Silence is deep as Eternity, speech is shallow as Time (VM/OB, PG-13)
Title: Silence is deep as Eternity, speech is shallow as Time
Author: Mirabile Dictu
Fandom: LOTR RPS
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Viggo listens.
Disclaimer: Never happened to Viggo.
A/N: Beta by the princessofg and the empress_wu. Title from Thomas Carlyle's essay On Sir Walter Scott
Written for my beloved empress_wu, empress of my heart.
Silence is deep as Eternity, speech is shallow as Time
Viggo looked around, wondering what was happening, why it had gotten so quiet all at once. The crew was busy repositioning the lights, Andrew was hovering over his camera, a pretty girl was combing Legolas' hair. He twisted his head a bit farther; behind him, Dom and Elijah were laughing at something while Sean Astin watched fondly and Billy stood near them juggling two oranges and an apple.
He couldn't hear Elijah's high-pitched giggle, he realized. Nor Dom's laugh. He watched as Sean snatched an orange from Billy's aerial collection, causing Billy to drop the apple and swear at Sean. You shit, Viggo clearly saw Billy say, but he heard nothing.
That's odd, he thought, as a bubble of panic rose through him. He looked down and snapped his fingers. Nothing. He knocked Aragorn's sword against his boot; nothing. He sighed, and heard nothing.
Before he passed out, he wondered if Tolkien had foreseen this exigency.
He woke sweaty, cold, and hot all at once, looking up into Orlando's blue contacts. "Hey, mate," Orlando said softly. "You okay? All right there?"
Viggo smiled. "I'm fine," he murmured, relieved and pleased. "Really fine." He struggled to sit up, letting Orlando pull him. A woman he didn't recognize knelt next to them.
"I'm Sarah Andrews," she said, taking his chin in her hands. "Doctor Andrews. Follow my finger, please." He obediently watched her finger as she moved it right to left to right, and let her peer into his eyes with a shockingly bright light. "How do you feel?"
"Fine, I'm fine," he said again. "Not light-headed, not dizzy. Embarrassed, a bit."
"Oh, we'll be taking the piss out of him for weeks," Billy said, and Viggo smiled to hear his clear voice.
"Thought you were gettin' bored," Viggo replied, and stood up, letting Orlando and Dr. Andrews. "Needed a little diversion."
"Vig?" They all turned to see Pete swerving his bike wildly through the crew. He jumped off his bike, letting it fall. "What happened? Caro called me. Are you okay?"
"He seems fine," Dr. Andrews said doubtfully. "Have you eaten? Are you drinking enough fluids?"
"Here Vig," Orlando said, passing him a bottle of water. "Drink it all."
"Ew, backwash," Elijah said, but Viggo gulped it down.
"Maybe I did get a little dehydrated," he admitted when the bottle was empty. Someone handed him another.
"Keep hydrated," the doctor said sternly. "Let's not have a repeat of this. Are the rest of you drinking enough?" she asked, turning in a circle. "Beer'll do, but water's better."
"Beer!" Billy cried.
"Pete, you slacker," Dom said. "Dehydrating your cast and crew. I think you need to buy us all a round tonight."
Viggo felt the need to take control of the situation. He drew himself up, towering over Pete. "You have been remiss, sir," he said. Pete rolled his eyes and threw his hands up. "Beer tonight!" Viggo shouted, and a roar answered him.
"You'll pay," Pete muttered, but Viggo only beamed, delighted he could hear again.
Filming resumed; time was too precious to waste. Make-up artists daubed at Aragorn's filth,; it had been smudged when he'd fallen. He had to laugh at that, but submitted to their attentions. He was happy to sink back into character.
None so deaf as those that will not hear.
Helm's Deep really was Hell, Viggo decided, wiping the already chilled sweat from his face. They'd stopped the fake rain when the real had begun, but at last it too had ceased. It was bitterly cold, so cold that his breath wheezed out in white streamers. He wrapped Aragorn's cloak more tightly around himself, and slumped back against the stone walls. The sea of Uruk Hai to his left suddenly appeared to sink, as the stunties crouched down or leaned against each other or their spears. After the thundering noise of the fight scene, repeated more times than he could remember, the sudden quiet made his ears ring.
