vigorli

Title: Ever Changing Destinations © 2006 by Myr Juhl & Bee
Part: 1/6
E-mail: juhlrech@mail.tele.dk & pipilaine@yahoo.com
Fandom: Viggorli;
Spoilers:
Type: RPS, AU, Crossover-ish, Historic
Rating:
Cast: Orlando (Devon / Viggo (Jarl)

*** WARNINGS *** This series is rated NC-17 and contains for this chapter: * Male slash * Language *

Disclaimer: The events never happened. This fic is for entertainment purposes only, not profit. We, the authors, make no claim through this work as to the fictional characters/ actual lives/ preferences/ activities of the people mentioned herein.

Summary: Some things are just destined to be…

Beta:

teamane Thanks darling *hugs*

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Picture: Ever Changing Destinations
Part 1

By Bee & Myr

Orlando had just arrived inside his trailer when his phone began to ring. It was a sound he hadn’t heard much of lately, and he was smiling when he answered it.

“Hi Vig,” he said.

He went to his bed, leaned back closing his eyes, and let the man’s voice wash over him, invading his senses. His hand rested on his naked chest. Morocco was so hot. He replied yes or no depending on how Viggo’s voice sounded. He found himself dreaming and, with a smile, he knew he missed this man very much.

“When can I see you Vig?” he asked. Viggo’s stream of words stopped. Orlando knew he didn’t offend Viggo by interrupting him. Viggo was rarely aware he did these monologues.

Orlando heard an intake of breath that usually meant Viggo was smiling.

“You miss me, Prissy?”

“Always, Filth,” Orlando replied, smiling as well.

“I’m quite busy now and you’re probably jumping into another project soon?”

“Yeah,” Orlando answered, “when this baby wraps I’m starting filming Elizabeth T. in August.”

“So... the question is maybe when do I see *you*?”

“Well... I’m planning a vacation with Kate in winter...”

Viggo snorted. “When do I see you, in half a year’s time?”

Orlando winced. He hadn’t even looked at it that way. But, nevertheless, they agreed to meet each other after Christmas and spend a day.

After New Year, they still hadn’t contacted each other – not even by phone, and Orlando was in the middle of a personal crisis when, at the Golden Globes a few weeks later, his life took a sudden turn. He was not on a very good footing with Kate as they so rarely saw each other. On their holiday he had shouted at her in a restaurant; pictures of their tense faces were found in a tabloid magazines shortly after.

He missed the days where the camera didn’t focus on his every move. He missed being with the guys and having fun. He wasn’t having fun any longer. He loved his work, but his life was so serious. He missed just being able to do what he wanted without having to consider what it might do to Kate, to others, his career. He also liked Kate, but he knew it wouldn’t last much longer. He couldn’t take it any more.

At the Globe’s party, Sean was there. Johnny was there. The pull of not wanting to be with Kate won and he told her he wanted to go for a drink later. She was furious. They finally had time together and, while he could relate to what she was saying he just didn’t care. They had a silent row nobody saw, but they both knew this was it, and he left with Beanie.

Again, a few days later, the rumours of their split hit the tabloid press, and he felt forced to admit he and Kate were no longer an item. Kate did the same, and it had become a reality.

He went to his mother’s house to find some peace. Drifted about in the garden and went inside. He was soon to shoot Pirates II, and it was nice to wind down in the familiar surroundings. He was alone today and wandered around the rooms for a bit. The light seemed different somehow; softer and more orange in hue. He went to the attic to look at the city from the small roof window.

His mother seemed to have rearranged matters since he last was up here. Some things had been removed and other stuff added. He noticed the full sized painting standing against the wall.

/Weird. Why has she put it here?/ he thought. It was a painting by Thomas Gainsborough dated 1822, and it had belonged to Harry’s grandfather. He remembered it from his childhood, but hadn’t really paid attention to it since he and Sam sliced the bottom part of it, and the value kind of dropped 100%.

Looking at the portrait once more, he felt that it somehow seemed a bit haunting. It drew its viewer closer, giving him a sense of vertigo. The feeling came to him again as he stepped even closer to look at the man portrayed, vaguely registering that the figure was as tall as he. Then he gasped as he locked eyes with the model. Those eyes... he realized with a shock they looked exactly like Viggo’s when he was in character as Aragorn, only this model was supposed to look like a Viking.

