The Lucius/Dwarvish crossover
Mar. 11th, 2005 09:43 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thrihyrneAt long last, an update, though I'm still subjecting you guys to WsIP. But I gotta say: this is my first crossover, fandom-wise, and [yes I'm the author, but] it's hilarious. If you're looking for my occasional gorgeous turns of phrases and whatnot, don't read it. But fun dialogue? Oh yeah. All over it. I mean, Lucius Malfoy in 2nd Age Middle-Earth, in Erebor with Dwarves, wearing purple leather pants? LOL.
When last we left our intrepid hero, he'd managed to cast an incorrect spell and ended up in the workshop of Favik, an ironsmith in Middle Earth.
Oh heck, it's been ages, so here's the entire thing so far. And yes, I have far too many ellipses in it. :P
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. Iron gleamed lustrously and 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 mind power 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 in…” 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.
Lucius followed the Dwarf down several corridors, the sound of their footfalls ricocheting from the stone. The ceiling was high enough that Lucius could walk without stooping, and since this Favík/gnome/Dwarf-creature remained silent, he took the opportunity to absorb as much detail about his surroundings as he could. Sturdy-looking wooden doors dotted the otherwise plain walls, save torches burning in brackets. Each door had a single metal rune on it, but despite his extensive studies of myriad languages, especially those known for their potency in curses, Lucius couldn’t begin to guess what they indicated.
The Dwarf led them up a set of stairs to a high-arched entryway, the massive doors open to the inside. Lucius kept his composure, but he couldn’t help biting his tongue. There were dozens of the hirsute things, sitting at long tables and eating from noticeably ornate iron plates. He’d never seen so much bushy hair in all his life. Every last one of them had a long beard and hair trailing down its back. Lucius itched to get his hand on his wand and perform a massive shaving spell, but his fingers grasped at air. The creatures stared at him, so he stood even straighter and returned their gazes with a haughty glare.
They stopped at the end of the board in front of a Dwarf in a high-backed chair, a large, gem-encrusted goblet in his hand.
How garish, Lucius thought, though he couldn’t help but admire the quality of workmanship. Once he figured out where on Merlin’s green earth he had ended up, he could find a way to get one. It certainly would go nicely with those patens from his great-uncle in Bavaria…
“Náin, King of Erebor. I present Malfoy the Wizard.”
Favík gestured toward Lucius, bowing deeply at the waist to the king.
King, eh? Lucius pondered. Now we’re getting somewhere.
With a flourish, Lucius swirled back his robes as he dipped forward slightly, showing both his impeccably tailored Italian purple leather pants as well as the fact that he was disarmed, though he had every intent to remedy the latter as soon as possible.
“Lucius Malfoy.” He paused, wondering what he could add that would be to his advantage among these short, furry creatures. “Wealthiest wizard in all of England.”
The dark eyes of the king glittered. He might have been smiling, but it was impossible to tell.
“I did not think Wizards were interested in riches,” he said in a low voice. “Regardless, you have come at just the right time. Obviously you are here to assist us with our dragon troubles.”
Lucius stared at the king, his pale eyes widening in the ensuing implicating silence. “Dragon troubles?” he repeated, wishing wistfully that he had his ebony walking stick. He was damn fine at toying with it as a diversion.
“Yes. We’ve fought several of them off, but that only seems to make the rest of them more bold.” Náin pointed a meaty finger at the wizard. “Surely you know how to rid us of their presence.”
“But, of course,” Lucius said immediately, feigning insult. Dragons, dragons, his mind whirled. I don't know a bloody thing about dragons. Dark Magic, yes; discipline, most certainly; what flavour marmalade Lord Voldemort liked best on his toast in the morning...
A thought came to him. “Tonight, this Favík here will bring me a map of your lands and the location of the dragon caves.”
“Lairs,” Favík grumbled. “Not in caves.”
“We wizards,” Lucius emphasised pompously, “may use different terms.”
Both Favík and Náin looked dubious. Lucius supposed that was their expression, anyway; their eyebrows really could use a trim. Or bushwhacking. He plowed ahead.
"Cave, lair. Regardless, I shall need a map, since this is my first visit to your realm. If your hall and talented subjects are any indication, then I will be most overwhelmed."
The king's face brightened at the compliment, not picking up on its insincerity.
"I shall also need to have my wand returned to me," Lucius said pointedly to Favík, extending his hand in a commanding manner.
