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fellowshippers2006-04-09 01:27 am
v-angelique.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2006-04-09 01:27 am
Un Cadeau du Roi (4/8)
Title: Un Cadeau du Roi (4/8)
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Email: viktoria_angelique@hotmail.com
Pairings: anything's possible among VM, BB, DM, HS, DW, OB, EW
Rating: series PG-13
Disclaimer: AU and very not true.
Feedback: Please do! It's very much appreciated.
A/N: This chapter goes out to all you wonderful people who leave feedback and make me grin. I was feeling kind of fandom-depressed as a relative newbie who doesn't generally get much, and you all just make my month with your replies to this story. I'm finally starting to feel welcome here. So, now, as a gift to you, the part wherein... (almost) everything is revealed. But it's only the halfway point, so don't let your guard down too much *cackles evilly*.
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three
When Viggo arrived at his hotel, there was a message waiting for him.
Viggo,
If you want to catch him, take the train to Montpellier immediately. From the
Gare SCNF, proceed straight to the Place de la Comedie. Find a woman named
Liv, an American, long dark hair and a dark suit. She will lead you to him.
- A friend
Viggo turned the note over in his hand, reading the words seven, nine times. English, not Italian, faxed from an unknown number. The time on the fax said 15:02. At first he thought Elijah had sent it, but that was impossible, for he was with Elijah until at least five after three. No, it had to be someone else. Either way, there obviously wasn’t much time to spare. He would have to trust this unknown “friend,” and so he quickly packed his things and made for the local train station.
He was able to get a train to Genoa right away, and from there by way of Nice to Montpellier. It was late in the evening by the time he arrived, but not yet fully dark. Fortunately, his French was much better than his Italian, and he was quickly able to ascertain that yes, the Place de la Comedie is straight up the street there, follow the tram tracks to the top of the hill and there you are. It was lovely at night, and if he had the time he would have stopped to remark at the colours, the activity. A carousel chimed merrily to one side of the square, couples milled on the steps of the opera house, and teenagers headed in hoards to the air-conditioned MacDo.
It was, however, the fountain that drew his attention. Bubbling merrily in the centre of the square, it was flanked by statues of angels—quite similar, in fact, to the one underneath he had seen his very own angel just a few weeks ago. Smiling, he approached the fountain and was doubly rewarded when he found a woman standing there, dark hair flowing loose, smart black suit, sensible pumps.
“Liv?” he asked, approaching her slowly and with a questioning expression. She smiled, looking all business, and extended a hand.
“Viggo. Please, come with me.”
Viggo had little choice in the matter, but he followed her dutifully, across the square and in the direction of the huge Polygonne shopping centre. Using an escalator by Sauramps bookstore to access the lower level, Liv led the way into a vast underground parking garage, holding out a key ring and identifying her vehicle with a pleasant mechanical chirp. Viggo raised his eyebrow when she gestured to the passenger seat, but she seemed hardly willing to negotiate.
“Please. If you want to find him, you have little time.” Viggo sighed and acquiesced, climbing into the Jaguar and keeping his eyes focused out the window as Liv left the garage, paid the attendant, and pulled out into downtown Montpellier. Viggo tried to follow the pattern of the streets she took, but after the third roundabout was rather much lost. The centre of Montpellier was accessible only by pedestrians, and quite easy to navigate, but the outer parts of the city were very confusing and full of one-way streets and complicated parking zones. He was able to ascertain that they were moving northwest out of the city, however, and by the time they were zooming through the suburbs on the N109 Liv seemed to have relaxed considerably.
“So, I have a confession to make,” Liv announced with a pleasant little smile that unnerved Viggo more than he wanted to admit.
“What’s that?”
“Well… the man you’re looking for?”
“Yes?”
“…isn’t exactly the man I’m taking you to.”
“What?!?” Viggo exclaimed, eyes going wide as Liv simply fixed him with a sympathetic smile.
“I swear to God, this is for the best, and you’ll see when we get there. But I just didn’t want you to be surprised, you know, when it’s… well, not Orlando,” Liv explained.
“You know Orlando?”
“I do, yes.”
“Well if you know him then why can’t you lead me to him??” Viggo asked, exasperated.
“Well first of all, I don’t know exactly where he is, and neither does Harry. Orlando isn’t exactly on the map right now, but lucky for us Harry was able to call in a favour to a friend, who was able to determine your own whereabouts, and therefore leave a message at your hotel, leading you to me. I would assume, given the location you left from, that he is with Elijah right now.”
“Harry?” The name sounded familiar, but in his rage Viggo couldn’t place it. “And how do you know Elijah?” Viggo felt vaguely sick, realising that he had been duped, and furthermore, that he had just left Orlando’s trail altogether. But Orlando… at least now, he had a name.
“Elijah is… well you’ve met him. He tends to pop up whenever he’s needed most. And as for Harry, you’re going to meet him now, and he will explain much more to you than I can. I’m simply helping him out as a friend, but believe me. Harry knows much more about Orlando than anyone.”
“Great…” Viggo sank down in his seat and shook his head. “This is why I date men, you know. Can never trust a woman.”
Liv just laughed gleefully and continued to navigate the dark country roads, moving further and further away from civilization. It was almost ten when she finally pulled into a grand, circular driveway in front of a very impressive house. Or… mansion, really, as that was all you could fairly call it. It looked like a miniature of Versailles, or maybe one of the palaces outside London, far from just a normal house. He briefly considered fleeing, but there on the wide front steps was the man that supposedly had all the answers. If Liv wasn’t lying again, and this man really knew about Orlando… well he was that much closer to solving the mystery. Sighing at his own situation, he quickly exited the car and slung his bag over his shoulder.
“Harry, I presume?” he asked in a tired voice, approaching the steps. The man was of an average height, maybe an inch taller than Viggo, with wavy brown hair worn shoulder length. He was dressed in loose grey trousers and a buttoned black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and had a strangely commanding air. King of his castle, Viggo thought to himself, and it didn’t seem so far from the truth.
The man seemed startled to see him, at first, despite his confident posture. He stared at Viggo for a moment, almost as someone experiencing déjà vu, and then quickly reached out and offered Viggo his hand.
“Viggo Mortensen. Such a pleasure to finally meet you.” Viggo raised his eyebrow, still quite curious as to who the man was and what he was doing here. “You may go no now, Liv. Thank you,” Harry spoke over Viggo’s shoulder, and Viggo felt more than a little nervous as his one ride nodded and headed off. “Viggo, please. Relax. I’m not going to hurt you, and you have nowhere else to go, for tonight at least. It’s already getting late. Let me show you to a guestroom, and if you still want to leave in the morning, I’m happy to drive you back to Montpellier. Ça suffit?” Viggo hesitated a moment, and then nodded, awkwardly allowing Harry to take his bag and following Harry upstairs to a room where he dropped the bag and finally turned to address Viggo.
“I know it’s a little strange, a man living all alone in a palace such as this. My mum says I should hire a staff, but… I don’t know. I find it hard to trust other people so easily,” Harry explained with an apologetic smile.
“Well isn’t that ironic,” Viggo mumbled under his breath.
