vigorli

Good morning! Or evening depending on where you are! Another offering from Ran-chan! This one was written in a furious flurry after seeing an interview with Viggo as he talked about how exhausting, physically and mentally, the Helms Deep scenes were to film. Hope everyone likes it! On a side note, I did an inventory of my fics and it looks like I'll have enough to post every weekday for the next month, before moving into the LotR movie "prequals" and gapfillers I've written. I was thinking though...has anyone been reading my stuff and had an idea come to mind that they'd like me to write? I have some unfinished work that I'd like to complete and post here, but... Just thought I'd ask!

Now, on to the fic! Beta'd by the lovely

lenalove!

Title: Dear Henry
Author:

ranmaru
Rating: PG
Summary: Viggo write his son a mental letter during the Helms Deep nightfilming.
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own, just playing.

‘Things,’ Viggo mentally wrote, ‘could be better. I’m starting to forget what it’s like to wake up to a sunrise, though maybe a sunset isn’t all that different. Maybe it’s just the same colors but upside down.’

The actor shifted, the tip of his sword scraping against the leg of his chair. ‘Henry, if you decide to be an actor be afraid of the words “night shoot.” Especially if they’re followed by “indeterminate time schedule.” Run screaming. There’s no shame in it. I would, but I have a feeling Peter’s faster then he looks.’

Weary blue eyes watched as yet another Urukai fell from the outer wall of Helm’s Deep. ‘The enthusiasm we’d all felt at the beginning has all but disappeared, leaving a desperation to appear in better spirits than we really are. Even your father has lost inspiration under this damned, suffocating darkness.’

Blond hair flickered like a strange sort of Morse code as “Legolas” ran behind the line of elves staunchly defending the Deep. ‘I worry about everyone, Henry, but I worry about Orlando the most. This cannot be easy on him. The energy of youth can only carry you so far. What is it doing to him mentally? How has he learned to deal with the change in hours? The exhausting schedule? We don’t talk much anymore.’

Viggo sat up straighter in his chair when he lost sight of Orlando. He heard Peter yell “Cut!” and squinted to find his young friend. ‘I’m tired of this silence. I’m tired of dealing with this tiredness alone. I’ve been sitting here for over an hour, waiting for this scene to end, in the hopes that he will tell me he’s tired too. I’ve slowly come to realize the oddity of my seeking out Orlando as opposed to someone closer to my own age, yet I can’t bring myself to care.’

“Plan on sleeping in your costume, mate?” Viggo looked up into the unsettling vision of a grinning Urukai.

“I doubt I’d notice,” Viggo replied, scratching the back of his neck.

“I hear you. I’ve been falling asleep while they’re taking this shit off lately. As long as they don’t hit a bruise, I’m okay.”

Viggo grinned and watched the stunty-cum-Uruk lumber towards one of the many make-up trailers scattered around the set. ‘I wonder sometimes if there are more bruises on the inside than the outside. I wonder what the difference is.’

Pale and dirty, Orlando stumbled as he approached Viggo. The older man stood, frowning in concern, and took Orli’s arm. “Okay there?”

Glazed brown eyes stared at him a moment. “Aragorn?”

Viggo blinked. “Jesus you must be tired,” he muttered, steering the blond to their shared make-up trailer. Orlando didn’t protest, didn’t speak and tripped twice more before they reached their destination. Viggo didn’t comment when his young friend fell asleep almost immediately after being lowered into his chair. He shared a look with Karyn who sighed.

“At least he wasn’t wearing the contacts tonight.”

‘If I was to write a poem about our time here it would be titled “madness” and be as disjointed and confusing as my thoughts.’ Viggo closed his eyes as a warm, soft cloth began to gently clean the combination of fake and real grime from his face and neck. ‘I miss his smile, Henry. I miss the way he could make me smile, too, without uttering a word. If it were possible, I’d hate Peter for doing this to him.’

“Viggo?”

Viggo opened his eyes, blinking against the harshness of the light. Orlando was standing beside him, his slumped shoulders and stillness saying more about his exhaustion than words ever could. “I thought we could talk.”

“’m tired.” The blond wig was gone and Orlando absently scratched at the stripe of dark brown that made up the total of his hair. He was still wearing his elvish clothes.

“I know, elf. I am too. We’ll get changed first, though, okay?”

“Yeah.”

It hurt to watch the torturously slow movements and Viggo turned his back on his friend. ‘I want to hold him in my arms and fall sleep listening to him breath. Yes, I’d call it “madness” and I’d paint a picture with red slashes and dots of white, the background a vicious black swath that swallows up the clear blue of reason.’

Viggo kept his arm around Orlando’s waist as they walked to his trailer. The younger man seemed a little more awake but was still quiet. He leaned heavily on Viggo, one arm rising to hold Viggo’s waist and falling intermittently. ‘Life has never taken the paths I’d anticipated. I’ve learned not to map out my future but instead to watch out for the signs that will lead me down another road. I’ve always known that I have choices in which road I take and, looking back, I’d like to think I’ve made sensible decisions. Now I am looking at a blank sign that is taunting me in its uselessness. And I’m scared.’

He opened the door of his trailer and nudged Orlando ahead of him. It was dark inside, despite the lightening sky outside. Viggo turned on the light by his bed and turned to see Orlando watching him, one hand on the wall for balance. ‘Which way, Henry? What do I do now?’

“D’you want me to sleep with you?”

Viggo inhaled and let it out slowly. “Yes.”

“Why did you wait?” Orlando stepped closer, pulling his t-shirt over his head and letting it drop to the floor.

‘I think I see words, Henry, painted in blue.’

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“No.”

They undressed and Viggo slid between the sheets, Orlando climbing in a moment later. There was a moment of awkwardness, of feeling warm skin for the first time, of finding the most comfortable place for bodies, heads and arms. ‘I see what it says now. It feels as though he is a part of me. So warm. I can hear him breathing. Steady, hot bursts of air on my neck. Tired. I’ll write more later, son. Love Dad.’

END