"You say many cruel things about yourself," the elf said, and not for the first time in their acquaintance here. There was no trace of pity in his tone, merely a statement to reflect what he’d observed. Sometimes he worried that Hawke’s greatest enemy was himself, not the Chantry that hunted him. "The selfish choice would have been taking a life that wasn’t yours to take. Your feelings don’t make you weak."
Of course, all of this was coming from someone who patiently sat with his friends and tried, to the best of his ability, to rally some of their confidence back. He’d settled quite comfortably into the role of Keeper, whether any but Solas had taken note of something so determined by a specific culture. It took a lot for Lavellan to turn away from someone, and even longer to earn his scorn. He didn’t like holding grudges. They clouded the heart too much to be useful.
Lavellan made a sound that would have seemed suspiciously like Cassandra’s disgusted noise had she been here. It was really more of a scoff. You could take an elf away from other Dalish, but you couldn’t take the Dalish out of an elf. "The apology was for not giving you a chance. You’ll still have to work for the respect."