The pain wasn’t nearly as bad this time, which came as an immense relief. It stung as it always did, but he wasn’t brought low by it. If anything, Lavellan used the brief reprieve in order to focus on Hawke—an impressive sight on the field, though he was a bit too busy at the moment to really appreciate it. Instead, the elf gritted his teeth through the throbbing in his hand and continued to fire arrows at any corpses attempting to block the mage’s path.
Two more. Just two. He told himself that he wouldn’t do something like this again, but knew with a twinge of guilt that he probably would if it meant helping people. That still didn’t make it fair to Dorian. Whatever they were to each other, multiple versions or no, the elf had a responsibility now. He couldn’t keep acting alone, however easy it was to fall into old patterns like that.
At the very least, recovery time needed to factor into his next attempt. Lavellan felt shivery with sweat, but the end was in sight, and that helped him push through the overexertion. He sprinted ahead of the next torch, dropping down from above to roll into his next attack, working to clear the way ahead for Hawke with vicious efficiency. With any luck, they wouldn’t run into any enemies the size of a Pride demon.