There is always a weight to Solas and perhaps that is the problem; he has carried it for so long, so secretly, that it is simply a part of him now. There is no escaping it, no avoiding it, and so he lets it rest upon him. It might not be obvious to everyone that looks at him now, but to Thranduil and Galadriel? It must appear like holding up the world itself.

"There were many mistakes made in youth," Solas admits quietly, looking down at his bound feet absently. "If you wrap well and use appropriate fabrics there is no need to fear where you step." The idea of being watched more makes him feel very uneasy indeed, but there's no denying the fact that if there was anyone to do it he would prefer it be Thranduil himself.

Tilting his head, he raises a brow.

"Is there a reason you are so concerned with my feet, my friend?"