No Happier Discovery
Title: No Happier Discovery
Author: mesnica
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: NC-17
Warning: AU
Disclaimer: If you think this is the truth, please hand over some of the drugs you’re taking.
Also, the poem cited in the story is by an unknown author of the twelveth or thirteenth century, translated from Latin by Thomas Stehling.
Beta: as always, the wonderful liriel1810
Author's Notes: written for lauralynn22 as part of merryviggorli.
Summary: Paris, 1280. A chance meeting.
Life as a smith, if a wandering one, was not the worst life one could lead. There were lots of people who were worse off than Viggo. While he had compromised any chance of a home a long time ago, as one who excelled at his trade, his reputation preceded him. As it was, he rarely found himself without work, travelling from one festival to the next, and spending the winters at the castle of some nobleman that had need of him. In times such as these, a good smith was always a welcome sight.
Over the years, he had made it to some reasonable wealth also. Even though he would not consider himself a rich man, he certainly had enough money that the thought of ending his travelling life was not an empty dream. He could even afford to buy a small house in some town and lead a life of leisure thenceforth.
Maybe he could even find a house here in Paris, Viggo mused as he strolled between the market stands. He didn’t need much space for himself, and unlike smaller towns, the city was always bustling with life. There were markets and taverns, and a never-ending stream of people from all over Europe and, at times, beyond. A cathedral was just being built on the Île de la Cité, that, once finished, would soar up over the town in majestic glory, a worthy testament to His divine grace. One could not be short placed to spend the day in this town, Viggo thought as he left the market without having bought anything.
He steered his feet southwards, towards the river Seine that was Paris’ lifeline. His reluctance to settle down at last, he admitted to himself, stemmed not from searching the best place to do so. Lately he had grown more and more tired of the travelling, the constant wandering, the constant change of place, of people to talk to, to grow used to. No, he would not miss this life much, but then, on the other hand, there was nothing waiting for him in another life either.
Or no one to be honest, Viggo thought wryly.
He would not lie to himself. During all those years, he hadn’t lived like a monk, he had shared his bed with others, but those had been short episodes in his life, over once Viggo’s work was done and he packed up his things again. How could it have been otherwise?
A few months at the most, he had been able to stay at one place. Enough time to build up an intense friendship, enough time to share many a night, exchange warmth and sweet whispers, hungry kisses and fierce passion, that might just be rightly despised and scorned at by the church.
The Seine glided languidly through its bed, and Viggo stopped on the bank to watch the boats that dimpled the water. Then he turned his gaze to the East where the cathedral of Notre-Dame was being erected, and carpenters and masons were busily at work. No one could yet say when it would be finished, even if this was a project of the king himself. It was just as likely the Mother of God would wait for all eternity for its completion if money was needed more for wars or a future king found less interest in piety.
Dusk had fallen as Viggo finally turned his steps and walked back to the inn where he had taken up lodging. Still, his mind was not made up. Any merits a town offered to him seemed less worthwhile when on the other side there was still the hope of one day finding someone with whom to share his remaining days with.
It was hope that, Viggo knew, was just as likely, or unlikely, to be fulfilled when journeying as when remaining at one place. How could one predict where to find love? How, indeed, could one foresee if there even was this one person for him that would quench the restlessness forevermore?
Life on this plane supposedly was a trial, an assessment of one’s worth to enter the kingdom of heaven. Though he did not always have the time to visit the mass as he was supposed to, Viggo was well aware of his sins, of the many reasons why he might well be denied at the Gates. His had never been a devout life. He admired those who found their peace in their faith, but no priest’s threats of an eternal torment had been able to deny what he felt in himself.
* * *
“Oh, come on, Thomas,” Orlando said exasperated. “You promised to show me Paris, not the inside of a single tavern!”
His friend laughed and took another swig from the mug in front of him. “What do you want to see more?” he rather slurred. “The beer here’s good, and the women are nice to look at and willing. I tell you, there’s no better tavern in all of Paris, and I’ve tried the lot of them.”
“Tried the beds of all the whores as well, I’m sure,” Orlando said.
Thomas grinned proudly in acknowledgment. “Beds, sheds, alleys. I’m not picky.”
“Of course not,” Orlando retorted. “But in case you have forgotten, I have been here for but a week, and so far, I haven’t seen anything but the castle and the way to this tavern, and you must admit that’s rather little for such a big town.”
Thomas finished his beer with a hearty gulp. “Not much more to see, really,” he answered. “Unless you fancy having your purse nicked on the streets instead of spending your money. The markets are full with pickpockets.”
Orlando huffed and downed the last of his own mug. “I intent to see the town anyway,” he declared as he stood up. “Not that I wouldn’t believe your judgment...”
Leaving behind the thick air of the tavern, Orlando stepped into a cold morning. He shivered and pulled his coat tighter around himself as he chose a direction by pure chance. There was nothing back at the tavern to hold him. The beer had not been different to anywhere else and the whores didn’t appeal to him either. Not that he would tell Thomas so.
Strolling through the maze of streets and alleys, Orlando enjoyed the bustling town, never before having been to a place as big as this. He spent a coin on a delicious pastry at a street vendor, eating it while walking on. Aimless, his wandering brought him to the harbour, which was little more than a wide place at a spot where the riverbank was so shallow that boats could be pulled up on dry land. There were boats being unloaded, while the sailors of others loitered about the place, drinking or playing cards. A group of gleeman had assembled a small crowd in the middle of the place, and the laughter and amused shouts drew Orlando there.
It wasn't long until Orlando had tears in his eyes for laughter as he watched the bawdy drolleries. He rubbed them away, and his eyes fell on a face in the crowd. Orlando’s heart sped up; he knew that face. Memories of a time long ago surfaced with an intensity that threatened to overwhelm him. He dragged his eyes off the familiar face and pushed his way out of the crowd.
Then he stood, unsure of how to proceed until he scolded himself for being a coward. He was no inexperienced youngster anymore. Rounding the gathering of people, Orlando tried to espy the man anew. Chance would have it that he was about to give up when he at last spotted him weaving his way to leave the crowd.
Orlando quickly moved to follow him, trying to catch up before he could disappear in the maze of streets of the town.
“Wait,” he called out. “Viggo, wait.”
Viggo stopped, turned around and looked for the one who had called out. There was only polite interest, with no hint of recognition, in his face when Orlando came to a halt in front of him.
“You don’t know who I am,” Orlando stated, trying not to show his disappointment.
“I’m afraid I don’t,” Viggo responded, looking at him intently.
