fellowshippers | fic: Porcelain and Bittersweet

fra

2006

Sean watched Orlando for nearly five years. First, in Canterbury, a young student and vivacious and randy beau brummel. Then London where he seemed to expand, shining and vibrant amid a swirl of actors, buzzing with young energy. His future grace present even in his young, coltish form.

Sean savored the anticipation, the delicious waiting.

Late January snow powdered the streets, Orlando was 22, and Sean blinked and left for the North and in that moment, lost Orlando forever. Dienne found Sean, shadowed in the church yard, still as the stone angels in flight around him. His hair glimmered in stark contrast to the bleakness of his coat and expression, toes touching the edge of an open grave.

"Sean." He whispered and knew that Sean could hear him. Could hear him from nearly a mile away, though they did not share a connection through blood.

Sean did not move when he heard the low timbre of Dienne's voice, though he should have. He wanted to fill his eyes and memory with the last sight of an old friend and it seemed nothing would distract him.

"Amante, he is gone." Dienne whispered into the sacred air. "Viggo has taken him."

No demon of the devil's own could have looked more furious. Sean's anger sparked and crackled on the night air and Dienne winced at its intensity. His agony, his immortal rage weighted him and he stilled until even the moments between them seemed to stop.

He returned with Dienne to the London lost to him. No longer home to that flickering brightness of warmth and life. Now an empty shell where once his future beckoned with honeyed fingers.

He was bitter. And unrepentantly destructive. Even Eyolle could not talk sense into him. In his vicious wake, victims lay broken and drained, left shamelessly in the open where any mortal might stumble upon them until finally, Eyolle and Annian managed to entice Sean into the east where such destruction was less dangerous to them.

Dienne watched the steamer pull away from the dock with a mixture of sadness and relief and wasn't sure which was the deeper.

~~~~~~~~

Orlando loved the desert at night. Nearly three decades, since that night in London, he spent hiding from the sun.

The Sahara suited his desolation and the Bedouin never questioned the loss of one or two in the night. The most beautiful boys. The most precious girls. Once, a Prince, immensely strong and delicious. That one he'd kept alive for a fortnight. In the end, the Prince had begged for death and Orlando granted it to him.

He became heavy with darkness and the long passing of time. He was inconsolable.

Every moonrise found him reclined on the craggy out crop below his cave watching the blue night wash over the desert and surveying the shepherds and their sheep. For a good long time he'd lived on those sheep, nearly a whole decade. They were shamelessly easy to entice into service and he could feed from them for a good deal longer than the shepherds without them being missed.

And then, one night, he'd chanced upon a boy, slightly younger than his mortal self, laying beside the oasis, fingers trailing through the starlit water, unknowing, unseeing.
For the first time in ten long years, Orlando spoke, his voice a rusted and painful instrument, yet the boy did not run or question. They spoke Bedouin, and a little French.

The desert at night is a cold place, even in summer, yet the boy seemed quite comfortable sitting beneath the fruitful dates and weaving stories and seduction in the air.

How cold Orlando was, his skin so soft and white for one who lived here in the desert, how dark his eyes, darker than the deep shades of night. He chattered quietly as his hands worked over Orlando, igniting pleasure, heat, hunger.

And when at last, they began to move together, Orlando subsumed in the boy's body, and in his passion bit the tender young flesh and fed on human blood for the first time and found his thirst a deep and shockingly voracious thing.

By the time he realized what he was doing, the boy was long dead, growing chill in his arms and he was drunk on the radiant heat in his belly. He wept bitter tears for the sweet shepherd boy, taking the time to bury him beneath stones older than his own kind.

For nearly a year, he fed on sheep again, but in the end he could not deny that it was the mortal blood of humans he needed. The desire for it pounding through him each night he arose and went to his bed with him in the pinked light of dawn.

The Bedouin had always told tales over missing children. Orlando was careful and took only when he could do it unseen, unheard.

Still rumors spread over the next years and he became the shadow of the desert.

A title that suited him well, he thought.

~~~~~~~~~

He had just marked his thirtieth year in the desert, a desert becoming more unruly and dangerous as the times changed, when he was found.

He arose at dusk and wandered to the dim rocky ledge that was his doorstep only to find it occupied by Viggo. For a moment he just stood and stared uncomprehending, followed quickly by anger and shocked indignation.

"Maza toreed? La yomkinoka an taqtolany mojaddadan. Marra wahedah kanat kafeyah."
(What do you want? You cannot kill me again. Once was quite enough.)
He spat.

Viggo was unmoved by his outburst.

