"A mercy," he says, and does not speak of the weight that seems to have dropped upon his friend's shoulders. They are elves. There are wounds other than the physical, especially to the immortal.

"When?" Thranduil asks, briefly amused. "And you avoid the filth of Mannish cities, too. You step very confidently for one who must consider where he steps with such care. Perhaps I ought to watch you more."

The Dalish have, at worse, the appearance of a bee or rock to contend with. Solas' soles are more like hard leather than not, but Thranduil isn't about to examine them.