"Help is often cried for, but few strive to be it."

Esmerion expected it, really.  The anger the young warlock was experiencing had quite a reasonable cause.

However, he had underestimated Merlin's boldness significantly.

A mistake proven by the hands gripping his collar and the cold stone at his back.

Of course, Esmerion is far more lenient than his brother when it comes to such things, and had merely allowed the boy to shove him in a cupboard and very poorly threaten him. He does take a moment to remind himself of who the boy has lost to permit this sort of behaviour. Patience is not in infinite supply, after all.

"Who are you?" Merlin demands, a dangerous gold glimmering in his eyes. "What are you doing in Camelot?"

Coolly, Esmerion grasps the boy's wrists and removes them from his jacket, eyes gleaming. He bears a steely expression, a wolfish grin on his lips as he leans closer to the warlock's face.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warns in a low voice, near hissing the words. "You never know who you might be speaking to."

Merlin blinks at him, and Esmerion briefly wonders why Lady Magic chose him of all humans, reminded a bit too much of a dumb ox. But then he sees it, the slow realisation that there had been no accent in his own words, and his grin stretches.

There's fear in his eyes now, hidden amongst the glistening anger and grief. It's only small, a single flake out of a blizzard, but it's blossoming into something more. And it satisfies the false man.

"What are you?" Merlin takes a tentative step back, not out of terror but rather out of caution.

"More than you might think," he snaps his fingers sharply in front of the boy's face, summoning a green flame on his fingertips before smothering it and leaning closer, "young warlock."

Gulping slightly, Merlin regains his composure and studies the amber eyes of the male. The glee unsettles him, as does the bold fascination, but neither sends shivers down his spine quite like  the bottomless pool of knowledge. Knowledge of past and present, and easily of future too.

"You spoke to Kilgharrah."

Esmerion nods slowly, his grin falling into an easy smirk. "I did. What of it?"

"Only Dragonlords can do that."

"Yes, and you're the last. Congratulations on the promotion," Esmerion rolls his eyes and freezes. He hadn't quite intended on saying that. "Ah," he says smoothly, "begging your pardon for the slip of the tongue."

Oh, how he can see Merlin's struggle to remain calm. It is really rather amusing. But he regrets the words like salt in an open wound. Balinor had been pleasant to both him and his brother before his banishment, and that was a seldom thing at the time.

"Balinor was a great man, I'm sure," Esmerion moves on, his predatory gaze turning steely. "But the fact remains. You are the sole remaining Dragonlord in the whole of Albion."

"Then how-" Merlin's query is interrupted by a hand on his mouth, and he tries to pull away, only for the male to bring him closer. He struggles momentarily before he hears the footsteps nearing the cupboard.

"Every language can be learnt, young warlock," he hisses into the servant's ear, keeping a wary gaze on the door. Arthur's scent has just grown in strength, and he has no doubt that the prince is just outside.

After several too-long moments, the footsteps move away, a near-silent tutting going with them. Esmerion releases the tension in his shoulders, letting his hand fall back to his side as he steps away from the warlock.

"You have a great deal to learn," he tells the boy, baring a humourless grin full of sharp teeth.

"I could take you out," Merlin claims, and the male laughs bitterly at his eagerness.

"Ye could try," Esmerion points out, the amber of his eyes flashing with warning. "Ye wouldn't manage a scratch."

Merlin swallows thickly, leaning away with an air of extreme caution. The conflict in his eyes is extraordinary, the desire to trust clashing viciously with his ever-present knowledge of the male's lack of human qualities. He had the chance to kill Arthur and himself many times before now, so murder is logically not what he wants.

"Think on it, won't ye?" Esmerion chuckles, placing a hand on the door. "Remember not all of us 'ave twisted intentions."

The male observes silently, watching the questions dance behind Merlin's eyes, playing a roundabout game as they circle each other. There are answers in the crowd as well, but they have no question, and await the other to complete the pair.

Esmerion grins at this, and steps out into the hallway, away from the warlock. Only to freeze on the spot as he comes face to face with Camelot's prince.

"There you are!" Arthur exclaims, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "I've been looking for you."

"For whatever reason, sire?" Esmerion schools his expression, grin falling into something more neutral.

"What reason?" he repeats, sarcasm falling from his lips as he gives the male a puzzled look. "Surely you've heard the news?"

"What news, sire?" the amber-eyed male folds his hands in front of him. "I have been ferrying water from the castle reserves for most of the day, so I cannot be one to say."

"Choosy listener, you are," Arthur grins. "I've slain the dragon, Ez!"

Esmerion doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at the boy's statement. The prince has no idea how ungamely the concept of slaying a dragon is. It would be like killing a fawn; cruel and unnecessary. And with that in mind, there's the knowledge that Kilgharah still lives, completely removing the worth in his words.

So he remains silent.

"Does that mean nothing to you?" Arthur laughs almost with disbelief, hurt shining in his eyes. "The dragon is dead, Esmerion!"

"What is it that ye wish to be said?" Esmerion says, a cold tone entering his voice. "'Congratulations, sire, ye killed a freed prisoner that served a sentence that was not 'is.'"

Arthur's expression turns to one of bafflement, a deep wound left in his pride. "What's wrong with you, Ez? It was slaughtering our people!"

"'E was exacting revenge, sire," the male smiles grimly, his voice returning to its emotionless tone. "For a crime 'e did not commit."

"And you condone that?" Arthur's voice rises in volume, starting to echo through the corridor. "You would have my people be killed for something they didn't do?"

"Isn't that what yer father did?"

The prince stops, blinking at the male as he registered the words. "What?"

Esmerion meets his eyes, an ice blue frozen by his amber. Quietly, he speaks, saying not a word louder than a whisper. "Yer father ordered that all people, humans and creatures alike, be put to death for association with magic. Tell me, did the druid children deserve it? Did the unborn dragons deserve it? What did they do to earn such a punishment?"

Arthur scowls, the jab at his father's crown so clear that it may as well have been written down. He doesn't understand, how Uther's claims and Esmerion's are polar opposites. The bronze-haired man has taught him since his early teens, yet what he teaches vastly differs from the orders of the king.

"Think on it, won't ye?" Esmerion utters, gracefully dodging around the prince. "Remember not all of 'em 'ave twisted desires."

It's been a hot minute, hasn't it? Sorry about the long wait. My inspiration is at a low and I've been trying to build a portfolio for university. Hopefully, I'll be able to write more since I have more time, but Lockdown kinda washed me clean of inspiration.

As you probably noticed, Esmerion's behaviour has changed, and he's no longer kind for the purpose of others. I realised that his character wasn't realistic to who I wanted him to be, so you'll probably be seeing some changes in him in the future.