The snort that escapes her is short, and still bitter. "I would have had you trust me," and this time the words are not said with as much anger as they had been during their final confrontation. "Allowed me to make my own decision, instead of taking it from me." And how could he have even done so, when he values the right to choose? Except for when he knows best, Lavellan supposes.

But this is an old wound. She has more that are fresher, like the tattoos on her face.

"The reminders of how wrong the Dalish were," she responds, unable to clear the bitterness from her voice. Or the fact that she, for a moment, does not include herself in with Dalish. "No wonder you hated it -- you must have considered it a personal insult, the way they're proudly worn now." Egotistical of him, this proud, broken man. It would be all too easy to vent herself at him, to attempt to beat her fists against his chest. But Lavellan considers herself an adult, and therefore must act like it.