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fellowshippers2004-02-23 12:17 am
walksbyherself) wrote in fellowshippers2004-02-23 12:17 am
(no subject)
Back again.
Title: Little Earthquakes
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Viggorli
Disclaimer: Don't know them. Making no money. FICTION; therefore, lies. But they're such pretty lies...
Author's note: Have been working on this one for a while. Title comes from the Tori Amos song of the same name. Was not the initial story title, but was listening to it today, and just realized how much it fit.
Even now, he's not quite sure, but he thinkgs it all began the night of Craig's death.
He doesn't remember hearing "action." He remembers running and fighting and catching Craig just as the other man began to slump. His head tipped back onto Viggo's shoulder, eyes staring wide and perfect at the sky. Viggo touched a hand to Craig's chest, smearing the glittering armor with a mix of blood from the make-up department and blood from his own split and battered hands.
A distant voice said, "Cut," and the spell was broken. Craig blinked and smiled a little. Had this been five weeks ago, or even five days ago, he and Viggo would have cracked a joke or pulled an impromptu "revised" death scene right there. But it was now and the nights had gotten to them, whether they admitted it or not. Viggo gave an almost-smile in return, then came down off the wall to take five while the director worked with John...or was it Brett? He shook his head again to clear it, but the fog was even slower to retreat this time. He was standing there, staring at his hands without actually seeing them, when the boy found him.
Orlando's lips quirked in what was starting to become the Helm's Deep trademark expression. "Hey," he said softly. Viggo nodded back. Orlando's eyes followed the older man's line of sight, then he made a strange sort of cry when he noticed Viggo's hands. He ran his fingers over the back of one, his touch ghosting over cuts and scrapes and dents from missing flesh. "Some of this is yours, isn't it?" he asked. Viggo nodded again, though he doubted the boy expected an answer.
He was struck for a moment by the profound sadness on the boy's face. He remembered Orlando calling them "artist's hands." They had been filming Moria; between takes, Viggo had massaged a knot out of Orlando's neck and shoulder. The boy had let a rumblepurr of contentment escape from the back of his throat and murmured about artist's hands.
They were still artist's hands, only now it was a different kind of art.
He took his hand back and used it to tilt up the boy's chin. Even through the masks of blue contacts, he could see the fatigue and...other things lurking in Orlando's eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked.
Orlando answered with a broken smile that was somehow more terrible then Viggo's injured hands. "Haven't slept well," was all he said. A pause. "Haven't been sleeping much at all."
"How long?"
A shrug. "Couple weeks, I guess."
Viggo drew a sharp breath that hissed over his teeth. "Jesus, Orlando...why didn't you say anything?"
The boy shook his head violently. "Everyone has enough to worry about without adding my little insomnia to the mix."
"Orlando--"
But then someone was calling them over for a shot and Orlando could only offer up that same broken smile as Viggo was dragged back into battle and he lost sight of the boy's face.
~~~~~
The next night, he sought the boy out as soon as he arrived on set. "You get any sleep today?"
"A little."
"Don't lie to me, elf-boy," Viggo said, a growl sliding into his voice.
Orlando laughed. "I'm not. Don't worry so much about me, Vig. I'll be okay." He ran his fingers over Viggo's cheek, then hurried off to confer with his stunt double about an upcoming shot. Viggo could still feel the boy's touch on his face.
The shoot ended just before dawn. Viggo was headed for the trailers to de-wig and get back into his jeans, when someone grabbed his arm. He spun to find Orlando, grinning wildly and blond hair askew. "Yes?" Viggo asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Come with me?" Orlando pleaded, eyes glittering.
"Come where?" Viggo wondered.
"Up here. I saw this yesterday, but I couldn't find you. Come on." Orlando hauled on the older man's arm. Viggo sighed and relented, trailing after the boy as he clambered up onto the deepening wall.
Once atop the set, Viggo looked around. "You brought me up here for coffee?" He pointed to a pair of steaming styrofoam cups.
He thought he saw a flush rise on the boy's cheeks. "I left those up here...didn't want to run with hot coffee." Orlando shook his head. "But that's not it. That--" He pointed. "--is it."
The first ray of light shot over the horizon. It was soon followed by another, then another, until the sky was full of a red-gold glow. It was the sunrise poets dream about.
