"I don’t think that was your fault, Hawke," he said, eyeing the mage. It was fascinating to watch the interplay of conflicting emotions on Hawke. The man was at once joyful as he was deeply sorrowful, and Lavellan found it easy to sympathize. "You can’t change someone’s course. You can only be there for part of their journey. The rest is up to them." Solas came to mind. It wasn’t as painful as it once was to think of it, not when he could lean on Dorian when the guilt became too much. The elf hoped Hawke at least had that in Isha’belannar.
He blinked at the subject change, but didn’t otherwise react. It was to be expected, really. Most people were uncomfortable with talking about elves, which is what he assumed it was. "A little. I didn’t believe him." Lavellan had to hide his smirk by drinking more of the ale.
They’d been huddled close to a campfire in Storm Coast, utterly soaked through and miserable, when Varric first spun the story. The elf had thought it a wild tale at the time—mostly shared for his own benefit, as the Dalish kept many stories about such beasts. Apparently, there was more to it, and he looked a bit eager to hear it told again if the spark in his eyes was any indication. "The Keeper told us they can’t be defeated—that Varterrals will resurrect themselves for many lifetimes to continue their vigil."