Looking at the painting, the eyes seemed real, glittering as if they were moist and alive. He almost believed the eyelids blinked.

Orlando gasped when the hair seemed to sway when a sudden breeze swept across the room from the little window. With a last glance at the picture, he turned away and went to the window to look outside.

Then he heard his mother come home, and he realized he’d been in the attic more than an hour.

******

He could hear the tension and fatigue in the younger man’s voice when he cut him off, asking when they could get together.

As usual, their busy schedules and ‘public persona’s’ caused severe difficulty in even talking on the phone, never mind actually sitting down to share a meal as two friends would have.

Viggo was looking forward to after the holidays; Orlando had promised to see him then, and while the older man believed that the much in demand actor, in his heart, meant every word, his manager would undoubtedly have something else to say about it.

Therefore, when the rush of holidays came and went, and still no Orlando, Viggo resigned himself to having to watch his young friends ascent to the stars in the cheesy tabloids and half believable entertainment programs on television. If truth be told, following Orlando had been the only reason he’d broken down and bought one.

The blond artist had seen several pictures of Orlando and Kate in the papers, the paparazzi seemed to adore the young and beautiful duo, holding hands, or just sitting talking. However, Viggo noticed some thing’s the average person wouldn’t: Orlando was never ‘with’ Kate, he always walked in front of her, or a few paces to her side.

Then, to Viggo’s shock, there were pictures of Kate and Orlando in a restaurant, her mouth wide open, a look of anger clearly visible on her usually pleasant face. His elf-boy looked very contained, controlled, which to Viggo meant Orlando was furious, upset and embarrassed.

A few weeks later, it was announced that the dream couple of Kate and Orlando had parted, amicably, but nonetheless, splits-ville. There were rumours of the dark haired actor spending time with his friends at some awards shows and such, and some reporters hinted this added to the stress and eventual break-up. Viggo ignored rumours; they were usually baseless.

Viggo tried to reach the young man on his cell, but there was no answer, so he left a message. Two days later, he left another message, then another the day after. Deep concern for the usually irrepressible friend took hold and the blue eyed ranger called other friends, Beanie, Billy and then finally Dominic.

The last call proved fruitful; Dom quietly told Viggo that Orlando had fled home to his mother’s, needing time and space to figure out what he was doing.

At first Viggo was crushed that Orli hadn’t come to him, but considering how busy his own schedule was now, he could understand it.

Letting a few more days pass, Viggo decided he’d waited long enough. Picking up the phone, he dialled Orli’s mother’s house, the number having been given to him long ago, as a precaution.

*******
Orlando had a short phone call with Sam the next day. She was still a bit upset that Orlando and Kate had split up, but said she understood perfectly. Orlando wasn’t so sure about that. Despite the age difference between her and Kate, they had really liked each other – they had been almost like sisters. Would he mind if she still saw Kate? He had seen her himself lately at some charity function, so why would he oppose?

He spent a lot of time talking to his mother. She was always so wise in matters of the heart. He asked her about the portrait and she seemed generally confused why it was in the attic.

“I have no idea, Orlando. Maybe Colin put it there?” she answered.

Orlando wondered why he had done that. He circled that portrait a handful of times during the day. He was constantly drawn to the painting, liking it, fearing it, seeing Viggo step increasingly into character.

*****

Placing the handle back into the cradle, Viggo smiled at the phone, remembering the conversation he’d just finished.

True, Orlando still sounded tired and a bit depressed, but there was a spark now where in the past it had been missing. The deep timbre of his voice was new, adding a unique dimension to his maturing, growing into the man Viggo knew lurked under the puppy-boyish charm.

Looking at his watch, the older man realized he should contact his travel agent and have them arrange the flight and necessary things for his trip to England and Orlando. Heartened by the invitation, Viggo readily agreed and mentally had said to hell with what other obligations he had. A friend in need, and he would go.

Picking up the phone once more, Viggo began to dial the number.

