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fellowshippers2004-11-28 07:58 pm
sileya.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2004-11-28 07:58 pm
Bittersweet Symphony 2/?
Title: Bittersweet Symphony (2/?)
Author: Sileya, sileya@yahoo.com, www.sileya.net,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sileya at LiveJournal
Pairing: VM/OB
Rating, Warnings: overall NC-17, AU
Summary: Viggo watches a plane crash and helps the survivors – one of whom will change the direction of his life.
Disclaimer: This is a work of celebrity fan FICTION. I make no claims as to the veracity of this material, and I make no claims as to the real life preferences of the people that the characters are loosely based upon. This piece of fiction is for entertainment purposes only.
Author’s Note: Beta by the graciousrazzleslash. This plotline is somewhat based on a rather obscure 1980s movie. Whoever guesses correctly first will win a LOTR RPS Orlando one-shot of their choice. I’ll reveal the movie after the last chapter, because I don’t want to risk giving major plot points away.
Feedback: PLEASE.
==
==
Orlando tossed the bags into the back of the small biplane, grinning at Sean, who was looking very nervous.
“Orli, are you sure we can’t just take the train? I mean, really. There’s no need to drag out the plane. It would only take a half day or so to get to Sheffield,” Sean rambled, running his hand through his hair in a nervous gesture.
The younger Brit suppressed a grin and turned to Sean with a confident smile. “Sean, don’t worry about it. I’ve had my pilot’s license for 10 years. It will take us a few hours to fly to Sheffield and give us that much more time for our vacation,” Orlando said. “You’re the one who said I needed to get away for a while.”
Sean swallowed, nodding, almost wringing his hands. Orlando put a hand on his shoulder, concerned about how white Sean was getting. “Sean, are you afraid of flying?”
“Not afraid, really,” Sean said, gritting his teeth. “I just really, really don’t like it.”
Orlando sighed. “You could have mentioned this anytime in the last several weeks, you know.”
Sean groaned and covered his face. Orlando just steered him toward the passenger side of the two-seater, opening the door. “Get in, you big lout. Too late to change our plans now.”
Sean clambered in and started to hook his seatbelt as Orlando shut the door firmly. Shaking his head in resignation and repressing the urge to curse aloud, Orlando waved at the mechanic who approached.
“So, Dom, am I all clear?” Orlando asked, stuffing his hands into his light jacket.
“Yeah, you’re good to go, man. Just keep an eye on that voltmeter for me. Let me know if it goes all wonky again. I think it’s just a short in the line to the gauge. There’s nothing wrong with the engines,” Dom said.
Orlando nodded. “Will do, mate. See you next week.” He climbed into the plane and strapped in, waving at Dom before starting the engine. Then he spared a look at Sean.
Sean was sitting in the other seat, stiff as a board, eyes closed and lips moving in what Orlando was sure was a prayer. Orlando rolled his eyes and pulled on the headset so he could hear the tower during takeoff.
He couldn’t wait to get to Sheffield.
*~*
Brego ran freely over the hills, Viggo giving him his head, just revelling in the escape.
He’d left the London townhouse in anger and despair, leaving behind Christine and her screams and recriminations, to drive out to the country and seek solace. She said she’d had enough of him and the way he took her for granted, and that she’d be happy to leave him alone. But she wasn’t leaving without her due.
A divorce. Viggo gritted his teeth. It would be a very messy affair, complete with accusations and fights for every red cent.
He’d never denied Christine anything and now she was going to take him for everything she could get. She wanted all her effects, the condo in New York, her car, an exorbitant monthly support payment and even a percentage of his business’s profit annually in perpetuity. Then she’d announced that since they’d been married when he’d bought Minas Tirith, he should have to sell his precious country manor, including the stables and breeding business there, and give her half the proceeds.
That was the last straw. He’d been willing to give her all the material things – those meant nothing to him. He didn’t care for the New York condo. He could more than afford the monthly settlement. The future business profits he would have paid just to be rid of her. But Minas Tirith and Ithilien Stables were his.
His lawyer, Ian McKellen, had looked at the paperwork and shrugged. Christine was British and something of a celebrity, whereas he was an invading American who bought out British businesses and sold them in pieces. He wasn’t too positive about Viggo’s chances in British court, predicting that with any sort of proof of neglect on Viggo’s part, the judge could force him to sell off his assets so Christine would get her share.