"Anta mahato shawq." He said softly.
(You are missed)

"Men qebal mann? Kol mann aarefohom mato awo asbahoo taeneen bel sen. Kol mann aarefohom yazonoon anna nanni mot."
(By whom? Everyone 'I' know is dead or old. Everyone 'I' know thinks I'm dead.)

He was gesticulating wildly now.

"Laysa al kol." He held out his hand, palm up. "Oad maaie."
(Not everyone.) (Come home with me.)

He shook his head and pointed to the oasis. "Haza al makan yonaseboni. Ohebo al aaysha hona." (This place suits me. I like it here.)

Viggo did not seem to move and yet a blink and he was crowding Orlando, pushing him by his presence alone against the stark ragged cave wall. He was not gentle. Orlando's jaw ached where the pressure of Viggo's fingers dug, his breath came shallow under the weight of Viggo's chest, he felt as though he were strangling.

"It is time, young one, to stop sulking in the desert." Viggo's lips trailed along Orlando's skin as he spoke causing confused waves of shock and pleasure, anger and fear to run through him. "You're wild, untamed. Dangerous." He bit the sloping rise of tendon on Orlando's neck, nicked the skin and lapped at the small gem of blood that collected.

"You kill your prey. Untidy Orlando. Very untidy." He bit again at Orlando's skin, the sharp rise over a collar bone, tasted the black drip of blood and considered it. "You taste rich. How many have you killed?"

Orlando was awash in sensation, confused by lust and hunger, the smell of his own blood rising a killing need. "Stop, Viggo…stop…for the love of god…ungh…" He twisted and writhed in vain.

Viggo watched impassively. "God?" he growled and then laughed, full throated until he was breathless. "Oh, Orlando. I have missed you." His chuckle still rumbled, mixed with the ragged huffs of Orlando's breathing. "We leave now." He clamped a hand on the back of Orlando's neck and pulled as he turned and began walking down the staggered path.

"Billy." He called. "Bring the camels. I found him."

~~~~~~~~~~~

The airport was a shining, over bright cavern filled with all manner of people chattering in a dozen tongues, all too loud and confusing to Orlando. The limo driver settle their mountain of bags on the curb as Viggo led them through the arching cathedral of glass to the first class lounge, a blessedly quiet and dim arrangement of rooms, tastefully arranged with tribal arts and rugs from Turkey.

Viggo settled them into a private room and left, the sound of the door closing and the stillness that followed in it's wake made Orlando miss his mountain home and it's deathly peace.

"Viggo left this for you." Billy handed him a note and made for the rear of the room.

I've left you something for the trip. Take good care of it because it belongs to you now, your Attende. It's time you learned to take care of something outside yourself. I'll see you in London. V.

He stared stupidly at the words, one word and cringed: attende. He was meant to keep it, him, alive, and he didn't know if he could.

"Billy…?" He whispered and followed the Scot's steps to the rear of the room. "What..?" He slowed and stopped, frozen. Billy stood next to a boy. An extraordinary boy, milky skinned and eyes clearer than the water in the Aegean. Hunger flared. Desire. Thirst.

"Orlando…no…ORLANDO…" Someone was shouting in his ear, Billy, maybe. He never saw the blow coming. A moment later he was laying against the wall ten feet from the pair, rubbing at his jaw and looking wonderingly at the smaller man, stronger than any of them. "Thes is Elijah…" Billy shook out his hand and blew on the knuckles. "Elijah, this," and he pointed to Orlando. "Is Orlando. He's a bet…new..t'this." Billy walked over to him and held out a hand, helped him to his feet and brushed his jacket lapels.

"Elijah is here of his own free will, Orlando. He's one of the cousins, so don't kill him, yeah?" Billy's earnest eyes pinned him.

He nodded. "Yes."

"Good. Now, I'll just be over here while you two get to know each other." He slapped at Orlando's hand. "No teeth. Got that?" He motioned for Elijah to join them. "Elijah, the knife." He held his hand out and Elijah slipped the small bone knife from his jacket.

"Thes," He held the knife in front of Orlando's eyes. "is what you use. Elijah will show you."

Elijah was patient and beautiful. He used the knife on the inside of his elbow, the thin stream of blood sparkling like garnets. Orlando's lips met the wound and he drew on the small cut hungrily. "Not so fast…slow down…" Elijah was panting, fingers in Orlando's hair, gripping tightly. He moaned and lay back into the dreary airport sofa, wrapping Orlando between his legs.

"Oh, god…Orlando…slow down." His grip in Orlando's hair became painful, desperate. He could feel his pulse pounding, trying to keep pace with the hungry sucking lips. "Billy…" he gasped and Billy was there immediately, behind Elijah, supporting him, speaking to Orlando, quiet and rough.

It took nearly a year for Orlando to learn how to live with his Attende. Billy stayed with them for the first seven months until he was sure Elijah was safe with their desert wilding. After eight months they began to take him out at nights. At ten months he was able to be in a room with all sorts of people and control the feeding lust.

At a year, Sean found him again.

