Bittersweet Symphony 7/17

[sileya.livejournal.com]

Title: Bittersweet Symphony (7/17)
Author: Sileya, sileya@yahoo.com, www.sileya.net, sileya
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, it is for entertainment purposes only.
Author’s Note: Beta by the gracious razzleslash. This plotline is very loosely based on a rather obscure 1980s movie. I’ll reveal the movie after the last chapter, cause I don’t want to risk giving major plot points away.
Feedback: PLEASE.

Previous Chapters

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If the groom thought it was odd for Viggo to saddle two horses for a ride, he didn’t say anything. He simply did his job, offered a smile for the boss he respected and tipped his hat when Viggo led Brego and Arod out of the stable.

Viggo walked up to the gate where Orlando waited, leading the two horses. “This is Arod,” Viggo said of the white stallion.

“He’s beautiful,” Orlando said, petting the horse’s neck. Arod snuffed and bumped Orlando lightly, then whinnied and nodded his head. Orlando flushed, thrilled.

“He can see me!” Orlando exclaimed, throwing his arms about Arod’s neck in a hug. Arod allowed it with a short snuffle.

Brego whickered at Viggo mounted. “Well, I’ve always thought horses had extrasensory perception,” he said, looking over at the grinning Brit with a small smile. “Let’s go, then.”

They rode for the better part of the morning. Viggo showed Orlando about Minas Tirith – the craggy hill the manor stood upon, the creeks that crisscrossed the land, the green fields of horses, the virgin stands of wood. Viggo also pointed out the forest where he’d been riding when he first saw the plane, but Orlando didn’t want to revisit the crash site.

Viggo pulled Brego up at a copse of trees when the sun was high, dismounting and untying the basket from his saddlebags.

“Bring your blanket. Let’s eat,” Viggo said as Arod approached with Orlando.

Orlando raised an eyebrow as Viggo started unloading the basket. “There’s a lot of food there for one person,” he mentioned.

Viggo looked up at him sharply, hands stilled.

Orlando looked edgy. “I don’t think I need to…eat. Haven’t been hungry, anyway,” he murmured, feet scuffing the edge of the blanket against the grass.

Viggo studied him for a moment, and then shrugged. “Well, help yourself, if you want.” He gestured for Orlando to join him on the blanket.

Orlando sighed, looking over the food but shook his head. Nothing looked at all appetizing. “Well, that’s one drawback of being dead.”

Viggo chuckled out of the blue, surprising him. “Guess it depends on your point of view. I’ve met people who’d gladly accept being dead so they wouldn’t have to eat.”

Viggo snorted as Orlando looked at him like he’d gone off his rocker. Maybe I have. After all, I’m talking to a ghost.

Viggo swallowed another bite of sandwich and clarified. “Women, specifically. Who want to maintain their figure?” Seeing understanding on Orlando’s face, Viggo continued. “My wife, especially. No junk food in the house. No bread, no cookies. No pasta. Just yogurt and granola and lettuce. Rabbit food.” He turned up his nose.

“Tell me about her?” Orlando asked quietly, also leaning back against the big, old tree they sat under, their shoulders brushing.

Viggo sighed, pushing some potato salad around with his fork. “She’s beautiful, I think. Too thin, now. That’s the style, you know.” Orlando nodded.

“Beautiful on the outside, I guess I should say. Not so pretty on the inside. But I knew that, even before I married her.”

“So why marry her?”

Viggo shrugged. “Seemed to be a good situation. I needed a wife on my arm, she needed a bank account.” His voice was eerily even and calm. Detached.

“So what went wrong?”

Viggo stared out into nothing, his food forgotten. “I’m not sure, really,” he murmured. “I guess she got tired of me taking her for granted.”

Orlando frowned. “But you both knew it was a marriage of convenience from the start?”

Viggo nodded, looking over at the Brit, face pained. “I know it’s not the best reason to get married, but it worked for us.”

“I’m not judging you, Viggo. I’m just trying to understand.”

A harsh laugh ripped out of Viggo’s chest. “Good luck with that.”

Orlando shifted to face him and laid a hand on Viggo’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

Viggo closed his eyes for a bit, then nodded and looked up at him. “Honestly? I think she’s found someone else and just wants to get rid of me. And keep as much of my money as she can, of course.”

Orlando nodded, distaste written across his face. “She doesn’t deserve you.”

Viggo looked at him impassively. “You’re right. I’ve not been a good husband.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Orlando retorted angrily, moving to his knees.

“Don’t try to sugar coat your vision of me, Orlando. I’m not the wronged one here.”

“Maybe not. But you’re not the villain, either.”

“I don’t want to fight with her.”

“Viggo, if you don’t fight, she’ll ruin you and take everything you have. You said so yourself,” Orlando argued.

Viggo just shrugged. “It’s just money.”

“But Minas Tirith isn’t.”

Viggo’s face turned stony, his eyes cold. “I’ll find somewhere else to live.”

“To exist, you mean. Not to live.”

“What do you know about it?” Viggo asked harshly.

“I know that you love that manor house. I could see it on your face when you showed me the outlook,” Orlando said. “I know you love the land, you’ve shown it to me with obvious pride. I know you love the horses and the stables and the people who work there, and I know they love you, too.”

A single tear escaped Viggo’s eye and Orlando reached up to wipe it away. His other hand took Viggo’s, their fingers sliding together, hands fitting perfectly. “I know that when you told me about it last night, your voice cracked when you spoke of her taking your home away. I’m afraid you’d never be the same if you lost this place,” Orlando murmured, his fingers lingering on Viggo’s cheek.

Viggo drew an unsteady breath and met Orlando’s eyes. “You’re right,” he whispered, lightly covering Orlando’s fingers with his own.