[ At least there is that. Thranduil is always honest with him - even without magic to command his tongue - and there's an obvious relaxing of the tension in Solas' shoulders, the way he stands, the despair that hung around him like a nightmare.
He can breathe, and he looks terribly old, wan, tired. Desperate.
Nodding, he lifts a hand to press at his face, sighing. ]
It has already dragged beyond bearing. I can speak to no one.
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He can breathe, and he looks terribly old, wan, tired. Desperate.
Nodding, he lifts a hand to press at his face, sighing. ]
It has already dragged beyond bearing. I can speak to no one.