“Please, Viggo. There is much that needs to be explained. I’ll tell you what. You’re writing a book, am I correct?” Viggo nodded, dumfounded. “Well come downstairs with me, then. Bring your tape recorder. I’ve prepared a plentiful supper, and you can eat and refresh yourself, keep the recorder on in the dining room, and I’ll tell you my story. I promise I won’t try to poison you,” he added with a kind smile, and Viggo just sighed as he unpacked his equipment, not seeing any better plan at the moment. He was, after all, rather hungry.
It was downstairs, sitting at Harry’s right hand in the rather ostentatious grand dining room and eating partridge, that Viggo began to feel a bit dwarfed by his surroundings.
“I was born in 1959 in Auckland,” Harry began, apparently oblivious to his guest’s discomfort. “However, my story begins far before my own birth. Nearly four hundred years before, in fact.” Harry smiled, as if recalling a particularly fond memory, and settled in his high-backed chair as Viggo set down his fork and adjusted the microphone to his liking. “King Henry III, as you may know, was the last of the Valois Dynasty in France. He was born in 1551, and died in 1589. What is most relevant here, however, is a certain scandalous propensity of the King’s. You see, Henry was quite known for being a transvestite,” Harry revealed with a grin, and Viggo couldn’t help but smile in return at this salacious historical detail.
“The King would dress quite frequently in women’s clothes, and he enjoyed keeping the company of certain young men, known as his ‘mignons.’ He was married in 1575, but a fact known by very few is that the marriage was never in fact consummated. Any sexual activity in which Henry engaged was limited to these ‘mignons,’ and in particular one favourite of his, a young man of noble upbringing by the name of Sinclaire de Beauchamp. Now Henry was generally disrespected for his peculiar manner of frivolity, but he was able as monarch to assure that Sinclaire was well cared-for and established him in one of his palaces in the Languedoc, far south of Paris and Henry’s worst critics.
“It was perhaps this decision to house Sinclaire in the Languedoc that saved him, for none at court knew what really transpired between the two, or at least the extent of it. I believe the relationship between these two men could quite simply be defined as true love, and in fact, I can prove this beyond a reasonable doubt, but that will come later…
Viggo raised his eyebrows, but did not speak, allowing Harry to continue the story in his comfortably rolling cadence. “Henry, having had no intercourse with his wife, had no desire to produce an heir. He did, however, want to preserve the legacy of his love, and in order to do so he quietly contacted Sinclaire’s sister, Jeanne. Jeanne, in fact, was the only woman with which Henry ever performed sexual acts with, and in doing so Jeanne de Beauchamp became perhaps the world’s first surrogate mother.
“After several couplings, Jeanne was able to produce a child. Of course, not having been born of Henry’s wife, the boy was not a legitimate heir to the French throne, but Henry was not troubled. He cared little for the destiny of his line and was more concerned with the boy’s well being, as well as that of his lover’s. The sister was sworn to secrecy, and it was Sinclaire who raised the child, visited frequently by Henry himself.
“As you may know, Henry III was eventually murdered in the War of the Three Henrys and then succeeded by Henry IV, a protestant. When the Bourbon line was thus established, Sinclaire kept the child’s parentage a secret, in order to avoid undue attention. He and his son lived comfortably in the Languedoc for years, and though there were whispers, the story of Sinclaire de Beauchamp soon passed into legend and later, myth.”
“But if it is only a myth, how do you…” Viggo began. Harry just smiled and held up his hand, effectively silencing the curious other man.
“I’m getting to that. You see, few knew the true story, but Sinclaire had the foresight to keep extremely meticulous notes on the story of his relationship with Henry and the birth of their child, along with very clear instructions regarding the passing down of these notes and the importance of a certain prophecy, which I will explain later in my story. The notes were preserved in a bundle and kept in a special box, made with the wood of a hickory tree native to the Languedoc and bearing the Valois King’s seal, fastened with decorative golden lock. The key was carefully passed down, through the generations, from father to eldest son, the line remaining unbroken for centuries.
“Each generation knew the story of the two men, their love, and their child, and each father passed the key down in turn to his son so that he would learn about the family history. You may wonder how this could be done so meticulously, especially with the homophobia that runs rampant throughout the lines of history. I am sure that some of the men of this line were ashamed of their ancestors, however the notes warned of a powerful curse that would befall the man who failed to successfully pass the notes down, and none risked the consequences of such a curse. I imagine that some of the men, having read through the notes once, never looked upon them again, but they passed down the box and its key, and that was all they were required to do.
“For many years, the ancestors of the first child, named Alexandre-Edouard after his father’s given name, lived in relative peace in the palace. The Languedoc was a region not greatly troubled by conflict, especially after its governor was forced to reside at Versailles in the time of Louis XIV, ending a rebellion against the King of France. The family was quite wealthy, having acquired much from Henry’s will and more due to the success of the estates its members oversaw, but in 1793 was forced to leave France due to the fear of persecution. Even though the royal connection was not publicly known, the family nonetheless lived on lands that had formerly belonged to the Crown, and was a part of the landed aristocracy that was greatly suffering during the Reign of Terror. For reasons that will later become clear to you, it was very important to maintain the family line, and so the Beauchamps fled to England, taking up the name of Sinclair in honour of the man for whom their line was begun, and ceasing to speak French outside the home.
“The Sinclairs remained in England for years, purchasing land in the south of the country and eventually selling their French estate, after ensuring that a certain secret kept there would remain secret until the appointed time. That secret,” Harry explained when Viggo opened his mouth to speak, “is part of the prophecy I have alluded to, and will explain at the end of my story. In any event, the estate, which had been kept by stewards, was sold, and the family lived comfortably in England until the twentieth century. The family fortune had grown to quite impressive proportions by this time, as you can imagine, and wise investment meant that the men of the family rarely had to work to keep their family comfortable. However, in 1940, it became painfully obvious to my grandfather that in order to keep his family safe, he had to leave England.
“The war, as you can imagine, had escalated considerably by that point, and southern England was particularly vulnerable to air attack. Using his considerable influence and resources, my grandfather left our lands in the hands of a caretaker, and moved his wife and my two-year old father to New Zealand. As always, that sacred box and its golden key were handed down from father to son, and so my father, safe in an Auckland mansion, read the story that I have just explained to you, added to over the years by family members who added their pages to the originals in the box. And it was in 1977, when I reached the age of my majority, that my father then entrusted the box, and the key, to me. Impressive story, isn’t it?” Harry noted with a grin.
Viggo just stared at the other man, trying to piece together all this information and his significance. If what Harry said was true, then he was probably the most direct living descendant of the French royal line. The story was amazingly compelling, enough even to distract Viggo for the moment from his failure to find the young man he had been seeking out all this time. However, there was still one question.
“What then, of the prophecy you keep mentioning? What is it?” Viggo asked.
“Ah, well here is where it really gets interesting. You see, Viggo, you have spent the past weeks stringing together a mystery, putting together pieces of a puzzle, so to speak. I know more than you realize, and I see how frustrating it is to you to assemble this story… but would it surprise you to find that it is not, in fact, Orlando who provides the missing piece? You have, after all, been chasing a mirage, my friend. The one who holds the key to this mystery is, in fact, yourself.”