“I suppose I’ve changed a bit since we last met,” Orlando said. “It’s been close to ten years, I think. Do you recall the winter in Broye?”
Orlando knew the exact moment when the memory came back to Viggo from the smile that spread on his face. “Orlando,” Viggo exclaimed. “I’m sorry. I had not remembered you as a grown man.”
“I wasn’t one then.” Orlando grinned, regaining his good mood. “But I will forgive you if you buy me a beer and tell me what you have done the last years.”
* * *
When they parted, night had long laid its cover over Paris. They had sat for hours in a small tavern close to the harbour, drinking wine and catching up with each other’s lives. It had been difficult for Viggo to connect the man sitting across of him with the youth he had known once. Not that he had forgotten him in the years since the winter they spent together, but while he still could detect his features in the face in front of him, so much was different.
This was not the delicate boy he remembered anymore, but a trained knight whose hands already had seen war and the cruelty of mankind. There was a scar high on one wrist, peeking out from under the sleeve whenever Orlando reached for his mug, making Viggo wonder if there was more of the once smooth skin blemished with such marks.
He had not asked.
He had no right to ask. No reason to pose such a question to one of the king’s knights.
Still, as they sat and talked, Viggo found himself remembering the time they had had, and regretting their parting. It could not have happened any other way, but in that time then, he had loved the youth. Known he was being loved in return, though it was an immature love. A love that lived on the fervour of youth, the surging desire of a growing body that any spark was able to inflame. A fleeting love.
But there had been more than mere passion between them. There had been friendship as well, a feeling of ease at the other’s company.
They were barely more than strangers now, but as the evening had gone on, this ease had returned quickly. The passion of once may have been lost to time, but the friendship they had shared, they could renew.
They had parted with smiles and the promise to see each other again, not that any plans had been made for that. Orlando had turned towards his quarters at the royal castle, and Viggo had gone back to the inn he stayed at.
He declined the soup the patron offered him for a night meal, instead ascending the stairs to his room. The next day would be Christmas Eve; the twelve days of Christmas would follow, a time of exuberance and merrymaking. Viggo would spend his days on his own, while Orlando would be busy with the festivities the king was holding.
Stripping off his outer garments, Viggo then sat down on the narrow bed, reaching for the small leather covered box that held his most precious possessions. He rifled through the contents, until he was able to lift the small pile of papers on the bottom. The paper crackled as he took it out and removed the band that held them together. Carefully, he looked through them, finally finding the one he had been searching for.
The poem that he had written years ago brought back a flood of memories, stronger than even the chance meeting had accomplished. These were his own words that he read, his own feelings that resurfaced.
When his face laughs, his flesh shines, his thighs are
Delicate, his groin tender, his heart gentle, and his beauty charming.
His manners are polished, his shyness hidden, his spirit
Eager for boyish wickedness, and his body ready,
Whatever the sport requires. This boy
Is better than any treasure; there is no happier discovery than he.
Viggo smiled wryly as he stored the paper away again. He seldom felt the desire to write his poetry down on paper, conserve it for later times, and he could not remember what had made him note this one down back then, but he had kept it with him all the time, even after he no longer thought of the youth. He was used to letting go, not holding on to someone who soon would slip from him anyway.
He had spoken similar words to those in the poem to Orlando’s face, when they had been lying side by side, as he had written down on paper. As Viggo remembered those times, he wondered if Orlando still could recall them as well as he did. Probably not. Oh, he would remember the winter with Viggo as the first time he had learned of the pleasures shared between two bodies, but surely nothing more. It was the nature of life that replaced old memories with new ones, forcing out old desires to make place for new loves. Orlando had grown into a handsome man. Surely he must not lack for attention.
He would flirt with the ladies at court, and enjoy the beds of the maids, as any nobleman did. And in a few years time, he would find a wife that suited his station as it was expected of him.
Viggo had often thought himself better off. As a traveller, he was free from any expectations of society, and with no need to explain himself to others. People assumed what they did, and he never cared about it as long as they paid him for his work.
Now though, waiting for sleep to claim him, Viggo wondered if his lot was not the worse one. Only ever having a short time of love, tainted by the surety of its end even before it began. He rarely met his lovers again, and if he did, they either would pretend not to know him, or would be ready to take up where they left off, letting bodily desires be the foundation of their bond.
It had always been enough.
* * *
Someone further down the hall farted loudly, and a few beds closer to Orlando another knight was losing a battle with his coughing. A few minutes later, there was loud swearing as a latecomer bumped against a bed frame. The familiar night time noises grated on his nerves much more than they usually did.
Orlando lay awake, not finding any sleep, his head full with Viggo. He had never quite forgotten the man, and never expecting to see him again, he had not been prepared for old feelings to resurface. Viggo had been his first love, a sweet forbidden liaison that its illicit nature had made all the more appealing.
Or so he had thought.
A couple of times during the years that had followed that winter, Orlando had found the company of another knight that he noticed didn't glance at the serving wenches. Those had been quick encounters, tumbles in the hay or in a secluded compartment, where mutual release had been the only goal. There never had been more than rough hands tugging on clothes, groping and manhandling in a way that lead to a swift end.
And that had been enough. He had not wanted for more. Since he had been knighted, there had been more than enough to occupy his mind otherwise. There had been the war against Hugues de Lusignan in which Orlando had fought as part of the army of the king’s brother, Charles d’Anjou, and from which he had returned only weeks ago.
He had seen friends die, others be crippled for life. It had been nothing like the glorious battles the bards sang of, and Orlando had found himself longing more than once to be as far away from the battleground as he could possibly be. He had seen knights numbing their minds with wine and beer, and filling their every free minute with women. Orlando however had found himself with those men who spent their time with training, sparring until they had no more strength to lift their swords. He could not say if this practise had helped him survive the battles, but he was glad he had.
Now though, he was in Paris, far away from any danger, and it had been expressly forbidden to take up any arms over the time of Christmas, be it in jest or otherwise. Orlando was not used to peace anymore. He almost longed for the constant anticipation of being called to arms.
The last time he had seen peace seemed a lifetime ago. Almost as long as he had found happiness in someone’s bed.
Recalling the smith’s face, Orlando slipped a hand into his breeches, finding his length already hard. His mind drifted backwards in time, and he squeezed himself as he felt a hot, moist breath against his neck, heard whispered words he could not discern. He bit his lip to stifle the moans that welled up in him, knowing how to quiet himself as he sped up his strokes.