He let himself slide down the wall until he was sitting on his heels. His knuckles were raw and filthy with blood, dirt, and smeared makeup. The Ring of Barahir had dug into his forefinger, despite the jeweler's repeated tinkering with its shape. Mostly, though, his head ached. Amazing, that people really had fought like this, were in fact still fighting like this in parts of the world.
Throbbed, that was the word for what his head was doing. Ached really didn't capture the rhythmic sensation pounding in his temples and just above his ears. He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath, then another. The set doctor had oxygen and that often helped. He should get up and find her, except he was so fucking tired.
He crouched there, willing himself to relax, focusing on his breathing and the tension in his muscles, for what seemed like a long time. Long enough that when someone touched his arm, he started. If Orlando hadn't caught him, he'd have fallen to one side.
He looked up into Orlando's face. He looked nearly as tired as Viggo felt, shouting down at Viggo in some urgency. Viggo stared up at him dumbly, trying to marshal his thoughts, when he realized that he couldn't hear again.
He looked around. Some of the stunties were standing nearby, watching him carefully. He could see their mouths moving as they nodded their heads and scratched their necks.
"Oh, fuck," Viggo said, and before the world began to swim, he realized he couldn't even hear himself.
When he opened his eyes, he knew only a few seconds had passed. Orlando was still bending over him, still shouting, but now Viggo could hear him. "M all right," he tried to say.
"You bloody well are not!" Orlando roared, and Viggo realized how frightened he must be. Well, fuck, they should be. Middle-earth would never have a king at this rate; first Stuart and now him. He started to laugh at the thought, which seemed to calm Orlando down. Pete wound his way through the stunties, looking more hobbit-like than ever.
"Well, Vig," he said in the sudden quiet. "Think we should call it a night?"
"Naw," Viggo said. "Not on my account. Don't think you have enough shots of the elf yet."
"Oh, fuck you, Mortensen," Orlando said shortly, and Viggo realized that he was still frightened. "Next time I'll just let you pitch right over." He turned and pushed past Pete. Viggo was sure he heard him say, "Arrogant bastard."
Pete looked sympathetically at Viggo. "Now you've done it," he said. "You know better than to piss off the Mirkwood Elves."
Viggo laughed and tried to stand up; a dozen hands reached out to haul him up and steady him. "Sorry, Pete. Just tired."
Pete nodded. "We all are. Now, I'd like you to go over to the mess tent, have a bite. Take a page out of the hobbits' book, eh? Dr. Andrews is on her way over."
By now, Viggo knew better than to argue with Pete. He could see he'd made his mind up, and Viggo didn't feel like fighting anyway. "I'll take him," Orlando said, reappearing as noiselessly as a real elf. "Come on." He slid an arm around Viggo's waist, and Viggo let himself lean against Orlando. He'd put on some muscle with all the training he'd been doing; Viggo knew Orlando could manage him.
"Eh, Vig," the stunties said, slapping him gently on the back as they worked their way through the crowd toward the lights of the tents.
Andrews looked into his eyes again, and his ears, and down his throat. She took his temperature and blood pressure, and then just stood there, staring at him. "Don't like this," she said at last. "Tomorrow it's off to casualty for you. Full check up. I'll tell Caro."
"Fuck, no, hey, please, doc," Viggo tried, but she shook her head, smiling sympathetically as she left. "Fuck," he said again.
"It's for the best, you know," Orlando told him softly. Viggo saw that he was staring at the ground.
"I'm fine --" Viggo started, but Orlando looked up, his eyes full of misery.
"Vig, I was watching. You can't hear when this happens."
Viggo had to admit that Orlando was right. If it were his son, or one of his friends, he would be terrified. No wonder Orli looked so pale. "Okay," Viggo said at last. "You're right. I'll go."
Orlando opened his mouth, maybe to argue, but closed it again. He looked so tired, almost frail, which Viggo knew was bullshit. Orlando was a tough guy; his appearance was deceiving. "Damn right you'll go," he finally said, sounding more like himself. "Coz I'm taking you. Shut up and drink your soup."
Viggo shut up and drank his soup.
Wise Nature made him deaf, too, that He might
Not be disturbed, while he doth take delight
In inward things, nor be depraved with tongues,
Nor injured by the errors and the wrongs
That mortal words convey.
