I've always feared fire. But that day, I knew that I feared it above all other elements. The wind's harsh calling and wailing would pierce my soul, and the earth rise to swallow me, even the water coul try to drown me...but fire would consume me. As I watched my city burn, and gazed down on the flames and death, I knew that I feared fire...I feared it because it would consume me; and fire was my father's element.

They tell you that blood is thicker than water, but fire can make even the bonds of blood brittle and easily broken. All my life I have played second best to my brother, he the purified glass and I nothing more than scattered sand. My father thought it fit that fire would forge me clean and strong like my brother, but I ran through his fingers. I leaked between the cracks, and became an irritant instead of an heir. Dirt instead of glass.

Even sand has worth, even Faramir has worth, my brother says. No, especially Faramir, he corrects himself with a smile. I wonder if he is half drunk to say such a thing with father's wandering ears could fall upon us at any moment. But they don't. I am left to wonder if my rough hands have left scratches across glass windows of opportunity, for they have broken enough of them. The city fell under my hands, and rose under my brother's. Glass for sand...even though the glassblowers tell me glass comes from sand they must be mistaken. Glass is strong, visible and people wish for it to descend to them, like a mysterious magic bestowed upon their humble heads. They have enough irritant in their life, enough sand.

And so my father puts me through trial of fire...in hopes sand can become glass...