There was warmth covering him, a hard body pressing him into the mattress, and Orlando flicked his thumb over the tip of his cock, smearing the wetness. His bed creaked slightly, and Orlando was aching so much, he was sure to burst any moment. He recalled Viggo’s face, smiling at him in recognition earlier that day, recalled watching his hand surround the mug of wine as he brought it to his mouth, recalled Viggo swallowing deeply.
With a deep sigh, Orlando came, spilling over his hand. His heart pounding in his ears so loud he thought it must be audible for the man sleeping in the next cot, but as he wiped off his hand on his soiled breeches, no one close by stirred in awakening.
* * *
It was on Innocents Day that Viggo met Orlando again. All of Paris seemed to be about on the streets, and possibly was. He had thought nothing much of it as someone wrapped his arms around him from behind, twirling him around. No pickpocket would have much of a gain in stealing his purse today, as Viggo had left it well hidden in his room, only taking a few small coins, enough to pay for a meal and wine.
It turned out to be neither pickpocket nor drunken Parisian who whirled him around, but Orlando, looking nothing like a knight today and wearing a wide smile on his face. Viggo was certain that Orlando was drunk, but the merry mood was contagious.
“That’s better,” Orlando shouted at him over the street noise once they’d stopped their little dance. “You looked as if you’d drunk spoiled milk before. Can’t go around wearing a face like that today. Come on,” he added, taking Viggo’s hand and leading him through the street.
He did not answer Viggo’s questions as to where they were going; only snickering in return. Giving in to the drunken foolishness, Viggo led himself be pulled through lanes and alleys.
Orlando stopped when they happened upon a short, narrow alleyway away from the festivities.
“How much have you drunk already?” Viggo could not help but ask then in amusement.
“Enough to do this,” Orlando replied, bringing his body closer to Viggo’s and claiming his lips.
A jolt went through Viggo at the contact, and he moaned as soft, warm lips pressed against his eagerly. It had been too long, he thought as he responded without hesitation.
Then, remembering where they were, Viggo drew back. Orlando was looking at him with eyes dark with lust, his mouth half open to catch his breath.
“What brought that on?” Viggo had to know. He had tasted the wine on Orlando, knew to recognize the clumsiness that was the companion of intoxication.
Orlando took a step back, leaning against the house wall behind him. “The last days,” he began, and there was uncertainty in his eyes, “I have been thinking of you. Often,” he added. “And seeing you again, I had to know if it was simply my imagination, my memories, or… I don’t know.”
The knight was stripped from the man in front of Viggo. Here, he again saw the youth he had known, the one he had written about. His shyness hidden, his spirit eager.
“Did you think of me?” Orlando asked when Viggo did not reply.
“I have,” he admitted. “More than I should have, than we both should.” He took a step forwards so he could better see Orlando’s reactions the darkness of the alley were hiding. “You are who you are now, a knight. Just as I am what I am. You must know how impossible it is for there to be more between us than friendship, if even that.”
“Why?” Orlando asked back. “Who would prevent us from being together if it is what we both want?”
The offer was more tempting than Viggo would admit aloud. “You know of the king’s views,” he said instead.
“He’d never need to know,” Orlando countered. He brought a hand up, putting it on Viggo’s arm. The small contact made Viggo shiver even before Orlando moved his fingers in a small caress.
“We’d be found out.” Viggo stepped back from the temptation and took a deep breath. “Orlando, as much as I’d like to say yes to what you’re offering, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“But you desire me,” Orlando interjected. “I know you do, just as you did in Broye. Why do you deny us the opportunity to be together once more?”
“We are in Paris now,” Viggo said. “I will probably leave soon again, and you will go to fight in some war of the king’s. Those are our lives, and I’m too old and too tired of sharing my bed with someone knowing he’s going to leave it just as quickly as he came.”
“It was not I who left the last time,” Orlando shot back, anger welling up in him. “You left me! And the weeks after that…” he interrupted himself, turning his face away.
The half confession stunned Viggo. Not that he had not been aware that his leaving had affected Orlando back then, but he always had thought someone of his age would move on quickly.
“Maybe we should speak elsewhere,” he offered at last.
“I’m not in the mood for a crowded tavern,” Orlando said.
“I rather thought of my room, where there won’t be anyone to overhear,” Viggo suggested.
A small smile crept back onto Orlando’s face. “You could have had that easier,” he jested. “Lead the way then.”
* * *
The inn where Viggo stayed was thankfully not too far away from where they had argued, and in hindsight, Orlando must confess he would have had no idea how to find his way back to the castle, as he had simply dashed through the streets with no plan at all before.
Nobody batted an eye at the two of them climbing the stairs up to the second floor, but that was thanks to everyone who crowded downstairs being much occupied with drinking and celebrating. Once they had stepped into the room Viggo occupied, he closed the door behind them and bolted it.
However much wine that had been flowing through Orlando’s veins before, there was not much left of it now. He was nervous and unsure, and hated the feeling. Not wanting to sit down on the bedside, he went to stand by the window.
He heard Viggo moving about the room, finally coming to rest, and opened his mouth before the other man could say something.
“I apologize for accosting you,” he said. “I should not have done that.”
“It is I who must apologize,” Viggo replied. “I never considered that I caused you a pain you still feel.”
At that, Orlando turned towards him. “Can I asked something of you?” he began, waiting for Viggo’s nod before going on. “Today is the Innocents Day, where everything is different. Servants are masters, children are adults… Can we not be smith and knight today but simply you and I?”
“You want…”
“One night in your bed,” Orlando finished. “Pretend we’re in Broye once again. Pretend you love me still.”
Viggo stood up and crossed the distance between them. “What has happened to you?” he asked in concern.
Orlando shrugged. “I was reminded of what there was missing in my life,” he said, keeping his voice as light as he could manage. And he doesn’t want me anymore. he added silently.
It was Viggo who initiated the kiss this time. Gently, he pressed his lips to Orlando’s while he enfolded the younger man in his arms. Orlando melted against him, forgetting himself in the feeling.
When Viggo’s tongue licked at his lips, coaxing his mouth to open, he moaned, pressing himself closer against Viggo’s body. He needed to feel the other man against him, to feel the strength that seemed to have slipped from his bones altogether.
With slow steps, they moved through the room until they were standing next to the bed, and Viggo drew back slightly. Without saying anything, he moved his fingers to unfasten the clasp that held together Orlando’s coat, removing it. The garment slipped off his shoulders and pooled around his feet.