"How old is Aragorn?" Dom asked in an especially loud voice. "Eighty-seven, innit? Or ninety-seven? Miranda, how old's the king?"
"Well, he knew my uncle when Theoden was a little boy, so pretty old."
"Well, see, that's the problem," Dom explained to Viggo. "You're just too bloody old to be cavorting about like that." He drank down half his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're not a Maia, y'know."
"Or an Ent," Billy said, watching them earnestly. "Dom's right, Vig. Ya mustn't be overdoing it."
Viggo knew by now it was useless to try to stem the Dom-and-Billy tide; it waited for no man but rolled inexorably on. He could only hope they'd get bored and find some new victim to torture. Fortunately, Bernard arrived, and they swarmed toward him, offering him beer and games of pool. Viggo thought about warning Bernard; he did like him, after all, but decided he was old enough to take care of himself.
"Pissy little fuckers," Orlando said in his ear. He handed Viggo a bottle of water and a bag of crisps. Ever since taking Viggo to the doctor's, Orlando had appointed himself his personal protector. He monitored Viggo's meals, his arrival and departures on set, and had already scolded Caro for making him work too many hours so shortly after the last episode.
That's what the doctor had called it; an episode. Well, better that than a fit, Viggo thought, trying to be philosophical. But no one could find a damn thing wrong with him, leading to the conclusion that it was psychological in origin, and Viggo was damned if he was going to suffer some kind of stress-induced hearing loss. He was determined it would never happen again. So he let Orlando bully him around, got more sleep, ate somewhat more balanced meals, and survived Helm's Deep without further embarrassment.
Of course, now that two of the hobbits had rejoined them, and they'd learned that it had happened again, they, too, felt obligated to take care of Viggo. Unfortunately, they practiced a brand of extremely tough love that involved mercilessly and unendingly taking the piss out of him, preferably in public places like pubs, clubs, and shops, as if a verbal pummeling would cure all ailments.
"Time to go," Orlando said. Viggo opened his mouth to argue but yawned instead, shooting himself in the foot. He carefully set the bag of crisps down in the seat of the chair Dom had been using, Orlando nodding approvingly, and they shouted goodbye to their friends.
"Much better out here," Viggo said, stretching his back so he could stare up at the sky. "Thank you, Orli. I think I'll walk; it's just a few blocks."
"I'll walk with you. Catch a cab from your place."
"You don't have to do that," Viggo said, trying to be patient. "I'm fine."
"I know you are. I just feel a bit like walking. Beautiful night, fresh air after all that smoke, quiet after all of Dom's bullshit."
Well, Viggo found that a persuasive argument, but even if he hadn't, he didn't want to argue with Orlando, who'd been so good to him. So they walked home. He yawned again, breathing in the chilly air. A wind had come up as it always did in Wellington; he pulled his jacket on and they started off.
"Lovely night," Orlando said, sounding awkward.
"It is. Cold for this time of year, don't you think?"
"Dunno, really. Still seems wrong, to have the seasons backwards, y'know?"
"Yeah. And you're right; it is lovely." Viggo looked at Orlando from the corner of his eyes. He was almost glowing in the moonlight, his hair mostly grown out from the absurd Mohawk, his face nothing like his elven counterpart. Viggo smiled to himself. "Do you want to come in for a minute? Have a beer? Coffee?"
"No, thanks, Vig, really, I gotta go. Early call, y'know, and then, well, yeah. Thanks."
"Don't you want to call a cab, Orli?"
"Naw, I'll just hike back to the pub, call from there. Besides, wanna see if Dom sat on those crisps. Bet he's cursed you proper by now."
Viggo nodded, sure Orlando was right. Dom would be pissed, the little cunt. Too bad he wasn't there to see it. He yawned again.
"In, Viggo. I'll see you in the morning."
Viggo nodded and turned to unlock the door. The world seemed to spin around him, as if when he'd turned, he had kept on turning, round and round and round. He had a clear vision of the world spinning on its axis, dragging him reluctantly behind. He shut his eyes against the sight, rested his head against his front door, and slid down to his knees. He felt Orlando behind him, taking his shoulders, helping him lie down until his head was in Orlando's lap, his legs folded up. "Fuck," he murmured.