"Oh," was all Viggo could think to say.
Orlando handed him a cup of coffee.
~~~~~
Three days later, the boy had his nervous breakdown.
As soon as he arrived on set, everyone could tell something was wrong. Despite having been through the ordeal of makeup, his skin still had a grayish cast. His lithe frame was tense and his eyes glittered with unnatural brightness. Viggo unconsciously stepped in and led Orlando off to the side. Peter noticed and nodded, trusting the older actor to take care of the younger, and returned to explaining a last-minute script rewrite.
"What's going on?" he asked softly, voice thick with concern.
Orlando refused to meet his eyes. "I never went to sleep after the shoot last night," he began. Viggo wanted to interrupt, but bit his tongue and motioned for the boy to continue. "I just couldn't stop thinking..."
"About?" Viggo prompted after a long moment.
"About sitting for hours in that stupid makeup chair. About standing in the rain again. About being here night after night and never sleeping again." His voice caught. "It's just so hard, Vig. I didn't think it would be so hard."
The boy was shaking; Viggo could physically see the boy shaking. He reached out just as Orlando's knees began to buckle and caught the young man under the arms.
"Whoa...okay, it's okay, let's just sit down, hm? I've got you, don't worry. I've got you; I'm not letting go. It's okay." He murmured a continuous stream of comforting words, as if he were soothing his own son.
But you don't see him as your son, hissed an inner voice, and you know it.
Viggo squelched the voice, as he lowered Orlando to the ground. Somehow, he managed to sit down. The boy caught on and turned around so he could seat himself in the V of the older man's legs, his back pressed to Viggo's chest.
Someone hurried over, fluttering like a nervous bird and asking if Orlando was all right. Viggo resisted the urge to say he hadn't been "all right" for weeks. Instead, he waved them away, saying they only needed a little break. The bird-person nodded and fluttered off.
"You still with me?" Viggo asked.
Orlando made a non-committal noise in his throat. Viggo brought an arm across the boy's chest and rested his hand on Orlando's opposite shoulder.
"Orlando?"
"I'm just so tired of this," the boy murmured.
"This?" Viggo searched for clarification.
"Everything." The word was a sigh.
"The movie?"
Silence.
Hesitation. "...Me?"
"No," the boy whispered. "Never you."
He leaned his head back onto Viggo's shoulder, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. Viggo was struck by how much this reminded him of Craig's death scene. Only Craig had never appeared dead to him. In the dim not-light, with his eyes closed and skin grey, with the stillness of his body, Orlando felt like a corpse. A strange high noise shot from Viggo's throat before he could restrain it.
"Viggo?" the boy wondered. His voice was thick and slow, like syrup on a cold morning.
"Everything's fine," Viggo replied. Softly, he began to sing the Lay of Luthien he'd composed for the Fellowship shoot. When he ran out of words, he made up verses on the spot, his only goal to keep singing and lull the boy to sleep.
He thought he heard Orlando say "thank you" before the boy's breathing evened out.
Peter came over a few minutes after Orlando drifted off. "How's things, Vig?" he asked, eyeing the sleeping elf prince.
"Fine," Viggo said. "He just needs to sleep."
Peter nodded. "We can shoot without him tonight. Put him somewhere safe and I'll see you by the breach in the wall. There's a rewrite you need to get up to speed on." He walked off with a decidedly hobbit-ish bounce to his gait. The corner of Viggo's mouth twitched. Then he was faced with the dilemma of how to move Orlando without waking him.
"Need a hand there?"
Viggo looked ofer his shoulder. Bernard was staring down at his lap-full of Orli and smirking.
"Yeah, actually. Grab his feet."
"Where are we taking him?" Bernard asked, once they had the boy off the ground.
Viggo jerked his head in the direction of one of the break tents. A safety mat had been punctured by a stuntie's armor, then dragged under the tent where it served as a makeshift couch until it could be repaired or replaced. Viggo and Bernard placed Orlando on it. The boy muttered in his sleep and rolled over.
Bernard chuckled softly. "Cute little bugger, idn't he?"
"Yeah..." The word sounded more wistful than Viggo intended, and he refused to meet Bernard's eyes.
