|The Thief of Hearts
Author: Mariagoner PM
In the end, it made a strange sort of sense that bugger was the word that began the whole escapade. And when Isabella Swan finds herself wandering through Ankh-Morpork, all sorts of things can happen... Edward/Bella/Jacob. Twilight/Discworld Crossover.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Drama - Bella & Edward - Words: 1,336 - Reviews: 7 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Published: 09-13-08 - id: 4535450
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
To circumvent questions ahead of time:
(1) Yes, this is a Twilight/Discworld crossovers, with grave apologies offered to both Terry Pratchett and Stephanie Meyers.
(2) Yes, this was something that came to me in a dream, in the tradition of Meyers herself.
(3) And don't worry, I haven't quite lost all my senses. I'm well aware that this crossover makes no sense whatsoever. But if ever there was a canon that could forgive something not making any sense in the practical sense, it's Twilight. And so we sally onwards to something I hope will be gloriously silly fun.
With my apologies going to both Terry Pratchett and Stephanie Meyers. But then, I think I've already mentioned that.
So without further ado...
Title: The Thief of Hearts, Chapter 1
Fandom: Twilight/Discworld Crossover
Series: The Thief of Hearts
Characters/Pairings: Bella/Edward/Jacob, Emmett, Rosalie, Jasper, Alice, Carlisle, Angua, Carrot, Colon, the Librarian, Nobby Nobbs, Vetinari, Sybil Vimes
Summary: In the end, it probably made a strange sort of sense that bugger was the word that began the whole escapade. And when Isabella Swan finds herself wandering through Ankh-Morpork, all sorts of things can happen...
Note: Takes a very AU view of the Twilight-verse characters... though don't worry, the majority of them will still be there. Although, fair warning, one of them will now have sprouted a beard. But if anyone's suited to being a dwarf, she's it.
In the beginning, there was a word...
Most of the diverse religions of Ankh-Morpork, in fact, agreed on that one. The god of the beggars and the god of the prostitutes and the god of the assassins and the god of the watchmen-that-had-started-off-as-dwarves-b
ut-now-were-acknowledged-to-be-more-or-less-human all had, once upon a time, been declared to have begun the creation of the world with a single word springing from their lips, painting the glory of form coming into being with a single set of divine syllables. The god of the beggars had probably said said plead. The god of the assassins had probably said kill. The god of the watchmen-that-had-started-off-as-dwarves-but-now-were-acknowledged-to-be-more-or-less-human had probably said confuse. And what the god of the prostitutes had probably said was likely to be fairly unmentionable in mixed company.
And yet, in the beginning, there was always a word.
And when Isabella Swan opened her eyes one frigid morning to find herself in the outskirts of what was quite possibly the strangest city the collective worlds of L-space knew--
(with, mind you, herself wrapped up in nothing more than an oversized tee-shirt with a prancing unicorn attended by a few fairies patterned on it-- something that looked ill equipped to help her survive the night, let alone the set of opportunistic thieves that lived in Ankh-Morpork and would likely try to sell the shirt back to her after ridding her of it as soon as they saw her)
--she kicked off this beginning with her own word.
And that word, fair enough, was bugger.
Within the hallowed halls of the Unseen University, the premiere college of wizardry within all of Ankh-Morpork, there is a library attended by an erudite man of great learning who is, by complete coincidence, an orangutan as well.
He had not always been, of course. But through a bit of magical mischief, he had turned into a form that most agreed could have been far worse, seeing as how he had kept the same number of limbs and approximately the same size and even gotten a nice fur coat out of the whole dealy sort.
Coat aside, though, the librarian hadn't changed much from being changed into another form of beast, outside of his regrettable inability to speak and his even more regrettable (yet predictable) reaction to being called a monkey. And perhaps it came from the transformation or from years of erudite learning or even from authorial convenience but somehow--
Somehow, the librarian could tell when something was stirring about-- or rather, just outside of-- the city.
Not that he would do anything about it, of course. These days, with its frigid cold, did not lend themselves to gallivanting about looking for some helpless maiden to rescue, especially seeing as how wary helpless maidens were of perfectly respectable orangutans in the first place. And frankly, the librarian did not want to have anything to do with watching the sort of madcap hysteria that tended to ensue when some poor, unsuspecting soul was dumped into another world-- especially one as bizarre as Ankh-Morpork's tended to be.
No, the librarian was content to sit this one out quite happily.
But still... even as he companionably flopped out of his seat and reached for another late fee slip to sign, he knew something was already beginning to stir.
And now, as always, it was simply a matter of waiting.
...A watchman with a spectacular lick of flame-bronze hair and a face that could have earned him free visits to any number of 'seamstresses' in the city looked up, the whole of him already springing to attention, rather like the way most men would have had they had his seamstressing opportunities.
Behind him, the always thoroughly and rather eerily upright Carrot Ironfoundersson paused. "Is something the matter?" he inquired, with much the same eagerness of a non-house-broken puppy that had found a valuable carpet to piddle on. "Any dragons gone loose again? Any citizen in trouble? Any one serving the community improperly?"
It was Carrot who'd suggested to the Patrician that hardened criminals should be given the chance to "serve the community" by redecorating the homes of the elderly, lending a new terror to old age and, given Ankh-Morpork's crime rate, leading to at least one old lady having her front room wallpapered so many times in six months that now she could only get in sideways. -Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay.
"No," the almost-man said to him, dryly. "No, that isn't it at all. It's more like something..."
Like something had stumbled loose from the machinery of the world, or something had abruptly collapsed atop him, pinning him down, spreading his limbs, taking him over with an insectile strangeness, corroding into his arteries and making him feel damn near breathless with anticipation that something... something...
All of which, the man realized after a moment, were metaphors and similes of the sort that Carrot would most certainly not understand and the rest of the Watch would probably raise their eyebrows to collectively, saying, Interesting, lad. Most interesting. I think I know why you've been turning those seamstresses down as of late...
"No," Edward finally said, after a moment. "No, it's nothing. Let's just get back to moving towards crime quickly, but not too quickly."
And with that, he sealed the fate of the city-- at least, temporarily.
Somewhere in the naked city...
A prophetic dwarf smiled and laid a delicate hand on her pick-axe.
An assassin who had been readying himself for the night felt his hand tremble on his dagger for the first time in years.
A tall, dark and handsome vampire looked up and groaned, putting down his Black Ribboner sign as his lovely, golden-haired companion laughed softly.
A werewolf looked up from the thatch of chickens he had been menacing, eyes widening.
A bogeyman-- or rather, woman-- looked up from guiltily showering a child with sweets.
Another vampire looked up from his patient and began to curse methodically.
And an elf began to smile, showing all of its teeth.
Bugger, it turned out, had been just the perfect word to set everything off from the beginning.
And possibly, as well, the end.