Orlando rested a hand on his forehead. "Just stay," Viggo thought he heard Orlando say, but the buzzing in his ears drowned out anything else, and then there was a sudden icy silence.
He opened his eyes and batted away Orlando's hand, gripping his wrist tightly. They stared at each other, Orlando's mouth moving but unable to communicate. Viggo shook his head. Orlando pulled out his cell phone and opened it one-handedly, then used his thumb to press some numbers. After a few seconds, he spoke into the phone, but no matter how hard Viggo tried, he couldn't hear a word.
"I'm scared," he said. Orlando looked startled; Viggo wondered if he'd shouted. "Sorry," he whispered. Bizarre to be speaking but not have any sensation of sound. "Orlando," he tried again, curious despite his fear.
Orlando' brown eyes were wide in his white face, and he was clearly shushing Viggo, bent over him and patting his hand and face. Viggo grabbed his other hand and held on. It was comforting, to lie in Orlando's lap while the cold ground seeped into Viggo's back and butt. He sighed.
Orlando bent over further, nearly double, his face upside down and right above Viggo's. "What is it you can't hear?" Viggo heard distinctly. He felt his own eyes pop wide, and considered the question.
Then a car pulled up and Bernard tumbled out. "Orli, is he okay? Let's get him in the car."
"No, I'm fine," Viggo said. "Just got dizzy."
"And deaf," Orlando said sharply.
"To hospital, Viggo," Bernard said.
With Orlando's help, he rose, dusting the seat of his damp jeans. "Thank you," he told Bernard, pulling him in for a hug. "You are the most reliable of men and the best of friends. But I'm fine. Better than fine."
"Viggo, you were on the ground," Bernard pointed out.
"I was, but I'm not now. Now I'm going to bed. And Orlando's coming with me. I won't be alone. If anything happens, he can call you. Or someone else; we won't disturb you twice in one night."
Bernard opened his mouth to argue further, so Viggo put a hand over it. Leaning forward, he rested his head against Bernard's. They stood like that for nearly a minute, Viggo breathing evenly, calming himself, calming Bernard. He was aware of Orlando's presence like a minor sun at his side, exciting the electrons, shooting them into new orbits. He slowly pulled away. "Go back to the pub," Viggo said. "I promise, I give you my word that everything is all right."
Bernard looked sadly at him, but nodded. "Call me," he said, then looked at Orlando. "I'm serious. Call me."
"I will," Orlando promised, his voice soft.
Bernard nodded and reluctantly turned toward his car. "If I find out something's happened and you didn't call me, I'll set young Dominic on the both of you."
"If anything happens, I'm calling him," Orlando told Viggo firmly. As Bernard climbed into the car, Orlando added, "And you're right; I am staying."
"Good. I want that." He looked carefully at Orlando. So young, so frivolous, and yet quite serious in his own way, so determined. Viggo respected that about him.
"Come in," he said, and opened the door. Orlando motioned for him to enter first, so he stepped over the threshold, switching on a small light in the front room. He turned to wave at Bernard as he drove away, then looked at Orlando, still waiting to enter. "Come in," he said again.
Orlando hesitated, and then stepped up and in. He looked straight into Viggo's eyes. His face was in shadow, but Viggo could see the light reflected from his pupils, like the Galadrilight that Andrew had invented. Orlando stood very near Viggo, their breath mingling.
Viggo smiled. "I figured it out," he said softly.
"What's wrong? You know?"
"Think so. Mind if I experiment? See if it works?"
Orlando nodded. "Try," he whispered.
Viggo swayed forward minutely, wondering if he should do this, wondering if it was a coincidence that Orlando was always around when this happened. He leaned forward even more, and then Orlando leaned toward him, and their lips met, a light sweet kiss. Orlando's lips were soft and opened instantly under Viggo's, greeting his tongue with more tongue, and Viggo smiled into the kiss.
He drew Orlando further into the house, pressing against his body, holding Orlando's shoulders firmly, just as firmly as Orlando held him, pushing into Viggo, making him back up even more.
"If this is what you need," Orlando said, breathing heavily as Viggo kissed his throat and face, "if this is what will make you better," and then their mouths came together again and Orlando spoke no more, they fell silent, speech no longer required.
The house was very quiet, no fridge kicked on, no wind-up clock ticked, no cars drove past this night. In silence, he kissed Orlando, and in silence Orlando kissed him back.
