"You can do magic," Faramir said with quiet wonder. He tilted his head in an exaggerated fashion. "With you around, I would never have to be afraid of fire again." Watching Nika, he saw his her eyes were reluctant to meet his, how her body curled in on itself to present a smaller surface area.

"It is not all that wonderful," the girl muttered, "believe me. My Lord." Her head ducked down lower.

"I do not believe that what someone is born to matters. What they do with that is what can change things."

"Do you truly believe that? You are a noble, you own lands where your word is law."

"You would be surprised," Faramir muttered, eyes watching a distant time out of memory. "But yes, I do believe that you can change people's individual worlds."

"Who-" Nika gathered her courage, "if you don't mind me asking, who is that man with the dark hair, eyes like the oncoming storm, with strength and pride in his shoulders? Who is the old man who looks not old, yet eternal at the same time, with obsidian eyes and ivory skin?"

Nika flinched as the openness in Faramir's face was chased away by a strange, darker emotion. "Have not the gossip, the whispers told you of such things?"

"I'm sorry, but I cannot help it. Living things tell me things. But I spoke out of turn. I'm sorry."

"No young one, I apologize. The grief is still too near, and few speak of my family in front of me." He laced his fingers behind his neck and bowed his head, then got up. "Excuse me."