Viggo swiped at the wet trails on his face, tears escaping in anger and frustration. They’d never been in love, Christine and he, a fact they had both always acknowledged, but he’d thought the marriage was convenient for them both. He had a gorgeous socialite to hang on his arm when business demanded, and enough money to keep her occupied while he worked. His work was his life. Also having Christine at home saved him the trouble of finding companionship, on the rare occasions he wanted it, and she’d always welcomed his attentions. She’d never made a peep of protest about anything until just a few weeks ago.
He was, for lack of a better word, blindsided.
Viggo slowed the horse to a walk as he entered a patch of woods, letting Brego pick his own way, as his thoughts grew darker. He’d never been much of a husband. And now he’d pay for it.
His heart broke at the thought of losing his home here in England. Here, he’d finally found peace. A place to get away from the business that pervaded every bit of his life, from the frustration and anger, from the deep loneliness and despair he fought more and more frequently.
Without Minas Tirith, Viggo thought he might as well just be dead.
He leaned over to rest his face against the Brego’s neck, letting the pain and sorrow envelop him.
It wasn’t long before he heard a stuttered buzzing, drawing his attention out of his depression, dragging his eyes up to the darkening sky. He looked around, trying to pinpoint the sound. He pulled at the reins, getting Brego to move a little faster toward a hunter’s path, then urging him to a canter as the sound got louder and closer.
Just as Brego broke into a clearing, Viggo looked up to see a small biplane fly overhead, turning drunkenly to one side, smoke trailing from one of the small engines.
Viggo spurred Brego to a run down the hill and into the field, chasing after the plane as it continued its downward path, disappearing into the trees ahead. Brego stopped with a protesting whinny, rearing up in fear as the sound of the plane’s impact in the woods assailed them.
Viggo’s eyes grew wide as he fought for control, trying to stay on Brego’s back as the horse spun about, but the spooked animal bucked once more, throwing Viggo off. His head struck a tree trunk, sending him into darkness.
Author: Sileya, sileya@yahoo.com, www.sileya.net,
sileya at LiveJournalPairing: VM/OB
Rating, Warnings: overall NC-17, AU
Summary: Viggo watches a plane crash and helps the survivors – one of whom will change the direction of his life.
Disclaimer: This is a work of celebrity fan FICTION. I make no claims as to the veracity of this material, and I make no claims as to the real life preferences of the people that the characters are loosely based upon. This piece of fiction is for entertainment purposes only.
Author’s Note: Beta by the gracious
razzleslash. This plotline is somewhat based on a rather obscure 1980s movie. Whoever guesses correctly first will win a LOTR RPS Orlando one-shot of their choice. I’ll reveal the movie after the last chapter, because I don’t want to risk giving major plot points away.Feedback: PLEASE.
==
==
Orlando tossed the bags into the back of the small biplane, grinning at Sean, who was looking very nervous.
“Orli, are you sure we can’t just take the train? I mean, really. There’s no need to drag out the plane. It would only take a half day or so to get to Sheffield,” Sean rambled, running his hand through his hair in a nervous gesture.
The younger Brit suppressed a grin and turned to Sean with a confident smile. “Sean, don’t worry about it. I’ve had my pilot’s license for 10 years. It will take us a few hours to fly to Sheffield and give us that much more time for our vacation,” Orlando said. “You’re the one who said I needed to get away for a while.”
Sean swallowed, nodding, almost wringing his hands. Orlando put a hand on his shoulder, concerned about how white Sean was getting. “Sean, are you afraid of flying?”
“Not afraid, really,” Sean said, gritting his teeth. “I just really, really don’t like it.”
Orlando sighed. “You could have mentioned this anytime in the last several weeks, you know.”
Sean groaned and covered his face. Orlando just steered him toward the passenger side of the two-seater, opening the door. “Get in, you big lout. Too late to change our plans now.”
Sean clambered in and started to hook his seatbelt as Orlando shut the door firmly. Shaking his head in resignation and repressing the urge to curse aloud, Orlando waved at the mechanic who approached.