Author: Mirabile Dictu
Fandom: LOTR RPS
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Viggo listens.
Disclaimer: Never happened to Viggo.
A/N: Beta by the princessofg and the empress_wu. Title from Thomas Carlyle's essay On Sir Walter Scott
Written for my beloved empress_wu, empress of my heart.
Silence is deep as Eternity, speech is shallow as Time
Viggo looked around, wondering what was happening, why it had gotten so quiet all at once. The crew was busy repositioning the lights, Andrew was hovering over his camera, a pretty girl was combing Legolas' hair. He twisted his head a bit farther; behind him, Dom and Elijah were laughing at something while Sean Astin watched fondly and Billy stood near them juggling two oranges and an apple.
He couldn't hear Elijah's high-pitched giggle, he realized. Nor Dom's laugh. He watched as Sean snatched an orange from Billy's aerial collection, causing Billy to drop the apple and swear at Sean. You shit, Viggo clearly saw Billy say, but he heard nothing.
That's odd, he thought, as a bubble of panic rose through him. He looked down and snapped his fingers. Nothing. He knocked Aragorn's sword against his boot; nothing. He sighed, and heard nothing.
Before he passed out, he wondered if Tolkien had foreseen this exigency.
He woke sweaty, cold, and hot all at once, looking up into Orlando's blue contacts. "Hey, mate," Orlando said softly. "You okay? All right there?"
Viggo smiled. "I'm fine," he murmured, relieved and pleased. "Really fine." He struggled to sit up, letting Orlando pull him. A woman he didn't recognize knelt next to them.
"I'm Sarah Andrews," she said, taking his chin in her hands. "Doctor Andrews. Follow my finger, please." He obediently watched her finger as she moved it right to left to right, and let her peer into his eyes with a shockingly bright light. "How do you feel?"
"Fine, I'm fine," he said again. "Not light-headed, not dizzy. Embarrassed, a bit."
"Oh, we'll be taking the piss out of him for weeks," Billy said, and Viggo smiled to hear his clear voice.
"Thought you were gettin' bored," Viggo replied, and stood up, letting Orlando and Dr. Andrews. "Needed a little diversion."
"Vig?" They all turned to see Pete swerving his bike wildly through the crew. He jumped off his bike, letting it fall. "What happened? Caro called me. Are you okay?"
"He seems fine," Dr. Andrews said doubtfully. "Have you eaten? Are you drinking enough fluids?"
"Here Vig," Orlando said, passing him a bottle of water. "Drink it all."
"Ew, backwash," Elijah said, but Viggo gulped it down.
"Maybe I did get a little dehydrated," he admitted when the bottle was empty. Someone handed him another.
"Keep hydrated," the doctor said sternly. "Let's not have a repeat of this. Are the rest of you drinking enough?" she asked, turning in a circle. "Beer'll do, but water's better."
"Beer!" Billy cried.
"Pete, you slacker," Dom said. "Dehydrating your cast and crew. I think you need to buy us all a round tonight."
Viggo felt the need to take control of the situation. He drew himself up, towering over Pete. "You have been remiss, sir," he said. Pete rolled his eyes and threw his hands up. "Beer tonight!" Viggo shouted, and a roar answered him.
"You'll pay," Pete muttered, but Viggo only beamed, delighted he could hear again.
Filming resumed; time was too precious to waste. Make-up artists daubed at Aragorn's filth,; it had been smudged when he'd fallen. He had to laugh at that, but submitted to their attentions. He was happy to sink back into character.
None so deaf as those that will not hear.
Helm's Deep really was Hell, Viggo decided, wiping the already chilled sweat from his face. They'd stopped the fake rain when the real had begun, but at last it too had ceased. It was bitterly cold, so cold that his breath wheezed out in white streamers. He wrapped Aragorn's cloak more tightly around himself, and slumped back against the stone walls. The sea of Uruk Hai to his left suddenly appeared to sink, as the stunties crouched down or leaned against each other or their spears. After the thundering noise of the fight scene, repeated more times than he could remember, the sudden quiet made his ears ring.