The Dwarf looked over at king Náin, who steepled his fingers at the top of his beard.
"Well yes, of course," the king snapped gruffly. "How else is he to wield his power without his -"
"Wand. My very powerful wand," Lucius interrupted.
Favík made a very displeased sound in the back of his throat. "He did not ask permission to enter my workshop, and had I not stopped him, he would have touched an unfinished piece. You know that is déandorkh."
The last word sounded as though the creature were chewing gravel.
They must have their own language! Lucius marveled. Quite advanced for gnomes.
"He's a Wizard, not a Dwarf, and may not know of our ways," the king insisted, displeasure in his voice.
"Fine." Favík took the wand from his belt and grudgingly handed it to Lucius, who caressed it in a nearly obscene manner.
"Thank you, king Náin of Erebor. You will not regret this," Lucius said, eyes flashing and fishing about in his mind for a hex that could kill all of them at once. He looked around quickly and saw that the room had filled during their discourse. It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't know how to get back to the Manor. Perhaps if he did come up with a way to eliminate these dragons which, with his wand back in his possession, should be a fairly simple task, the hairy things could guide him to another wizard, since obviously there were others here. And he could probably talk this king into giving him a very pleasing reward. He swept his robes around in the most elegant manner his could muster, surprised at his change of heart even as he accepted it.
"Favík, please show the Wizard to a room on the lapidarists' corridor," the king said, reaching down for his chalice. "A map and food will be brought to you shortly."
Lucius nodded his head and followed Favík out of the dining area. It was at their second set of stairs when his bladder insistently reminded him that he needed a toilet. Now.
"Gno- Favík?" he asked, tapping the Dwarf on the shoulder with his wand.
"What?" He spun around, appearing livid.
"I am in need of… well…" Lucius gestured as gracefully as possible toward his groin.
"What?"
The wizard rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Toilet! Son of a selkie," he muttered.
The Dwarf wrinkled his nose before pointing to an unmarked door they had just passed.
"Thank you, fine fellow."
Moments later, as Lucius relieved himself into a stunningly carved urinal, he acknowledged that he was in a very odd situation.
***
déandorkh- déan (make, making) dorcha- dark. Yes, it looks like something-dork. I thought that a ‘k’ instead of a ‘c’ would look more Dwarvish. Ultimately I wanted the word to have the sensibility of “sacrilegious,” something that just Would Not Be Done. I originally made up this Dwarvish word for my story "Speak, Friend, and Enter" and felt like borrowing it.
When last we left our intrepid hero, he'd managed to cast an incorrect spell and ended up in the workshop of Favik, an ironsmith in Middle Earth.
Oh heck, it's been ages, so here's the entire thing so far. And yes, I have far too many ellipses in it. :P
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. Iron gleamed lustrously and 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 mind power 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 in…” 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.
Lucius followed the Dwarf down several corridors, the sound of their footfalls ricocheting from the stone. The ceiling was high enough that Lucius could walk without stooping, and since this Favík/gnome/Dwarf-creature remained silent, he took the opportunity to absorb as much detail about his surroundings as he could. Sturdy-looking wooden doors dotted the otherwise plain walls, save torches burning in brackets. Each door had a single metal rune on it, but despite his extensive studies of myriad languages, especially those known for their potency in curses, Lucius couldn’t begin to guess what they indicated.
The Dwarf led them up a set of stairs to a high-arched entryway, the massive doors open to the inside. Lucius kept his composure, but he couldn’t help biting his tongue. There were dozens of the hirsute things, sitting at long tables and eating from noticeably ornate iron plates. He’d never seen so much bushy hair in all his life. Every last one of them had a long beard and hair trailing down its back. Lucius itched to get his hand on his wand and perform a massive shaving spell, but his fingers grasped at air. The creatures stared at him, so he stood even straighter and returned their gazes with a haughty glare.
They stopped at the end of the board in front of a Dwarf in a high-backed chair, a large, gem-encrusted goblet in his hand.
How garish, Lucius thought, though he couldn’t help but admire the quality of workmanship. Once he figured out where on Merlin’s green earth he had ended up, he could find a way to get one. It certainly would go nicely with those patens from his great-uncle in Bavaria…
“Náin, King of Erebor. I present Malfoy the Wizard.”
Favík gestured toward Lucius, bowing deeply at the waist to the king.
King, eh? Lucius pondered. Now we’re getting somewhere.
