[ Roland's not going to answer that because he has his own doubts. Those never really go away, do they? The older you get, the more they just morph into something different; something more subtle. And you just hope and pray you've got enough in you to fight back against the shadows of self-doubt, regardless of what kind of facade you show the world.

No one will ever truly understand how much pain he hides, or the amount of guilt he harbors for the things that he couldn't do for his country.

He leans more comfortably now, watching the suds starting to dry on the floor. Their work left unfinished, for now. ]

Something like that. [ He answers simply, at first. And it's vague for a reason - is he affirming Inigo's first or second question? Maybe both? And though this is now his third time repeating this story, the feeling that washes over him doesn't grow dull. He credits it to how he eventually found his voice, even when everyone around him chose to silence him instead. ]

I was just a kid, then. I was smaller than everyone else, so they picked on me and I couldn't do much against them. I let them do those things to me because I felt like being smaller might have meant it gave them permission. Maybe a part of my younger self believed that.

[ A short beat passes before he meets Inigo's gaze as he sits on the closed toilet bowl. His hand makes a gesture in the air as he continues. ]

But do you want to know how I realized I had to do something?