“So, Dom, am I all clear?” Orlando asked, stuffing his hands into his light jacket.
“Yeah, you’re good to go, man. Just keep an eye on that voltmeter for me. Let me know if it goes all wonky again. I think it’s just a short in the line to the gauge. There’s nothing wrong with the engines,” Dom said.
Orlando nodded. “Will do, mate. See you next week.” He climbed into the plane and strapped in, waving at Dom before starting the engine. Then he spared a look at Sean.
Sean was sitting in the other seat, stiff as a board, eyes closed and lips moving in what Orlando was sure was a prayer. Orlando rolled his eyes and pulled on the headset so he could hear the tower during takeoff.
He couldn’t wait to get to Sheffield.
*~*
Brego ran freely over the hills, Viggo giving him his head, just revelling in the escape.
He’d left the London townhouse in anger and despair, leaving behind Christine and her screams and recriminations, to drive out to the country and seek solace. She said she’d had enough of him and the way he took her for granted, and that she’d be happy to leave him alone. But she wasn’t leaving without her due.
A divorce. Viggo gritted his teeth. It would be a very messy affair, complete with accusations and fights for every red cent.
He’d never denied Christine anything and now she was going to take him for everything she could get. She wanted all her effects, the condo in New York, her car, an exorbitant monthly support payment and even a percentage of his business’s profit annually in perpetuity. Then she’d announced that since they’d been married when he’d bought Minas Tirith, he should have to sell his precious country manor, including the stables and breeding business there, and give her half the proceeds.
That was the last straw. He’d been willing to give her all the material things – those meant nothing to him. He didn’t care for the New York condo. He could more than afford the monthly settlement. The future business profits he would have paid just to be rid of her. But Minas Tirith and Ithilien Stables were his.
His lawyer, Ian McKellen, had looked at the paperwork and shrugged. Christine was British and something of a celebrity, whereas he was an invading American who bought out British businesses and sold them in pieces. He wasn’t too positive about Viggo’s chances in British court, predicting that with any sort of proof of neglect on Viggo’s part, the judge could force him to sell off his assets so Christine would get her share.
Viggo swiped at the wet trails on his face, tears escaping in anger and frustration. They’d never been in love, Christine and he, a fact they had both always acknowledged, but he’d thought the marriage was convenient for them both. He had a gorgeous socialite to hang on his arm when business demanded, and enough money to keep her occupied while he worked. His work was his life. Also having Christine at home saved him the trouble of finding companionship, on the rare occasions he wanted it, and she’d always welcomed his attentions. She’d never made a peep of protest about anything until just a few weeks ago.
He was, for lack of a better word, blindsided.
Viggo slowed the horse to a walk as he entered a patch of woods, letting Brego pick his own way, as his thoughts grew darker. He’d never been much of a husband. And now he’d pay for it.
His heart broke at the thought of losing his home here in England. Here, he’d finally found peace. A place to get away from the business that pervaded every bit of his life, from the frustration and anger, from the deep loneliness and despair he fought more and more frequently.
Without Minas Tirith, Viggo thought he might as well just be dead.
He leaned over to rest his face against the Brego’s neck, letting the pain and sorrow envelop him.
It wasn’t long before he heard a stuttered buzzing, drawing his attention out of his depression, dragging his eyes up to the darkening sky. He looked around, trying to pinpoint the sound. He pulled at the reins, getting Brego to move a little faster toward a hunter’s path, then urging him to a canter as the sound got louder and closer.
Just as Brego broke into a clearing, Viggo looked up to see a small biplane fly overhead, turning drunkenly to one side, smoke trailing from one of the small engines.
Viggo spurred Brego to a run down the hill and into the field, chasing after the plane as it continued its downward path, disappearing into the trees ahead. Brego stopped with a protesting whinny, rearing up in fear as the sound of the plane’s impact in the woods assailed them.
Viggo’s eyes grew wide as he fought for control, trying to stay on Brego’s back as the horse spun about, but the spooked animal bucked once more, throwing Viggo off. His head struck a tree trunk, sending him into darkness.
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hooray!
more more!
:D
again, poor Vig! Don't let the mean woman take his place!
and poor Beany...scared of flying. for good reason apparently.
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