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fellowshippers2006-01-10 12:50 am
sheltiesong.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2006-01-10 12:50 am
Fic: Together Apart (VM/OB)
*comes shyly out of lurk and waves* I wrote this awhile back, for the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
anglicandoorway Fic-A-Thon, and realized the other day that I don't remember posting it here. (If I have, my apologies. Mods, feel free to delete if so.)
Title: Together Apart
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sheltiesong
Pairing: Viggorli
Rating: PG-13
Request:ancabell requested: New Zealand and Viggo’s poetry.
Summary: A poem in his notebook helps calm Viggo’s fears for what their post-New Zealand future holds for him and his lover.
Beta: Huge hugs and chocolate-covered slashboys toalliwantisanelfforchristmas for the emergency beta! Thanks so much! *serves up the goodies to seanlily for being ready to beta as well>
Disclaimer: Now that I work in copyright, I have to find a fic outlet somehow, right? Viggo and Orlando belong to themselves. Everything here is a figment of my overactive imagination, other than “Apart”, which belongs to Viggo.
Author’s Note: Thanks have to go out tocynical_terror for brainstorming and ana_stasia for a read-through. And the blame, of course, needs to go, as always, to my wonderful greensage: It’s all your fault this fandom has eaten my brain, darn you! ;)
Additionally, for those wary of the format, this is told in the present tense. It’s a style I usually avoid, and I actually started out writing it in 3rd person past. However, as things progressed, it seemed to beg for a more immediate style. Forgive me?
~*~
“Easy son, steady now.” Viggo sits a little deeper in the saddle, draws back on the reins a little as Uraeus shies at a shadow on the path. The big bay settles, ceasing his restless movements and easing back into a slow trot.
The trees break into a sun-dappled clearing, a low stone wall bordering either side. Horse and rider halt and Viggo dismounts with the ease of long practice.
He sits comfortably on the wall, opening his saddlebag as Uraeus grazes contentedly beside him. Hands idly tracing the soft leather of his notebook, he sighs, sudden melancholy stealing across his features, the passage of time a heavy weight on his shoulders.
Soon all of this would be a memory, flashes of easy laughter and fierce friendship, and the quiet whisperings of love under the New Zealand sky.
Twitching the cover aside, he ruffles the notebook pages with one finger, the heavy paper fluttering to settle randomly before him. A smile tugs at his lips, almost despite himself.
You found my keys
On an angle’s hip
Moved half the fallen trees
From the frozen road.
Eyes half-lidded, he lets the words wash over him, for once allowing them to flit across his mind without thought to rhythm or meter, allowing them to simply be, to conjure their pictures as they will.
The smile grows in memory, fleeting images of dark eyes and long limbs, all energy and movement and a young colt’s lanky clumsiness. It is not Orlando’s way to steal quietly into the inner recesses of another’s heart, with calm and reserve and subtle simplicity. No half measures, no guile, just boundless energy, artless in his ardor and wholly compelling.
Gaze going all soft and unfocused, he drifts back to an earlier day, to a sun-strewn field much like this one …
The trip is
All I thought
It would be
And we’re not
Even 1⁄2 way yet.
He could see it clearly now, brightly, as if it were before him rather than the mind-etchings of words spilled across the page. Orlando had stood, a rare instant of stillness as he watched the horses grazing a distance away, their tails swishing the buzzing flies from each other’s heads. The instant passed, Orlando succumbing to the call of movement once again. Dark-hued eyes had sparkled with mischief as he’d borne Viggo to the grass in a tangle of flying limbs and jousting tongues. The newness of their passion yet lingered, undimmed by hectic days and too-short nights.
If I can’t touch you
With snow-hung furs
Our only witnesses
Can’t have your eyes
When everyone’s asleep
Then the fire’s almost out.
At this, he laughs aloud, remembering vividly their frantic attempts to find solitude, alone-places amid the hustle and bustle of cast and crew and the frustrations of trailers too often shared with others. The fields had been their bed so often, trading the unintentional gazes of friends for the eyes of the stars. They might have found themselves wanting in comparison to the brilliance above, but tender touches to hard flesh and the echoes of soft moans filled up all of the spaces inside them. There was little room left to consider anything that was not heat and warmth and glorious fullness. The fires built and waned between them, only to surge hot and slick once more.
You ask the un-named
Attractions to leave town
But keep checking
If I’m still around.
