![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparkindarknessI did say I had this nearly ready. See, I wasn't lying, or fobbing off. Honest.
And I've nearly dealt with that little cliffhanger problem of mine.
The doors opened before anyone touched them. The entrance hall was grand, but bare. Huge walls were perfectly smooth, far smoother than even the finest craftsman could manage, yet at the same time they suggested that the stone had been crafted by the flow of water or the passing of air rather than anything as mundane as tools. A single, narrow staircase flowed upwards at the far end of the hall, curving upwards into the ceiling. Next to it, a second plunged downwards beneath the floor. There was no sound. The world seemed to die outside, leaving on this chamber carved from nature’s heart.
A single Norn stood in the room. Like most Norns, he was almost androgynous. He stood as tall as any Sidhe, but pressed thinly, his bones showing plainly through a think layer of bleached white skin - paleness as pure as the winter snow. His long limbs were shrouded in a simple billowing white robe. It swayed ever so slightly in the empty, still air of the room, caught by breezes none could feel. Breezes that could just be seen, a faint suggestion, out of the corners of Sidhe’s eyes. Magic fr5om places even they did not understand.
The Norn watched them silently through overly large, pale blue eyes. Those eyes seemed to take up most of a face that was sharp and pointed, sharp chin, small, sharp nose, high sharp cheekbones pressed like knives against that thin pale skin. Those eyes had a sharpness of their own, the pupils impossibly small, slitted like a cats swam in the middle of an ice blue iris that covered nearly all of eye. They struck the visitors like thin scalpels, sliding beneath their skin to bare their souls to that alien gaze.
Sitharensor met the gaze, silently countering with his own power. Gently he pushed against the unwelcome intrusion and pushed it aside, guiding it out of his mind gently but firmly. He felt Ilatheril throw his power at the invading probe, smashing it aside with a shattering blow. Normally he wouldn’t advise that; the Norns knew that the Sidhe were more powerful than them. But to be faced with skill and subtlety? That they respected. Of course a display of power and skill had its uses.
He focused his own stare into the alien eyes of the Norn, his violet eyes fixing on those delicate lines in their sea of blue. The Norn didn’t even try to hold the gaze, averting his eyes downwards immediately. A Norn’s gaze could insinuate into your mind to ferret out your thoughts. A Sidhe’s gaze scoured you away leaving your mind, heart and soul naked and vulnerable to their unforgiving scrutiny and terrible judgement.
The Norn bowed, turned and started to ascend the stairs. Wordlessly, the two Sidhe and the Troll followed. The stairs seemed to spiral for an age, occasional doors and passageways flowed off the twisting column, but their pace carried them ever upwards. Sitharensor amused himself by lightly testing the magic of the tower with his own, softly running his power along the exquisite matrixes and along the meticulous powered planes that filled the edifice. For a brief moment, he held the entire tower, was linked to the entire tower; his magic and its magic were one, united. He held it only for a tiny fraction of a second before pulling back, concentrating his mind on the impression. Slowly he built a floor plan of the spire in his head.
I think you impressed him, Sith.
The Seelie looked to the Norn, it had turned it’s back again, but yes, the set of the shoulders, the slight change of walk. He was impressed, and slightly scared. Good.
He felt me become one with the tower’s magic. He felt the tower’s magic answer mind and obey. He fears I can destroy it and bring it crashing on our heads.
Paranoid, isn’t he?
Sidhe have done such things in the past
Past being the operative word here. I know I’m not expert, but there’s no way you could bring this down. Or any living Sidhe.
I’m not sure about ‘any living Sidhe’ but no I could not. But he does not know that.
Ah, right! More social engineering propaganda. Gotcha.
Sitharensor ignored that comment again. Ilatheril clearly did not understand the situation.
They emerged at the top of the Tower. Another room of Spartan glory, three of the walls utterly unbroken and unmarked, only stone, almost beautiful in its simple perfection. The fourth wall was open to the sky and winds, mirrored by another void in the roof, allowing the sunlight to stream freely within the walls.
Three chairs stood in the exact centre of the room, grown from the rocky floor itself, all facing the great emptiness. There was a Norn sat in each one, all dressed in identical robes to the one who had lead them up the stairs. Two appeared to be male, sat either side of the central which seemed to be female. Three pairs of alien eyes, ice blue, snow white and pale sea green, stared down at the entering fae.
“Who comes before the Norn tribunal of the Iron Gate?” The male Norn on the left spoke, eyes never blinking, voice utterly lacking in tone, emotion or inflection.
Sitharensor stared back silently, moving his gaze from one Norn to the next. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the guiding Norn turn and walk down the stairs. With other fae, the Norns preferred to use their glamour to appear and disappear at will. The Sidhe would neither be fooled by such, or impressed by the attempt. The silence stretched. Ilatheril shot a brief sideways look at Sitharensor, frowning just slightly. The silence stretched longer. Ilatheril finally began to open his mouth, to fill the heavy silence.
Sitharensor grabbed the Unseelie’s arm, violet eyes never leaving the Sidhe. The Sidhe’s gaze narrowed slightly as it continued its wandering from one gaze to the next, gaining with intensity with every passing second as the tension mounted.
