《Flyleaf》Trollhunters/Merlin

《 Chapter Two 》

"In the end, all hope is lost. It is consumed by the shadows."

The cavern quakes with the sound of a distant roar, rousing the youth from his temporal musings. He frowns, looking up at the raining pebbles as they fall from the ceiling with clouds of dust. His cool teal eyes blink in irritation, an expression of worry overcoming his features as he senses one of his extension sentries be extinguished.

He swears under his breath, clambering to his feet to shove a loose boulder back in place. If Jim keeps doing this there's going to be nothing left of their little hideaway but a pile of rubble. If only the boy would tell him before going off on a scavenging trip.

Esmerion pauses as the cavern stops shaking, a resigned sigh leaving his lips as he slumps against the rock wall. He wants to cry out, or strike something as hard as he can; he hasn't decided yet. Even if it brings all the Gumm-Gumms swarming in their hundreds, he wants to scream until his lungs give out.

'Blast the Tumberic Stones,' he wants to cry. 'Blast the Amulet.'

He pounds his fists into the wall, unaware and uncaring of the damage it's causing him, even as blood starts to paint the rock. It does not matter to him whether he harms himself or not.

'Blast Merlin and Arthur and Gwen and Gaius and all the Knights at the Table.' He bites his hand, muffling a scream that might have brought the ceiling down upon him. The taste of bitter iron fills his mouth, staining his teeth a grim rust red. The youth grimaces, retracting his hand from where it resides. The disturbing sight of torn flesh greets his hesitant gaze, ripped open by his own lack of restraint.

"Merde," he mutters, recalling the word from an old friend. "That was beyond daft, Ez."

"What was beyond daft?"

Esmerion jumps in surprise, stumbling to the back of the cave, "Foutre!"

"Chill, Ty--" Jim clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. "I brought food?"

He scowls at his foster-brother, only shifting to make himself comfortable on the cave floor. The youth pulls a strip of bandage from his pocket, at least, what tattered remains are left of the once unscathed fabric that he had been wearing when they came through. Tenderly, he wraps it around his hand, hissing quietly in irritation of the frayed ends.

"Woah, what did you do?" Jim carefully places his sack on the ground and hops over the fire pit. "How did you manage to do that?"

Esmerion barely withholds from snarling at the boy, and instead settles for glaring at the ash in the pit as though it ate his burrito. He gnaws on his lip as he contemplates his behaviour.

"Esmerion," the boy scorns, taking his brother's hand and continues dressing the wound as best he can. "You can't ignore me forever."

He sighs in defeat, eyes flickering up to meet Jim's. It's saddening to watch the Trollhunter flinch at the sight of his discoloured irises, especially since he can't bring himself to meet the gaze. 

"Do ye know why I meditate, Jim?" He asks quietly in an almost vulnerable voice.

Jim shakes his head, eyes focused on Esmerion's hand.

"It keeps me magic in check." He glances over at the dead logs in the pit. They burst into flames, "An' since the sentries are an extension of meself an' me senses, it allows me to keep the sentries alight without strainin' what little magic I can control."

The boy drops his hand, eyes wide as shock reflects within them, "You can't control your magic?!"

Esmerion swears silently for his poor explanation, "I can control it, Jim," he assures, wracking his mind for the right words. "It's just that... the Darklands contains magic that is... the opposite to me own. It is drainin' to withhold magic in a place that rejects it."

Jim hums in understanding, though clearly quite unbelieving of the youth's words. But he says no more, tending only to the full sack of--whatever that is.

His foster-brother watches without a word, grimacing as he recognises the scavenged food items in the sack. Brilliant. Who doesn't love Beast egg? Everyone, that's who.

Seeing that the boy seems to be having difficulty with the fire pit, Esmerion waves his good hand in his general direction. Blue flames flicker into existence, startling Jim into falling backwards. He narrowly misses landing on the bag of eggs.

"Warning would be appreciated," he snarks, standing up again as he grabs the small shield they use for cooking.

The youth snorts, turning his head away. It's hard resisting the urge to say something he doesn't mean. Draining to force himself into doing what he intends and wants instead of the opposite.

Jim scowls at his new behaviour, cracking one of the large eggs into the shield. But quickly scrunches his nose at the rotten smell it releases and gags, hiding his nose in his arm.

He can't understand this new... Esmerion. He's well aware that Tyler was just a name for him to be called by, but he acts so different now. The youth is always serious and the wondrous sparkle of curiosity has died in his eyes. There's never any jokes to be shared as there used to be and Esmerion just seems older. He looks at everything as though he's seen it before and behaves as though someone might suddenly appear and try to lop off his head. Something tells Jim that he's experienced that before.

A blundered curse slips from his tongue as he suddenly finds his egg burning. He scrambles to get it off the fire and nearly slops the disgustingly grey meal over the hot coals. In the corner of his eye, he catches Esmerion as he flicks his fingers upward.

The 'plate' moves from Jim's fingers and hovers in the air in front of him, saving him from losing his supper. Hesitantly, he takes it from the air and sits down with it on his lap.

Right. There's also the matter that he has magic.

Jim warily watches the unnaturally cold youth while he selects an egg from the bag, carefully setting it between his legs. He cringes in disgust as Esmerion hits the shell with his hand and practically rips away the shards of eggshell from the top. His stomach clenches and he forces himself to focus on his own meal as the youth starts greedily gulping the raw egg.

The crude drawings on the back wall of the cave bring sorrow to his heart, and he adverts his gaze, unable to look at the faces that he misses. So instead, he turns to the map beside him, contemplating the routes and places that would be best to search next.

"Where are you, Enrique?" He asks himself in despair, "There's no end to this place."

To clear things up, extension sentries are basically like proximity detectors. They allow Esmerion to sense when something's coming. And about his magic and the Darklands, imagine two magnets of the same charge: they repel each other. In this case, the magic in the Darklands is basically fighting against his own. And, yes, it is effecting him.

Hope y'all are having some sort of fun during this time of isolation.