"I will try and change your mind with every breath I have, until I've no more to spend." He should expect that from her, and she turns to him -- eyes wide and defiant. They know where this will end, how this will end. Someone will have blood on their hands, and Lavellan can only hope it is her's. Solas already has the death of one culture staining his; she'd have him keep from doing it again. Not just for him, but for Thedas.

As for what she's hoping for, Lavellan shrugs. Perhaps the truth would be more convincing than tiptoeing around the matter at hand. "I've missed you, Solas." She says, shoving her hand into a pocket as she walks -- looking away from him and back at the world around them. "It seems you don't have a monopoly on self-sabotage after all." The pain in her chest is worth it just to see him again, just to hear his voice, to talk.

Unsustainable, yes, but for now -- it's been two years, two years and a conversation which took her world from her. And she hates how much she craves even the most basic of conversations with him while knowing she shouldn't.