His smile goes all tender then, lips curling in fondness. To the world, the legions of extras, the public that will someday set him on their shoulders, his Orlando is a well of extroverted energy, all easy smiles as he bounces between one person and the next. He is self-confidence without arrogance, charm without condescension.
It is only a few who get to see below Orlando’s surface, touching the inner heart of him where lie his insecurities. When his self-doubts plague him, nudging him from slumber, it is into Viggo’s embrace he turns. It is Viggo who gets to hold him as they whisper in the night of maybes and what-ifs. It is Viggo’s hand that strokes his hair, and Viggo’s love and faith that soothe him back to the dreamscape. This is the Orlando that others will never see, though they may catch his reflection on the screen, hidden safely under the guise of one role or the next. This Orlando belongs to Viggo alone, loved and loving in return.
Should we sidestep
Putting fingers to
Words tracing lips that
Would inform us?
The pensive times come more frequently now, stealing between them as their life here marches toward its end. Still they press on, clinging more closely still, as if Time could be staved off by the power of an embrace. Perhaps if they choose not to think about it, Time just might stand still?
But wishers aren’t horses, and Time ignores their earnest inner pleadings. Soon they will leave New Zealand, jetting off to different shores and the burden of responsibilities. They dread these coming days, when seeking hands can only touch phantoms, when voices can only be heard through the cool, slim shape of a cell phone.
Once said I’d missed
You every instant
Before we’d met.
Now believe we knew
How sad we’d be
Apart.
Eyes shimmering with the tears he refuses to shed, Viggo looks toward the sky. Sunset is just starting its nightly painting, touching each cloud the slightest pink. Each night is a renewal, the painting eternal, yet ever-changing. The sky endures, always a little different, yet ever present.
He reflects on that for a moment, turning it over and over in his mind, the pieces slowly falling into place.
He looks once more, at the fields, across the sky, to where the moon is just starting to peek through the last vestiges of daylight.
Life moves, he realizes. It changes, it evolves, and each change leads you one more step on the journey. One such step had brought him here, and it is time to take another. Love and togetherness do not always have to coexist for the journey to be as one.
Life resting a little lighter on his shoulders, he stands and readies Uraeus to ride, notebook tucked safely back into his saddlebag. Checking the girth and mounting, he clucks once into the stallion’s pricked ear, riding off into Orlando’s waiting arms.
anglicandoorway Fic-A-Thon, and realized the other day that I don't remember posting it here. (If I have, my apologies. Mods, feel free to delete if so.) Title: Together Apart
Author:
sheltiesongPairing: Viggorli
Rating: PG-13
Request:
ancabell requested: New Zealand and Viggo’s poetry.Summary: A poem in his notebook helps calm Viggo’s fears for what their post-New Zealand future holds for him and his lover.
Beta: Huge hugs and chocolate-covered slashboys to
alliwantisanelfforchristmas for the emergency beta! Thanks so much! *serves up the goodies to seanlily for being ready to beta as well>Disclaimer: Now that I work in copyright, I have to find a fic outlet somehow, right? Viggo and Orlando belong to themselves. Everything here is a figment of my overactive imagination, other than “Apart”, which belongs to Viggo.
Author’s Note: Thanks have to go out to
cynical_terror for brainstorming and ana_stasia for a read-through. And the blame, of course, needs to go, as always, to my wonderful greensage: It’s all your fault this fandom has eaten my brain, darn you! ;) Additionally, for those wary of the format, this is told in the present tense. It’s a style I usually avoid, and I actually started out writing it in 3rd person past. However, as things progressed, it seemed to beg for a more immediate style. Forgive me?
~*~
“Easy son, steady now.” Viggo sits a little deeper in the saddle, draws back on the reins a little as Uraeus shies at a shadow on the path. The big bay settles, ceasing his restless movements and easing back into a slow trot.
The trees break into a sun-dappled clearing, a low stone wall bordering either side. Horse and rider halt and Viggo dismounts with the ease of long practice.
He sits comfortably on the wall, opening his saddlebag as Uraeus grazes contentedly beside him. Hands idly tracing the soft leather of his notebook, he sighs, sudden melancholy stealing across his features, the passage of time a heavy weight on his shoulders.
Soon all of this would be a memory, flashes of easy laughter and fierce friendship, and the quiet whisperings of love under the New Zealand sky.
