"—What?" Lavellan was so taken aback by the comment, he barked out a long, loud laugh. And the laugh actually continued. The elf had to wipe his eyes—the mental images were just too funny. "Mythal preserve us. Unless you proved you could provide and protect her through specific gestures and asked the Keeper for permission, then no. I think you’re safe from a Dalish proposal."
It was a long and arduous process. Like everything in most clans, you gained approval through hard work and sacrifice. And that said nothing of the fact that Dalish rarely married outside their race, even less so with humans. There were some exceptions, yes. Hawke could have probably managed it by sheer determination and a willingness to charm an entire clan, but it would have taken years. And that assumed the Keeper was lenient.
He felt a twinge of sadness for something he knew he could never have. Not now. But that wasn’t important anymore. "Green? That’s an interesting choice." His was own markings were a very dark red, almost black. "Yours would be red, I think. Maybe blue." It was amusing to imagine his friends wearing vallaslin. Lavellan had already decided that Dorian’s would be a dark orange, like the sunset.