Fantasy drabbles
Aug. 12th, 2009 03:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
anghraineBack at HG, there used to be regular drabblefests; of course, when the supernatural one came around, I couldn't help but leap on the opportunity to mix Austen and magic. Here are the first two.
Title: Sword and Sorcery
Fandom: Austen (PRIDE AND PREJUDICE)
Fanverse: Fantasyverse (AU)
Blurb: How did Darcy and Bingley meet, anyway?
Major Characters:Charles Bingley Bingálfr the Ex-Barbarian; Fitzwilliam Darcy
Pairings/Warnings: N/A (unless magic and a failed mugging count)
Length: One-shot
----------------------------
(Written for Drabblefest 24, 'Super-powers!')
Bingálfr the ex-Barbarian was a very happy man. From humble, if respectable, beginnings in the North -- last of a long line of Artificers -- he had risen to a Master, always acceptable at the ton’s parties, although on sufferance. It was never to be forgotten that his skills were not innate and inherited, but achieved through work and preparation. Nevertheless they were considerable, whatever their origins. He was tolerated and the families of several declined mages would have been glad to have him or his sisters among them.
Thinking of his considerable good fortune, Bingálfr was taken by surprise when something large, long, and wooden (later determined to be a club) whacked him upside the head. He was not a Barbarian -- ex-Barbarian, he reminded himself -- for nothing, however. He withstood the blow and fiercely defended his honour and purse. The assailant took one look at the fury in Bingálfr’s usually tranquil brown eyes, and fled, dropping his weapon. Bingálfr gave a shout of triumph, then recalled his location and head injury, and fainted.
A few moments later, Bingálfr blinked and struggled to sit upright, clutching at his head.
'Stop moving,' the blur above him said. He did not know the voice, but there was something in it -- a resonance, an icy precision, as if the owner of the voice had never spoken a word without being absolutely certain that it was exactly the word he wanted. He knew he had heard that resonance before. Not in this voice, but --
Bingálfr considered himself usually to be a brave man -- or a stupid one, but in any case it was more or less the same thing -- but at this sudden realisation, he gave a little whimper, and shut his eyes tightly. ‘Please kill me quickly,’ he said.
The archmage -- for that is what he was -- said nothing, and Bingálfr inched an eyelid open. The other man, who might or might not have been older than he, was crouched beside him, rocking back on his heels, with a distinctly amused expression on his face.
‘I am not in the business of killing random passers-by for fun and profit,’ he remarked, then snapped his fingers. A slab of ice appeared in his hand, which he held out to Bingálfr.
‘Are you going to ensorcell me?’ he replied suspiciously, eyeing him warily. The archmage sighed.
‘Put it on your eye. It will reduce the swelling.’
---------------------
Title: Shades of Pemberley
Fandom: Austen (PRIDE AND PREJUDICE)
Fanverse: Fantasyverse (AU)
Blurb: Wickham tries to seduce Georgiana for his own nefarious purposes. Um, with more fangs and ghosts than canon.
Major Characters: Georgiana Darcy; Lady Anne Darcy; George Wickham
Pairings/Warnings: George Wickham/Georgiana Darcy, sorta; vampires and necromancy
Length: One-shot
---------------------
(Written for Halloween 2006, 'Scary Drabblefest.')
Georgiana tossed and turned in her bed, trying to sleep. She was exhausted, and she was frightened. What if he asked tomorrow? What could she do?
She remembered Wickham’s coal-black eyes with a thrill that was only half fascination. She was pleasantly easy in his company, but out of it, doubts rushed into her mind. At times like this, she was terrified.
The light from the full moon poured onto her bed. Georgiana shut her eyes tightly, her fists clenching.
Mama, she thought, weeping silently, why aren’t you here? I need you! Why did you leave?
The hot, uncomfortable air turned chill; the breeze rushed in, swirling around her. Georgiana gave a startled shriek and leapt halfway across the room. Was it Wickham? Was he going to carry her away? Instinctively, one hand went to her neck.