"Well, back to the wall," Bernard said with a grin, after a brief interlude of silence.
Viggo smiled and nodded his agreement, following the other actor out into the war, but not before glancing back at a sleeping elvish princeling.
~~~~~
"Orlando...Orlando...Hey, elf-boy!"
"Wha!!" The boy shot upright, trying to look in every direction at once. As soon as his eyes registered the sunlight outside the tent, he let out a decidedly unheroic scream.
"Oh, God! Viggo! The shoot!!" Orlando's voice broke on the last word and he clutched Viggo's shoulder. Some detached part of Viggo's brain registered that there would be bruises tomorrow. A more romantic part hoped the bruises would last forever; the boy's fingerprints forever on his skin...
Orlando was fighting back tears now. His eyes were red around the pristine blue contacts and his breathing was ragged.
Hysteria, said one voice.
Comfort him, said another.
"Hey...hey, kid, look at me." Viggo gripped Orlando's face between both palms.
Orlando was still babbling softly, eyes looking everywhere but at Viggo's eyes. The only word the older man understood was "fired." He laughed and kissed the tip of the boy's nose. The boy froze in shock and fell blessedly silent.
"You are not fired," Viggo said.
"You promise?" Viggo was suddenly reminded of Henry at age five.
"Yes, I promise. Peter could see you needed to rest. We just worked on scenes that didn't involve you last night. I know you've got that elf ego, but you're not in every shot of the movie."
This earned a smile, albeit a small one, but it was a start. "You're not fired," Viggo repeated. "Come on, let's get you out of costume."
~~~~~
Once they had arrived back in town, Viggo insisted on seeing Orlando safely to his apartment. The boy had readied a protest, when, still groggy from his first real sleep in days, he misstepped and only avoided the ground by clinging to Viggo's arm. After that, anything he might have said seemed stupid.
"Well, you've done your duty," Orlando said, when they were standing in the clutter that served as his living room. "Thanks." He ducked his head almost shyly and added, "For everything."
"No problem." Viggo paused. "You really should go back to sleep if you can. A few more hours wouldn't hurt."
Orlando nodded. "I'll do that." Leaning over, the boy left the briefest of kisses on Viggo's cheek. "Take care of yourself, Vig." Before Viggo could react, the boy was halfway to the bedroom, leaving him to show himself out.
Viggo waited for what seemed like a half hour before following the path the boy had taken down the hall. "Just to be sure he's fallen asleep," he murmured. "Then I'll go."
He pushed at a half-open door, following it on its swing into the room.
The boy was sprawled across most of the bed, arms and legs protruding from a tangle of sheets. Viggo sat down on the edge of the mattress; the boy twitched at the slight movement and rolled over. Viggo smiled, then--
~~~~~
--he is running for the wall. Everything that possibly can be is in his way but he fights through it. He won't be too late this time, he won't.
Up the stairs, stab, block, thrust, is that him screaming? He can't recognize his own voice, but that doesn't matter now.
Top of the wall. Catch him as he falls to his knees. His head falls backwards...and it's not Craig.
It's Orlando.
He blinks; what's Peter thinking? Then he notices that the blood on the boy's chest isn't just from his own battered hands. The boy is too pale, too cold, too still. "No," he murmurs. "No."
An elf, one of the last in their gleaming armor with hair like the blood of the moon, screams something at him in Elvish. He doesn't recognize the line, but his brain translates it just the same.
"The boy is dead. You can do no more for him here."
"No," he repeats.
The elf turns away, slits the throat of an advancing Uruk. Blood spatters his cheek; it's strangely warm and all too real.
He looks down at the boy in his arms, and sees it for the first time: a huge, red gash cutting diagonally across his chest. He thinks he can see bone.
He looks up. There are no rain machines, no cameras. No on yells "cut."
The elf screams at him again, but he doesn't pay enough attention to translate the words. He holds the boy closer, rocking him back and forth in the filth of battle, and takes up his mantra again.
"No. No. No. Nonononononono--NO!!"
~~~~~
"Viggo!"
His eyes flew open. Orlando was leaning over him, features shaped by concern and very much alive. He reached up and pulled the boy down into a fierce embrace.
Before Orlando could ask, he whispered, "I dreamed that you died."