With a flourish, Lucius swirled back his robes as he dipped forward slightly, showing both his impeccably tailored Italian purple leather pants as well as the fact that he was disarmed, though he had every intent to remedy the latter as soon as possible.
“Lucius Malfoy.” He paused, wondering what he could add that would be to his advantage among these short, furry creatures. “Wealthiest wizard in all of England.”
The dark eyes of the king glittered. He might have been smiling, but it was impossible to tell.
“I did not think Wizards were interested in riches,” he said in a low voice. “Regardless, you have come at just the right time. Obviously you are here to assist us with our dragon troubles.”
Lucius stared at the king, his pale eyes widening in the ensuing implicating silence. “Dragon troubles?” he repeated, wishing wistfully that he had his ebony walking stick. He was damn fine at toying with it as a diversion.
“Yes. We’ve fought several of them off, but that only seems to make the rest of them more bold.” Náin pointed a meaty finger at the wizard. “Surely you know how to rid us of their presence.”
“But, of course,” Lucius said immediately, feigning insult. Dragons, dragons, his mind whirled. I don't know a bloody thing about dragons. Dark Magic, yes; discipline, most certainly; what flavour marmalade Lord Voldemort liked best on his toast in the morning...
A thought came to him. “Tonight, this Favík here will bring me a map of your lands and the location of the dragon caves.”
“Lairs,” Favík grumbled. “Not in caves.”
“We wizards,” Lucius emphasised pompously, “may use different terms.”
Both Favík and Náin looked dubious. Lucius supposed that was their expression, anyway; their eyebrows really could use a trim. Or bushwhacking. He plowed ahead.
"Cave, lair. Regardless, I shall need a map, since this is my first visit to your realm. If your hall and talented subjects are any indication, then I will be most overwhelmed."
The king's face brightened at the compliment, not picking up on its insincerity.
"I shall also need to have my wand returned to me," Lucius said pointedly to Favík, extending his hand in a commanding manner.
The Dwarf looked over at king Náin, who steepled his fingers at the top of his beard.
"Well yes, of course," the king snapped gruffly. "How else is he to wield his power without his -"
"Wand. My very powerful wand," Lucius interrupted.
Favík made a very displeased sound in the back of his throat. "He did not ask permission to enter my workshop, and had I not stopped him, he would have touched an unfinished piece. You know that is déandorkh."
The last word sounded as though the creature were chewing gravel.
They must have their own language! Lucius marveled. Quite advanced for gnomes.
"He's a Wizard, not a Dwarf, and may not know of our ways," the king insisted, displeasure in his voice.
"Fine." Favík took the wand from his belt and grudgingly handed it to Lucius, who caressed it in a nearly obscene manner.
"Thank you, king Náin of Erebor. You will not regret this," Lucius said, eyes flashing and fishing about in his mind for a hex that could kill all of them at once. He looked around quickly and saw that the room had filled during their discourse. It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't know how to get back to the Manor. Perhaps if he did come up with a way to eliminate these dragons which, with his wand back in his possession, should be a fairly simple task, the hairy things could guide him to another wizard, since obviously there were others here. And he could probably talk this king into giving him a very pleasing reward. He swept his robes around in the most elegant manner his could muster, surprised at his change of heart even as he accepted it.
"Favík, please show the Wizard to a room on the lapidarists' corridor," the king said, reaching down for his chalice. "A map and food will be brought to you shortly."
Lucius nodded his head and followed Favík out of the dining area. It was at their second set of stairs when his bladder insistently reminded him that he needed a toilet. Now.
"Gno- Favík?" he asked, tapping the Dwarf on the shoulder with his wand.
"What?" He spun around, appearing livid.
"I am in need of… well…" Lucius gestured as gracefully as possible toward his groin.
"What?"
The wizard rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Toilet! Son of a selkie," he muttered.
The Dwarf wrinkled his nose before pointing to an unmarked door they had just passed.
"Thank you, fine fellow."
Moments later, as Lucius relieved himself into a stunningly carved urinal, he acknowledged that he was in a very odd situation.
***
déandorkh- déan (make, making) dorcha- dark. Yes, it looks like something-dork. I thought that a ‘k’ instead of a ‘c’ would look more Dwarvish. Ultimately I wanted the word to have the sensibility of “sacrilegious,” something that just Would Not Be Done. I originally made up this Dwarvish word for my story "Speak, Friend, and Enter" and felt like borrowing it.