~~~~~~~~~

Sean watched as Orlando's flesh moved silkily beneath his clothes. He was at once the same boy he'd first seen, pristine and smooth as a young horse, and changed, older, more languid.

"Where's your pretty little attende, Orlando." He murmured into Orlando's mind. Orlando's back stiffened, he went still as a prey animal scenting the wind. The boy in his arms tried to kiss him, to get his attention but it was useless.

"Who are you?" he whispered and turned, looking down the alley towards Sean.

"My name's not important. Not for now. You didn't answer my question."

Orlando felt a chill run through him. Elijah was at the estate with Dom and Billy. He was safe. They would protect him.

There was something feral about the voice in his mind and he was drawn to it, it held echoes of his wild desert years and the old feelings rushed back to him, the blood lust crashing through him in a violent rush.

His breath became ragged, his steps leading down the darkened way towards that smoky voice.

"How do you know about Elijah?"

Sean smiled.

"I know a great deal about you, Orlando." "Karl," he said and motioned to another shrouded figure. Not one but three shuffled into the moonlight, two incredibly tall men and between them, the slight frame of a boy wrapped in black.

Sean nodded and one of the men tore the hood from the boy's face. Elijah.

"NOOOOO…" Orlando flew at them, desperate to free the small body from his captors.

In an instant, Sean was there and Orlando was trapped.

"Why?" He ground out. "Why him? If it's me you want, just take me. Let him go…" Orlando was silenced by a single finger to his lips.

"Oh, it's not you I want, little one. Nor your porcelain and bittersweet friend. Lovely as you both are, I've something a little more…valuable in mind."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Viggo's house, or rather Estate, sat in a rather decrepit part of London, too long abandoned, overgrown, overlooked. It was old, like the grounds it stood on, like the town around it, peeling and shabby. But comfortable. Its basement used to have a dock to the river, many hundreds of years ago, but now stood dry. A perfect place to sleep.

He stood on the roof and looked towards town, the rising spires, modern and cold over shadowed the rounded curves of St. Peters. The light had turned lavender shading to violet, a time of day he loved, the closest he'd gotten to daylight in nearly eight hundred years.

Dom leaned against him, curled under his arm, for once still in the twilight.

"It's been two days, Viggo. Two days and no word." Dom began to shake. Viggo cooed in his ear softly and stroked his back. The time was coming when Dom would have to make a choice, leave the estate and return to the living or travel down this lesser path and become one of them. Now, though, he was shaken with worry for Elijah and Orlando.

"They're young, Dom, they're new to this. They've probably gone off somewhere new and exciting. It happens…" Viggo turned to face the rooftop door as it opened and Billy stepped out, his face a mask of bland neutrality. In a moment he was before them, hand outstretched, holding a small bone knife.

"Thes just came by messenger. It's Elijah's"

No one moved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elijah could not sleep. The rotting iron bars that separated him from Orlando seemed fragile but were vastly strong enough to keep him in. And they were not comfortable to lean against.

He watched Orlando, curled into the arching cave of the stone door way, dim now but exposed fully once the day dawned, and made himself as small as possible.

Soon the dawn would come and he would watch Orlando turn to dust.

~~~~~~~~~~~

"Viggo, no…" Billy's calm voice belayed his fear.

Viggo looked at the knife in his hand and thought about the fragile mortal it belonged to, how frightened he must be, if he was still alive. Guilt wafted through him, thin and not quite tangible, a feeling he'd long since bid farewell. But for this boy…something pulled at him, something he wasn't comfortable looking at too closely. The one thing he did know was that loosing him was simply not an option.

He looked from the knife to the tense faces of his boys and back, wrapped the small sliver of bone in a silk square and tucked it into a pocket.

"Billy, keep Dom here." He turned and grabbed his coat, the leather smooth and buttery in his hands, still unable to look at either of them. "Don't…" he stopped a the door and said over his shoulder, "follow me." And went through it, alone.

Billy and Dom stood watching the closed door for several long moments.

"He's insane." Dom said.

"Quite. C'mon, grab y'er coat." Billy was already moving, collecting the small paraphernalia cluttering the low wooden shelves.

"I'll get the bag." He tucked a small set of phials into a large pocket and grabbed the codex dranicus, its papery cover still a wonder to him.

"Right." Billy grabbed the last leather bag and swung toward the door. "Hurry, Dom."

"Aye, I'm commin." He muttered.

And the door shut again leaving the room in dismal quiet.