*****

Orlando stood in the attic before the painting as he spoke with Viggo. Glad they’d finally get to see each other, he closed the cell phone and reached out to the painting and touched the lips of the man. Gasping in confusion and shock, he felt how the supposed wall behind the canvas didn’t support his weight and he fell through the painting and into the picture.

Momentarily numb, his senses didn’t work, but one by one they returned to him. Hearing, eye sight and motion. He slowly got to his feet and his jaw dropped, feeling like Marty McFly in ‘Back to the Future’ when a group of Indian warriors galloped towards him out of nowhere.

It also felt very much like he was on the set of ‘Kingdom of Heaven’ and, looking down, he was wearing a costume that could have been from the movie only it wasn’t.

His eyes darted nervously from side to side, trying to figure out what had happened, and where he came from, but he couldn’t remember. However, it felt as if he was supposed to be here, but why eluded his thoughts. He put a hand to his face and he was sporting a beard he knew he hadn’t a moment ago. He clapped his sides and, relieved, he found Balian’s weapons: a sword, and he was positive he felt the knife in his boots too.

Slowly he began a tour around the place that looked like a market. Not the Moroccan market from ‘Kingdom of Heaven’, this was a different style. He tried to figure out the language and soon he recognized phrases that resembled English. He was relieved that at least he could make himself understood.

Furling his brow, he realized what he had just thought. /Do you honestly think you’re back in time?/ Worried, he continued. He wasn’t really nervous about getting back. He had a feeling he might need this. He was curious as to where it would lead him. He walked alongside the wooden planks serving as tables where the market people offered their merchandise. He had no money so he just strolled until he reached the end of the shops. Then he turned to have a view of the entire market.

*****

Jarl walked the length of the market watching these English. Some were honest, he had to give them that. Others? It was best to keep your hand upon your sword, and your purse in plain sight.

As the blond giant moved among the throngs of people, he also kept a wary eye for danger. These times were unsettled at best, deadly at worst. There were too many lingerers here, standing about, watching with a calculating look in their eye. He trusted them not.

As Jarl reached the last stall in the long line of merchants, a man turned and collided with him, nearly sending both sprawling. Quick reflexes saved both from such an undignified and embarrassing display.

“Hold there, Englishman!” The thick accent was evidently a surprise to the dark haired man, and his eyes widened in shock.

The complete look of bewilderment and confusion gave pause to Jarl, and he continued to steady the slighter man. When he caught the movement towards the weapon, the Dane quickly spoke, “Be at ease, I mean you nor yours any harm.”

Hoping his words of peace were accepted, Jarl stared at the younger man, waiting for him to respond.

Orlando slowly unclenched his hand, and took in the man in front of him. He didn’t completely trust him. He was obviously a warrior and what if... However, looking around the peaceful market there was no cause for alarm. Nevertheless, he did realize he was a stranger amongst these people and still the man regarded him kindly.

“You were gone for a long time my friend,” the man said. Orlando’s eyes darted to both sides just to be sure; his opponent was still talking to him.

“Um... I was gone for a long time?” he repeated, “You must have mistaken me for someone else. I’ve never been here before.”

Jarl tilted his head. Perhaps the young man had suffered a blow to his head and resolutely he grabbed Orlando and unceremoniously began looking for the evidence.

Orlando gasped in surprise and grabbed the man’s wrists, but he dared not do more, fearing he might get in a worse situation. If this man believed he knew Orlando, then maybe he should play along until he had more information.

Holding firmly to Devon’s shoulder, Jarl guided them away from the teeming masses, seeking a more secluded area. Casting an occasional glance at his silent companion, the large Viking’s brow furrowed in concentration, his concern clearly written on his sun-weathered face. Finally deciding they had walked far enough, the older man pulled his companion between two empty stalls.

“Tell me friend, what bothers you? You do not seem the usual jovial person of earlier today.”

Jarl turned towards Devon and stared into his dark eyes, knowing most of the emotions usually displayed there. After a year of friendship, the blue-eyed man felt he knew this man as well as any other.

At their initial meeting, there had been a healthy dose of caution on both sides but, as time passed, they began to realize the strength and integrity of the other, and valued their budding friendship.

“I am concerned for you Devon; can you not share your worries with me now as we have done in the past?”

