Ficlet: Troll Over Beethoven
Jul. 26th, 2006 11:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
speaker_to_customersYet another ficlet in the ‘Where did Olaf the Troll go?’ series. More obscure than the previous installments, and probably less overtly funny. The crossover is with a 1994 movie starring Gary Oldman, just as the last one was, but this time it’s a historical biography; ‘Immortal Beloved’, about the life of a certain famous composer. I thought of the title first and couldn’t resist writing a story to fit. Sorry. 900 words; the sequence called for 800, but it didn’t work out. I’ll try for 800 later to fill the gap.
Ludwig van Beethoven sat at his piano and picked out a refrain. It failed to satisfy him and he shook his head. He had been working on this project, his fifth symphony, for three years now and he still hadn’t managed to decide on the main theme. In fact it was looking as if the sixth symphony would be finished first! He wanted something dramatic, something with impact, that would catch the attention of the audience and hold it, but nothing seemed suitable. Another few notes, a scribble with his pen, and then he gave up for the time being. He rose from his piano stool, donned his coat, and headed out into the warm Vienna evening.
He wandered through the streets with no clear destination in mind. Perhaps he would call at a tavern for a drink, perhaps he would meet with one of his brothers and probably have a fight, or perhaps he would visit Josephine von Brunswick and try to salvage their disintegrating relationship. Before he could make up his mind the sounds of a brawl reached his ears. It must be a noisy affray indeed to have been audible to his poor hearing. He decided that it might be of interest and strolled in the direction from whence the sounds had come.
The fight was raging in gardens near the river. A score of soldiers in white uniforms battled a single huge man. Beethoven’s eyes opened wide in amazement. The man was quite remarkable in appearance. His skin was of greenish hue, his hair was long and red, and two horns rose from his head. Either he was a performer from the opera, in costume for some role unfamiliar to the great composer, or else the monstrous being was no man but a creature from the pits of hell.
“Hah, puny humans,” the colossal brawler roared. “Your blows have less power than those of our maidens.” He tossed a soldier high into the air and the man landed in the Danube with a great splash. “You face Olaf, lord of the trolls, and your defeat is certain.”
A tall soldier with a shaven head leaped forward to the fray. He delivered three fast punches; left, right, and left again. Olaf didn’t even flinch. His mighty fist crashed down in a hammer-blow to the soldier’s skull. The ‘thud’ of the blow made Beethoven wince but the rhythm of the action, ‘thump thump thump THUD’, caught his imagination.
“Ho, ho, ho,” Olaf guffawed. “Ow!” A soldier had smote him from behind with the butt of a musket. Olaf spun around, caught the attacker by the throat, and threw him into the river to join his comrade. Three men ran at the troll at once. They managed one blow each before Olaf retaliated. His arm lashed out in a mighty roundhouse swing that sent all three men flying backwards to land in a heap on the grass.
“Hmm,” Beethoven mused. “Three short, one louder and longer. An interesting rhythm. I can work with that.”
The fallen soldiers picked themselves up but did not return to the attack. Instead they turned and fled for their very lives.
“You do well to flee, Austrians,” Olaf bellowed. “I will pillage your inns and opera houses. I will burn your apfelstrudel and make merry sport with your more attractive sachertorte.” He shook his fist and then paused and sniffed the air. “Ale! I smell delicious ale. And a meat dish unknown to me.”
Beethoven advanced cautiously. “Wiener schnitzel,” he informed the troll. “A tasty dish. And our ale is indeed delicious.”
“Lead me to an inn then, where I may consume this fare,” Olaf commanded.
“First I must know if you are in the service of Napoleon,” Beethoven said. “It is rumored that there is to be war between Austria and France, and I would not lead a French spy through the city.”
“Napoleon?” Olaf’s forehead wrinkled. “I have heard that name somewhere. Is he a short man?”
“Short,” Beethoven confirmed, “but powerful, for he is Emperor of France.”
“I serve no short Emperor,” Olaf scoffed. “The Franks drink wine, which is no drink for a troll. Ale is what I seek.”
“Our ale is renowned,” Beethoven said. “Come with me, then, and I shall take you to an inn. There shall be ale, and wiener schnitzel, and barmaids who may well be amenable to some merry sport.”
Ten minutes later they were quaffing foaming steins of beer in a nearby tavern. Olaf beamed as he took a long draught. “Ah, this is ale fit for Valhalla,” he said. “I am glad that I fell in with you, human. Tell me, why is it that you offer me friendship, when all others sought to fight or flee?”
“My ears fail me,” Beethoven confessed. “I have trouble hearing the voices of most people. Your voice is pleasingly loud and I can hear you clearly. Also, I owe you a debt, for you have solved a problem that has bedeviled me for three years.”
“I have?” Olaf raised his eyebrows.
“You have,” Beethoven confirmed. “I am writing a symphony, and I could not come up with a suitable refrain. When you fought the soldiers you inspired me and I think that I have found the notes that I seek.” He thumped his fist upon the table. “Thus. Da da da DAH. Da da da DAH.”
Troll Over Beethoven
Ludwig van Beethoven sat at his piano and picked out a refrain. It failed to satisfy him and he shook his head. He had been working on this project, his fifth symphony, for three years now and he still hadn’t managed to decide on the main theme. In fact it was looking as if the sixth symphony would be finished first! He wanted something dramatic, something with impact, that would catch the attention of the audience and hold it, but nothing seemed suitable. Another few notes, a scribble with his pen, and then he gave up for the time being. He rose from his piano stool, donned his coat, and headed out into the warm Vienna evening.