~~~~~~~

"Sean." Viggo knew he was there. Sean loved drama, moody settings, intimidation.

"Aye. You surprise me, Viggo." Sean ambled out of the shadow and stood in a thin stream of light. "After all this time, you still care about them. It makes you weak."

Oh yes, Viggo thought, this is Sean in his element. Lord of Darkness indeed.

"Still have a flair for drama. Nice to see some things don't change." Viggo smirked.

"Well, you get good at what you do. After a thousand years, I should think I was very good at it. Shame to waste all that hard work." The corner of his mouth tilted up, the closest he ever came to a smile.

"Give them back to me, Sean." Time to end this, Viggo thought.

"There is no end. Not for us, Viggo. You should know that by now." It was Sean's turn to smirk.

Viggo nodded. "Give them back to me. They're nothing to you. You have everything. You don't need them."

Sean's expression grew dark, devoid of life. "I don't want them. I want you. Dead. You prance and preen, all these centuries, being the," he held up his hands, made a quote motion, "Good one. The one who kept the peace. But you're a liar, Viggo. The moment you took Orlando, everything you said became a lie."

"Orlando was a mistake." Viggo said quietly. "He came to me. On a dare, pretended he wanted it, 'acted' as though he wanted the change. He came to me to test himself. And I failed him…I…Orlando is my greatest regret. Give him back to me, Sean. He's suffered enough. And Elijah is innocent….please."

"Please…" Sean sneered. "Stop playing the noble monster, Viggo. It does not become you. Or us. We are what we are, Viggo. We are killers. It's time you realized that. Past time." Sean moved, lightening fast, flying at Viggo. Viggo let him come, threw himself back, into Sean's momentum and they tumbled across the broken and filthy pavement.

Sean's hand made a killing noose around Viggo's neck and he felt the breath in him thin and become stretched. He clawed, catching as much skin as he could, bucking and kicking but Sean's strength was formidable and Viggo's eyesight began to dim.

"Good bye, Viggo…" Sean's eyes grew wide, Viggo could see the whites around irises green as remembered grass. Sean gasped horribly, his mouth stretched in soundless agony, cracks formed across his skin, black and blood red, and then he crumbled into powdery dust the color of old bricks.

Viggo gasped and inhaled a coughing breath. Rolled to his belly and panted, willing his eyesight to return. Billy was there at once, helping him stand.

"Cum'on, we've little time. The sun is coming." He dragged Viggo to the door, Dom hot on their heels. They managed to hobble down the ragged iron stairs into the ruined factory floor.

"Were are they? Orlando, Elijah…please." Viggo's voice was a faint and breathy thing.

"Down the stairs. Billy, take him out. I'll go find them…" Dom left them at the bottom of the stairs and Viggo's heart raced with fear.

"No…" he managed.

"Hurry, Viggo, we've no time. Dom will find them." Billy dragged him out the enormous grated doors to the side of a black van and helped Viggo inside. "The windows are tinted, Viggo. You're safe here. You're safe. Safe. You daft bastard…" Billy's cheeks were wet with tears and Viggo touched one, raising it to his lips, tasting its salt and mortality.

"Billy…" he choked. "What have you done? I told you to stay…"

"Arrogant, prideful bastard, that's what you are, Viggo. To think we'd just set tight while you risked your life? Just who d'ya think ye' are? Just who d'ye think WE are? Bastard.." Billy's hands clutched at Viggo's jacket and he dragged Viggo into a crushing embrace. "Bastard, bastard…" He mumbled, even as his hands stroked the long back, through the sandy hair.

"Billy…"

The door of the van flew open and Elijah and Dom helped a weak and trembling Orlando into the back seat. The sky had gone from lavender to pink, the sun on the old bricks and iron an agonizing brightness. The van door slammed closed and Dom jumped into the front seat.

"Take us home, S'blommie." Billy said quietly.

And he did.

notes: Vamp au with a mixed cast of players: Viggo, Billy, Dom, Elijah, Orlando, Sean, Karl and some OMC's. Written for v_angelique for the lotr_fqf.
rating: mature
warnings: blood.
summary: ...Vamps, yeah. that's about it.

fic: Porcelain and Bittersweet

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