Slowly, one by one, the Norns lowered their gazes. Sitharensor sought their stares, stalking eye contact like a starving predator. The Norns nearly cowered, trying to avoid those unforgiving eyes.
Sitharensor finally broke the silence. “I believe I misheard you.”
The female Norn raised her head slightly, still making sure not to meet his gaze. “Greetings and welcome Prince Sitharensor heir apparent to Great House Eternal Fire, son of our liege, Lord Brionachan the Bold, Lord of House Eternal Fire; Lord of the Northern Wilds; Shield of the Eastern Sea; Guardian of Autumn’s Last Light; Holder of the Cobalt Flames; Noon Bather; Blessed of Lindesfarne, Salisbury and Avalorn; Griffin Slayer; Kinblade to the King. I, Halla, First among the Norns of the Iron Gate offer you the succour and service of my hall and my people.”
Sitharensor chased the words with a little power, just a brief stretch of his vast capacity to wrap around the words and make them echo and dance through the room, lingering long past when they should have died. Every title danced across the skin like fine blades.
“Greetings Halla, First among the Norns of the Iron Gate. I come seeking the wisdom and sight of the Norns.” He did not say about what he sought guidance. They were Norns, if they did not know why they were there, they would not have gone to them in the first place.
The silence was long and deep, full with the subtle presence of the Norns... vague whispers from distant places just a shadows width away. Those alien eyes looked up, staring at distant times and places, searching for memories of things they had already seen.
“Long has he dwelt in the darkness with his fellows. Always they have been creatures of the night. Always they have shunned the light. But the darkness receded. The darkness was driven back. The light waxed and the darkness bled. The darkness bled, the darkness fled. Until the shadows no longer provided safety or succour. Once he lived in chaos, now the chaos lives within, in heart and mind and soul, burning on a furnace of hate, stoked by blood and the killing light.
“He lurks where the dreams do not go, he hides where fancy will not find him. He hides where iron minds hurt worse than iron swords.”
Sitharensor nodded, committing the wisdom to memory. “My gratitude and debt to you, honoured First. I will remember you to my father.”
Without any further ceremony, Sitharensor turned to leave.
“My Prince...” Sitharensor turned, allowing his eyebrows to raise slightly in surprise. “My Prince... there are other dangers on the horizon, but I know not... or wish I did not...” Halla took a deep steadying breath, rattling sharp in her thin chest. “Fantasy fades, my Prince... I fear its mask wears thin.”
Sitharensor stared, frozen for a full minute. Finally he nodded, before gently taking Ilatheril by the hand and leading him down the spire.
And I've nearly dealt with that little cliffhanger problem of mine.
The doors opened before anyone touched them. The entrance hall was grand, but bare. Huge walls were perfectly smooth, far smoother than even the finest craftsman could manage, yet at the same time they suggested that the stone had been crafted by the flow of water or the passing of air rather than anything as mundane as tools. A single, narrow staircase flowed upwards at the far end of the hall, curving upwards into the ceiling. Next to it, a second plunged downwards beneath the floor. There was no sound. The world seemed to die outside, leaving on this chamber carved from nature’s heart.
A single Norn stood in the room. Like most Norns, he was almost androgynous. He stood as tall as any Sidhe, but pressed thinly, his bones showing plainly through a think layer of bleached white skin - paleness as pure as the winter snow. His long limbs were shrouded in a simple billowing white robe. It swayed ever so slightly in the empty, still air of the room, caught by breezes none could feel. Breezes that could just be seen, a faint suggestion, out of the corners of Sidhe’s eyes. Magic fr5om places even they did not understand.
The Norn watched them silently through overly large, pale blue eyes. Those eyes seemed to take up most of a face that was sharp and pointed, sharp chin, small, sharp nose, high sharp cheekbones pressed like knives against that thin pale skin. Those eyes had a sharpness of their own, the pupils impossibly small, slitted like a cats swam in the middle of an ice blue iris that covered nearly all of eye. They struck the visitors like thin scalpels, sliding beneath their skin to bare their souls to that alien gaze.
Sitharensor met the gaze, silently countering with his own power. Gently he pushed against the unwelcome intrusion and pushed it aside, guiding it out of his mind gently but firmly. He felt Ilatheril throw his power at the invading probe, smashing it aside with a shattering blow. Normally he wouldn’t advise that; the Norns knew that the Sidhe were more powerful than them. But to be faced with skill and subtlety? That they respected. Of course a display of power and skill had its uses.
He focused his own stare into the alien eyes of the Norn, his violet eyes fixing on those delicate lines in their sea of blue. The Norn didn’t even try to hold the gaze, averting his eyes downwards immediately. A Norn’s gaze could insinuate into your mind to ferret out your thoughts. A Sidhe’s gaze scoured you away leaving your mind, heart and soul naked and vulnerable to their unforgiving scrutiny and terrible judgement.