"But I'm not dead," Orlando said softly.
"You're not. And I will always get there in time."
Orlando nodded against Viggo's shoulder, though he didn't know understand. Slowly, he worked his way out of the other man's arms. He stretched, then looked at Viggo from the corner of his eye. "Not that I mind, but...what are you still doing here anyway?"
"I cam in to make sure you'd fallen asleep," Viggo replied, sitting up. "I sat down for a minute, and I guess I must have fallen asleep too." He offered a sheepish smile.
Orlando hit him jokingly on the arm. "You know, old man, if you wanted to sleep with me, all you had to do was ask."
Viggo's train of thought derailed.
~~~~~
They were walking into the quarry as the sun went down. After a moment, Viggo stopped when he realized he was walking alone. He turned around.
The boy had stopped to watch the sunset. Backlit by the gold-fire-glow, he looked less like an elf and more like a god. Viggo half-expected him to disappear if he stared for too long.
Orlando threw a glance over his shoulder. "What are you staring at, Vig?"
Viggo walked back to join him. "You."
The boy smirked a little. "Of course. I'm the prettiest thing for miles around."
"Cocky, aren't we, now that we've slept?"
Orlando was a flash of white teeth against a burning sky. Just before he kissed him, Viggo wondered if the boy's lips would set him on fire.
When he stepped back, what remained of the sun formed a halo behind the boy's head. Orlando blinked, remains of fire reflected in his eyes.
"Are you sorry you did that?" he asked.
"Should I be?" Viggo returned.
"No," said Orlando, and kissed him back.
Then the boy was off and running again, laughing like silver chimes in the rising dark. Viggo watched him for a moment, then followed, knowing no matter how fast the boy ran, he would still get there in time.
Thanks for reading. Comments appreciated.
Title: Little Earthquakes
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Viggorli
Disclaimer: Don't know them. Making no money. FICTION; therefore, lies. But they're such pretty lies...
Author's note: Have been working on this one for a while. Title comes from the Tori Amos song of the same name. Was not the initial story title, but was listening to it today, and just realized how much it fit.
Even now, he's not quite sure, but he thinkgs it all began the night of Craig's death.
He doesn't remember hearing "action." He remembers running and fighting and catching Craig just as the other man began to slump. His head tipped back onto Viggo's shoulder, eyes staring wide and perfect at the sky. Viggo touched a hand to Craig's chest, smearing the glittering armor with a mix of blood from the make-up department and blood from his own split and battered hands.
A distant voice said, "Cut," and the spell was broken. Craig blinked and smiled a little. Had this been five weeks ago, or even five days ago, he and Viggo would have cracked a joke or pulled an impromptu "revised" death scene right there. But it was now and the nights had gotten to them, whether they admitted it or not. Viggo gave an almost-smile in return, then came down off the wall to take five while the director worked with John...or was it Brett? He shook his head again to clear it, but the fog was even slower to retreat this time. He was standing there, staring at his hands without actually seeing them, when the boy found him.
Orlando's lips quirked in what was starting to become the Helm's Deep trademark expression. "Hey," he said softly. Viggo nodded back. Orlando's eyes followed the older man's line of sight, then he made a strange sort of cry when he noticed Viggo's hands. He ran his fingers over the back of one, his touch ghosting over cuts and scrapes and dents from missing flesh. "Some of this is yours, isn't it?" he asked. Viggo nodded again, though he doubted the boy expected an answer.
He was struck for a moment by the profound sadness on the boy's face. He remembered Orlando calling them "artist's hands." They had been filming Moria; between takes, Viggo had massaged a knot out of Orlando's neck and shoulder. The boy had let a rumblepurr of contentment escape from the back of his throat and murmured about artist's hands.
They were still artist's hands, only now it was a different kind of art.
He took his hand back and used it to tilt up the boy's chin. Even through the masks of blue contacts, he could see the fatigue and...other things lurking in Orlando's eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked.
Orlando answered with a broken smile that was somehow more terrible then Viggo's injured hands. "Haven't slept well," was all he said. A pause. "Haven't been sleeping much at all."
"How long?"
A shrug. "Couple weeks, I guess."
Viggo drew a sharp breath that hissed over his teeth. "Jesus, Orlando...why didn't you say anything?"