He let himself slide down the wall until he was sitting on his heels. His knuckles were raw and filthy with blood, dirt, and smeared makeup. The Ring of Barahir had dug into his forefinger, despite the jeweler's repeated tinkering with its shape. Mostly, though, his head ached. Amazing, that people really had fought like this, were in fact still fighting like this in parts of the world.
Throbbed, that was the word for what his head was doing. Ached really didn't capture the rhythmic sensation pounding in his temples and just above his ears. He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath, then another. The set doctor had oxygen and that often helped. He should get up and find her, except he was so fucking tired.
He crouched there, willing himself to relax, focusing on his breathing and the tension in his muscles, for what seemed like a long time. Long enough that when someone touched his arm, he started. If Orlando hadn't caught him, he'd have fallen to one side.
He looked up into Orlando's face. He looked nearly as tired as Viggo felt, shouting down at Viggo in some urgency. Viggo stared up at him dumbly, trying to marshal his thoughts, when he realized that he couldn't hear again.
He looked around. Some of the stunties were standing nearby, watching him carefully. He could see their mouths moving as they nodded their heads and scratched their necks.
"Oh, fuck," Viggo said, and before the world began to swim, he realized he couldn't even hear himself.
When he opened his eyes, he knew only a few seconds had passed. Orlando was still bending over him, still shouting, but now Viggo could hear him. "M all right," he tried to say.
"You bloody well are not!" Orlando roared, and Viggo realized how frightened he must be. Well, fuck, they should be. Middle-earth would never have a king at this rate; first Stuart and now him. He started to laugh at the thought, which seemed to calm Orlando down. Pete wound his way through the stunties, looking more hobbit-like than ever.
"Well, Vig," he said in the sudden quiet. "Think we should call it a night?"
"Naw," Viggo said. "Not on my account. Don't think you have enough shots of the elf yet."
"Oh, fuck you, Mortensen," Orlando said shortly, and Viggo realized that he was still frightened. "Next time I'll just let you pitch right over." He turned and pushed past Pete. Viggo was sure he heard him say, "Arrogant bastard."
Pete looked sympathetically at Viggo. "Now you've done it," he said. "You know better than to piss off the Mirkwood Elves."
Viggo laughed and tried to stand up; a dozen hands reached out to haul him up and steady him. "Sorry, Pete. Just tired."
Pete nodded. "We all are. Now, I'd like you to go over to the mess tent, have a bite. Take a page out of the hobbits' book, eh? Dr. Andrews is on her way over."
By now, Viggo knew better than to argue with Pete. He could see he'd made his mind up, and Viggo didn't feel like fighting anyway. "I'll take him," Orlando said, reappearing as noiselessly as a real elf. "Come on." He slid an arm around Viggo's waist, and Viggo let himself lean against Orlando. He'd put on some muscle with all the training he'd been doing; Viggo knew Orlando could manage him.
"Eh, Vig," the stunties said, slapping him gently on the back as they worked their way through the crowd toward the lights of the tents.
Andrews looked into his eyes again, and his ears, and down his throat. She took his temperature and blood pressure, and then just stood there, staring at him. "Don't like this," she said at last. "Tomorrow it's off to casualty for you. Full check up. I'll tell Caro."
"Fuck, no, hey, please, doc," Viggo tried, but she shook her head, smiling sympathetically as she left. "Fuck," he said again.
"It's for the best, you know," Orlando told him softly. Viggo saw that he was staring at the ground.
"I'm fine --" Viggo started, but Orlando looked up, his eyes full of misery.
"Vig, I was watching. You can't hear when this happens."
Viggo had to admit that Orlando was right. If it were his son, or one of his friends, he would be terrified. No wonder Orli looked so pale. "Okay," Viggo said at last. "You're right. I'll go."
Orlando opened his mouth, maybe to argue, but closed it again. He looked so tired, almost frail, which Viggo knew was bullshit. Orlando was a tough guy; his appearance was deceiving. "Damn right you'll go," he finally said, sounding more like himself. "Coz I'm taking you. Shut up and drink your soup."
Viggo shut up and drank his soup.
Wise Nature made him deaf, too, that He might
Not be disturbed, while he doth take delight
In inward things, nor be depraved with tongues,
Nor injured by the errors and the wrongs
That mortal words convey.
"How old is Aragorn?" Dom asked in an especially loud voice. "Eighty-seven, innit? Or ninety-seven? Miranda, how old's the king?"