Bringing his own hands up, Orlando helped Viggo to divest first himself of his clothes, then remove those Viggo was wearing. Letting his eyes wander over the naked skin that was bared to his eyes, Orlando felt the familiar thrill of excitement grow in him that he remembered. He stroked his fingers over Viggo’s chest, moving them slowly as he rediscovered the body.
Viggo let him go on for a few moments, then bent to kiss him once more. As the kiss went on, it grew more fervent. Allowing himself to be lowered onto the bed, Orlando wound his arms around Viggo, pulling him on top of him.
This was what he had been dreaming of. A heavy, warm body pressing him down, surrounding him completely. He ground upwards, feeling Viggo’s hardness that matched his own. A fire burned deep in his belly, and he moaned in need as Viggo severed the kiss.
“Don’t,” he objected, but was silenced by a finger on his mouth, then the feeling of Viggo’s mouth on his collarbone, sucking on the skin.
Viggo slowly moved downwards, drawing more moans and gasps from Orlando. Then he felt a wet mouth take him in, and Orlando cried out briefly. “Not… not like that… want…” he babbled, lost in desire.
Viggo flicked his tongue over the weeping head of his length one last time, then he let him go and crawled back up, waiting for Orlando to open his eyes.
When Orlando did, he smiled at him, and Orlando smiled back. “Tell me what you want,” Viggo requested, kissing him briefly.
“You,” Orlando replied simply. Take me, claim me, never leave me again, he wanted to add, but dared not to say lest it broke the spell that had caught them.
He knew it was going to hurt, he had not let himself be taken in a long time, and when Viggo spat on his own fingers to wet them, Orlando pushed himself upwards and gripped his wrist, bringing it to his lips. He licked around the fingers until they glistened with wetness, then sucked the digits into his mouth, working up more spit.
Viggo’s moans were as much incentive to intensify his assault as the lust filled face that watched him. Finally satisfied that he would not get them any wetter, Orlando let Viggo’s fingers slide from his mouth, and laid back again, spreading his legs.
In that moment, when Viggo’s fingers, moist with his own spit, touched his arse, moved through the crease, and then pressed lightly on his entrance, Orlando knew he’d be on his knees begging for it if he was denied it. He shifted against the light pressure, and Viggo kissed the inside of his thigh as his finger breached Orlando.
It stung, but Orlando gritted his teeth, knowing it would soon fade. Exhaling deeply, he concentrated on the feeling of Viggo’s other hand that was stroking his side, sending delicious tingles through him. Before long, Viggo added another finger, stretching Orlando. He felt full and wrong, and then Viggo curled his fingers, finding the place inside Orlando that made him see stars, and he bucked, crying out.
Viggo wriggled his fingers, spreading them inside of Orlando’s arse, and Orlando thought he’d go insane as he was shaken by jolts. He was panting now, interspersed with moans, his fingers twisted into the bedding.
Finally, Viggo pulled his fingers from him, leaving him empty for a moment, then a blunter thickness pressed against his hole. Orlando’s eyes watered as Viggo’s cock slipped through the muscle, stretching it seemingly beyond its endurance for a moment.
Then Viggo lifted himself up slightly before slowly thrusting deeper inside, and the burning slowly faded. Orlando ached, and grasped at Viggo’s shoulder, pulling him down over him, connecting their mouths in a deep, hungry kiss.
Viggo was rocking into him now, slowly and deeply, and Orlando could have stayed like this for all times. He was starting to feel dizzy, but reluctant to end the kiss, not when it felt this good, this right, to be in someone’s arms again, giving himself up so completely.
There came a point where he could not stay without breathing any longer, and he drew back a little, so his lips were barely touching Viggo’s, exchanging panting breaths now instead of kisses.
Viggo reached below him then, pulling his arse up slightly, and Orlando let his head fall back, groaning loudly as ecstasy swept over him like a tidal wave. Viggo’s thrusts gained in speed, and Orlando reached down between them, finding his length. The change of angle had Viggo brushing against the place inside of Orlando again, and the combined sensation of that and his hand jerking himself was his undoing.
Orlando trembled and shuddered, spilling all over his hand and his belly, and Viggo was jabbing hard into him, not letting him come down the other side. Orlando could not stop shaking, clinging to Viggo as if he was drowning, and then Viggo groaned, burying his head against Orlando’s shoulder.
Sated and content, Orlando drifted, not thinking of anything until Viggo lifted himself up, pulling from his body. He laid down next to Orlando though, quenching any doubt that could have risen otherwise.
For a long time, they lay like that, neither of them falling asleep, neither speaking either. From below, they heard the sounds of the festivities, of people speaking, shouting, laughing and singing along to someone’s fiddle.
“You’ll need to go soon,” Viggo said, and he sounded regretful.
Orlando turned on his side, trying to make out the look on Viggo’s face in the dim light that still remained. “Yes,” he said quietly. “But if you let me, I can come back any time. I can stay.”
Viggo turned his head to the side. “You’re a knight in the king’s service.”
“I have sworn no oath of fealty,” Orlando informed him. “Not so far.”
Viggo turned fully on his side at that, watching Orlando intently. “There’s not much in life for a travelling knight,” he said. “A place to sleep and food at the most, if you find some small nobleman in a feud with someone else.”
“The last few years,” Orlando explained, “I’ve seen nothing but war. I survived, but many did not. I have no desire left to fight someone else’s battles.” Viggo’s hand cradled his cheek, this thumb caressing the skin. Orlando closed his eyes momentarily.
“You’d come with me anywhere, wouldn't you?” Viggo asked in wonderment. “There isn’t much I can offer you in life, but you don’t seem to care.”
“I’m no maiden expecting to be provided for,” Orlando answered him. “I won’t mind working hard when I know there is you I’ll return to at night.”
He hummed in pleasure as Viggo kissed him softly then, a kiss that promised more than any words.
* * *
The valley of the Garonne lay beneath them, the river a wide, glittering band between the deep green of bushes and trees and rough, grey rocks. Some way further down the stream, a town lay at its bank, and though neither of them knew its name, they turned in its direction.
It was the summer now, almost half a year had passed since they had left Paris together, and Viggo had regretted the decision not once. Neither had Orlando. They went from town to town, Viggo offering his services with Orlando assisting him, a work he had taken to quicker than Viggo had expected him to.
With Orlando at his side, Viggo had found pleasure in travelling again. He saw the world anew in the eyes of his younger lover, taking pleasure in the beauty of God’s creation.
And once they found a place they both liked and where a smith was needed, they had decided on a balmy spring night, they would stay there. Until then, they would wander on, wanting for nothing and free of anyone’s expectation but their own.
