The elf raised an eyebrow when Hawke started to make obvious gestures to indicate his intentions before reaching for the torch. It was clearly an attempt to respect his boundaries, if a little embarrassing to watch. Lavellan supposed this was more than most people ever bothered to afford him. He’d just have to swallow his pride and focus on what was far more important right now. The getting-to-know-you could wait when there were undead crawling the city.
"All right. I won’t stray too far ahead." The rest went unspoken: call if you need help, Hawke. Not that he really expected the mage to ask for assistance if he thought there was even the slightest chance of success. They’d had one too many discussions about death and loss that Lavellan was deeply concerned about Hawke’s sense of self-preservation. Or lack thereof.
Luckily, the elf had plenty of experience keeping half an eye on anyone who followed him into battle. That responsibility didn’t slow him down in the slightest. He’d always fought fast, taking down the heaviest of any assailants with a powerful shot to the head and rolling out of the way when one strayed too close. If there was any finesse to his style, it was mostly just efficient and ruthless. The less time wasted, the better.
It wasn’t long before they reached their first stop, and Lavellan wiped his brow, hand coming away with blood that wasn’t his own. "Just ahead! I’ll cover you."