“You… what… I…” Viggo stuttered for a moment, then stopped and stared openly at Harry. “I don’t understand. Orlando is the mystery. It is he that I have been chasing, and nothing else. How can I be part of a puzzle that I don’t even know the existence of?” Harry just laughed and shook his head.
“Is it really so unusual, really, that you might be part of a destiny of which you are not informed? The great events of history, after all, are only clear in hindsight. You are not expected to understand everything, only that your search for Orlando is significant as part of a greater story. You see, my dear Viggo, you have been looking so hard for Orlando in these past weeks, but at the same time, I have been spending my entire life looking for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes. I realize this comes as a shock to you, and I do understand. I myself realize how compelling Orlando can be, and how rewarding it is to chase him…” Harry paused a moment, smiling at a memory. “…but he is not in fact what you are looking for. Orlando may yet have a part to play, I suspect, but now we must continue in the story to understand why it is you, and not Orlando, that forms the key element. Shall I continue, then?”
“Please.”
“Right. Now the prophecy… this is the crux of this fascinating tale. I have spent my entire life studying and rereading my family’s history, but it is the prophecy that all revolves around, a prophecy so detailed that it is hardly possible to believe. Yet thus far, all has been proven true.” Harry laughed at Viggo’s confused expression.
“I guess I should start, once again, at the beginning. Let us go back, for a second, to the fifteen hundreds. Now at the time of Henry III, there was a very well respected seer in the Languedoc, by the name of François-Paul. This man had a rare gift, and many parents would bring their children to him for some sign of their future. Unlike false prophets that gave a detailed reading for anyone with a few coins, François-Paul did readings for the price of a jug of wine and a loaf of bread, and he did not always come up with much. Visions were not always forthcoming, and often they were vague. However, when Henry and Sinclaire brought the young Alec to him, he had the most vivid and detailed vision that was ever reported.
“The details of this prophecy are recorded in two places. Part of what was said is in the notes I told you of, and was known by each of my ancestors in turn. The other part, no one but myself knew the entire truth of. Orlando now knows, but he is the only one.”
“How can you be sure of that?” Viggo asked, sceptical.
“Well it’s fairly simple. The part revealed in the notes was this. The line that began with Alec would be unbroken, father to son, for centuries. It was foreseen that Henry would meet an untimely death, and that Alec’s line would therefore maintain a certain amount of secrecy from then on, concealing its true lineage and passing down the truth only from father to son in written form. As I have said, in the notes descendants are cautioned to pass the box and key down under penalty of a powerful curse, and above all to keep the information contained therein both secret and safe. Now the notes also mention a particular son, the last of the line. This final son will not produce an heir, and it is him that the secret prophecy concerns. According to the notes on the prophecy, this son will be born in a land far away, but he will return to France on the first day of his thirtieth year and reclaim his ancestral home, where the most secret part of the prophecy is contained. Again under threat of a powerful curse, the sons were cautioned not to attempt to recover the secret that is not theirs, and as far as I know, no one attempted it.
“Now that brings us to me, and how I discovered that the secret prophecy was indeed mine to behold. When I turned eighteen and read the notes, I admit I had some inclination that I might be the one. I’ve preferred the company of men almost my entire life, and I had no desire to bear children. I would have, to preserve the line, if I had been forced, but that was not necessary. The notes stated that in this specific son’s twentieth year, ten years before his return to France, he would have a powerful vision. And indeed, in the early morning hours of my twentieth birthday, a dream came to me. In it, there were a man and a woman—or so it appeared at first. The man was of slight build, dressed rather foppishly in ancient clothing of a bright blue shade. The woman wore bright red lipstick and kohl around her eyes, with styled hair and brilliant purple robes, but when I looked closer, I realized it was not a woman at all, but rather a man in woman’s clothing. The man wore a crown of brilliant jewels, and I knew at once that these were my ancestors, King Henry and his lover Sinclaire.
“I’ve never had very clear dreams, and rarely remember them the next day, but this one remained imprinted on my brain for years to come, and I still remember as clear as day the instructions the two men gave me of how I was to find the secret prophecy, hidden in this ancient palace. And so, from that day forward I studied French, delved deeper into the history that fascinated me, and prepared for my 30th birthday, when I would reclaim the prophecy.
“It was surprisingly easy to buy the palace from the estate of its former owner, who just happened to die a few weeks before I turned thirty, and so I arrived on the appointed day, forgetting all else in my haste to find the prophecy. It was again a simple task, as I remembered the instructions as clearly as I do now, and after following a maze of underground tunnels I found the wooden box, identical to the one I’ve already described to you, along with a separately hidden key. Inside, never before read, was the full prophecy, written on parchment just as the old notes. It was in the ancien français, but I was used to this language from reading the notes along with their English translations, and it wasn’t hard to decipher.
“Now, Viggo, here is where you come in. The prophecy is deceptively simple. The King, coming to an untimely death, would be separated from his lover, both on earth and in heaven. Their story, apparently, is only one half of the foretold whole, and until this whole is completed the lovers cannot be reunited. They wait, in heaven, for the fulfilment of the prophecy and their eventual reunion. In order for this to happen, the descendant that was described, in other words, myself, would have to find his own true love. Until this half is carried out, until the son finds his love, the fathers cannot be again as one. And when it is carried out, when the lovers again find each other in the afterlife, the younger man is also promised a great prize, a prize ‘of greater worth than all the jewels the French Empire could contain,’ according to the prophecy.”
“But… how the hell am I involved? I mean, you’re not in love with me!”
Harry smiled indulgently and took a sip of his wine. “No, I’m not. But I will be. You see, Viggo, the prophecy continues to explain that the descendant in question will know his true love’s countenance by way of another vision, this one twenty years later. And on my fortieth birthday, six years ago, I fell asleep and dreamed, just as clearly as the first time, of you.” Viggo just stared, and Harry continued without allowing him an interruption.
“I know this must come as a shock, but the dream was frighteningly clear. I saw your face, and then I knew, after ten years of searching, how I would recognize my lover. It was only two years after that when I could put a name to a face. In fact, you may remember. After 9/11, you were living in New York, and a reporter from CNN did an interview with you on what it was like to cover the story as it broke. Do you remember?” Viggo nodded mutely, and Harry smiled.
“I saw you then, Viggo, and I knew it was you. I had to have you. I’ve bided my time, dreaming of you, and waiting for this day, for four years. And by the most unusual of circumstances, here you are!” Harry smiled with a flourish of his hands, but Viggo was not impressed.
“I still don’t get this… I mean, how do I know you’re not just some psycho? And what about me? You may have been waiting for me, but if you haven’t noticed, I’m still looking for Orlando. And I intend to find him,” Viggo added, his eyes fiery. “With or without your help.”
“Ah, Orlando,” Harry sighed, smiling fondly. “How you have affected my life’s path. Viggo, it may amuse you to find that years ago, before I turned forty, I actually met Orlando for the first time, much as you did. In fact, I saw him across a square in Montpellier and was convinced that he was you. I thought that I had found my love before the vision even occurred, and I was determined to have him.”
Viggo just raised an eyebrow. “And did you?”
