Why I love licia. Or, my first HP/Tolkien crossover.

[thrihyrne]

Well, there are so many reasons, but...

~ she sends gorgeous cards (with extraordinary, exquisitely penned handwriting)
~ she says nice things about my writing
~ she is looking forward to my HP/Tolkien story, focusing on Lucius Malfoy.
~ she's licia. Doesn't speak much in real life, but is very articulate on LJ, and apparently/descriptively has gorgeous hair, and excellent and wide-ranging taste in music.
~ she has sent me art
~ at least one in two posts is full of thoughtful things that give me pause

So, for you, dear heart, here's the beginning of the story. I just can't keep it to myself, as it makes me laugh. This is all comedy. (hope it works; we're having thunderstorms)



Lucius Malfoy blinked. Several times. Still clutching the ancient amulet above his heart, he looked disbelievingly at what was a very handsomely outfitted workshop. He whirled around, but he was alone in the room.

“What the…” he said, pocketing the rune-covered stone and making his way toward a bench where an array of carved metal boxes sat in differing stages of completion. Silver sparkled in various recesses as Lucius stared at chalices, sword-hilts, chain mail…

He must have said the spell horribly wrong to be wherever he was. But that was impossible. He had researched it thoroughly, even translating the sigils, or so he thought. Surely his ancestors hadn’t made a mistake. No. They were Malfoys. Being able to trace precious items was in their blood. He reached out his hand toward a beautiful filigreed armband.

“If you value that hand and care to keep it, you will not put your fingers any closer.”

A gruff voice sounded behind him and Lucius spun around, his robe flying as he instinctively shook his wand down his sleeve. It went straight into his hand, but was promptly snatched away. Lucius paused, suddenly defenseless and rather disconcertedly inches away from a glistening axe.

“How did you get into my workshop, Elf?” the rumbling voice spat below the wicked blade.

“Elf?” Lucius took precious seconds to avert his eyes down the weapon. The axe was wielded by a very short, very hairy, and very angry looking… what? Man? Surely not. Had he managed to send himself to a time when garden gnomes had learned to arm themselves?

“I am Lucius Malfoy,” he said in his most commanding and authoritative voice. “What in Merlin’s beard are you?”

“What did you say, Elf?” the troll-like creature rumbled, moving the axe closer to Lucius’ face and stowing his precious wand in his belt.

“I am not an Elf. I am a pure-blood Wizard.”

Dark, oily eyes squinted at him from under bushy sienna eyebrows. “A wizard?’

Thank Merlin! Lucius thought, garnering all spare mindpower toward his wand, attempting to summon it through will alone. At least I’m making some sense to the gnome. “Yes. A Wizard. And you are…” Lucius paused, hoping the evolved gnome would illuminate him, since he did still possess his wand. For the time being.

“Favík.”

“Favík,” Lucius echoed, wondering why his wand was still resolutely stuck in the gnome’s belt, but grateful that the hairy thing had also sheathed his axe.

“Favík, of the house of Vram. At your service.” He bowed, his long beard brushing the floor.

Lucius stuck out his lower teeth and sucked on his upper lip, something he did only subconsciously and only when exceedingly perplexed. Which was almost never. Gnomes didn’t have names, did they? He was still puzzling over his situation when the creature righted itself.

“Come, master wizard!” The gnome was quite cheery now. “You shall join us for dinner and some ale. My apologies for thinking that you were an Elf. We don’t see many wizards, and they have looked far older than you appear.”

“No, that’s understandable,” Lucius said, his blue eyes fixed on his wand, still out of reach. “I must have caused quite a fright, showing up here…” he purposefully let his voice trail off, the tone begging for clues.

“Erebor?” the gnome offered, helpfully.

“Ah, yes. Erebor.” Lucius nodded his well-groomed head in sympathy, then turned to precede the hairy thing out of the workroom, Favík’s arm gesturing toward a corridor. Lucius wasn’t looking at the doorframe.

“Mire and mudbloods!” he swore, having smashed his forehead against the lintel. He winced as he rubbed at the new tender spot above his eyebrows.

“Oh! Do be careful!” Favík said a bit too late. “These halls are obviously made to Dwarvish standards, not those of tall wizards.”

“Of course, of course, think nothing of it,” Lucius answered, forcing a congenial tone while foul epithets ran through his mind.

Dwarvish?

He was at a loss.

Comments

[helveticat.livejournal.com]

Congratulations again on finishing "Seabird." You must feel amazing.

*giggle*

Well. He IS pretty hot.