(no subject)
Hey, remember that Star Trek/LOTR crossover I talked about/wrote last year? Um, here it is.
. . . . I'm so ashamed. ^_^
Also it's apparently too big to post as one story, so it'll go in two parts.
Title: Star Trek in Fairy Land.
Fandoms: Star Trek XI and Lord of the Rings
Characters: Kirk, Spock, Various Elven Lords of High Repute.
Rating: PG for mild swearing
Summary: Due to a Freak Transporter Incident that May or May Not Have Involved Scotty’s Tinkering, Kirk and Spock are TRANSPLANTED TO MIDDLE EARTH. No, really.
Warnings: Um . . . complete and utter crack.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or The Lord of The Rings. This is all for fun, no profit involved except for the warm fuzzies I get from posting fic once in a blue moon.
Note: I always kind of wondered what would have happened if Spock’s eyebrows met Lord Elrond’s . . . this was the inevitable result.
****************
“I’m just saying,” Kirk said, “I’m just saying that- oh god, there’s more of them. You know, I think I liked it better when they were doing the singing thing and less of the, you know,” he jerked his chin towards the alien? Probably. Whatever. Holding what appeared to Kirk’s eyes to be a perfect replica of a historical English longbow - except this one wasn’t dusty and behind a nice glass case like in a museum. Instead, it looked rather well kept and operative.
The pointy end was aimed directly at Kirk’s chest.
“Captain,” Spock said. “Under the circumstances, I believe that further provocation would be most unwise.”
“Under the circumstances, Spock, I believe that further provocation is the only way we’re going to get the hell anywhere - would you stop?” this last demand was aimed at the, well, pointy-eared whateverthehell who had gripped his shoulder and was beginning a sort of forward march. “You could just talk to us here, you know. Or ask before pushing.”
There were six of them in total. Their ears looked Vulcan (except they actually looked angry, which was an emotion, so no) or Romulan (except, you know, they hadn’t stunned him on sight before brutally sewing his flesh into a decorative rug - or whatever it was that Romulans did in their spare time - so also no). They were tall, and held their weapons like they had more than a vague idea of what to do with them and, from what Kirk could tell through the shadows and the twilight, by Earth standards they were all really, really, attractive. Like, glowing.
But that made sense, duh, because they were aliens. Or something. Most likely.
“You will come with us,” said one of the aliens. The leader presumably, for his bow remained loose in his hand with no arrow notched.
“Captain,” Spock said. “There is a probability that we will be led to an area where we will be unable to maintain contact with the Enterprise, should our communicator chance to become operative again.”
Kirk’s jaw twitched as he was pushed again, non too gently, “how high a probability?”
“Considering the fact that our earlier scans detected little Federation era technology on this planet, I would say surprising low, unless-”
“Unless their technology is too advanced for us to even detect,” Kirk finished for him.
“Yes.”
“Huh. Well can’t you just-” he tried to use his elbow to sort of point to the area where his neck and shoulder joined.
“I am afraid your human subtleties regarding gesture escape me at this point,” Spock said, which Kirk roughly translated into something like, you look like a spastic monkey, what the hell’s wrong with you? “You will have to be more concise.”
“You know,” Kirk grimaced as he was pushed again. Their captors eyed him mistrustfully and he kept his hands carefully at his sides. “The neck thing.” He noticed that Spock didn’t seem to be getting as maltreated as he was. Possibly because Spock was actually walking - did he want to become a prisoner? - instead of dragging his feet.
Spock tilted his head and looked at him. Kirk hated it when he did that.
“Under the circumstances, Captain,” he said. “A Vulcan neck pinch would not be feasible. We would likely both be shot before either of us could make any sort of escape attempt. In addition, we have only one, apparently inoperable, communicator, and no feasible way to return to the ship even if we were to escape.”
“Spock,” Kirk growled, in order to cover up the fact that his first officer had just made him feel like an idiot. “I was kind of trying to avoid discussing the whole escape thing RIGHT IN FRONT OF OUR CAPTORS, you know?”