“Yes. Orlando and I had a relationship, and not a bad one, but… well, we were together that night, when I had the dream, and I knew. I knew he was not my destiny.”
“I still think you’re insane.”
Harry smiled. “I’ll grant you that.”
“So how did it end?”
“I told him of the prophecy. I told him, and he agreed to help me find you. Although… I suspect he was hurting, much more than helping. You see, the young Orlando has very little respect, I’m afraid, for inevitability.”
“I wasn’t supposed to run into Orlando in Italy, was I?”
“No.”
“I wasn’t supposed to know of his existence, even.”
“Not ideally.”
“But I do. And maybe that’s your first mistake.”
“Maybe.” Harry nodded, neutral, and for some reason this reaction was quite unnerving. “More important, however, is the fact that you did see him, and you’re still looking for him. I must warn you, Viggo. Whatever your intentions may be with regards to myself, this is not a wise course. And furthermore, you never will catch him.”
“How do you know?” Viggo asked, eyeing the mysterious stranger suspiciously.
“Well I know, mon cher, that you weren’t supposed to run into Orlando in the first place. I know that you did run into him, and for two days, he was all but lost to you. Correct?” Viggo nodded. “Now if Orlando had truly wished to remain hidden, not to clue you into his existence, he would have. Orlando is a smart man, and he knows the Italian countryside better than many of the Italians. But he didn’t disappear, and you did see him again. Which leads me to believe that he wanted that to happen.”
Viggo furrowed his brow in confusion. “But if he wanted to see me, why didn’t he just approach me, then? He must have known I was willing.”
“Oh, willing, certainly, but not for his purposes. You see, Viggo, Orlando did not want to see you, he wanted to mislead you. Specifically, he wanted to keep you from me. He wanted to delay, or perhaps destroy, the prophecy.”
“But it’s a prophecy, right?” Viggo pointed out. “Like you said, it’s inevitable.”
“Yes, yes it is. And here you are.” Harry smiled disarmingly, and Viggo sighed, rubbing his temples as he pushed aside his clear plate. “Anyway, mon cher, the point is this—Orlando must have realized, after seeing you the first time, that perhaps the best way to keep you away from me, to keep you interested, was to continue to show up. Drop hints, even, anything that would keep your attention, keep you away from your project, and keep you in Italy. Without this interest, after all, you would be lost to Orlando, and he would have no way of knowing your whereabouts. You could be in Greece, Barcelona… Provence.” Harry smiled ironically, and Viggo just sighed, suspicious of this man who was right all the time. “As long as he could keep an eye on you, he could ensure that I was ignorant of your whereabouts, and also ignorant of his involvement. After all, you would be very difficult to find if you kept moving, and Orlando himself is a master of remaining hidden. His plan, however, worked too well. You would do anything to follow his trail, and you made the mistake of running into Elijah. Elijah, who has powers that even Orlando cannot understand, powers almost reminiscent of that seer who prophesied our meeting so long ago. Elijah, who was not only able to convey some essential truths to you, but to capture Orlando’s attention long enough for you to slip away. Long enough, mon cher, for you to follow yet another trail, hoping for Orlando. The trail, you see, that led you to me.”
Viggo just stared at Harry, and the other man smiled as he watched the pieces of the puzzle coming together. “Then… you mean… Elijah wanted this to happen? Elijah…”
“Elijah loves Orlando. That much is clear. Either way, Elijah had reason not to help Orlando’s cause too much. Elijah knew that it was not your destiny to find Orlando.”
“He is not mine to discover…” Viggo whispered, incredulous, and Harry smiled knowingly.
“No, he is not. And neither is Orlando. Elijah, of course, cannot use his power to ‘see’ maliciously. His prophecies, his advice, are true, and he does not mangle with that gift. However, I would not be surprised if Elijah himself found some joy in the direction in which his revelations sent you, and in his own ability to command Orlando’s attention once again.”
“So now what?”’
“I don’t know, mon cher. Not even Elijah could tell you that.”
“Well I suppose you’re going to trap me here until I fall in love with you, right?”
“No. That is completely unnecessary, as I know my fathers’ peace will be assured as long as I fall in love with you”
“And have you?”
“Not yet. But after so many years… well, it won’t take much.”
“And as for the prize?”
“That remains hidden to me. But if I do my duty, I am sure it will be revealed to me in time.”
“Your duty? So that’s all you see falling in love with me as? A duty??” Viggo knew he was raising his voice, but he didn’t care. How dare he?
“Viggo, please. It is so much more than that. It is… well, it’s fate. It’s a beautiful thing, destiny. I know it must happen, and that it will happen, and I feel a great honour as part of such an eternal whole. You and I, we are pieces in a puzzle that spans the centuries and defies all earthly logic. It’s… it’s not about making sense, it’s about instinct. It’s about knowing your love by touch, by feel…”
Viggo sucked in a sharp breath, for he had heard such words before. He had had such love before, even, and that love had been cruelly ripped away from him already. After all, if Harry’s ancestors could have their peace in heaven, why couldn’t he and David? Viggo felt as if he was a piece, all right, but a piece in the wrong puzzle altogether.
Later that night, as he tossed and turned in bed, he replayed the story in his mind, but never with any satisfying conclusion. It was up to him, surely, to assure that this prophecy come true, and he could easily take Harry up on his offer and return to Montpellier in the morning, leave the country as quickly as he had come, but what then? He was curious, he had to admit, and a strange instinct told him to stay. That night, he dreamed of David, as he often did, but a single word was on his dead lover’s lips. “Reste.” Even David, who had never spoken French in his life, was commanding Viggo to stay in his dreams, and who was he to say no to that?
Author: Viktoria Angelique
Email: viktoria_angelique@hotmail.com
Pairings: anything's possible among VM, BB, DM, HS, DW, OB, EW
Rating: series PG-13
Disclaimer: AU and very not true.
Feedback: Please do! It's very much appreciated.
A/N: This chapter goes out to all you wonderful people who leave feedback and make me grin. I was feeling kind of fandom-depressed as a relative newbie who doesn't generally get much, and you all just make my month with your replies to this story. I'm finally starting to feel welcome here. So, now, as a gift to you, the part wherein... (almost) everything is revealed. But it's only the halfway point, so don't let your guard down too much *cackles evilly*.
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three
When Viggo arrived at his hotel, there was a message waiting for him.
Viggo,
If you want to catch him, take the train to Montpellier immediately. From the
Gare SCNF, proceed straight to the Place de la Comedie. Find a woman named
Liv, an American, long dark hair and a dark suit. She will lead you to him.
- A friend
Viggo turned the note over in his hand, reading the words seven, nine times. English, not Italian, faxed from an unknown number. The time on the fax said 15:02. At first he thought Elijah had sent it, but that was impossible, for he was with Elijah until at least five after three. No, it had to be someone else. Either way, there obviously wasn’t much time to spare. He would have to trust this unknown “friend,” and so he quickly packed his things and made for the local train station.
