"I’m starting to see why they might dislike you." That was a joke. Or at least, it probably was, given the small smirk tugging at the corner of the elf’s mouth. He’d been surrounded on all sides by fiercely loyal Andrastians who looked at him as though he’d sprung from her divine will. It was refreshing to finally get the opportunity to speak to someone a bit less … enthusiastic about the church.
But the look on Hawke’s face, however brief, gave him pause. He didn’t comment on it, though he recognized the moment for what it was: a glimpse at the heart beneath. This was what Hawke valued above all else, then. It was comforting to see, which was part of the reason why he didn’t react too poorly to the next line of questioning.
Lavellan braced himself for this, small as the request was. He’d never spoken a word of this to anyone before. No one had asked. "Yes. We came north after a fire." That the fire had been started by human hands was another thing entirely. "They’re in Wycome now. The nobles there …" It took a moment to get the words out past the lingering fear, but he managed it. "They accused all elves of bringing a plague to the city, but the merchants and laborers helped fight back when they found red lyrium. I’m told they’re safe now." Even with the Duke and his people dead, he knew not to trust things would remain calm.