The boy shook his head violently. "Everyone has enough to worry about without adding my little insomnia to the mix."
"Orlando--"
But then someone was calling them over for a shot and Orlando could only offer up that same broken smile as Viggo was dragged back into battle and he lost sight of the boy's face.
~~~~~
The next night, he sought the boy out as soon as he arrived on set. "You get any sleep today?"
"A little."
"Don't lie to me, elf-boy," Viggo said, a growl sliding into his voice.
Orlando laughed. "I'm not. Don't worry so much about me, Vig. I'll be okay." He ran his fingers over Viggo's cheek, then hurried off to confer with his stunt double about an upcoming shot. Viggo could still feel the boy's touch on his face.
The shoot ended just before dawn. Viggo was headed for the trailers to de-wig and get back into his jeans, when someone grabbed his arm. He spun to find Orlando, grinning wildly and blond hair askew. "Yes?" Viggo asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Come with me?" Orlando pleaded, eyes glittering.
"Come where?" Viggo wondered.
"Up here. I saw this yesterday, but I couldn't find you. Come on." Orlando hauled on the older man's arm. Viggo sighed and relented, trailing after the boy as he clambered up onto the deepening wall.
Once atop the set, Viggo looked around. "You brought me up here for coffee?" He pointed to a pair of steaming styrofoam cups.
He thought he saw a flush rise on the boy's cheeks. "I left those up here...didn't want to run with hot coffee." Orlando shook his head. "But that's not it. That--" He pointed. "--is it."
The first ray of light shot over the horizon. It was soon followed by another, then another, until the sky was full of a red-gold glow. It was the sunrise poets dream about.
"Oh," was all Viggo could think to say.
Orlando handed him a cup of coffee.
~~~~~
Three days later, the boy had his nervous breakdown.
As soon as he arrived on set, everyone could tell something was wrong. Despite having been through the ordeal of makeup, his skin still had a grayish cast. His lithe frame was tense and his eyes glittered with unnatural brightness. Viggo unconsciously stepped in and led Orlando off to the side. Peter noticed and nodded, trusting the older actor to take care of the younger, and returned to explaining a last-minute script rewrite.
"What's going on?" he asked softly, voice thick with concern.
Orlando refused to meet his eyes. "I never went to sleep after the shoot last night," he began. Viggo wanted to interrupt, but bit his tongue and motioned for the boy to continue. "I just couldn't stop thinking..."
"About?" Viggo prompted after a long moment.
"About sitting for hours in that stupid makeup chair. About standing in the rain again. About being here night after night and never sleeping again." His voice caught. "It's just so hard, Vig. I didn't think it would be so hard."
The boy was shaking; Viggo could physically see the boy shaking. He reached out just as Orlando's knees began to buckle and caught the young man under the arms.
"Whoa...okay, it's okay, let's just sit down, hm? I've got you, don't worry. I've got you; I'm not letting go. It's okay." He murmured a continuous stream of comforting words, as if he were soothing his own son.
But you don't see him as your son, hissed an inner voice, and you know it.
Viggo squelched the voice, as he lowered Orlando to the ground. Somehow, he managed to sit down. The boy caught on and turned around so he could seat himself in the V of the older man's legs, his back pressed to Viggo's chest.
Someone hurried over, fluttering like a nervous bird and asking if Orlando was all right. Viggo resisted the urge to say he hadn't been "all right" for weeks. Instead, he waved them away, saying they only needed a little break. The bird-person nodded and fluttered off.
"You still with me?" Viggo asked.
Orlando made a non-committal noise in his throat. Viggo brought an arm across the boy's chest and rested his hand on Orlando's opposite shoulder.
"Orlando?"
"I'm just so tired of this," the boy murmured.
"This?" Viggo searched for clarification.
"Everything." The word was a sigh.
"The movie?"
Silence.
Hesitation. "...Me?"
"No," the boy whispered. "Never you."
He leaned his head back onto Viggo's shoulder, eyes closed and lips slightly parted. Viggo was struck by how much this reminded him of Craig's death scene. Only Craig had never appeared dead to him. In the dim not-light, with his eyes closed and skin grey, with the stillness of his body, Orlando felt like a corpse. A strange high noise shot from Viggo's throat before he could restrain it.