He was able to get a train to Genoa right away, and from there by way of Nice to Montpellier. It was late in the evening by the time he arrived, but not yet fully dark. Fortunately, his French was much better than his Italian, and he was quickly able to ascertain that yes, the Place de la Comedie is straight up the street there, follow the tram tracks to the top of the hill and there you are. It was lovely at night, and if he had the time he would have stopped to remark at the colours, the activity. A carousel chimed merrily to one side of the square, couples milled on the steps of the opera house, and teenagers headed in hoards to the air-conditioned MacDo.
It was, however, the fountain that drew his attention. Bubbling merrily in the centre of the square, it was flanked by statues of angels—quite similar, in fact, to the one underneath he had seen his very own angel just a few weeks ago. Smiling, he approached the fountain and was doubly rewarded when he found a woman standing there, dark hair flowing loose, smart black suit, sensible pumps.
“Liv?” he asked, approaching her slowly and with a questioning expression. She smiled, looking all business, and extended a hand.
“Viggo. Please, come with me.”
Viggo had little choice in the matter, but he followed her dutifully, across the square and in the direction of the huge Polygonne shopping centre. Using an escalator by Sauramps bookstore to access the lower level, Liv led the way into a vast underground parking garage, holding out a key ring and identifying her vehicle with a pleasant mechanical chirp. Viggo raised his eyebrow when she gestured to the passenger seat, but she seemed hardly willing to negotiate.
“Please. If you want to find him, you have little time.” Viggo sighed and acquiesced, climbing into the Jaguar and keeping his eyes focused out the window as Liv left the garage, paid the attendant, and pulled out into downtown Montpellier. Viggo tried to follow the pattern of the streets she took, but after the third roundabout was rather much lost. The centre of Montpellier was accessible only by pedestrians, and quite easy to navigate, but the outer parts of the city were very confusing and full of one-way streets and complicated parking zones. He was able to ascertain that they were moving northwest out of the city, however, and by the time they were zooming through the suburbs on the N109 Liv seemed to have relaxed considerably.
“So, I have a confession to make,” Liv announced with a pleasant little smile that unnerved Viggo more than he wanted to admit.
“What’s that?”
“Well… the man you’re looking for?”
“Yes?”
“…isn’t exactly the man I’m taking you to.”
“What?!?” Viggo exclaimed, eyes going wide as Liv simply fixed him with a sympathetic smile.
“I swear to God, this is for the best, and you’ll see when we get there. But I just didn’t want you to be surprised, you know, when it’s… well, not Orlando,” Liv explained.
“You know Orlando?”
“I do, yes.”
“Well if you know him then why can’t you lead me to him??” Viggo asked, exasperated.
“Well first of all, I don’t know exactly where he is, and neither does Harry. Orlando isn’t exactly on the map right now, but lucky for us Harry was able to call in a favour to a friend, who was able to determine your own whereabouts, and therefore leave a message at your hotel, leading you to me. I would assume, given the location you left from, that he is with Elijah right now.”
“Harry?” The name sounded familiar, but in his rage Viggo couldn’t place it. “And how do you know Elijah?” Viggo felt vaguely sick, realising that he had been duped, and furthermore, that he had just left Orlando’s trail altogether. But Orlando… at least now, he had a name.
“Elijah is… well you’ve met him. He tends to pop up whenever he’s needed most. And as for Harry, you’re going to meet him now, and he will explain much more to you than I can. I’m simply helping him out as a friend, but believe me. Harry knows much more about Orlando than anyone.”
“Great…” Viggo sank down in his seat and shook his head. “This is why I date men, you know. Can never trust a woman.”
Liv just laughed gleefully and continued to navigate the dark country roads, moving further and further away from civilization. It was almost ten when she finally pulled into a grand, circular driveway in front of a very impressive house. Or… mansion, really, as that was all you could fairly call it. It looked like a miniature of Versailles, or maybe one of the palaces outside London, far from just a normal house. He briefly considered fleeing, but there on the wide front steps was the man that supposedly had all the answers. If Liv wasn’t lying again, and this man really knew about Orlando… well he was that much closer to solving the mystery. Sighing at his own situation, he quickly exited the car and slung his bag over his shoulder.
“Harry, I presume?” he asked in a tired voice, approaching the steps. The man was of an average height, maybe an inch taller than Viggo, with wavy brown hair worn shoulder length. He was dressed in loose grey trousers and a buttoned black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and had a strangely commanding air. King of his castle, Viggo thought to himself, and it didn’t seem so far from the truth.
The man seemed startled to see him, at first, despite his confident posture. He stared at Viggo for a moment, almost as someone experiencing déjà vu, and then quickly reached out and offered Viggo his hand.
“Viggo Mortensen. Such a pleasure to finally meet you.” Viggo raised his eyebrow, still quite curious as to who the man was and what he was doing here. “You may go no now, Liv. Thank you,” Harry spoke over Viggo’s shoulder, and Viggo felt more than a little nervous as his one ride nodded and headed off. “Viggo, please. Relax. I’m not going to hurt you, and you have nowhere else to go, for tonight at least. It’s already getting late. Let me show you to a guestroom, and if you still want to leave in the morning, I’m happy to drive you back to Montpellier. Ça suffit?” Viggo hesitated a moment, and then nodded, awkwardly allowing Harry to take his bag and following Harry upstairs to a room where he dropped the bag and finally turned to address Viggo.
“I know it’s a little strange, a man living all alone in a palace such as this. My mum says I should hire a staff, but… I don’t know. I find it hard to trust other people so easily,” Harry explained with an apologetic smile.
“Well isn’t that ironic,” Viggo mumbled under his breath.
“Please, Viggo. There is much that needs to be explained. I’ll tell you what. You’re writing a book, am I correct?” Viggo nodded, dumfounded. “Well come downstairs with me, then. Bring your tape recorder. I’ve prepared a plentiful supper, and you can eat and refresh yourself, keep the recorder on in the dining room, and I’ll tell you my story. I promise I won’t try to poison you,” he added with a kind smile, and Viggo just sighed as he unpacked his equipment, not seeing any better plan at the moment. He was, after all, rather hungry.
It was downstairs, sitting at Harry’s right hand in the rather ostentatious grand dining room and eating partridge, that Viggo began to feel a bit dwarfed by his surroundings.
“I was born in 1959 in Auckland,” Harry began, apparently oblivious to his guest’s discomfort. “However, my story begins far before my own birth. Nearly four hundred years before, in fact.” Harry smiled, as if recalling a particularly fond memory, and settled in his high-backed chair as Viggo set down his fork and adjusted the microphone to his liking. “King Henry III, as you may know, was the last of the Valois Dynasty in France. He was born in 1551, and died in 1589. What is most relevant here, however, is a certain scandalous propensity of the King’s. You see, Henry was quite known for being a transvestite,” Harry revealed with a grin, and Viggo couldn’t help but smile in return at this salacious historical detail.
“The King would dress quite frequently in women’s clothes, and he enjoyed keeping the company of certain young men, known as his ‘mignons.’ He was married in 1575, but a fact known by very few is that the marriage was never in fact consummated. Any sexual activity in which Henry engaged was limited to these ‘mignons,’ and in particular one favourite of his, a young man of noble upbringing by the name of Sinclaire de Beauchamp. Now Henry was generally disrespected for his peculiar manner of frivolity, but he was able as monarch to assure that Sinclaire was well cared-for and established him in one of his palaces in the Languedoc, far south of Paris and Henry’s worst critics.
