Four ficlets
Oct. 25th, 2008 10:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elvenpirateladyIt's saturday night: I've been poking around my hard-drive and found these little fics. Each of 'em self-contained and completed, and wonder of wonders, not spawning any more muses. Also proof that I can write non-Tolkien fic without my head asploding.
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To Raze A Tower
The tower, when it fell, spread debris far and wide. Masonry lay in great heaps across the country. The blocks began at sizes greater than cottages, cracking into separate pieces as the mortar eroded. Slowly, slowly they crumbled like castles of sand, or wood burnt to ash that retains its shape for a moment before it is undone by the wind. They crumbled to the size of rooms, wagons, and eventually – slabs, still able to dwarf a man but small enough to carry: small enough to take away from their long resting-places.
Of course there were the stories of dark towers falling and burning eyes, but it was good stone, and piece by piece it was taken. First they took it to build walls and docks, then homes, then taverns and stores, and even the high houses of law and justice. One of the last pieces was taken to the royal palace to repair a broken step.
And so the stones of the old tower spread across the world, and evil entered into the hearts of men once more.
-----
A Star's A Star
He died, and yet she lived – how, then, could she call life fair? He left, and she dwindled to a spark among the towers of his castle, watching the sky while the flesh sloughed off his bones as they lay in the crypt. He left – his spirit left, in any case, and that was the important thing (the separation of body and mind in humans was something she suspected that she would never understand) – and eventually, she followed him.
She began her journey quite sure of his trail, but it became muddled with time and the songs of the poets, who could never agree on one version of their story. She wandered across half a world before she admitted defeat – and since she had no intention of returning to her old haunts, she stayed where she had faltered: an island alone in the sea. Its sole inhabitant did not protest – they were of a kind, of course, perhaps he understood – and the skies were good for stargazing. They became so accustomed to watching the skies together that they began to talk. Eventually he called her daughter, and having no evidence for the contrary she did not refuse the title.
Ships passed in the night and the day, months or years apart. Some made landfall, but most sailed on without pause. Then a strange ship came, bearing a young king of a distant country and a crew determined to sail to the end of the world. She would have sailed with him, had he asked. There was no offer, but still he drew her aside and said, ‘Lady, I hope this shall not be our final meeting.’
She could not help but smile at the hopes of youth, yet she watched the sail disappear into the east with an unsettled feeling.
When the sail returned, past all expectation, she took his outstretched hand and bid the man who called her daughter goodbye. What she heard on the voyage of return left her convinced that they would find a nation unrestful. Her years of experience at ruling, she was sure, would be greatly appreciated.
Besides, he was young and vigorous, and they came from the same world. Perhaps things would be different this time.
-----
Swordcraft
So this is what they call a sword. How strange it is that the unlovely Naugrim could make something like this – and how stranger still that something so beautiful is meant for death, for killing, for war! For it is beautiful – like lighting made solid, like a frozen waterfall, like the tail of a falling star. This substance – they call it metal, and steel, I believe – it is too precious to be used for killing. Look how it shines in the starlight! They have promised to make more of these things for our King, more beautiful swords, but I wish that I could explain to them that it ought to be used for jewellery, not for weapons.
The handle is cool when I touch it; the blade seems to sing under my hand. Even as I move it gently through the air, it whispers softly like a bird taking flight. It is like nothing I have held before: too short to be a bow or a staff, and too heavy. The edges seem sharper than even the finest flint knife. I hope I will be able to use a sword like this against the dark things coming from the east. We will surely prevail with these starlit swords in our hands.
-----
The Future-Nibbler
Martha Jones had seen many strange things during her travels with the Doctor: the end of the world, eerie statues, a Time Lord in love (and not with her) – but what she had just witnessed trumped them all.
She had certainly never thought that a Dalek could be eaten – especially not by a strange little animal that might have passed for a monkey if it didn’t have a third eye on a stalk in the middle of its head. Whatever it was, the thing had saved them from certain extermination, but she was a little unnerved at how the inhabitants of the room they had burst into – a red-headed man, a one-eyed woman and a robot – were being so relaxed about the entire scenario.
‘What a fascinating creature,’ said the Doctor, crouching down to get a closer look. ‘Is he for sale?’
‘Yes,’ said the robot.
‘No!’ said the cyclops hotly.
‘I’m sure we can work something out,’ said the man.
And they did indeed find a solution, when they found an old man whom the inhabitants called the Professor and who Martha was sure was the original crackpot scientist. ‘Good news, everyone!’ he said cheerily when they had explained the situation. ‘It just so happens that I have invented a cloning machine yesterday afternoon! The process will take several days, however.’ He glanced at them pointedly. ‘And it’s not a free service, you know.’
The Doctor turned to Martha. ‘Do you have any money?’
‘We just got here!’
‘I’ll take that as a no, then.’ He grinned at the Professor. ‘We’ll have to pay you in labour.’
‘Good, I need a holiday.’ The red-haired man disappeared down a corridor, followed by the robot, who burped loudly and opened another bottle, and the cyclops, who tartly said ‘You did spend all of last week on the couch watching All My Circuits...’
