It still hurt. He wanted to demand answers from Solas, to hear for himself what could have pushed his hahren that far. But continuing to agonize over it would not bring him peace—a lesson he was finding slightly easier to come to terms with from their nest of blankets. Dorian was here now, and what they had was real and tangible. It was more important that he learn to build and navigate that, first, before taking on any other task.
Except all the carefully laid, helpful plans he was thinking about scattered when the mage touched his ear. Lavellan made a valiant effort not to react more than a sharp, indrawn breath, although he was pretty sure his hand probably twitched.
"It’s serious," he said, and there was a perfectly reasonable scowl on his face that was only ruined by the bark of laughter a moment later. Dorian had always been too much. He was like the veilfire, really—rare, beautiful, a powerful force in the dark. Mythal, his heart ached just looking at him. To have his attention like this was … flattering, but also just a bit confusing. Lavellan wasn’t sure what Dorian saw in him, but he was grateful for the gift all the same.
Maybe he should actually say that? Instead of getting so stuck in his own head. The elf seemed to hesitate before taking a risk, settling down next to Dorian more fully this time. He tucked in close, just breathing with him, letting the reality of everything sink in first. "It means ‘I love you,’ and that you keep my heart." Lavellan chuckled a bit again, lower in his throat this time. "But I think the other word you’re looking for is ma’haurasha. Which you won’t repeat to anyone."