“It was perhaps this decision to house Sinclaire in the Languedoc that saved him, for none at court knew what really transpired between the two, or at least the extent of it. I believe the relationship between these two men could quite simply be defined as true love, and in fact, I can prove this beyond a reasonable doubt, but that will come later…
Viggo raised his eyebrows, but did not speak, allowing Harry to continue the story in his comfortably rolling cadence. “Henry, having had no intercourse with his wife, had no desire to produce an heir. He did, however, want to preserve the legacy of his love, and in order to do so he quietly contacted Sinclaire’s sister, Jeanne. Jeanne, in fact, was the only woman with which Henry ever performed sexual acts with, and in doing so Jeanne de Beauchamp became perhaps the world’s first surrogate mother.
“After several couplings, Jeanne was able to produce a child. Of course, not having been born of Henry’s wife, the boy was not a legitimate heir to the French throne, but Henry was not troubled. He cared little for the destiny of his line and was more concerned with the boy’s well being, as well as that of his lover’s. The sister was sworn to secrecy, and it was Sinclaire who raised the child, visited frequently by Henry himself.
“As you may know, Henry III was eventually murdered in the War of the Three Henrys and then succeeded by Henry IV, a protestant. When the Bourbon line was thus established, Sinclaire kept the child’s parentage a secret, in order to avoid undue attention. He and his son lived comfortably in the Languedoc for years, and though there were whispers, the story of Sinclaire de Beauchamp soon passed into legend and later, myth.”
“But if it is only a myth, how do you…” Viggo began. Harry just smiled and held up his hand, effectively silencing the curious other man.
“I’m getting to that. You see, few knew the true story, but Sinclaire had the foresight to keep extremely meticulous notes on the story of his relationship with Henry and the birth of their child, along with very clear instructions regarding the passing down of these notes and the importance of a certain prophecy, which I will explain later in my story. The notes were preserved in a bundle and kept in a special box, made with the wood of a hickory tree native to the Languedoc and bearing the Valois King’s seal, fastened with decorative golden lock. The key was carefully passed down, through the generations, from father to eldest son, the line remaining unbroken for centuries.
“Each generation knew the story of the two men, their love, and their child, and each father passed the key down in turn to his son so that he would learn about the family history. You may wonder how this could be done so meticulously, especially with the homophobia that runs rampant throughout the lines of history. I am sure that some of the men of this line were ashamed of their ancestors, however the notes warned of a powerful curse that would befall the man who failed to successfully pass the notes down, and none risked the consequences of such a curse. I imagine that some of the men, having read through the notes once, never looked upon them again, but they passed down the box and its key, and that was all they were required to do.
“For many years, the ancestors of the first child, named Alexandre-Edouard after his father’s given name, lived in relative peace in the palace. The Languedoc was a region not greatly troubled by conflict, especially after its governor was forced to reside at Versailles in the time of Louis XIV, ending a rebellion against the King of France. The family was quite wealthy, having acquired much from Henry’s will and more due to the success of the estates its members oversaw, but in 1793 was forced to leave France due to the fear of persecution. Even though the royal connection was not publicly known, the family nonetheless lived on lands that had formerly belonged to the Crown, and was a part of the landed aristocracy that was greatly suffering during the Reign of Terror. For reasons that will later become clear to you, it was very important to maintain the family line, and so the Beauchamps fled to England, taking up the name of Sinclair in honour of the man for whom their line was begun, and ceasing to speak French outside the home.
“The Sinclairs remained in England for years, purchasing land in the south of the country and eventually selling their French estate, after ensuring that a certain secret kept there would remain secret until the appointed time. That secret,” Harry explained when Viggo opened his mouth to speak, “is part of the prophecy I have alluded to, and will explain at the end of my story. In any event, the estate, which had been kept by stewards, was sold, and the family lived comfortably in England until the twentieth century. The family fortune had grown to quite impressive proportions by this time, as you can imagine, and wise investment meant that the men of the family rarely had to work to keep their family comfortable. However, in 1940, it became painfully obvious to my grandfather that in order to keep his family safe, he had to leave England.
“The war, as you can imagine, had escalated considerably by that point, and southern England was particularly vulnerable to air attack. Using his considerable influence and resources, my grandfather left our lands in the hands of a caretaker, and moved his wife and my two-year old father to New Zealand. As always, that sacred box and its golden key were handed down from father to son, and so my father, safe in an Auckland mansion, read the story that I have just explained to you, added to over the years by family members who added their pages to the originals in the box. And it was in 1977, when I reached the age of my majority, that my father then entrusted the box, and the key, to me. Impressive story, isn’t it?” Harry noted with a grin.
Viggo just stared at the other man, trying to piece together all this information and his significance. If what Harry said was true, then he was probably the most direct living descendant of the French royal line. The story was amazingly compelling, enough even to distract Viggo for the moment from his failure to find the young man he had been seeking out all this time. However, there was still one question.
“What then, of the prophecy you keep mentioning? What is it?” Viggo asked.
“Ah, well here is where it really gets interesting. You see, Viggo, you have spent the past weeks stringing together a mystery, putting together pieces of a puzzle, so to speak. I know more than you realize, and I see how frustrating it is to you to assemble this story… but would it surprise you to find that it is not, in fact, Orlando who provides the missing piece? You have, after all, been chasing a mirage, my friend. The one who holds the key to this mystery is, in fact, yourself.”
“You… what… I…” Viggo stuttered for a moment, then stopped and stared openly at Harry. “I don’t understand. Orlando is the mystery. It is he that I have been chasing, and nothing else. How can I be part of a puzzle that I don’t even know the existence of?” Harry just laughed and shook his head.
“Is it really so unusual, really, that you might be part of a destiny of which you are not informed? The great events of history, after all, are only clear in hindsight. You are not expected to understand everything, only that your search for Orlando is significant as part of a greater story. You see, my dear Viggo, you have been looking so hard for Orlando in these past weeks, but at the same time, I have been spending my entire life looking for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes. I realize this comes as a shock to you, and I do understand. I myself realize how compelling Orlando can be, and how rewarding it is to chase him…” Harry paused a moment, smiling at a memory. “…but he is not in fact what you are looking for. Orlando may yet have a part to play, I suspect, but now we must continue in the story to understand why it is you, and not Orlando, that forms the key element. Shall I continue, then?”
“Please.”
“Right. Now the prophecy… this is the crux of this fascinating tale. I have spent my entire life studying and rereading my family’s history, but it is the prophecy that all revolves around, a prophecy so detailed that it is hardly possible to believe. Yet thus far, all has been proven true.” Harry laughed at Viggo’s confused expression.
“I guess I should start, once again, at the beginning. Let us go back, for a second, to the fifteen hundreds. Now at the time of Henry III, there was a very well respected seer in the Languedoc, by the name of François-Paul. This man had a rare gift, and many parents would bring their children to him for some sign of their future. Unlike false prophets that gave a detailed reading for anyone with a few coins, François-Paul did readings for the price of a jug of wine and a loaf of bread, and he did not always come up with much. Visions were not always forthcoming, and often they were vague. However, when Henry and Sinclaire brought the young Alec to him, he had the most vivid and detailed vision that was ever reported.
