Finnick swallows and stares down at his hand as he clenches it restlessly on the table.

"I wanted to help you," he says. His tone is measured and even, like if he gets into too much detail some emotion will creep in, and he can't have that. "It's just that I've never been good with witches. Perhaps if we had met in the first few centuries of my life you'd think more of me, or less, I don't know..."

He glances at Eames, trying to gauge his reaction. He hasn't even begun to explain yet but some part of him wishes the other fae would just catch on and understand and he wouldn't have to say all these words that just burn right below the surface for him. "I was fine with their magic before, I wasn't scared, but I was bound... for a very long time..."