And that was how Martha got a job at Planet Express, and got the shock of her life the next time she went home and saw what her sister was watching on television.
-----
To Raze A Tower
The tower, when it fell, spread debris far and wide. Masonry lay in great heaps across the country. The blocks began at sizes greater than cottages, cracking into separate pieces as the mortar eroded. Slowly, slowly they crumbled like castles of sand, or wood burnt to ash that retains its shape for a moment before it is undone by the wind. They crumbled to the size of rooms, wagons, and eventually – slabs, still able to dwarf a man but small enough to carry: small enough to take away from their long resting-places.
Of course there were the stories of dark towers falling and burning eyes, but it was good stone, and piece by piece it was taken. First they took it to build walls and docks, then homes, then taverns and stores, and even the high houses of law and justice. One of the last pieces was taken to the royal palace to repair a broken step.
And so the stones of the old tower spread across the world, and evil entered into the hearts of men once more.
-----
A Star's A Star
He died, and yet she lived – how, then, could she call life fair? He left, and she dwindled to a spark among the towers of his castle, watching the sky while the flesh sloughed off his bones as they lay in the crypt. He left – his spirit left, in any case, and that was the important thing (the separation of body and mind in humans was something she suspected that she would never understand) – and eventually, she followed him.
She began her journey quite sure of his trail, but it became muddled with time and the songs of the poets, who could never agree on one version of their story. She wandered across half a world before she admitted defeat – and since she had no intention of returning to her old haunts, she stayed where she had faltered: an island alone in the sea. Its sole inhabitant did not protest – they were of a kind, of course, perhaps he understood – and the skies were good for stargazing. They became so accustomed to watching the skies together that they began to talk. Eventually he called her daughter, and having no evidence for the contrary she did not refuse the title.
Ships passed in the night and the day, months or years apart. Some made landfall, but most sailed on without pause. Then a strange ship came, bearing a young king of a distant country and a crew determined to sail to the end of the world. She would have sailed with him, had he asked. There was no offer, but still he drew her aside and said, ‘Lady, I hope this shall not be our final meeting.’
She could not help but smile at the hopes of youth, yet she watched the sail disappear into the east with an unsettled feeling.
When the sail returned, past all expectation, she took his outstretched hand and bid the man who called her daughter goodbye. What she heard on the voyage of return left her convinced that they would find a nation unrestful. Her years of experience at ruling, she was sure, would be greatly appreciated.
Besides, he was young and vigorous, and they came from the same world. Perhaps things would be different this time.
-----
Swordcraft
So this is what they call a sword. How strange it is that the unlovely Naugrim could make something like this – and how stranger still that something so beautiful is meant for death, for killing, for war! For it is beautiful – like lighting made solid, like a frozen waterfall, like the tail of a falling star. This substance – they call it metal, and steel, I believe – it is too precious to be used for killing. Look how it shines in the starlight! They have promised to make more of these things for our King, more beautiful swords, but I wish that I could explain to them that it ought to be used for jewellery, not for weapons.
The handle is cool when I touch it; the blade seems to sing under my hand. Even as I move it gently through the air, it whispers softly like a bird taking flight. It is like nothing I have held before: too short to be a bow or a staff, and too heavy. The edges seem sharper than even the finest flint knife. I hope I will be able to use a sword like this against the dark things coming from the east. We will surely prevail with these starlit swords in our hands.
-----
The Future-Nibbler
Martha Jones had seen many strange things during her travels with the Doctor: the end of the world, eerie statues, a Time Lord in love (and not with her) – but what she had just witnessed trumped them all.
She had certainly never thought that a Dalek could be eaten – especially not by a strange little animal that might have passed for a monkey if it didn’t have a third eye on a stalk in the middle of its head. Whatever it was, the thing had saved them from certain extermination, but she was a little unnerved at how the inhabitants of the room they had burst into – a red-headed man, a one-eyed woman and a robot – were being so relaxed about the entire scenario.
‘What a fascinating creature,’ said the Doctor, crouching down to get a closer look. ‘Is he for sale?’
‘Yes,’ said the robot.
‘No!’ said the cyclops hotly.
‘I’m sure we can work something out,’ said the man.
And they did indeed find a solution, when they found an old man whom the inhabitants called the Professor and who Martha was sure was the original crackpot scientist. ‘Good news, everyone!’ he said cheerily when they had explained the situation. ‘It just so happens that I have invented a cloning machine yesterday afternoon! The process will take several days, however.’ He glanced at them pointedly. ‘And it’s not a free service, you know.’
The Doctor turned to Martha. ‘Do you have any money?’
‘We just got here!’
‘I’ll take that as a no, then.’ He grinned at the Professor. ‘We’ll have to pay you in labour.’
‘Good, I need a holiday.’ The red-haired man disappeared down a corridor, followed by the robot, who burped loudly and opened another bottle, and the cyclops, who tartly said ‘You did spend all of last week on the couch watching All My Circuits...’
And that was how Martha got a job at Planet Express, and got the shock of her life the next time she went home and saw what her sister was watching on television.