“The details of this prophecy are recorded in two places. Part of what was said is in the notes I told you of, and was known by each of my ancestors in turn. The other part, no one but myself knew the entire truth of. Orlando now knows, but he is the only one.”
“How can you be sure of that?” Viggo asked, sceptical.
“Well it’s fairly simple. The part revealed in the notes was this. The line that began with Alec would be unbroken, father to son, for centuries. It was foreseen that Henry would meet an untimely death, and that Alec’s line would therefore maintain a certain amount of secrecy from then on, concealing its true lineage and passing down the truth only from father to son in written form. As I have said, in the notes descendants are cautioned to pass the box and key down under penalty of a powerful curse, and above all to keep the information contained therein both secret and safe. Now the notes also mention a particular son, the last of the line. This final son will not produce an heir, and it is him that the secret prophecy concerns. According to the notes on the prophecy, this son will be born in a land far away, but he will return to France on the first day of his thirtieth year and reclaim his ancestral home, where the most secret part of the prophecy is contained. Again under threat of a powerful curse, the sons were cautioned not to attempt to recover the secret that is not theirs, and as far as I know, no one attempted it.
“Now that brings us to me, and how I discovered that the secret prophecy was indeed mine to behold. When I turned eighteen and read the notes, I admit I had some inclination that I might be the one. I’ve preferred the company of men almost my entire life, and I had no desire to bear children. I would have, to preserve the line, if I had been forced, but that was not necessary. The notes stated that in this specific son’s twentieth year, ten years before his return to France, he would have a powerful vision. And indeed, in the early morning hours of my twentieth birthday, a dream came to me. In it, there were a man and a woman—or so it appeared at first. The man was of slight build, dressed rather foppishly in ancient clothing of a bright blue shade. The woman wore bright red lipstick and kohl around her eyes, with styled hair and brilliant purple robes, but when I looked closer, I realized it was not a woman at all, but rather a man in woman’s clothing. The man wore a crown of brilliant jewels, and I knew at once that these were my ancestors, King Henry and his lover Sinclaire.
“I’ve never had very clear dreams, and rarely remember them the next day, but this one remained imprinted on my brain for years to come, and I still remember as clear as day the instructions the two men gave me of how I was to find the secret prophecy, hidden in this ancient palace. And so, from that day forward I studied French, delved deeper into the history that fascinated me, and prepared for my 30th birthday, when I would reclaim the prophecy.
“It was surprisingly easy to buy the palace from the estate of its former owner, who just happened to die a few weeks before I turned thirty, and so I arrived on the appointed day, forgetting all else in my haste to find the prophecy. It was again a simple task, as I remembered the instructions as clearly as I do now, and after following a maze of underground tunnels I found the wooden box, identical to the one I’ve already described to you, along with a separately hidden key. Inside, never before read, was the full prophecy, written on parchment just as the old notes. It was in the ancien français, but I was used to this language from reading the notes along with their English translations, and it wasn’t hard to decipher.
“Now, Viggo, here is where you come in. The prophecy is deceptively simple. The King, coming to an untimely death, would be separated from his lover, both on earth and in heaven. Their story, apparently, is only one half of the foretold whole, and until this whole is completed the lovers cannot be reunited. They wait, in heaven, for the fulfilment of the prophecy and their eventual reunion. In order for this to happen, the descendant that was described, in other words, myself, would have to find his own true love. Until this half is carried out, until the son finds his love, the fathers cannot be again as one. And when it is carried out, when the lovers again find each other in the afterlife, the younger man is also promised a great prize, a prize ‘of greater worth than all the jewels the French Empire could contain,’ according to the prophecy.”
“But… how the hell am I involved? I mean, you’re not in love with me!”
Harry smiled indulgently and took a sip of his wine. “No, I’m not. But I will be. You see, Viggo, the prophecy continues to explain that the descendant in question will know his true love’s countenance by way of another vision, this one twenty years later. And on my fortieth birthday, six years ago, I fell asleep and dreamed, just as clearly as the first time, of you.” Viggo just stared, and Harry continued without allowing him an interruption.
“I know this must come as a shock, but the dream was frighteningly clear. I saw your face, and then I knew, after ten years of searching, how I would recognize my lover. It was only two years after that when I could put a name to a face. In fact, you may remember. After 9/11, you were living in New York, and a reporter from CNN did an interview with you on what it was like to cover the story as it broke. Do you remember?” Viggo nodded mutely, and Harry smiled.
“I saw you then, Viggo, and I knew it was you. I had to have you. I’ve bided my time, dreaming of you, and waiting for this day, for four years. And by the most unusual of circumstances, here you are!” Harry smiled with a flourish of his hands, but Viggo was not impressed.
“I still don’t get this… I mean, how do I know you’re not just some psycho? And what about me? You may have been waiting for me, but if you haven’t noticed, I’m still looking for Orlando. And I intend to find him,” Viggo added, his eyes fiery. “With or without your help.”
“Ah, Orlando,” Harry sighed, smiling fondly. “How you have affected my life’s path. Viggo, it may amuse you to find that years ago, before I turned forty, I actually met Orlando for the first time, much as you did. In fact, I saw him across a square in Montpellier and was convinced that he was you. I thought that I had found my love before the vision even occurred, and I was determined to have him.”
Viggo just raised an eyebrow. “And did you?”
“Yes. Orlando and I had a relationship, and not a bad one, but… well, we were together that night, when I had the dream, and I knew. I knew he was not my destiny.”
“I still think you’re insane.”
Harry smiled. “I’ll grant you that.”
“So how did it end?”
“I told him of the prophecy. I told him, and he agreed to help me find you. Although… I suspect he was hurting, much more than helping. You see, the young Orlando has very little respect, I’m afraid, for inevitability.”
“I wasn’t supposed to run into Orlando in Italy, was I?”
“No.”
“I wasn’t supposed to know of his existence, even.”
“Not ideally.”
“But I do. And maybe that’s your first mistake.”
“Maybe.” Harry nodded, neutral, and for some reason this reaction was quite unnerving. “More important, however, is the fact that you did see him, and you’re still looking for him. I must warn you, Viggo. Whatever your intentions may be with regards to myself, this is not a wise course. And furthermore, you never will catch him.”
“How do you know?” Viggo asked, eyeing the mysterious stranger suspiciously.
“Well I know, mon cher, that you weren’t supposed to run into Orlando in the first place. I know that you did run into him, and for two days, he was all but lost to you. Correct?” Viggo nodded. “Now if Orlando had truly wished to remain hidden, not to clue you into his existence, he would have. Orlando is a smart man, and he knows the Italian countryside better than many of the Italians. But he didn’t disappear, and you did see him again. Which leads me to believe that he wanted that to happen.”
Viggo furrowed his brow in confusion. “But if he wanted to see me, why didn’t he just approach me, then? He must have known I was willing.”
“Oh, willing, certainly, but not for his purposes. You see, Viggo, Orlando did not want to see you, he wanted to mislead you. Specifically, he wanted to keep you from me. He wanted to delay, or perhaps destroy, the prophecy.”
