norcumi | Alone in the Almost Dark (Reply)

~~Friend locked since I'm occasionally a paranoid bastard~~ unfriendlocked since after a few days sanity kicks in

This morning I was sprawled in bed, half awake at best. I was groggy, not entirely conscious, and my mind was flowing all over the place the way it sometimes will. I went from what I wanted to do today, and then several things I have to do later this week, and once again I got stuck on Tuesday. Since I was in elementary school, I've enjoyed in the privacy of my own head calling it Moon's Day, or Freya's Day, or whathaveyou, but for the longest time Zues' Day confused me. I'd looked it up a few months ago, and it was (unsurprisingly) named for another Norse god, but unawake as I was, I couldn't recall which (Wikipedia has since reminded me it is Tyr, which feels like a duh moment).

And my mind flowed from there, possibly latching onto a trailer or two I'd seen for Thor, and I was half dreaming of a viking lord's Hall. I think it was a Loki-esque character that was being taunted, or perhaps the camera was focused on someone with Honour who disapproved of such japes and taunting the fallen foe/Loki/whathaveyou. A man, with long hair of indeterminate color, turned to the Lord and declared somewhere between a growl and a deadly calm, quiet statement that he would stay until that *point* torch burned down, but no longer. When it died, he would leave.

The Lord was unamused. At this point, the near dream shifted, and I realized that these were no vikings, but this was Under The Hill, and these were Sidhe. And an unamused Sidhe lord is not to be trifled with, even by one of his greatest warriors. The feasting and merriment went on, with dark tones and ominous trumpets underneath, and as guests slipped out of the hall the torches burned down, one by one.

Save the torch most relevant. It burned, still halfway down, and it remained thus. The camera remained on The Warrior, his face grave and grim, as the revelers around him left. And still the torch burned. And thus centuries passed, the torch glowing as is normal but never lower.

A part of me realized this held flavors of Beauty and the Beast, but I liked the imagery, the vehicle. Perhaps an archaeological exploration, centuries later - perhaps not in the modern era of cell phones and computers, but in a vibrant Renaissance era, full of Greek influence and exploration and swashbuckling heroism, all in a world that is not earth, that has elves and possibly magic though later serious thought says magic should be a myth not "reality". Or maybe a young man or woman, dropped down an old, dry well for some inaccurate crime. A lean, lithe figure creeping down a hallway in almost utter darkness, able to glimpse hints of... something, gods help them let it be something, for e'en if tis death, at least tis not endless hunger in endless darkness!

And they step out of darkness into the flicker of a torch - fresh enough, looking to last maybe another hour at least - and a man, sitting at an empty table. And then this impossible figure in ancient clothes, with an ax or sword hanging off a high backed chair moves, and something which is ancient but not quite a skeleton, with long gracefully pointed ears and inhumanly glittering eyes glares at our hapless hero(ine). The cadaverous mouth opens, and says something in an ancient tongue that sounds like church hymns but is equally incomprehensible. It is an ancient language that our hero is definitely not familiar with, but despair they know. They hear the emotion, and that is how they respond.

I'm not sure what happens next. As often/always happens with me, I've the first part of an idea and no idea what to do with it. Perhaps The Lord is still around, and has become crueler and more capricious. Perhaps they have even taken up a human guise and is now Alchemist to a King. Or perhaps with The Warrior never-dying, his main greatest foe has never died either, lying insensate and restrained by sympathetic magics in a further flung hall, and only now stirs, and wishes to continue, or end, the conflict.

I like a good romance, or at the very least a bromance, so something should grow between The Warrior and Our Hero(ine), though strangely enough this gives me vibes of LadyHawke. I think there should be something, but what is most accurate is unclear.

I'm not sure where any of this goes. But I do find the image of a flickering torch enthralling, a worked iron sconce and endless flames surrounded by time and darkness.