And this was where they differed. "I’m prepared to fight, Hawke. That doesn’t mean I’m going to wait for a fight to happen." Maybe Lavellan was too naive, dependent on an idealistic hope that good could still be done in a world of warring cities and petty nobles. But he had to believe in the fact that a better world was possible. He couldn’t live any other way. He didn’t know how.
"I don’t think it’s about strength," he went on, watching Hawke with too-bright eyes. "Sparing his life took more strength than ending it would have. Death is easy. It’s a kindness. You chose a path unknown." The Dalish were very strict in matters such as these. You had to earn the right to redemption through hard work and service to the clan. There were no headsman to deal justice in the wild.
Something in Lavellan seemed to soften, though. This was heavier talk than he’d intended to bring into a crowded, overly warm tavern. "Thank you for listening. I didn’t mean to—I’d meant to apologize to you. I haven’t been very welcoming. You deserve a chance."