"Well, he knew my uncle when Theoden was a little boy, so pretty old."
"Well, see, that's the problem," Dom explained to Viggo. "You're just too bloody old to be cavorting about like that." He drank down half his beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You're not a Maia, y'know."
"Or an Ent," Billy said, watching them earnestly. "Dom's right, Vig. Ya mustn't be overdoing it."
Viggo knew by now it was useless to try to stem the Dom-and-Billy tide; it waited for no man but rolled inexorably on. He could only hope they'd get bored and find some new victim to torture. Fortunately, Bernard arrived, and they swarmed toward him, offering him beer and games of pool. Viggo thought about warning Bernard; he did like him, after all, but decided he was old enough to take care of himself.
"Pissy little fuckers," Orlando said in his ear. He handed Viggo a bottle of water and a bag of crisps. Ever since taking Viggo to the doctor's, Orlando had appointed himself his personal protector. He monitored Viggo's meals, his arrival and departures on set, and had already scolded Caro for making him work too many hours so shortly after the last episode.
That's what the doctor had called it; an episode. Well, better that than a fit, Viggo thought, trying to be philosophical. But no one could find a damn thing wrong with him, leading to the conclusion that it was psychological in origin, and Viggo was damned if he was going to suffer some kind of stress-induced hearing loss. He was determined it would never happen again. So he let Orlando bully him around, got more sleep, ate somewhat more balanced meals, and survived Helm's Deep without further embarrassment.
Of course, now that two of the hobbits had rejoined them, and they'd learned that it had happened again, they, too, felt obligated to take care of Viggo. Unfortunately, they practiced a brand of extremely tough love that involved mercilessly and unendingly taking the piss out of him, preferably in public places like pubs, clubs, and shops, as if a verbal pummeling would cure all ailments.
"Time to go," Orlando said. Viggo opened his mouth to argue but yawned instead, shooting himself in the foot. He carefully set the bag of crisps down in the seat of the chair Dom had been using, Orlando nodding approvingly, and they shouted goodbye to their friends.
"Much better out here," Viggo said, stretching his back so he could stare up at the sky. "Thank you, Orli. I think I'll walk; it's just a few blocks."
"I'll walk with you. Catch a cab from your place."
"You don't have to do that," Viggo said, trying to be patient. "I'm fine."
"I know you are. I just feel a bit like walking. Beautiful night, fresh air after all that smoke, quiet after all of Dom's bullshit."
Well, Viggo found that a persuasive argument, but even if he hadn't, he didn't want to argue with Orlando, who'd been so good to him. So they walked home. He yawned again, breathing in the chilly air. A wind had come up as it always did in Wellington; he pulled his jacket on and they started off.
"Lovely night," Orlando said, sounding awkward.
"It is. Cold for this time of year, don't you think?"
"Dunno, really. Still seems wrong, to have the seasons backwards, y'know?"
"Yeah. And you're right; it is lovely." Viggo looked at Orlando from the corner of his eyes. He was almost glowing in the moonlight, his hair mostly grown out from the absurd Mohawk, his face nothing like his elven counterpart. Viggo smiled to himself. "Do you want to come in for a minute? Have a beer? Coffee?"
"No, thanks, Vig, really, I gotta go. Early call, y'know, and then, well, yeah. Thanks."
"Don't you want to call a cab, Orli?"
"Naw, I'll just hike back to the pub, call from there. Besides, wanna see if Dom sat on those crisps. Bet he's cursed you proper by now."
Viggo nodded, sure Orlando was right. Dom would be pissed, the little cunt. Too bad he wasn't there to see it. He yawned again.
"In, Viggo. I'll see you in the morning."
Viggo nodded and turned to unlock the door. The world seemed to spin around him, as if when he'd turned, he had kept on turning, round and round and round. He had a clear vision of the world spinning on its axis, dragging him reluctantly behind. He shut his eyes against the sight, rested his head against his front door, and slid down to his knees. He felt Orlando behind him, taking his shoulders, helping him lie down until his head was in Orlando's lap, his legs folded up. "Fuck," he murmured.
Orlando rested a hand on his forehead. "Just stay," Viggo thought he heard Orlando say, but the buzzing in his ears drowned out anything else, and then there was a sudden icy silence.
