The elf snorted, but there was only warmth in his gaze when he looked at Dorian. "Can’t I? I’m blamed for everything else." Some of his fear had already begun to drain away, and he leaned into the warmth of the mage’s touch, briefly, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had in his life. Dorian was listening, and he was being patient, and it meant the world to him.
He had to turn his face away, eventually. It was the only way he’d be able to continue conveying any of this. "I thought I was a convenient tool. It was a human war, and nobody wanted me there." Lavellan picked at the threads of the blanket, needing something to occupy his hands. The side-long glances and barely concealed sneers had been the highlight of his time in Haven.
"I didn’t trust any of you. I couldn’t. Solas—" Lavellan swallowed the knot in his throat, feeling his eyes sting and resenting himself for it. This was the hard part. The purpled bruise that needed poking. "Solas was the only one who understood what it felt like. I don’t think I would have made it without him." He couldn’t finish the thought, even if there were really anything left to say about it all. The elf just covered his face, realizing only now that the rage he’d felt since hearing the news was, in truth, profound grief. He mourned the loss of a dear friend and mentor, someone he never really knew.
No tears came, but his heart broke again all the same.