“But it’s a prophecy, right?” Viggo pointed out. “Like you said, it’s inevitable.”
“Yes, yes it is. And here you are.” Harry smiled disarmingly, and Viggo sighed, rubbing his temples as he pushed aside his clear plate. “Anyway, mon cher, the point is this—Orlando must have realized, after seeing you the first time, that perhaps the best way to keep you away from me, to keep you interested, was to continue to show up. Drop hints, even, anything that would keep your attention, keep you away from your project, and keep you in Italy. Without this interest, after all, you would be lost to Orlando, and he would have no way of knowing your whereabouts. You could be in Greece, Barcelona… Provence.” Harry smiled ironically, and Viggo just sighed, suspicious of this man who was right all the time. “As long as he could keep an eye on you, he could ensure that I was ignorant of your whereabouts, and also ignorant of his involvement. After all, you would be very difficult to find if you kept moving, and Orlando himself is a master of remaining hidden. His plan, however, worked too well. You would do anything to follow his trail, and you made the mistake of running into Elijah. Elijah, who has powers that even Orlando cannot understand, powers almost reminiscent of that seer who prophesied our meeting so long ago. Elijah, who was not only able to convey some essential truths to you, but to capture Orlando’s attention long enough for you to slip away. Long enough, mon cher, for you to follow yet another trail, hoping for Orlando. The trail, you see, that led you to me.”
Viggo just stared at Harry, and the other man smiled as he watched the pieces of the puzzle coming together. “Then… you mean… Elijah wanted this to happen? Elijah…”
“Elijah loves Orlando. That much is clear. Either way, Elijah had reason not to help Orlando’s cause too much. Elijah knew that it was not your destiny to find Orlando.”
“He is not mine to discover…” Viggo whispered, incredulous, and Harry smiled knowingly.
“No, he is not. And neither is Orlando. Elijah, of course, cannot use his power to ‘see’ maliciously. His prophecies, his advice, are true, and he does not mangle with that gift. However, I would not be surprised if Elijah himself found some joy in the direction in which his revelations sent you, and in his own ability to command Orlando’s attention once again.”
“So now what?”’
“I don’t know, mon cher. Not even Elijah could tell you that.”
“Well I suppose you’re going to trap me here until I fall in love with you, right?”
“No. That is completely unnecessary, as I know my fathers’ peace will be assured as long as I fall in love with you”
“And have you?”
“Not yet. But after so many years… well, it won’t take much.”
“And as for the prize?”
“That remains hidden to me. But if I do my duty, I am sure it will be revealed to me in time.”
“Your duty? So that’s all you see falling in love with me as? A duty??” Viggo knew he was raising his voice, but he didn’t care. How dare he?
“Viggo, please. It is so much more than that. It is… well, it’s fate. It’s a beautiful thing, destiny. I know it must happen, and that it will happen, and I feel a great honour as part of such an eternal whole. You and I, we are pieces in a puzzle that spans the centuries and defies all earthly logic. It’s… it’s not about making sense, it’s about instinct. It’s about knowing your love by touch, by feel…”
Viggo sucked in a sharp breath, for he had heard such words before. He had had such love before, even, and that love had been cruelly ripped away from him already. After all, if Harry’s ancestors could have their peace in heaven, why couldn’t he and David? Viggo felt as if he was a piece, all right, but a piece in the wrong puzzle altogether.
Later that night, as he tossed and turned in bed, he replayed the story in his mind, but never with any satisfying conclusion. It was up to him, surely, to assure that this prophecy come true, and he could easily take Harry up on his offer and return to Montpellier in the morning, leave the country as quickly as he had come, but what then? He was curious, he had to admit, and a strange instinct told him to stay. That night, he dreamed of David, as he often did, but a single word was on his dead lover’s lips. “Reste.” Even David, who had never spoken French in his life, was commanding Viggo to stay in his dreams, and who was he to say no to that?
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This is so compelling to read. Great job :0)
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I promise everything will be be explained in time! Still four chapters to go... hopefully it won't be *too* confusing once you get the full explanation. I know there's a lot going on, but Viggo too is overhwelmed, and eventually he will get answers, as will you, dear reader :-)
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I loved in Part 1 (and I'm sooo not saying this just because I'm a Monaboyd whore) how you delved into the history of Billy and Dom. I don't know if it has bearing in the future, but either way it was a very nice touch.
I'm soo, I dont know. Compelled? Intrigued? Obsessed? Waiting for more already?
And Harry Sinclair? I had to use Imdb.com to find out about him!
Great Job on this!
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(i had to google him to see who he was)
thanks for mentioning that about imdb, or i never would have guessed. :smile:
kerry =)
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Yes, IMDB is a very valuable tool. Without that and urbandictionary.com, I don't know what I would do! lol!
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Wow! That's a compliment, all right. Thank you :-) I've actually never read Da Vinci Code, believe it or not... I adore historical mystery, but I rarely read the most popular ones (with the exception of Labyrinth by Kate Mosse, which everyone should read). I did order Angels and Demons by Dan Brown though, just to see what he's about, and I am looking forward to the movie version of the Code if only for the excellent cast and its setting in Paris. The inspiration for this, along with the genre in general, is more my travels in the south of France and my love of complicated history.
As for Dom/Billy, well, they'll be back. I can't say there will be a ton more about them, BUT I have toyed a bit with the idea of a sequel of sorts with flashes from all the characters' pasts (Monabody, Harry/Orlando, Viggo/Dave) so you never know. If I do that there will be a bit of a break after I finish this one though just b/c I have so many other stories "on the waiting list" to be posted. And Harry? He fascinates me, but there's very little around about him. Most of what is is invented by the fandom, so I just use his appearance and general attitude as a base and extrapolate a LOT from that.
Thanks for reading!!
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The good part of his books is the mystery, you can tell he did a lot of work to get it to unravel the way it does. But he lacks so much in the characters and development that when I finished I put the book down and was like "That was fun, but... so what?"
Which is why I like your story so much. I has the elements of the twisting plot and mystery (and the history behind, which I mentioned I LOVE already), but you also have dynamic characters that develop and grow and do stuff! I love that! It's like the best of both worlds.
Well, I will never say no to any Dom/Billy! lol!
And I definately know what you are talking about with the 'waiting list'. I just wrote mine out ('cause I'm completely Obsessive) and I have 9 fullengths and 2 series I want to do!
I seriously am so excited by this. It's expanding my horizons a bit, because usually I stick to the straight and narrow Characters and pairings.
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this is just delicious. The prophecy that Harry spoke of is intriguing. I'm not sure just what my feelings are towards him yet. I'm feeling pretty distrustful of his motivations. and Orli??? why was he trying to stop the prophecy from coming true? what were his motives? did he just want to thwart Harry? the plot thickens is right!
(and the part with david, at the end :sigh:) .... and just what is this a prize ‘of greater worth than all the jewels the French Empire could contain,’ according to the prophecy.”
i like the thought of fate or destiny playing out here, and i'm looking forward to reading more.
kerry =)
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sweetheart, i'm reading stories about movie actors i like, shagging like monkeys. i think i got that "suspension" thing down pat!
*giggle*
kerry =)
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