The Norn bowed, turned and started to ascend the stairs. Wordlessly, the two Sidhe and the Troll followed. The stairs seemed to spiral for an age, occasional doors and passageways flowed off the twisting column, but their pace carried them ever upwards. Sitharensor amused himself by lightly testing the magic of the tower with his own, softly running his power along the exquisite matrixes and along the meticulous powered planes that filled the edifice. For a brief moment, he held the entire tower, was linked to the entire tower; his magic and its magic were one, united. He held it only for a tiny fraction of a second before pulling back, concentrating his mind on the impression. Slowly he built a floor plan of the spire in his head.
I think you impressed him, Sith.
The Seelie looked to the Norn, it had turned it’s back again, but yes, the set of the shoulders, the slight change of walk. He was impressed, and slightly scared. Good.
He felt me become one with the tower’s magic. He felt the tower’s magic answer mind and obey. He fears I can destroy it and bring it crashing on our heads.
Paranoid, isn’t he?
Sidhe have done such things in the past
Past being the operative word here. I know I’m not expert, but there’s no way you could bring this down. Or any living Sidhe.
I’m not sure about ‘any living Sidhe’ but no I could not. But he does not know that.
Ah, right! More social engineering propaganda. Gotcha.
Sitharensor ignored that comment again. Ilatheril clearly did not understand the situation.
They emerged at the top of the Tower. Another room of Spartan glory, three of the walls utterly unbroken and unmarked, only stone, almost beautiful in its simple perfection. The fourth wall was open to the sky and winds, mirrored by another void in the roof, allowing the sunlight to stream freely within the walls.
Three chairs stood in the exact centre of the room, grown from the rocky floor itself, all facing the great emptiness. There was a Norn sat in each one, all dressed in identical robes to the one who had lead them up the stairs. Two appeared to be male, sat either side of the central which seemed to be female. Three pairs of alien eyes, ice blue, snow white and pale sea green, stared down at the entering fae.
“Who comes before the Norn tribunal of the Iron Gate?” The male Norn on the left spoke, eyes never blinking, voice utterly lacking in tone, emotion or inflection.
Sitharensor stared back silently, moving his gaze from one Norn to the next. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the guiding Norn turn and walk down the stairs. With other fae, the Norns preferred to use their glamour to appear and disappear at will. The Sidhe would neither be fooled by such, or impressed by the attempt. The silence stretched. Ilatheril shot a brief sideways look at Sitharensor, frowning just slightly. The silence stretched longer. Ilatheril finally began to open his mouth, to fill the heavy silence.
Sitharensor grabbed the Unseelie’s arm, violet eyes never leaving the Sidhe. The Sidhe’s gaze narrowed slightly as it continued its wandering from one gaze to the next, gaining with intensity with every passing second as the tension mounted.
Slowly, one by one, the Norns lowered their gazes. Sitharensor sought their stares, stalking eye contact like a starving predator. The Norns nearly cowered, trying to avoid those unforgiving eyes.
Sitharensor finally broke the silence. “I believe I misheard you.”
The female Norn raised her head slightly, still making sure not to meet his gaze. “Greetings and welcome Prince Sitharensor heir apparent to Great House Eternal Fire, son of our liege, Lord Brionachan the Bold, Lord of House Eternal Fire; Lord of the Northern Wilds; Shield of the Eastern Sea; Guardian of Autumn’s Last Light; Holder of the Cobalt Flames; Noon Bather; Blessed of Lindesfarne, Salisbury and Avalorn; Griffin Slayer; Kinblade to the King. I, Halla, First among the Norns of the Iron Gate offer you the succour and service of my hall and my people.”
Sitharensor chased the words with a little power, just a brief stretch of his vast capacity to wrap around the words and make them echo and dance through the room, lingering long past when they should have died. Every title danced across the skin like fine blades.
“Greetings Halla, First among the Norns of the Iron Gate. I come seeking the wisdom and sight of the Norns.” He did not say about what he sought guidance. They were Norns, if they did not know why they were there, they would not have gone to them in the first place.
The silence was long and deep, full with the subtle presence of the Norns... vague whispers from distant places just a shadows width away. Those alien eyes looked up, staring at distant times and places, searching for memories of things they had already seen.
“Long has he dwelt in the darkness with his fellows. Always they have been creatures of the night. Always they have shunned the light. But the darkness receded. The darkness was driven back. The light waxed and the darkness bled. The darkness bled, the darkness fled. Until the shadows no longer provided safety or succour. Once he lived in chaos, now the chaos lives within, in heart and mind and soul, burning on a furnace of hate, stoked by blood and the killing light.
“He lurks where the dreams do not go, he hides where fancy will not find him. He hides where iron minds hurt worse than iron swords.”
Sitharensor nodded, committing the wisdom to memory. “My gratitude and debt to you, honoured First. I will remember you to my father.”
Without any further ceremony, Sitharensor turned to leave.
“My Prince...” Sitharensor turned, allowing his eyebrows to raise slightly in surprise. “My Prince... there are other dangers on the horizon, but I know not... or wish I did not...” Halla took a deep steadying breath, rattling sharp in her thin chest. “Fantasy fades, my Prince... I fear its mask wears thin.”
Sitharensor stared, frozen for a full minute. Finally he nodded, before gently taking Ilatheril by the hand and leading him down the spire.