He opened his eyes and batted away Orlando's hand, gripping his wrist tightly. They stared at each other, Orlando's mouth moving but unable to communicate. Viggo shook his head. Orlando pulled out his cell phone and opened it one-handedly, then used his thumb to press some numbers. After a few seconds, he spoke into the phone, but no matter how hard Viggo tried, he couldn't hear a word.
"I'm scared," he said. Orlando looked startled; Viggo wondered if he'd shouted. "Sorry," he whispered. Bizarre to be speaking but not have any sensation of sound. "Orlando," he tried again, curious despite his fear.
Orlando' brown eyes were wide in his white face, and he was clearly shushing Viggo, bent over him and patting his hand and face. Viggo grabbed his other hand and held on. It was comforting, to lie in Orlando's lap while the cold ground seeped into Viggo's back and butt. He sighed.
Orlando bent over further, nearly double, his face upside down and right above Viggo's. "What is it you can't hear?" Viggo heard distinctly. He felt his own eyes pop wide, and considered the question.
Then a car pulled up and Bernard tumbled out. "Orli, is he okay? Let's get him in the car."
"No, I'm fine," Viggo said. "Just got dizzy."
"And deaf," Orlando said sharply.
"To hospital, Viggo," Bernard said.
With Orlando's help, he rose, dusting the seat of his damp jeans. "Thank you," he told Bernard, pulling him in for a hug. "You are the most reliable of men and the best of friends. But I'm fine. Better than fine."
"Viggo, you were on the ground," Bernard pointed out.
"I was, but I'm not now. Now I'm going to bed. And Orlando's coming with me. I won't be alone. If anything happens, he can call you. Or someone else; we won't disturb you twice in one night."
Bernard opened his mouth to argue further, so Viggo put a hand over it. Leaning forward, he rested his head against Bernard's. They stood like that for nearly a minute, Viggo breathing evenly, calming himself, calming Bernard. He was aware of Orlando's presence like a minor sun at his side, exciting the electrons, shooting them into new orbits. He slowly pulled away. "Go back to the pub," Viggo said. "I promise, I give you my word that everything is all right."
Bernard looked sadly at him, but nodded. "Call me," he said, then looked at Orlando. "I'm serious. Call me."
"I will," Orlando promised, his voice soft.
Bernard nodded and reluctantly turned toward his car. "If I find out something's happened and you didn't call me, I'll set young Dominic on the both of you."
"If anything happens, I'm calling him," Orlando told Viggo firmly. As Bernard climbed into the car, Orlando added, "And you're right; I am staying."
"Good. I want that." He looked carefully at Orlando. So young, so frivolous, and yet quite serious in his own way, so determined. Viggo respected that about him.
"Come in," he said, and opened the door. Orlando motioned for him to enter first, so he stepped over the threshold, switching on a small light in the front room. He turned to wave at Bernard as he drove away, then looked at Orlando, still waiting to enter. "Come in," he said again.
Orlando hesitated, and then stepped up and in. He looked straight into Viggo's eyes. His face was in shadow, but Viggo could see the light reflected from his pupils, like the Galadrilight that Andrew had invented. Orlando stood very near Viggo, their breath mingling.
Viggo smiled. "I figured it out," he said softly.
"What's wrong? You know?"
"Think so. Mind if I experiment? See if it works?"
Orlando nodded. "Try," he whispered.
Viggo swayed forward minutely, wondering if he should do this, wondering if it was a coincidence that Orlando was always around when this happened. He leaned forward even more, and then Orlando leaned toward him, and their lips met, a light sweet kiss. Orlando's lips were soft and opened instantly under Viggo's, greeting his tongue with more tongue, and Viggo smiled into the kiss.
He drew Orlando further into the house, pressing against his body, holding Orlando's shoulders firmly, just as firmly as Orlando held him, pushing into Viggo, making him back up even more.
"If this is what you need," Orlando said, breathing heavily as Viggo kissed his throat and face, "if this is what will make you better," and then their mouths came together again and Orlando spoke no more, they fell silent, speech no longer required.
The house was very quiet, no fridge kicked on, no wind-up clock ticked, no cars drove past this night. In silence, he kissed Orlando, and in silence Orlando kissed him back.