"Viggo?" the boy wondered. His voice was thick and slow, like syrup on a cold morning.
"Everything's fine," Viggo replied. Softly, he began to sing the Lay of Luthien he'd composed for the Fellowship shoot. When he ran out of words, he made up verses on the spot, his only goal to keep singing and lull the boy to sleep.
He thought he heard Orlando say "thank you" before the boy's breathing evened out.
Peter came over a few minutes after Orlando drifted off. "How's things, Vig?" he asked, eyeing the sleeping elf prince.
"Fine," Viggo said. "He just needs to sleep."
Peter nodded. "We can shoot without him tonight. Put him somewhere safe and I'll see you by the breach in the wall. There's a rewrite you need to get up to speed on." He walked off with a decidedly hobbit-ish bounce to his gait. The corner of Viggo's mouth twitched. Then he was faced with the dilemma of how to move Orlando without waking him.
"Need a hand there?"
Viggo looked ofer his shoulder. Bernard was staring down at his lap-full of Orli and smirking.
"Yeah, actually. Grab his feet."
"Where are we taking him?" Bernard asked, once they had the boy off the ground.
Viggo jerked his head in the direction of one of the break tents. A safety mat had been punctured by a stuntie's armor, then dragged under the tent where it served as a makeshift couch until it could be repaired or replaced. Viggo and Bernard placed Orlando on it. The boy muttered in his sleep and rolled over.
Bernard chuckled softly. "Cute little bugger, idn't he?"
"Yeah..." The word sounded more wistful than Viggo intended, and he refused to meet Bernard's eyes.
"Well, back to the wall," Bernard said with a grin, after a brief interlude of silence.
Viggo smiled and nodded his agreement, following the other actor out into the war, but not before glancing back at a sleeping elvish princeling.
~~~~~
"Orlando...Orlando...Hey, elf-boy!"
"Wha!!" The boy shot upright, trying to look in every direction at once. As soon as his eyes registered the sunlight outside the tent, he let out a decidedly unheroic scream.
"Oh, God! Viggo! The shoot!!" Orlando's voice broke on the last word and he clutched Viggo's shoulder. Some detached part of Viggo's brain registered that there would be bruises tomorrow. A more romantic part hoped the bruises would last forever; the boy's fingerprints forever on his skin...
Orlando was fighting back tears now. His eyes were red around the pristine blue contacts and his breathing was ragged.
Hysteria, said one voice.
Comfort him, said another.
"Hey...hey, kid, look at me." Viggo gripped Orlando's face between both palms.
Orlando was still babbling softly, eyes looking everywhere but at Viggo's eyes. The only word the older man understood was "fired." He laughed and kissed the tip of the boy's nose. The boy froze in shock and fell blessedly silent.
"You are not fired," Viggo said.
"You promise?" Viggo was suddenly reminded of Henry at age five.
"Yes, I promise. Peter could see you needed to rest. We just worked on scenes that didn't involve you last night. I know you've got that elf ego, but you're not in every shot of the movie."
This earned a smile, albeit a small one, but it was a start. "You're not fired," Viggo repeated. "Come on, let's get you out of costume."
~~~~~
Once they had arrived back in town, Viggo insisted on seeing Orlando safely to his apartment. The boy had readied a protest, when, still groggy from his first real sleep in days, he misstepped and only avoided the ground by clinging to Viggo's arm. After that, anything he might have said seemed stupid.
"Well, you've done your duty," Orlando said, when they were standing in the clutter that served as his living room. "Thanks." He ducked his head almost shyly and added, "For everything."
"No problem." Viggo paused. "You really should go back to sleep if you can. A few more hours wouldn't hurt."
Orlando nodded. "I'll do that." Leaning over, the boy left the briefest of kisses on Viggo's cheek. "Take care of yourself, Vig." Before Viggo could react, the boy was halfway to the bedroom, leaving him to show himself out.
Viggo waited for what seemed like a half hour before following the path the boy had taken down the hall. "Just to be sure he's fallen asleep," he murmured. "Then I'll go."
He pushed at a half-open door, following it on its swing into the room.