A shadow crossed the moon, and the wind swirled. She could catch hints of colour, snippets of blue-white --
And then as she looked she saw that it wasn’t mere air at all, but the shape of a tall woman with strong aristocratic features, her hair piled high on her head, wearing a dress in the fashion of some twenty years earlier.
Georgiana gasped.
The ghost looked distinctly startled. ‘I did not know there were any necromancers still left,’ she remarked.
Georgiana gulped. She heard an incoherent but certainly sinister whisper from outside her window, and a flash of dark hair, shining eyes, and ashen skin passed before her vision.
‘I . . . I’m not . . . Mama, is it you?’
The ghost’s hands went to cover her mouth. ‘Georgiana? My daughter? Why, you are quite grown!’
Georgiana managed a shaky laugh. ‘You do look like Fitzwilliam. Papa always said you did.’
‘Why, what is it? Why did you send for me?’
She burst into tears. ‘He’s coming, I’m sure he is, and I don’t know what to think and I . . .’
The soft steady steps were closer now. Lady Anne whirled, just as Wickham slipped into the room.
‘My love -- ’ he began.
‘For shame!’ cried Lady Anne. ‘Have you no sense of honour, of obligation? Preying on your benefactor’s daughter like this!’
He looked distinctly perplexed. ‘I . . . your ladyship, I understood you were . . . dead.’
‘You are hardly one to be too particular about such distinctions,’ Lady Anne pointed out.
Wickham took one step in Georgiana’s direction. She could see the glint of his fangs in the darkness, and the world swam before her. The wind whistled in her ears.
And suddenly the room was crowded with ghosts. Wickham took a step backward, eyes widening so that she could see her reflection in them.
‘Well, I declare!’ said her great-great-aunt Agatha.
‘Never trust a vampire, that’s what I always say,’ Sir John, a Cavalier with long ethereal curls, declared.
‘Quite so, my dear fellow, quite so,’ a very handsome monk, and many-times great-uncle, agreed.
‘-- urne gedæghwamlican hlaf syle us todæg and forgyf us ure gyltas swa swa we forgyfað urum gyltendum and ne gelæd þu us on costnunge ac alys us of yfele soþlice,’ prayed the Lady Æðelflæd.
Georgiana fainted.
Title: Sword and Sorcery
Fandom: Austen (PRIDE AND PREJUDICE)
Fanverse: Fantasyverse (AU)
Blurb: How did Darcy and Bingley meet, anyway?
Major Characters:
Pairings/Warnings: N/A (unless magic and a failed mugging count)
Length: One-shot
----------------------------
(Written for Drabblefest 24, 'Super-powers!')
Bingálfr the ex-Barbarian was a very happy man. From humble, if respectable, beginnings in the North -- last of a long line of Artificers -- he had risen to a Master, always acceptable at the ton’s parties, although on sufferance. It was never to be forgotten that his skills were not innate and inherited, but achieved through work and preparation. Nevertheless they were considerable, whatever their origins. He was tolerated and the families of several declined mages would have been glad to have him or his sisters among them.
Thinking of his considerable good fortune, Bingálfr was taken by surprise when something large, long, and wooden (later determined to be a club) whacked him upside the head. He was not a Barbarian -- ex-Barbarian, he reminded himself -- for nothing, however. He withstood the blow and fiercely defended his honour and purse. The assailant took one look at the fury in Bingálfr’s usually tranquil brown eyes, and fled, dropping his weapon. Bingálfr gave a shout of triumph, then recalled his location and head injury, and fainted.
A few moments later, Bingálfr blinked and struggled to sit upright, clutching at his head.
'Stop moving,' the blur above him said. He did not know the voice, but there was something in it -- a resonance, an icy precision, as if the owner of the voice had never spoken a word without being absolutely certain that it was exactly the word he wanted. He knew he had heard that resonance before. Not in this voice, but --
Bingálfr considered himself usually to be a brave man -- or a stupid one, but in any case it was more or less the same thing -- but at this sudden realisation, he gave a little whimper, and shut his eyes tightly. ‘Please kill me quickly,’ he said.