Orlando was simply lost now. “Devon?” Quickly he corrected himself. “Right! Devon... that’s me.” He decided to change this dangerous path and asked, “I’m terribly hungry... friend ...” /Fuck, I don’t know this guy’s name, apparently I should./

“You have hurt your precious skull, boy!” The man smiled with amusement. “I’m Jarl – remember? Your best friend? The only one besides your mother that loves that ugly mug!”

“I’m ugly?” Orlando was only now getting around the concept that this man – Jarl – was also Viggo and *he* was indeed his best friend. Well, one of his best friends. Ok – right now he was his only friend and he’d better humour him, and suck up.

“Come with me. You don’t have that place of yours any longer. Accommodations shift fast, my friend.”

“Thanks, Vi... Jarl.”

Jarl turned and smiled at him. “Once you’re fed, you will tell me why you’ve been away too long, Englishman!”

Orlando just threw him a forced smile. What the fuck was he supposed to tell him? /You know, Vig, in about a thousand years’ time, I’ll fall through a painting and land in your lap.../

The two warriors left the crowded market and made their way to Jarl’s lodge, Devon walking half a pace behind the taller figure of his friend.

Jarl’s mind was filled with many unanswered questions. His friend was not himself, and the young Englishman was holding something back.

“Come min ven, walk beside me, not behind like a treal.” The Danish warrior’s large hand descended on the slighter man’s shoulder then slid to between his blades, propelling him forward until they were even.

Devon was jittery, he knew that this man, this Jarl was uncertain about his behaviour, but it appeared it was concern-based and not of suspicion.

Trying to ‘fall into character’ as Viggo would have done, Orlando began to formulate a plan, one that would hopefully answer some questions he had.

“J... Jarl, tell me, of everything we have done together, what is your favourite moment?”

Throwing his head back, his long blond hair catching and holding the shimmering rays of the sun, the older man clapped Devon on the shoulder, “Most of my moments with you are saving your scrawny backside from one bit of trouble or another.”

Seeing the blank look on his friend’s face and, still under the misconception of an injury that would hamper his memories, Jarl returned the question.

“What is yours?”

Orlando blinked a few times and then he smiled. His fondest memory of Viggo was when he saw him do ... anything. Write, read, draw, and practise. He then gestured to Jarl’s weapon and said, “I like watching you practise with your sword, Jarl.”

Jarl laughed and shook his head. “It is truly peculiar how your head has suffered my friend. You say the oddest things!” Jarl studied the young man to such a degree he realized he made Devon uncomfortable.

“Come home with me. You shall spend the night at my place and don’t even try to argue with me.”

Orlando was grateful. He was hungry and tired and hoped to find some kind of comfortable bed in Jarl’s place. But twenty minutes later, when he stepped inside the little wooden house, he saw that there was only one bed and it was hardly big enough for one person.

“Go to sleep Devon,” Jarl’s soft raspy voice said behind him. Helping him slip out of the heavy chain mail that covered his body, Orlando soon after lay under a blanket. Quickly succumbing to blissful sleep minutes later and he didn’t feel it when Jarl came to his bed and sat down stroking his dark hair away from his brow, looking with adoration on the handsome features of the young actor.

There was something off about his younger friend; the body and face were his, the depth of voice as well, but his accent was wrong. Moreover, the evasive manner he used to not answer questions was disturbing.

However, the humour and quick wit, those were him.

Jarl rose from the bed and walked around the small room, his long strides eating up the space. Devon appeared to have no head trauma, but that did not mean that there could be damage to his brain.

Moving to the door, the Warrior watched the fading light, and then the sparkling of tiny light pricks in the sky.

Removing his clothing, Jarl slid into the bed behind his brother in arms. They had done this many times in the past, and had never been any awkward or uncomfortable moments. Scant moments later, Jarl’s deep breathing joined Devon’s in slumber.

A sharp elbow to his midsection woke the larger man and, fearing an enemy, he sought the disturbance. Realizing it was his bedmate; Jarl wrapped his strong arms around the floundering young man and spoke to him.

“Devon, ease yourself, it is nothing but a dream, rouse now and cease this.”

When large brown eyes locked onto blue ones, there was confusion and fear.

“Where the hell am I?”

TBC...