The boy was sprawled across most of the bed, arms and legs protruding from a tangle of sheets. Viggo sat down on the edge of the mattress; the boy twitched at the slight movement and rolled over. Viggo smiled, then--
~~~~~
--he is running for the wall. Everything that possibly can be is in his way but he fights through it. He won't be too late this time, he won't.
Up the stairs, stab, block, thrust, is that him screaming? He can't recognize his own voice, but that doesn't matter now.
Top of the wall. Catch him as he falls to his knees. His head falls backwards...and it's not Craig.
It's Orlando.
He blinks; what's Peter thinking? Then he notices that the blood on the boy's chest isn't just from his own battered hands. The boy is too pale, too cold, too still. "No," he murmurs. "No."
An elf, one of the last in their gleaming armor with hair like the blood of the moon, screams something at him in Elvish. He doesn't recognize the line, but his brain translates it just the same.
"The boy is dead. You can do no more for him here."
"No," he repeats.
The elf turns away, slits the throat of an advancing Uruk. Blood spatters his cheek; it's strangely warm and all too real.
He looks down at the boy in his arms, and sees it for the first time: a huge, red gash cutting diagonally across his chest. He thinks he can see bone.
He looks up. There are no rain machines, no cameras. No on yells "cut."
The elf screams at him again, but he doesn't pay enough attention to translate the words. He holds the boy closer, rocking him back and forth in the filth of battle, and takes up his mantra again.
"No. No. No. Nonononononono--NO!!"
~~~~~
"Viggo!"
His eyes flew open. Orlando was leaning over him, features shaped by concern and very much alive. He reached up and pulled the boy down into a fierce embrace.
Before Orlando could ask, he whispered, "I dreamed that you died."
"But I'm not dead," Orlando said softly.
"You're not. And I will always get there in time."
Orlando nodded against Viggo's shoulder, though he didn't know understand. Slowly, he worked his way out of the other man's arms. He stretched, then looked at Viggo from the corner of his eye. "Not that I mind, but...what are you still doing here anyway?"
"I cam in to make sure you'd fallen asleep," Viggo replied, sitting up. "I sat down for a minute, and I guess I must have fallen asleep too." He offered a sheepish smile.
Orlando hit him jokingly on the arm. "You know, old man, if you wanted to sleep with me, all you had to do was ask."
Viggo's train of thought derailed.
~~~~~
They were walking into the quarry as the sun went down. After a moment, Viggo stopped when he realized he was walking alone. He turned around.
The boy had stopped to watch the sunset. Backlit by the gold-fire-glow, he looked less like an elf and more like a god. Viggo half-expected him to disappear if he stared for too long.
Orlando threw a glance over his shoulder. "What are you staring at, Vig?"
Viggo walked back to join him. "You."
The boy smirked a little. "Of course. I'm the prettiest thing for miles around."
"Cocky, aren't we, now that we've slept?"
Orlando was a flash of white teeth against a burning sky. Just before he kissed him, Viggo wondered if the boy's lips would set him on fire.
When he stepped back, what remained of the sun formed a halo behind the boy's head. Orlando blinked, remains of fire reflected in his eyes.
"Are you sorry you did that?" he asked.
"Should I be?" Viggo returned.
"No," said Orlando, and kissed him back.
Then the boy was off and running again, laughing like silver chimes in the rising dark. Viggo watched him for a moment, then followed, knowing no matter how fast the boy ran, he would still get there in time.
Thanks for reading. Comments appreciated.
Re: more jokes
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Re:
Well, I'd like to think everything I write is this good, but you can judge for yourself. This is a decidedly angstier Viggorli, but I'd love your feedback on it. I've got a couple of Davelijah pieces floating around as well, but figured I'd stick in the fandom to start with.
Thank you so much.
~Kat
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*sweats*
*pouts*
umm...friend you and avidly read everything you post?
damn. that didn't come out like i wanted it to at all. damn. *grumbles*
yep. i'm a weirdo. now look what you've gotten yourself into. {grin}
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YAY, picked up another one!! Have a couple Viggorli plot bunnies gnawing on my ankles; we'll see which one gets written first.
Thanks again!
~Kat
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psst. which bunny are you talking about?
hush! doesn't matter, long as it gets written. does it?
right. all hail the bunny!
that's a good lad. *pet*