Spock did that looking thing again. With his face. And his eyes. Kirk hated it when he did that.
“I thought it would have been clear immediately,” Spock said.
Kirk resisted the urge to tell the aliens pointing their arrows at him to just shoot Spock instead and save him the trouble.
“What. Exactly. Would be clear immediately?” he said instead.
Spock looked surprised. Well, as surprised as Spock could look, which mainly consisted of his left eyebrow rising about two millimeters.
“Through the virtue of our translators, clearly we can understand their speech. Their language must be at least somewhat related to one of the major language groups present throughout the Federation. However, it does not appear that they are able to understand us.”
Kirk stopped and stared at him. Oh. Yes. That would make sense. The aliens pushed at him again. Kirk tripped over a tree root. They had materialized in the middle of forest, at night, in the middle of some sort of singing . . . thing. Whatever. And they had been taken captive. Because the aliens hadn’t understood Kirk’s perfectly coherent explanation that the transporter beam had been behaving all sorts of funky lately, and Scotty had done something stupid again, probably, and it was all a complete accident.
Spock was looking at him again. Like he had just figured out that Kirk had just figured out that Spock had figured out what was going on at least six arrows being notched ago. God, Kirk hated that. It was like being looked at by a . . . a something very unpleasant.
“You will come with us,” repeated the lead alien, eyes hardening, “until we have ascertained that you mean us no harm.” And then he turned, blond hair sweeping out behind him, and walked forward on absolutely silent feet.
And that was that.
**************************
The room was very nice. It had a distinctly earthly feel to it, but also a very strong alien feel to it. Kirk didn’t get it. The place they were in - he couldn’t decide whether it was just one gigantic house, or a village or what, was absolutely beautiful. Trees, waterfalls, flowers, the works. He felt like he was in fairyland or something. But a fairyland - or something - that was on earth. Except not. Which was weird. But yeah, fairyland. Or something.
Except for their very noticeable guards. Who, while all very pretty, all seemed to have some sort of major competence for handling things of the sharp, pointy, and lethal variety.
Irritably, he pushed the buttons on his communicator, trying to remain nonchalant about the entire thing, and also kind of sort of trying to hide behind the potted plant. “Kirk to Enterprise. Kirk to Enterprise,” he whispered. The guard in the doorway gave him a bit of an odd look, and then a sympathetic one, as though they had just realized that they were dealing with someone who clearly didn’t have control of all his mental faculties. “Scotty, if you don’t pick up, I’m going to beam your intestines somewhere real unpleasant so help me god-”
“Captain? Captain is that you?”
“Uhura!” Kirk said, throwing a quick glance towards Spock. “Uhura, where are you guys? What’s going on? Where did Scotty put us?”
“Captain?” her voice was mixed in with lots of static. Kirk really wanted to throw the damn communicator across the room. What was wrong with the thing?
“Captain?” Scotty’s voice this time, barely distinguishable. “Captain, we think . . .”static, “and . . .-der Spock beamed into some kind of sinkhole. We can’t” static “ . . . a lock on you. I’m . . . working” static “ . . . equations but . . . hours, or even days. I’ve never worked with a situation like this before - never even heard of it!”
Spock, who Kirk hadn’t even noticed had moved next to him, took the communicator.
“Mr. Scott, please elucidate your theory in regards to this, ‘sinkhole’ phenomena.”
Kirk listened intently, but all he could distinguish from the rustling static were the words “Parallel,” “overlap,” “two hours,” and “time stream.”
“Whatever,” Kirk interrupted, “can he beam us back or not?”
“Captain, your query is illogical. If it were currently possible for Mr. Scott to return us to the Enterprise, he would have already done so.”
“I know that Spock, I’m not an idiot,” Kirk said. “I meant in the near future. You know, like, before they come back and point arrows at us again.”
“Then you should state your question more specifically,” Spock said stiffly. “I am aware you are not an idiot. Your IQ-”
“Never mind, Spock,” Kirk said. “Is Scotty still there?”
