[ There is time, but perhaps not as much as they might want or need. Time enough for them to feel as though there is not enough. ]
No. We do not. [ Frowning, Solas turns his head away. He has said enough this time, he thinks; he has bared his soul enough that he feels as though he might never be able to piece himself together again. It is painful, he thinks, but at least it is done. He cannot regret that.
Slowly, he turns back to look at Thranduil. ]
I come to you when I am distressed. It is no fault of yours.
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No. We do not. [ Frowning, Solas turns his head away. He has said enough this time, he thinks; he has bared his soul enough that he feels as though he might never be able to piece himself together again. It is painful, he thinks, but at least it is done. He cannot regret that.
Slowly, he turns back to look at Thranduil. ]
I come to you when I am distressed. It is no fault of yours.