The End
Author: mesnica
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: NC-17
Warning: AU
Disclaimer: If you think this is the truth, please hand over some of the drugs you’re taking.
Also, the poem cited in the story is by an unknown author of the twelveth or thirteenth century, translated from Latin by Thomas Stehling.
Beta: as always, the wonderful liriel1810
Author's Notes: written for lauralynn22 as part of merryviggorli.
Summary: Paris, 1280. A chance meeting.
Life as a smith, if a wandering one, was not the worst life one could lead. There were lots of people who were worse off than Viggo. While he had compromised any chance of a home a long time ago, as one who excelled at his trade, his reputation preceded him. As it was, he rarely found himself without work, travelling from one festival to the next, and spending the winters at the castle of some nobleman that had need of him. In times such as these, a good smith was always a welcome sight.
Over the years, he had made it to some reasonable wealth also. Even though he would not consider himself a rich man, he certainly had enough money that the thought of ending his travelling life was not an empty dream. He could even afford to buy a small house in some town and lead a life of leisure thenceforth.
Maybe he could even find a house here in Paris, Viggo mused as he strolled between the market stands. He didn’t need much space for himself, and unlike smaller towns, the city was always bustling with life. There were markets and taverns, and a never-ending stream of people from all over Europe and, at times, beyond. A cathedral was just being built on the Île de la Cité, that, once finished, would soar up over the town in majestic glory, a worthy testament to His divine grace. One could not be short placed to spend the day in this town, Viggo thought as he left the market without having bought anything.
He steered his feet southwards, towards the river Seine that was Paris’ lifeline. His reluctance to settle down at last, he admitted to himself, stemmed not from searching the best place to do so. Lately he had grown more and more tired of the travelling, the constant wandering, the constant change of place, of people to talk to, to grow used to. No, he would not miss this life much, but then, on the other hand, there was nothing waiting for him in another life either.
Or no one to be honest, Viggo thought wryly.
He would not lie to himself. During all those years, he hadn’t lived like a monk, he had shared his bed with others, but those had been short episodes in his life, over once Viggo’s work was done and he packed up his things again. How could it have been otherwise?
A few months at the most, he had been able to stay at one place. Enough time to build up an intense friendship, enough time to share many a night, exchange warmth and sweet whispers, hungry kisses and fierce passion, that might just be rightly despised and scorned at by the church.
The Seine glided languidly through its bed, and Viggo stopped on the bank to watch the boats that dimpled the water. Then he turned his gaze to the East where the cathedral of Notre-Dame was being erected, and carpenters and masons were busily at work. No one could yet say when it would be finished, even if this was a project of the king himself. It was just as likely the Mother of God would wait for all eternity for its completion if money was needed more for wars or a future king found less interest in piety.
Dusk had fallen as Viggo finally turned his steps and walked back to the inn where he had taken up lodging. Still, his mind was not made up. Any merits a town offered to him seemed less worthwhile when on the other side there was still the hope of one day finding someone with whom to share his remaining days with.
It was hope that, Viggo knew, was just as likely, or unlikely, to be fulfilled when journeying as when remaining at one place. How could one predict where to find love? How, indeed, could one foresee if there even was this one person for him that would quench the restlessness forevermore?
Life on this plane supposedly was a trial, an assessment of one’s worth to enter the kingdom of heaven. Though he did not always have the time to visit the mass as he was supposed to, Viggo was well aware of his sins, of the many reasons why he might well be denied at the Gates. His had never been a devout life. He admired those who found their peace in their faith, but no priest’s threats of an eternal torment had been able to deny what he felt in himself.
* * *
“Oh, come on, Thomas,” Orlando said exasperated. “You promised to show me Paris, not the inside of a single tavern!”
His friend laughed and took another swig from the mug in front of him. “What do you want to see more?” he rather slurred. “The beer here’s good, and the women are nice to look at and willing. I tell you, there’s no better tavern in all of Paris, and I’ve tried the lot of them.”
“Tried the beds of all the whores as well, I’m sure,” Orlando said.
Thomas grinned proudly in acknowledgment. “Beds, sheds, alleys. I’m not picky.”
“Of course not,” Orlando retorted. “But in case you have forgotten, I have been here for but a week, and so far, I haven’t seen anything but the castle and the way to this tavern, and you must admit that’s rather little for such a big town.”
Thomas finished his beer with a hearty gulp. “Not much more to see, really,” he answered. “Unless you fancy having your purse nicked on the streets instead of spending your money. The markets are full with pickpockets.”
Orlando huffed and downed the last of his own mug. “I intent to see the town anyway,” he declared as he stood up. “Not that I wouldn’t believe your judgment...”
Leaving behind the thick air of the tavern, Orlando stepped into a cold morning. He shivered and pulled his coat tighter around himself as he chose a direction by pure chance. There was nothing back at the tavern to hold him. The beer had not been different to anywhere else and the whores didn’t appeal to him either. Not that he would tell Thomas so.
Strolling through the maze of streets and alleys, Orlando enjoyed the bustling town, never before having been to a place as big as this. He spent a coin on a delicious pastry at a street vendor, eating it while walking on. Aimless, his wandering brought him to the harbour, which was little more than a wide place at a spot where the riverbank was so shallow that boats could be pulled up on dry land. There were boats being unloaded, while the sailors of others loitered about the place, drinking or playing cards. A group of gleeman had assembled a small crowd in the middle of the place, and the laughter and amused shouts drew Orlando there.
It wasn't long until Orlando had tears in his eyes for laughter as he watched the bawdy drolleries. He rubbed them away, and his eyes fell on a face in the crowd. Orlando’s heart sped up; he knew that face. Memories of a time long ago surfaced with an intensity that threatened to overwhelm him. He dragged his eyes off the familiar face and pushed his way out of the crowd.
Then he stood, unsure of how to proceed until he scolded himself for being a coward. He was no inexperienced youngster anymore. Rounding the gathering of people, Orlando tried to espy the man anew. Chance would have it that he was about to give up when he at last spotted him weaving his way to leave the crowd.
Orlando quickly moved to follow him, trying to catch up before he could disappear in the maze of streets of the town.
“Wait,” he called out. “Viggo, wait.”
Viggo stopped, turned around and looked for the one who had called out. There was only polite interest, with no hint of recognition, in his face when Orlando came to a halt in front of him.
“You don’t know who I am,” Orlando stated, trying not to show his disappointment.
“I’m afraid I don’t,” Viggo responded, looking at him intently.