The archmage -- for that is what he was -- said nothing, and Bingálfr inched an eyelid open. The other man, who might or might not have been older than he, was crouched beside him, rocking back on his heels, with a distinctly amused expression on his face.
‘I am not in the business of killing random passers-by for fun and profit,’ he remarked, then snapped his fingers. A slab of ice appeared in his hand, which he held out to Bingálfr.
‘Are you going to ensorcell me?’ he replied suspiciously, eyeing him warily. The archmage sighed.
‘Put it on your eye. It will reduce the swelling.’
---------------------
Title: Shades of Pemberley
Fandom: Austen (PRIDE AND PREJUDICE)
Fanverse: Fantasyverse (AU)
Blurb: Wickham tries to seduce Georgiana for his own nefarious purposes. Um, with more fangs and ghosts than canon.
Major Characters: Georgiana Darcy; Lady Anne Darcy; George Wickham
Pairings/Warnings: George Wickham/Georgiana Darcy, sorta; vampires and necromancy
Length: One-shot
---------------------
(Written for Halloween 2006, 'Scary Drabblefest.')
Georgiana tossed and turned in her bed, trying to sleep. She was exhausted, and she was frightened. What if he asked tomorrow? What could she do?
She remembered Wickham’s coal-black eyes with a thrill that was only half fascination. She was pleasantly easy in his company, but out of it, doubts rushed into her mind. At times like this, she was terrified.
The light from the full moon poured onto her bed. Georgiana shut her eyes tightly, her fists clenching.
Mama, she thought, weeping silently, why aren’t you here? I need you! Why did you leave?
The hot, uncomfortable air turned chill; the breeze rushed in, swirling around her. Georgiana gave a startled shriek and leapt halfway across the room. Was it Wickham? Was he going to carry her away? Instinctively, one hand went to her neck.
A shadow crossed the moon, and the wind swirled. She could catch hints of colour, snippets of blue-white --
And then as she looked she saw that it wasn’t mere air at all, but the shape of a tall woman with strong aristocratic features, her hair piled high on her head, wearing a dress in the fashion of some twenty years earlier.
Georgiana gasped.
The ghost looked distinctly startled. ‘I did not know there were any necromancers still left,’ she remarked.
Georgiana gulped. She heard an incoherent but certainly sinister whisper from outside her window, and a flash of dark hair, shining eyes, and ashen skin passed before her vision.
‘I . . . I’m not . . . Mama, is it you?’
The ghost’s hands went to cover her mouth. ‘Georgiana? My daughter? Why, you are quite grown!’
Georgiana managed a shaky laugh. ‘You do look like Fitzwilliam. Papa always said you did.’
‘Why, what is it? Why did you send for me?’
She burst into tears. ‘He’s coming, I’m sure he is, and I don’t know what to think and I . . .’
The soft steady steps were closer now. Lady Anne whirled, just as Wickham slipped into the room.
‘My love -- ’ he began.
‘For shame!’ cried Lady Anne. ‘Have you no sense of honour, of obligation? Preying on your benefactor’s daughter like this!’
He looked distinctly perplexed. ‘I . . . your ladyship, I understood you were . . . dead.’
‘You are hardly one to be too particular about such distinctions,’ Lady Anne pointed out.
Wickham took one step in Georgiana’s direction. She could see the glint of his fangs in the darkness, and the world swam before her. The wind whistled in her ears.
And suddenly the room was crowded with ghosts. Wickham took a step backward, eyes widening so that she could see her reflection in them.
‘Well, I declare!’ said her great-great-aunt Agatha.
‘Never trust a vampire, that’s what I always say,’ Sir John, a Cavalier with long ethereal curls, declared.
‘Quite so, my dear fellow, quite so,’ a very handsome monk, and many-times great-uncle, agreed.
‘-- urne gedæghwamlican hlaf syle us todæg and forgyf us ure gyltas swa swa we forgyfað urum gyltendum and ne gelæd þu us on costnunge ac alys us of yfele soþlice,’ prayed the Lady Æðelflæd.
Georgiana fainted.