I wrote a little piece of their life please enjoy~ feel free to tell about your little silly lovers in replies I'D LOVE to know about them too
“I’d do anything for you, Vezhka.”
Bold words, spoken with a calm that belied their weight. Of course, the daily grind of an Inquisitor taught one to sound composed in the wildest of circumstances, and grand speeches were part of the role. But what was a simple mage—a healer, no less—supposed to do with such words? How was she meant to respond? If this were a rousing speech to rally the troops, she’d know what to make of it. But this… Vezhka stood frozen for a moment, her gaze darting from the side, to Allen, then to the bushes where they hid from the prying eyes of Inquisition soldiers.
“My lord… Allen,” she began, her voice tinged with hesitation. “I’ve read too many novels to take such words lightly. Usually, they’re the prelude to someone marching off to a place they’ll never return from—or, worse, things just don’t go their way. Maker…”
Her eyes caught on a straw dummy bristling with arrows, standing behind the Inquisitor. She couldn’t help but imagine Allen himself becoming such a target on one of his perilous missions. “Survive” would be a fitting response, especially now. But asking that felt pointless, and far too grim. She had hope—faith, even—that Allen would return. There was no other way it could be. No need to dwell on other outcomes, to let them fester in her mind. Nor was there any use in wasting parchment at night, scribbling out the chaos in her head.
“I mean…” Vezhka brushed a speck of dust from Allen’s shoulder, her eyes fixed somewhere to the side. “Maybe you could try wearing shoes in Skyhold, at least? There’s so much broken glass around, especially near the tavern…”
She knew she sounded absurd. So she wasn’t surprised when Allen shot her an indignant look, followed by his hearty, unrestrained laughter. Vezhka rolled her eyes, embarrassed. Of course, the Dalish didn’t care for shoes—it was a matter of principle. But it was also a matter of infections. And there was nothing wrong with keeping one’s feet warm, was there? Skyhold sat high in the mountains, where the nights were cold, and not just the nights. The soldiers left bottles scattered everywhere, and she was always cleaning up their mess around the barracks. Who knew what ancient blight might lurk in these lands—something as old as Corypheus, or worse, from the days of Arlathan? And who would have to heal it?
“Alright, alright, in all seriousness…” Vezhka glanced at Allen from under her brow, biting her lower lip. “Will you take me to a ball? A real one, like in Halamshiral.” Her voice softened, but her words carried a quiet resolve. “I know it’d cause a scandal, but maybe… maybe they’d make an exception for you. And we could dance, talk with others… And I’d wear a beautiful dress, like Lady Montilyet!” She stomped her foot lightly, as if to punctuate her wish.
A ball meant dancing, gossip, fine food, enchanting music, and mysterious strangers—everything Vezhka had never experienced but had read about and dreamed of countless times. The thought was a little daunting, but far too tantalizing to ignore. Yet it also felt foolish—selfish, childish dreams born from tales of princesses and unrequited love. Sometimes she regretted all those hours spent in the Circle’s library, her head filled with a hundred stories. A ball with Allen… it wasn’t the worst idea, but it felt like he’d meant something else. Something more tangible, more… real? Asking for a happy “ever after” was still too soon. Greater battles loomed ahead, deeper wounds, and possible defeats. Asking him to marry her? Far too bold. Who was she, anyway? Besides, proposals were a man’s domain.
“And you know what?” she said, her tone softening but firm. “Just… try to stay by my side. Always, alright? That’s what I’m asking, Allen. Do that, and everything else can wait.”
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