“I suppose I’ve changed a bit since we last met,” Orlando said. “It’s been close to ten years, I think. Do you recall the winter in Broye?”
Orlando knew the exact moment when the memory came back to Viggo from the smile that spread on his face. “Orlando,” Viggo exclaimed. “I’m sorry. I had not remembered you as a grown man.”
“I wasn’t one then.” Orlando grinned, regaining his good mood. “But I will forgive you if you buy me a beer and tell me what you have done the last years.”
* * *
When they parted, night had long laid its cover over Paris. They had sat for hours in a small tavern close to the harbour, drinking wine and catching up with each other’s lives. It had been difficult for Viggo to connect the man sitting across of him with the youth he had known once. Not that he had forgotten him in the years since the winter they spent together, but while he still could detect his features in the face in front of him, so much was different.
This was not the delicate boy he remembered anymore, but a trained knight whose hands already had seen war and the cruelty of mankind. There was a scar high on one wrist, peeking out from under the sleeve whenever Orlando reached for his mug, making Viggo wonder if there was more of the once smooth skin blemished with such marks.
He had not asked.
He had no right to ask. No reason to pose such a question to one of the king’s knights.
Still, as they sat and talked, Viggo found himself remembering the time they had had, and regretting their parting. It could not have happened any other way, but in that time then, he had loved the youth. Known he was being loved in return, though it was an immature love. A love that lived on the fervour of youth, the surging desire of a growing body that any spark was able to inflame. A fleeting love.
But there had been more than mere passion between them. There had been friendship as well, a feeling of ease at the other’s company.
They were barely more than strangers now, but as the evening had gone on, this ease had returned quickly. The passion of once may have been lost to time, but the friendship they had shared, they could renew.
They had parted with smiles and the promise to see each other again, not that any plans had been made for that. Orlando had turned towards his quarters at the royal castle, and Viggo had gone back to the inn he stayed at.
He declined the soup the patron offered him for a night meal, instead ascending the stairs to his room. The next day would be Christmas Eve; the twelve days of Christmas would follow, a time of exuberance and merrymaking. Viggo would spend his days on his own, while Orlando would be busy with the festivities the king was holding.
Stripping off his outer garments, Viggo then sat down on the narrow bed, reaching for the small leather covered box that held his most precious possessions. He rifled through the contents, until he was able to lift the small pile of papers on the bottom. The paper crackled as he took it out and removed the band that held them together. Carefully, he looked through them, finally finding the one he had been searching for.
The poem that he had written years ago brought back a flood of memories, stronger than even the chance meeting had accomplished. These were his own words that he read, his own feelings that resurfaced.
When his face laughs, his flesh shines, his thighs are
Delicate, his groin tender, his heart gentle, and his beauty charming.
His manners are polished, his shyness hidden, his spirit
Eager for boyish wickedness, and his body ready,
Whatever the sport requires. This boy
Is better than any treasure; there is no happier discovery than he.
Viggo smiled wryly as he stored the paper away again. He seldom felt the desire to write his poetry down on paper, conserve it for later times, and he could not remember what had made him note this one down back then, but he had kept it with him all the time, even after he no longer thought of the youth. He was used to letting go, not holding on to someone who soon would slip from him anyway.
He had spoken similar words to those in the poem to Orlando’s face, when they had been lying side by side, as he had written down on paper. As Viggo remembered those times, he wondered if Orlando still could recall them as well as he did. Probably not. Oh, he would remember the winter with Viggo as the first time he had learned of the pleasures shared between two bodies, but surely nothing more. It was the nature of life that replaced old memories with new ones, forcing out old desires to make place for new loves. Orlando had grown into a handsome man. Surely he must not lack for attention.
He would flirt with the ladies at court, and enjoy the beds of the maids, as any nobleman did. And in a few years time, he would find a wife that suited his station as it was expected of him.
Viggo had often thought himself better off. As a traveller, he was free from any expectations of society, and with no need to explain himself to others. People assumed what they did, and he never cared about it as long as they paid him for his work.
Now though, waiting for sleep to claim him, Viggo wondered if his lot was not the worse one. Only ever having a short time of love, tainted by the surety of its end even before it began. He rarely met his lovers again, and if he did, they either would pretend not to know him, or would be ready to take up where they left off, letting bodily desires be the foundation of their bond.
It had always been enough.
* * *
Someone further down the hall farted loudly, and a few beds closer to Orlando another knight was losing a battle with his coughing. A few minutes later, there was loud swearing as a latecomer bumped against a bed frame. The familiar night time noises grated on his nerves much more than they usually did.
Orlando lay awake, not finding any sleep, his head full with Viggo. He had never quite forgotten the man, and never expecting to see him again, he had not been prepared for old feelings to resurface. Viggo had been his first love, a sweet forbidden liaison that its illicit nature had made all the more appealing.
Or so he had thought.
A couple of times during the years that had followed that winter, Orlando had found the company of another knight that he noticed didn't glance at the serving wenches. Those had been quick encounters, tumbles in the hay or in a secluded compartment, where mutual release had been the only goal. There never had been more than rough hands tugging on clothes, groping and manhandling in a way that lead to a swift end.
And that had been enough. He had not wanted for more. Since he had been knighted, there had been more than enough to occupy his mind otherwise. There had been the war against Hugues de Lusignan in which Orlando had fought as part of the army of the king’s brother, Charles d’Anjou, and from which he had returned only weeks ago.
He had seen friends die, others be crippled for life. It had been nothing like the glorious battles the bards sang of, and Orlando had found himself longing more than once to be as far away from the battleground as he could possibly be. He had seen knights numbing their minds with wine and beer, and filling their every free minute with women. Orlando however had found himself with those men who spent their time with training, sparring until they had no more strength to lift their swords. He could not say if this practise had helped him survive the battles, but he was glad he had.
Now though, he was in Paris, far away from any danger, and it had been expressly forbidden to take up any arms over the time of Christmas, be it in jest or otherwise. Orlando was not used to peace anymore. He almost longed for the constant anticipation of being called to arms.
The last time he had seen peace seemed a lifetime ago. Almost as long as he had found happiness in someone’s bed.
Recalling the smith’s face, Orlando slipped a hand into his breeches, finding his length already hard. His mind drifted backwards in time, and he squeezed himself as he felt a hot, moist breath against his neck, heard whispered words he could not discern. He bit his lip to stifle the moans that welled up in him, knowing how to quiet himself as he sped up his strokes.
