belt with a gold buckle around her waist and from her slim shoulders hung a heavy red cape, lined with pale fur Icthlarin could not identify. He assumed that this was the Knight Commander herself, and this assumption was confirmed when she fixed him with her cool blue eyes and addressed him.

"I am Knight Commander Cassandra Pentaghast. Welcome." her voice was the kind of voice that sounded like it was trained to bark orders at soldier both bigger and stronger than her. It was a voice you listened to, a voice that should she ask you to jump you'd be in the air before you remembered to ask how high. The look she gave him was appraising, and icthlarin found himself shivering more under her cool blue gaze than he did on the journey. He had a distinct impression that he had failed his first - and possibly only - chance to impress her.

"You are Icthlarin Lavellan, intended for Dorian," she went on, pointedly ignoring his still chattering teeth. Icthlarin wondered if she had ever asked a question in her life.

"So I would ask that you please fetch him from the top of the western tower and meet me and the First Enchanter in the Grand Hall." she had said this mostly in one breath, but now she paused to get some fresh air. Giving him one last appraising look, she turned on her heel and stalked towards the keep, adding over her shoulder: You will have to excuse me, I have an emergency that requires my attention in the library."

The Iron Bull along with his chargers and one dainty elf were left in the courtyard.

"Alright" Bull said, "we were hired to escort a templar whelp to Skyhold, and we have done that. Why don't you lot go to the inn and get sloshed while I go get paid." Krem and the others nodded; the journey had been long, annoying and difficult and some mead and a warm bed sounded marvellous. They went on their way, bickering amongst themselves as was their way. Bull continued on up to the keep, curious about the emergency that had the Knight Commander in such a state.

Icthlarin nodded once, gave the Bull one last flirty leer and went in another direction, toward the tower on the west side. Apparently, he would find his mage at the top.

Finding the library proved easy; Bull only needed to follow the upset voices and yelling. Several mages, templars and random other people dressed in normal clothes were milling around on the floor, all of them anxiously looking up towards the ceiling. Bull made his way to the center of the room and did the same, curious as to what they were looking at. The first thing he noted was the woman with the bow, standing on the top floor aiming at the roof. She was tall and slim, dressed in unmarked chainmail and a heavy purple cloak and hood, matching gloves and the sort of boots you can run a race in two-feet snow in without worrying about getting your socks wet. A few strands of red hair had fallen loose from whatever way she wore her hair and now fell around her slim face. Her hands were covered in heavy gloves, but they seemed to have no problems holding the bowstring taut and aiming straight for the mage. When Bull twisted his head just a little, he saw that what he had first assumed to be an arrow was in fact a grapple hook, attached to a long rope.

"You ready, Wren?" The woman with the bow called.

"Yes, just get me down from here!" Bull turned his once more head and saw the speaker; a very nice looking human male,looking rather exasperated. He had long dark hair and a pair of black trousers that looked very snug indeed, hugging his body in all the right places. He also wore a loose flowing robe of the kind that was very modern at the present. It sat snugly over his chest and arms, the front reminding you of a vest that had been sown into a jacket with a white shirt peeking out at the top, but from the waist down it billowed and fell like an open coat. Well, it would have if it wasn't as pinned to the ceiling as the rest of him. Bull frowned: it wasn't the first time this had happened, and he was getting really tired of whoever the hell it was making fun of Wren. It wasn't funny at all anymore. It might be a rather impressive display of advanced magic - there were no ropes or manacles, no lines of power, just this man pressed to the stone - but still. Whoever it was that kept doing this needed to be taught a lesson. Preferably, at the pointed end of Bull's sword. Then a most curious thing happened; their eyes met. Brown looked into blue. And with a shocked little cry, the man - Wren - was loosened by his invisible bonds and plummeted straight towards Bull.

Dorian stood on the top of the highest climbable tower in Skyhold and threw everything he had at the wind, whipping it up into howling fury. He had received another letter from his father that day, wanting to meet and "talk". Damn the man, there was nothing to talk about! He had made his point of view painfully clear and Dorian wanted nothing more to do with any of them anymore. Why did the old bastard continue to send letters? And why, why, did he still read them? He should throw them in the fire unopened, that's what he should do. He opened his mouth and screamed out all his anger and the pain he wouldn't let anyone in the keep see, and was rewarded by a freezing gust of wind throwing itself down from the mountaintops. He wanted to send his winds howling all the way to Tevinter, to rip apart the house and gardens of what had once been his home. But even he could not reach that far, so he satisfied himself with making the snow swirl around the keep with increasing speed, feeling the exhaustion creep into his body. Soon, he would be too burned out to keep going, and then the calm would return to the mountain. But not quite yet.

"Having fun?" The voice was unexpected and shocked Dorian so much he lost control of the wind, which immediately gleefully threw itself across the mountain range, out of his reach. The lesser winds were still blowing around the castle, but with much less intensity compared to mere minutes before, when his will had controlled it. He turned around and saw a tiny figure standing by the trapdoor. He let his eyes roam over a bright orange hat squeezed down over the head, a coat that seemed at least two sizes too large, black leggings and a pair of slender bare feet with a definite blue tinge to them. The sight of those feet were alarmingly endearing. He forced his eyes away from strong, powerful legs and looked at the face. The person in front of him was grinning like a loon, and Dorian could feel his lips twitch in response. He looked ridiculous, this elf who had dared to climb the tower when even the Knight Commander waited on the ground until Dorian had worn himself out.

"Oh yes" he replied drolly, "the best entertainment in the keep."

"Well" the elf said, still smirking, "Lucky that I'm the entertaining sort." His green eyes were twinkling with barely suppressed mirth. "I'm looking for Dorian."

"I am Dorian." He was probably new, and was bringing some sort of message.

"Oh good, I was hoping you'd be handsome." Wait, that did not make sense.

"Oh, and why were you hoping for me to be handsome?" The elf twinkled at him again.

"No particular reason. My name is Icthlarin Lavellan. I came up here because your First Enchanter is pissed at you not being in the courtyard to greet me so that she can get on with our bonding." The man turned and walked back towards to backdoor. "Coming?" he asked cheekily. Dorian twitched with desire to chuck him over the edge of the wall and see if he bounced, but settled for knocking the ridiculous hat off his head and let it sail away on the wind. If for no other reason than that it clashed horribly with Icthlarin's red hair. They stood quietly for a moment, watching it disappear into the snow.

"I'll leave it to you to explain to Krem why I owe him a new hat." Icthlarin said eventually. Before Dorian could think of a snarky reply (and since when had he been needing to think of a witty comeback?), the blasted elf had already disappeared back down the ladder. He left Dorian no choice but to follow him.