He wandered through the streets with no clear destination in mind. Perhaps he would call at a tavern for a drink, perhaps he would meet with one of his brothers and probably have a fight, or perhaps he would visit Josephine von Brunswick and try to salvage their disintegrating relationship. Before he could make up his mind the sounds of a brawl reached his ears. It must be a noisy affray indeed to have been audible to his poor hearing. He decided that it might be of interest and strolled in the direction from whence the sounds had come.
The fight was raging in gardens near the river. A score of soldiers in white uniforms battled a single huge man. Beethoven’s eyes opened wide in amazement. The man was quite remarkable in appearance. His skin was of greenish hue, his hair was long and red, and two horns rose from his head. Either he was a performer from the opera, in costume for some role unfamiliar to the great composer, or else the monstrous being was no man but a creature from the pits of hell.
“Hah, puny humans,” the colossal brawler roared. “Your blows have less power than those of our maidens.” He tossed a soldier high into the air and the man landed in the Danube with a great splash. “You face Olaf, lord of the trolls, and your defeat is certain.”
A tall soldier with a shaven head leaped forward to the fray. He delivered three fast punches; left, right, and left again. Olaf didn’t even flinch. His mighty fist crashed down in a hammer-blow to the soldier’s skull. The ‘thud’ of the blow made Beethoven wince but the rhythm of the action, ‘thump thump thump THUD’, caught his imagination.
“Ho, ho, ho,” Olaf guffawed. “Ow!” A soldier had smote him from behind with the butt of a musket. Olaf spun around, caught the attacker by the throat, and threw him into the river to join his comrade. Three men ran at the troll at once. They managed one blow each before Olaf retaliated. His arm lashed out in a mighty roundhouse swing that sent all three men flying backwards to land in a heap on the grass.
“Hmm,” Beethoven mused. “Three short, one louder and longer. An interesting rhythm. I can work with that.”
The fallen soldiers picked themselves up but did not return to the attack. Instead they turned and fled for their very lives.
“You do well to flee, Austrians,” Olaf bellowed. “I will pillage your inns and opera houses. I will burn your apfelstrudel and make merry sport with your more attractive sachertorte.” He shook his fist and then paused and sniffed the air. “Ale! I smell delicious ale. And a meat dish unknown to me.”
Beethoven advanced cautiously. “Wiener schnitzel,” he informed the troll. “A tasty dish. And our ale is indeed delicious.”
“Lead me to an inn then, where I may consume this fare,” Olaf commanded.
“First I must know if you are in the service of Napoleon,” Beethoven said. “It is rumored that there is to be war between Austria and France, and I would not lead a French spy through the city.”
“Napoleon?” Olaf’s forehead wrinkled. “I have heard that name somewhere. Is he a short man?”
“Short,” Beethoven confirmed, “but powerful, for he is Emperor of France.”
“I serve no short Emperor,” Olaf scoffed. “The Franks drink wine, which is no drink for a troll. Ale is what I seek.”
“Our ale is renowned,” Beethoven said. “Come with me, then, and I shall take you to an inn. There shall be ale, and wiener schnitzel, and barmaids who may well be amenable to some merry sport.”
Ten minutes later they were quaffing foaming steins of beer in a nearby tavern. Olaf beamed as he took a long draught. “Ah, this is ale fit for Valhalla,” he said. “I am glad that I fell in with you, human. Tell me, why is it that you offer me friendship, when all others sought to fight or flee?”
“My ears fail me,” Beethoven confessed. “I have trouble hearing the voices of most people. Your voice is pleasingly loud and I can hear you clearly. Also, I owe you a debt, for you have solved a problem that has bedeviled me for three years.”
“I have?” Olaf raised his eyebrows.
“You have,” Beethoven confirmed. “I am writing a symphony, and I could not come up with a suitable refrain. When you fought the soldiers you inspired me and I think that I have found the notes that I seek.” He thumped his fist upon the table. “Thus. Da da da DAH. Da da da DAH.”
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no subject
Date: 2006-07-26 10:54 pm (UTC)Priceless!
And the origins of the Victory rhythm are thus revealed.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-26 11:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-26 10:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-26 11:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-26 11:08 pm (UTC)(Though I would question how Beethoven could write any significant portion of his symphony without that theme.)
no subject
Date: 2006-07-26 11:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-26 11:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-26 11:55 pm (UTC)Love the Napolean comment!
no subject
Date: 2006-07-27 01:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-26 11:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-27 01:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-27 04:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-27 11:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-27 04:39 am (UTC)That Olaf is certainly one influential troll. Hee!
Enjoyed it very much.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-27 11:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-27 04:42 am (UTC)delightful, as always.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-27 11:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-27 07:07 am (UTC)All excellent, but this part just cracks me up! I can just hear the disdain rolling out of Olaf's mouth for short emperor-guys and wine. Hee!
no subject
Date: 2006-07-27 11:56 am (UTC)I think that in one of the future installments I'll make sure that Olaf gets laid. And not by penguins.
(That ended up even more weird than I'd intended!)
no subject
Date: 2006-07-27 07:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-27 11:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-27 08:33 am (UTC)A.*snort* B.*snerk* C.*groan* D.All above.
Answer: D
no subject
Date: 2006-07-27 11:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-27 11:46 am (UTC)Wagner is certainly an interesting possibility.
Then there's a certain comic book with a Norse god in it that might stand a little Olafing.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-27 11:52 am (UTC)The next story will probably involve the 1978 film version of 'The Thirty-Nine Steps'.
Or maybe midgets...
(or perhaps not, as you've done that one.)
no subject
Date: 2006-07-30 03:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-30 07:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-03 10:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-12 05:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-16 04:25 pm (UTC)Great stuff once more. I fear I have almost completed my backlog now, though. :-(
no subject
Date: 2006-08-17 09:35 am (UTC)