Twitching the cover aside, he ruffles the notebook pages with one finger, the heavy paper fluttering to settle randomly before him. A smile tugs at his lips, almost despite himself.
On an angle’s hip
Moved half the fallen trees
From the frozen road.
Eyes half-lidded, he lets the words wash over him, for once allowing them to flit across his mind without thought to rhythm or meter, allowing them to simply be, to conjure their pictures as they will.
The smile grows in memory, fleeting images of dark eyes and long limbs, all energy and movement and a young colt’s lanky clumsiness. It is not Orlando’s way to steal quietly into the inner recesses of another’s heart, with calm and reserve and subtle simplicity. No half measures, no guile, just boundless energy, artless in his ardor and wholly compelling.
Gaze going all soft and unfocused, he drifts back to an earlier day, to a sun-strewn field much like this one …
All I thought
It would be
And we’re not
Even 1⁄2 way yet.
He could see it clearly now, brightly, as if it were before him rather than the mind-etchings of words spilled across the page. Orlando had stood, a rare instant of stillness as he watched the horses grazing a distance away, their tails swishing the buzzing flies from each other’s heads. The instant passed, Orlando succumbing to the call of movement once again. Dark-hued eyes had sparkled with mischief as he’d borne Viggo to the grass in a tangle of flying limbs and jousting tongues. The newness of their passion yet lingered, undimmed by hectic days and too-short nights.
With snow-hung furs
Our only witnesses
Can’t have your eyes
When everyone’s asleep
Then the fire’s almost out.
At this, he laughs aloud, remembering vividly their frantic attempts to find solitude, alone-places amid the hustle and bustle of cast and crew and the frustrations of trailers too often shared with others. The fields had been their bed so often, trading the unintentional gazes of friends for the eyes of the stars. They might have found themselves wanting in comparison to the brilliance above, but tender touches to hard flesh and the echoes of soft moans filled up all of the spaces inside them. There was little room left to consider anything that was not heat and warmth and glorious fullness. The fires built and waned between them, only to surge hot and slick once more.
Attractions to leave town
But keep checking
If I’m still around.
His smile goes all tender then, lips curling in fondness. To the world, the legions of extras, the public that will someday set him on their shoulders, his Orlando is a well of extroverted energy, all easy smiles as he bounces between one person and the next. He is self-confidence without arrogance, charm without condescension.
It is only a few who get to see below Orlando’s surface, touching the inner heart of him where lie his insecurities. When his self-doubts plague him, nudging him from slumber, it is into Viggo’s embrace he turns. It is Viggo who gets to hold him as they whisper in the night of maybes and what-ifs. It is Viggo’s hand that strokes his hair, and Viggo’s love and faith that soothe him back to the dreamscape. This is the Orlando that others will never see, though they may catch his reflection on the screen, hidden safely under the guise of one role or the next. This Orlando belongs to Viggo alone, loved and loving in return.
Putting fingers to
Words tracing lips that
Would inform us?
The pensive times come more frequently now, stealing between them as their life here marches toward its end. Still they press on, clinging more closely still, as if Time could be staved off by the power of an embrace. Perhaps if they choose not to think about it, Time just might stand still?
But wishers aren’t horses, and Time ignores their earnest inner pleadings. Soon they will leave New Zealand, jetting off to different shores and the burden of responsibilities. They dread these coming days, when seeking hands can only touch phantoms, when voices can only be heard through the cool, slim shape of a cell phone.
You every instant
Before we’d met.
Now believe we knew
How sad we’d be
Apart.
Eyes shimmering with the tears he refuses to shed, Viggo looks toward the sky. Sunset is just starting its nightly painting, touching each cloud the slightest pink. Each night is a renewal, the painting eternal, yet ever-changing. The sky endures, always a little different, yet ever present.
He reflects on that for a moment, turning it over and over in his mind, the pieces slowly falling into place.
He looks once more, at the fields, across the sky, to where the moon is just starting to peek through the last vestiges of daylight.
Life moves, he realizes. It changes, it evolves, and each change leads you one more step on the journey. One such step had brought him here, and it is time to take another. Love and togetherness do not always have to coexist for the journey to be as one.
Life resting a little lighter on his shoulders, he stands and readies Uraeus to ride, notebook tucked safely back into his saddlebag. Checking the girth and mounting, he clucks once into the stallion’s pricked ear, riding off into Orlando’s waiting arms.