The little girl, he could see, was trying to walk as quietly as she could. It didn't keep her from his notice- after so many centuries, he had become attuned to this place and it to him, such that he was aware of virtually everything that happened here.. not that much ever did. This was a tomb, and people stayed away from tombs. The little girl was the first living human to set foot here in a very long while. Fueled by curiousity and partly concern for her safety, he followed her. As he expected, it wasn't long before she encountered trouble. The tomb, although not a ruin, was nonetheless free of human presence, which tended to attract monsters. Perhaps because of his previous affiliation with their king, a flight of dragons had made it their home. There had been nothing for them to harm, and so he had let them, but now was a different matter. Lionheart was buried deep below several tons of stone, but he no longer needed a weapon to fight. With a single swipe, he sent the hexadragon that was about to strike the girl tumbling into the wall, its spine breaking with an audible crack. The girl whirled, and he could see shock written all over her face, but strangely, no fear. She had spunk, even if she was foolhardy. Intriguing. "Who's there?" She said. He wondered if he should show himself. It had been centuries.. but he was getting sick of that word. He materialised in front of the girl. On impulse, he chose the shape he had worn was still living, but when he was only as old as she appeared to be. "I am." He said, quietly. He had not used his voice for all too long, and as it echoed off the walls into the depths of the tomb, it sounded unnatural to him. The girl turned, very quickly, to face him. "Are you a ghost?" She asked. He shrugged. She closed the distance between them and grabbed at his hand. It was the last reaction he'd expected from her, and he moved too late; for a split second they touched. "Well," said the girl, "You're warm. You can't be." She sounded almost disappointed. "You shouldn't be here. It's dangerous." "I know that." She said. He raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you afraid?" "Of dying?" She snorted. "Not really." "Brave," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "But foolish." She smiled. "I think that you are a ghost after all. Are you really a little boy? You don't sound like one. You talk like you're much older." He frowned, feeling somehow irritated at her manner, and also irritated at himself for getting riled over such a petty thing. "Who's the one who doesn't sound like she looks, now?" He started to turn away. "Don't be such a grouch. I was only trying to be friendly." She ran up to him and blocked his path. He reached out to push her away, irritated. Perversely, he didn't want her to know who he really was. She clung to his arm. "Let go." He told her, shaking the arm. "No wanna. Not until you do something for me." Spoilt, he thought. She reminded him of someone. But he was not going to let her trample all over him. "No." He said. He pulled his arm from her grasp, and walked over to the wall where the prone corpse of the dragon lay, ichor painting the gold-streaked marble green. "I'll cry." She threatened. "So cry," he said. The hexadragon was a fine specimen, larger than he remembered fighting in previous times. Its eyes were dull red, in sick contrast to the pale green of its blood, glistening in the crystal light of the tomb. He considered plundering it for useful items, then decided against it, since he had no use for them anyhow. He spared a glance back at the girl. She was not crying, but she was stamping at the floor and her eyes were suspiciously moist. Such a brat. He didn't like meddling in other people's affairs, but she really shouldn't be here. "If you don't leave, you'll probably run into more trouble," he warned. "I came here looking for trouble." "You found it." Standing up, he dusted his hands, a reflexive motion, and turned towards the exit to one of the tunnels, intending to return to incorporeal form once he was out of sight. "Did I?" She said slyly. "You?" He refused to dignify her sally with a response, continuing to walk. "Wait! I need your help! It's serious!" Frantic footsteps behind him, and the childish voice was suddenly serious. He had a moment to decide whether or not to disappear, then stopped, and turned, just slightly. Always people calling on him, even thousands of years after he had ceased to live, as if he was some sort of wish-fulfilling entity, which he was not. Mostly he just wanted to be left alone. There was no reason to help this girl this time, except that some remnant of the thing he had once called duty remained still- because even though he could no longer by rights call this world his home, he was still bound to it, even- loved it. And because- just because. Because he wanted to, he realised. He didn't know the girl except that she was a spoiled and insolent brat, but she was in trouble, and he couldn't leave her at that.