"You are safer here than you were before," Solas tells her, and there's an edge to his voice. He might not be fond of these people, but he will not let Galadriel be at risk again. He would put himself forward before he does that - and he reaches for her, taking her hand, hoping to soothe her with a gentle press of finger to finger.

"I knew that there was something... Wrong. The celebration of miracles, knowing that it would come with death, the suffering of the people in the Infirmary... I found their dead. This place screamed of ill thoughts and mistakes long before I discovered the Rift, long before I entertained the idea of something shaping their world. We should have intervened long before we did."

When she coughs Solas turns to her, reaching, comforting her as much as he can. He's further on the bed now, practically climbed on beside her, and he has no sense of decorum or propriety when it comes to her - if Galadriel requires his support then he will give it. When she is done his hands lift, pushing hair from her face, thumb gentle against the soft curve of her cheek as he checks her for fever.

A pause. A tilt of his head, and then -

"Explain."