Something flinches in his expression as he looks away from the pointed look to his missing arm. The daily reminders of his limitations were especially difficult to ignore with his magic still mostly ineffective. Finel can barely tell if there's even been any improvements, or if he's just imagining them, at this point.

But mostly, he hates feeling completely helpless, the looks of pity or sympathy that linger, hiding thoughts that think him incapable. Even missing pieces of himself, there is still much he can do.

Or at least, try.

"Gi suilon," he tries again, softly, finding the word easier this time.

Still, a troubled frown forms, his brows drawing together as Finel raises his eyes to Aragorn's once more. "And you would give your loyalty so easily? To a ruler you hardly know and seems uninterested in answering our questions clearly?"