There was warmth covering him, a hard body pressing him into the mattress, and Orlando flicked his thumb over the tip of his cock, smearing the wetness. His bed creaked slightly, and Orlando was aching so much, he was sure to burst any moment. He recalled Viggo’s face, smiling at him in recognition earlier that day, recalled watching his hand surround the mug of wine as he brought it to his mouth, recalled Viggo swallowing deeply.
With a deep sigh, Orlando came, spilling over his hand. His heart pounding in his ears so loud he thought it must be audible for the man sleeping in the next cot, but as he wiped off his hand on his soiled breeches, no one close by stirred in awakening.
* * *
It was on Innocents Day that Viggo met Orlando again. All of Paris seemed to be about on the streets, and possibly was. He had thought nothing much of it as someone wrapped his arms around him from behind, twirling him around. No pickpocket would have much of a gain in stealing his purse today, as Viggo had left it well hidden in his room, only taking a few small coins, enough to pay for a meal and wine.
It turned out to be neither pickpocket nor drunken Parisian who whirled him around, but Orlando, looking nothing like a knight today and wearing a wide smile on his face. Viggo was certain that Orlando was drunk, but the merry mood was contagious.
“That’s better,” Orlando shouted at him over the street noise once they’d stopped their little dance. “You looked as if you’d drunk spoiled milk before. Can’t go around wearing a face like that today. Come on,” he added, taking Viggo’s hand and leading him through the street.
He did not answer Viggo’s questions as to where they were going; only snickering in return. Giving in to the drunken foolishness, Viggo led himself be pulled through lanes and alleys.
Orlando stopped when they happened upon a short, narrow alleyway away from the festivities.
“How much have you drunk already?” Viggo could not help but ask then in amusement.
“Enough to do this,” Orlando replied, bringing his body closer to Viggo’s and claiming his lips.
A jolt went through Viggo at the contact, and he moaned as soft, warm lips pressed against his eagerly. It had been too long, he thought as he responded without hesitation.
Then, remembering where they were, Viggo drew back. Orlando was looking at him with eyes dark with lust, his mouth half open to catch his breath.
“What brought that on?” Viggo had to know. He had tasted the wine on Orlando, knew to recognize the clumsiness that was the companion of intoxication.
Orlando took a step back, leaning against the house wall behind him. “The last days,” he began, and there was uncertainty in his eyes, “I have been thinking of you. Often,” he added. “And seeing you again, I had to know if it was simply my imagination, my memories, or… I don’t know.”
The knight was stripped from the man in front of Viggo. Here, he again saw the youth he had known, the one he had written about. His shyness hidden, his spirit eager.
“Did you think of me?” Orlando asked when Viggo did not reply.
“I have,” he admitted. “More than I should have, than we both should.” He took a step forwards so he could better see Orlando’s reactions the darkness of the alley were hiding. “You are who you are now, a knight. Just as I am what I am. You must know how impossible it is for there to be more between us than friendship, if even that.”
“Why?” Orlando asked back. “Who would prevent us from being together if it is what we both want?”
The offer was more tempting than Viggo would admit aloud. “You know of the king’s views,” he said instead.
“He’d never need to know,” Orlando countered. He brought a hand up, putting it on Viggo’s arm. The small contact made Viggo shiver even before Orlando moved his fingers in a small caress.
“We’d be found out.” Viggo stepped back from the temptation and took a deep breath. “Orlando, as much as I’d like to say yes to what you’re offering, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“But you desire me,” Orlando interjected. “I know you do, just as you did in Broye. Why do you deny us the opportunity to be together once more?”
“We are in Paris now,” Viggo said. “I will probably leave soon again, and you will go to fight in some war of the king’s. Those are our lives, and I’m too old and too tired of sharing my bed with someone knowing he’s going to leave it just as quickly as he came.”
“It was not I who left the last time,” Orlando shot back, anger welling up in him. “You left me! And the weeks after that…” he interrupted himself, turning his face away.
The half confession stunned Viggo. Not that he had not been aware that his leaving had affected Orlando back then, but he always had thought someone of his age would move on quickly.
“Maybe we should speak elsewhere,” he offered at last.
“I’m not in the mood for a crowded tavern,” Orlando said.
“I rather thought of my room, where there won’t be anyone to overhear,” Viggo suggested.
A small smile crept back onto Orlando’s face. “You could have had that easier,” he jested. “Lead the way then.”
* * *
The inn where Viggo stayed was thankfully not too far away from where they had argued, and in hindsight, Orlando must confess he would have had no idea how to find his way back to the castle, as he had simply dashed through the streets with no plan at all before.
Nobody batted an eye at the two of them climbing the stairs up to the second floor, but that was thanks to everyone who crowded downstairs being much occupied with drinking and celebrating. Once they had stepped into the room Viggo occupied, he closed the door behind them and bolted it.
However much wine that had been flowing through Orlando’s veins before, there was not much left of it now. He was nervous and unsure, and hated the feeling. Not wanting to sit down on the bedside, he went to stand by the window.
He heard Viggo moving about the room, finally coming to rest, and opened his mouth before the other man could say something.
“I apologize for accosting you,” he said. “I should not have done that.”
“It is I who must apologize,” Viggo replied. “I never considered that I caused you a pain you still feel.”
At that, Orlando turned towards him. “Can I asked something of you?” he began, waiting for Viggo’s nod before going on. “Today is the Innocents Day, where everything is different. Servants are masters, children are adults… Can we not be smith and knight today but simply you and I?”
“You want…”
“One night in your bed,” Orlando finished. “Pretend we’re in Broye once again. Pretend you love me still.”
Viggo stood up and crossed the distance between them. “What has happened to you?” he asked in concern.
Orlando shrugged. “I was reminded of what there was missing in my life,” he said, keeping his voice as light as he could manage. And he doesn’t want me anymore. he added silently.
It was Viggo who initiated the kiss this time. Gently, he pressed his lips to Orlando’s while he enfolded the younger man in his arms. Orlando melted against him, forgetting himself in the feeling.
When Viggo’s tongue licked at his lips, coaxing his mouth to open, he moaned, pressing himself closer against Viggo’s body. He needed to feel the other man against him, to feel the strength that seemed to have slipped from his bones altogether.
With slow steps, they moved through the room until they were standing next to the bed, and Viggo drew back slightly. Without saying anything, he moved his fingers to unfasten the clasp that held together Orlando’s coat, removing it. The garment slipped off his shoulders and pooled around his feet.
Bringing his own hands up, Orlando helped Viggo to divest first himself of his clothes, then remove those Viggo was wearing. Letting his eyes wander over the naked skin that was bared to his eyes, Orlando felt the familiar thrill of excitement grow in him that he remembered. He stroked his fingers over Viggo’s chest, moving them slowly as he rediscovered the body.
Viggo let him go on for a few moments, then bent to kiss him once more. As the kiss went on, it grew more fervent. Allowing himself to be lowered onto the bed, Orlando wound his arms around Viggo, pulling him on top of him.
This was what he had been dreaming of. A heavy, warm body pressing him down, surrounding him completely. He ground upwards, feeling Viggo’s hardness that matched his own. A fire burned deep in his belly, and he moaned in need as Viggo severed the kiss.
“Don’t,” he objected, but was silenced by a finger on his mouth, then the feeling of Viggo’s mouth on his collarbone, sucking on the skin.
Viggo slowly moved downwards, drawing more moans and gasps from Orlando. Then he felt a wet mouth take him in, and Orlando cried out briefly. “Not… not like that… want…” he babbled, lost in desire.
Viggo flicked his tongue over the weeping head of his length one last time, then he let him go and crawled back up, waiting for Orlando to open his eyes.
When Orlando did, he smiled at him, and Orlando smiled back. “Tell me what you want,” Viggo requested, kissing him briefly.
“You,” Orlando replied simply. Take me, claim me, never leave me again, he wanted to add, but dared not to say lest it broke the spell that had caught them.
He knew it was going to hurt, he had not let himself be taken in a long time, and when Viggo spat on his own fingers to wet them, Orlando pushed himself upwards and gripped his wrist, bringing it to his lips. He licked around the fingers until they glistened with wetness, then sucked the digits into his mouth, working up more spit.
Viggo’s moans were as much incentive to intensify his assault as the lust filled face that watched him. Finally satisfied that he would not get them any wetter, Orlando let Viggo’s fingers slide from his mouth, and laid back again, spreading his legs.
In that moment, when Viggo’s fingers, moist with his own spit, touched his arse, moved through the crease, and then pressed lightly on his entrance, Orlando knew he’d be on his knees begging for it if he was denied it. He shifted against the light pressure, and Viggo kissed the inside of his thigh as his finger breached Orlando.
It stung, but Orlando gritted his teeth, knowing it would soon fade. Exhaling deeply, he concentrated on the feeling of Viggo’s other hand that was stroking his side, sending delicious tingles through him. Before long, Viggo added another finger, stretching Orlando. He felt full and wrong, and then Viggo curled his fingers, finding the place inside Orlando that made him see stars, and he bucked, crying out.
Viggo wriggled his fingers, spreading them inside of Orlando’s arse, and Orlando thought he’d go insane as he was shaken by jolts. He was panting now, interspersed with moans, his fingers twisted into the bedding.
Finally, Viggo pulled his fingers from him, leaving him empty for a moment, then a blunter thickness pressed against his hole. Orlando’s eyes watered as Viggo’s cock slipped through the muscle, stretching it seemingly beyond its endurance for a moment.
Then Viggo lifted himself up slightly before slowly thrusting deeper inside, and the burning slowly faded. Orlando ached, and grasped at Viggo’s shoulder, pulling him down over him, connecting their mouths in a deep, hungry kiss.
Viggo was rocking into him now, slowly and deeply, and Orlando could have stayed like this for all times. He was starting to feel dizzy, but reluctant to end the kiss, not when it felt this good, this right, to be in someone’s arms again, giving himself up so completely.
There came a point where he could not stay without breathing any longer, and he drew back a little, so his lips were barely touching Viggo’s, exchanging panting breaths now instead of kisses.
Viggo reached below him then, pulling his arse up slightly, and Orlando let his head fall back, groaning loudly as ecstasy swept over him like a tidal wave. Viggo’s thrusts gained in speed, and Orlando reached down between them, finding his length. The change of angle had Viggo brushing against the place inside of Orlando again, and the combined sensation of that and his hand jerking himself was his undoing.
Orlando trembled and shuddered, spilling all over his hand and his belly, and Viggo was jabbing hard into him, not letting him come down the other side. Orlando could not stop shaking, clinging to Viggo as if he was drowning, and then Viggo groaned, burying his head against Orlando’s shoulder.
Sated and content, Orlando drifted, not thinking of anything until Viggo lifted himself up, pulling from his body. He laid down next to Orlando though, quenching any doubt that could have risen otherwise.
For a long time, they lay like that, neither of them falling asleep, neither speaking either. From below, they heard the sounds of the festivities, of people speaking, shouting, laughing and singing along to someone’s fiddle.
“You’ll need to go soon,” Viggo said, and he sounded regretful.
Orlando turned on his side, trying to make out the look on Viggo’s face in the dim light that still remained. “Yes,” he said quietly. “But if you let me, I can come back any time. I can stay.”
Viggo turned his head to the side. “You’re a knight in the king’s service.”
“I have sworn no oath of fealty,” Orlando informed him. “Not so far.”
Viggo turned fully on his side at that, watching Orlando intently. “There’s not much in life for a travelling knight,” he said. “A place to sleep and food at the most, if you find some small nobleman in a feud with someone else.”
“The last few years,” Orlando explained, “I’ve seen nothing but war. I survived, but many did not. I have no desire left to fight someone else’s battles.” Viggo’s hand cradled his cheek, this thumb caressing the skin. Orlando closed his eyes momentarily.
“You’d come with me anywhere, wouldn't you?” Viggo asked in wonderment. “There isn’t much I can offer you in life, but you don’t seem to care.”
“I’m no maiden expecting to be provided for,” Orlando answered him. “I won’t mind working hard when I know there is you I’ll return to at night.”
He hummed in pleasure as Viggo kissed him softly then, a kiss that promised more than any words.
* * *
The valley of the Garonne lay beneath them, the river a wide, glittering band between the deep green of bushes and trees and rough, grey rocks. Some way further down the stream, a town lay at its bank, and though neither of them knew its name, they turned in its direction.
It was the summer now, almost half a year had passed since they had left Paris together, and Viggo had regretted the decision not once. Neither had Orlando. They went from town to town, Viggo offering his services with Orlando assisting him, a work he had taken to quicker than Viggo had expected him to.
With Orlando at his side, Viggo had found pleasure in travelling again. He saw the world anew in the eyes of his younger lover, taking pleasure in the beauty of God’s creation.
And once they found a place they both liked and where a smith was needed, they had decided on a balmy spring night, they would stay there. Until then, they would wander on, wanting for nothing and free of anyone’s expectation but their own.
The End