Chains rattle. The sound of metal dragging across stone cuts through the dank air. Darkness reigns supreme in this shingly hell. It's so very dark. So cold. The chill seeps through skin and bones, settling unpleasantly in crevices like a blade slashing through. There is a force down in these dungeons even though nothing is moving. But this power chokes everything in its wake. It's scary, the way something dormant can be so powerful. A small clink rings along the walls and the cold grows bitterer. The shadow of a body can barely be seen, but it's there.
Jon gathers light in his hand and steps a bit closer. He grasps almost inaudibly at the figure bound to the wall with heavy chains. He knows this man, the young one realizes with a start. But he still doesn't know who this figure is. The face is like a far-off memory, shining blue in the dim glow. Black hair, tangled and unkempt, falls down his shoulders. The stranger seems to be sleeping; there is no movement, not even breathing. Jon has the sudden urge to shake him just to make sure he's alive. Something tells him this man is important. As if hearing the mental urge twin pools leak from under cobalt skin. Sea green stares into ruby red.
He wakes with a start, eyes darting about the room in a frenzy. Like always he is alone in his room. Jon likes it better. Being alone. People think he doesn't hear. His people are sure that their prince is deaf and blind. The Æsir prince knows why his supposed father refuses to look him in the eyes. He also knows why Lady Darcy, his mother, keeps to her rooms, her sapphire orbs rimmed red. Jon can hear her cries, ever since he was old enough to analyze he knew that he was no more and no less than a prisoner.
As a little boy his mother used to tell him stories on lands covered in snow and warriors with frozen skin and eyes of fire. Instinctively he knows that he is not this king's son but he is a king's son nonetheless. Jon is a prince trapped in his own rooms. Rarely is he allowed to leave them. Why? He does not know. Lady Darcy comes to visit whenever King Thor permits it; which is a rare occurrence these days. No matter. Darcy had made sure to teach her son to use the magic that flowed through his veins. He can escape at any time, but he cannot leave his mother to suffer here alone.
Perhaps the answer is in the dungeons. Jin has been dreaming of them and that strange, familiar man ever since he remembers. He takes a moment to think. And then two more. To the dungeons, he decides, quietly whispering words to set his magic free. A wave of heat takes over him and his eyes close while he disappears. Jon has done this many times before. During such times he feels free, unbound, just as he does in his dreams. Maybe that man will agree to help if Jon sets him free. It is possible with a bit of luck.
The darkness is exactly as he remembers it, all consuming and cold and suffocating. Straining his eyes doesn't help. Jon gathers magic in his fist and shapes it in a light which pierces the surroundings with its glow. There are no guards; it's curious but not unexpected, those locked here have no chance of escaping. Pushing through the corridors, Jon tries to find the one he is looking for. This truly is a horrible place. The boy shudders at the thought that the man he is supposed to call father could imprison anybody here. Even more disconcerting is the thought that his true father is incarcerated in this prison.
"You're finally here. I've been waiting." It's a voice he knows, a voice that has spoken to him in dreams before. Jon feeds the light more power and he can finally see the face. Blue skin and crimson eyes. Jon bites his tongue. "My son." There is awe and affection mixed in that oddly rough voice.
"Father." Jon replies shyly. "I've come to set you free."
I know I've kept you all waiting but I have a good reason. You see school has started again for me and it's my last year. This means I have to be extra attentive and concentrate on my school work. The first week was a nightmare. I'll update when I can.