“ . . . Ye-“ static “ . . . -tain?”
“Scotty,” Kirk said. “See if you can beam us down a universal translator. It’s not a life form, so it should be easier, right?”
“ . . . anslator?”
“Yeah,” Kirk said. “We’ve got kind of a language barrier. Apparently,” he stressed the word, glancing at Spock, “We can understand them because of our translators, but they can’t understand us. So,” he said, still looking at Spock, “the logical thing to do would be to get another translator, wouldn’t it? A handheld one.”
“Indeed,” Spock said gravely. Kirk couldn’t tell if he was being made fun of or if Spock was being serious. This kind of irritated him.
“Well, it IS logical, isn’t it Spock?”
“I believe you have already stated that point, Captain,” Spock said.
“. . . k,” came Scotty’s garbled voice. “I’ll . . .” static, “No guarantee though.”
They both stared at the ground in front of them for a few moments, as if they could make the translator appear there through sheer force of will.
“Guess not,” Kirk said after about a minute.
“It would appear so,” Spock agreed.
“Sorry, Captain,” cackled Scotty’s voice, “I’ll . . .” static, “. . . keep trying . . . beam it down . . . your life signs,” static, “If we can find them.”
“All right,” Kirk sighed. “And if that doesn’t work then try Uhura next. Maybe she can get some sense out of these guys.”
“Captain,” Spock said, “If Mr. Scott cannot beam down a simple piece of technology, then beaming down Lieutenant Uhura is clearly also an impossibility.”
Kirk ignored him. “And Scotty,” he said, “Don’t even think about continuing that experiment until we get back, or your intestines are mine. Kirk out.”
He slammed the communicator shut, and turned towards Spock. “Now,” he said. “How about we figure out how to at least get out of this damn room.”
*********************************
Lord Elrond’s day had taken a turn for the bizarre. He rubbed his eyes and turned towards Glorfindel again, pacing back and forth in his study.
“So these two just . . . appeared. Out of nowhere. In the middle of your camp.”
“Yes,” Glorfindel replied.
“One appears to be a man clothed in strange garb, while the other is . . . not. Also in strange garb. But he is too tall to be a dwarf. Not an orc-”
“I know what an orc looks like. He is definitely no orc.”
“Nor a halfling, clearly,” Elrond murmured, wondering if Glorfindel might have been into the wine cellar after all. “Goblin?”
“Don’t be ludicrous, Elrond. Do you think I would have brought a goblin back with my patrol?”
Elrond shrugged. “What your report seems to suggest then, Glorfindel, is that he most clearly resembles an elf.”
“Yes.”
“But you say he isn’t one.”
“Yes.”
“He is an elf?”
“No, he is not an elf,” Glorfindel clarified impatiently.
Elrond sighed, and dropped down into his chair. “What did Erestor have to say on the matter?”
“Erestor told me to get out of his study.”
Lord Elrond pursed his lips, “I feel like I should be telling you the same thing. Appeared as if out of thin air? If the forces of darkness have figured out how to do that, then there is little hope for Imladris.”
“I know what I saw, Elrond,” Glorfindel said. “Any one of my guardsmen can confirm it. His features are elven, but his presence is not. Their language is neither Sindarin, Quenya, Westron nor Numenorian. I cannot make heads or tails of it. Their garb is like no clothing I have ever seen - or heard of - and my patrol swears up and down that we had no awareness of their presence until they were practically on top of us. I suggest that you send a message to Mithrandir, or another of his order.”
“I have already communicated with the Lady Galadriel,” Elrond said. “She says-”
There was a sudden, furious pounding on the door. “Lord Elrond! Lord Elrond!”
“Enter!” Elrond barked, standing.
Erestor entered, breathing heavily, accompanied by two of other elves - both from Glorfindel’s patrol.
“Lord Elrond,” Erestor said, and Elrond just knew that he didn’t want Erestor to finish that sentence. “The prisoners have escaped.”
Of course they had.
Link to part 2: