For tarlwen: John Rhys-Davies Does The Gay Thing
Title: John Rhys-Davies Does The Gay Thing
Recipient: tarlwen (Miriam)
Author: *koulagirl
Pairing: John Rhys-Davies/Sir Ian, John Rhys-Davies/Craig Parker, Sean Bean/Billy Boyd (all implied)
Rating: m15
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
John Rhys-Davies has been straight as long as he can remember; obviously, he's never even doubted that. There'd been cause, of course, when he was much younger, but even then he hadn't strayed, or even become partially bent. Put simply, he wasn't interested then, he's not interested now, and he's not likely to change his mind. He's happy at home, when he's there, and even when he's away he doesn't feel any urge to play outside the box, as it were. Certainly, he'd rather speak on the phone with his children than out on the town like the young ones do these days, but he's not averse to being social if the occasion is suitably tame. After all, nothing helps a movie like a cast that gets on well off-screen. Here, though, he's suspicious that members of the cast are getting on too well; he's relieved to spend his nights at home when his skin is raw and even blinking causes pain, but it's mildly irksome that, on those nights when a quiet dinner sounds like an excellent idea, that nobody can be found to accompany him. It's less obvious at official functions (for the suits, of course, nothing else is official in New Zealand) and the more informal cast get-togethers, when each of the small groups peel away from the crowd only when it comes time to leave; meanwhile, they interact as if the distinctions weren't there at all, and few are wiser as to their after-hours behaviour.
He supposes it started right back near the beginning of filming, when he treated everyone to a meal; at least, he can see the very beginnings of it when he thinks back on that evening. People tended to gravitate towards those whom they'd already been working with, and so of course they chose to sit together; hobbits here, men there, elves at the end, and everyone else in between. As the only primary Dwarf, he had the opportunity to observe more than participate in the dynamics within the members of each little subdivision of the cast; he sat with the wizards and talked of things the younger people would never have the opportunity to experience in this modern time, but he watched.
Now, though, he knows what he saw, and it's vaguely disturbing to him that he's the one left out. There is a certain inherent lone wolf quality in being the only Dwarf; he has to train on his own for the few shots where he wields an axe, he has nobody to worry about conforming with regarding his characterisation or Dwarven traits, and he spends most of the script being opposed to the Fellowship. It's only compounded by his makeup being so efficient at hiding his features; he feels people's eyes passing over him when he's out of costume, and it's as if they don't recognise him as 'the Dwarf' or even 'an actor', because what dwarf is taller than an Elf?
So when the cast is split up between studios and locations, he's naturally left alone. Even those few he could have a quiet conversation with, over a meal and a sherry or two, aren't always there, or even nearby. He quickly finds it no use to try to get along with the young ones, who go out to clubs and dance to music that pulses through the walls to the street outside, and even those who had slowed down didn't seem to be quite comfortable with his easy, slow pace.
There seems no help for it; if he was to be able to socialise off-set, he would just have to adjust to their ways, however strange or difficult they may be. Naturally, it's easier when the Fellowship are together; he spends his free time with Sir Ian. He really can't help but append the 'Sir', even in the most informal setting of Ian's lounge room, because the dignity and stateliness of Sir Ian's behaviour shines through even the wickedest of statements. The way Sir Ian's eyes seem to twinkle and dance as he laughs intrigues him, too, in some purely aesthetic way he'd never considered possible prior to now. It's not just professional appreciation or an idle remarking on some physical trait, either; he looks for it and when he sees it, he feels warm inside. When it's directed at him, or caused by something he said, it's somehow more; like a glow inside that only fades slowly when the lights go out and he's alone, falling asleep.
But Sir Ian spends less time with him once filming progresses and the cast splits up again; then the weekly nights in one of the more distinguished establishments turns into a fortnightly affair, then monthly, once Sir Ian meets Nicholas. He doesn't begrudge his friend that kind of happiness at all, even when seeing it makes that glow turn cold inside him, but he's left feeling, even more acutely, the loneliness which drove him to seek out a friend in the first place.
It only takes days to get from that initial realisation to finding a possible cause; entirely by accident, he finds Sean Bean and Billy Boyd engaging in some not-so-publicly-acceptable activities. The final piece falls into place for him; it's not his character that isolates him from the other cast members, but his sexual proclivities. The groupings within each section of the cast, and the reasons for them, are quite apparent upon closer examination. He's surprised by how discreet everyone has been; after all, he didn't notice anything untoward (except accidentally, of course, because there were things he never wanted to see again and even thinking of them made his throat dry and his eyes burn even more than they were). Then again, he wasn't looking for it, nor did he know what to look for.
Now that he does, he sees it everywhere, even without effort. He can see the small touches and discreet exits in breaks. He smells sex in the portable toilets. He stops Peter walking in on two of the stuntmen on the Helm's Deep set.
It's a logical conclusion to come to, when he puzzles it out. He's sitting on one of the lower stairs, and the light of early dawn is just starting to hit his face. He can't feel it, of course, though he wishes he could, and not just because that would mean he wasn't wearing the awful prosthetics. It would suit the moment, and make it as poetic a revelation as it deserves.
To fit in with this cast; to make the movies what they should be and have Gimli come to life on the screen, he has to act when the cameras are off and the set is closed. It shouldn't be hard; he only works every few days, when he can wear the prosthetics, and the rest of the time he's left to himself, so it really won't be all the time.
He has to pretend to be, as the young ones put it, 'gay', or as Sir Ian puts it, 'fashionably homosexual'. At the very least, it would mean that people would not feel the need to hide from him as they do now.
So, when he leaves the set, he offers Craig a ride. It's a start, and Craig does live on his way home.
***
Recipient: tarlwen (Miriam)
Author: *koulagirl
Pairing: John Rhys-Davies/Sir Ian, John Rhys-Davies/Craig Parker, Sean Bean/Billy Boyd (all implied)
Rating: m15
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred, or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
John Rhys-Davies has been straight as long as he can remember; obviously, he's never even doubted that. There'd been cause, of course, when he was much younger, but even then he hadn't strayed, or even become partially bent. Put simply, he wasn't interested then, he's not interested now, and he's not likely to change his mind. He's happy at home, when he's there, and even when he's away he doesn't feel any urge to play outside the box, as it were. Certainly, he'd rather speak on the phone with his children than out on the town like the young ones do these days, but he's not averse to being social if the occasion is suitably tame. After all, nothing helps a movie like a cast that gets on well off-screen. Here, though, he's suspicious that members of the cast are getting on too well; he's relieved to spend his nights at home when his skin is raw and even blinking causes pain, but it's mildly irksome that, on those nights when a quiet dinner sounds like an excellent idea, that nobody can be found to accompany him. It's less obvious at official functions (for the suits, of course, nothing else is official in New Zealand) and the more informal cast get-togethers, when each of the small groups peel away from the crowd only when it comes time to leave; meanwhile, they interact as if the distinctions weren't there at all, and few are wiser as to their after-hours behaviour.
He supposes it started right back near the beginning of filming, when he treated everyone to a meal; at least, he can see the very beginnings of it when he thinks back on that evening. People tended to gravitate towards those whom they'd already been working with, and so of course they chose to sit together; hobbits here, men there, elves at the end, and everyone else in between. As the only primary Dwarf, he had the opportunity to observe more than participate in the dynamics within the members of each little subdivision of the cast; he sat with the wizards and talked of things the younger people would never have the opportunity to experience in this modern time, but he watched.
Now, though, he knows what he saw, and it's vaguely disturbing to him that he's the one left out. There is a certain inherent lone wolf quality in being the only Dwarf; he has to train on his own for the few shots where he wields an axe, he has nobody to worry about conforming with regarding his characterisation or Dwarven traits, and he spends most of the script being opposed to the Fellowship. It's only compounded by his makeup being so efficient at hiding his features; he feels people's eyes passing over him when he's out of costume, and it's as if they don't recognise him as 'the Dwarf' or even 'an actor', because what dwarf is taller than an Elf?
So when the cast is split up between studios and locations, he's naturally left alone. Even those few he could have a quiet conversation with, over a meal and a sherry or two, aren't always there, or even nearby. He quickly finds it no use to try to get along with the young ones, who go out to clubs and dance to music that pulses through the walls to the street outside, and even those who had slowed down didn't seem to be quite comfortable with his easy, slow pace.
There seems no help for it; if he was to be able to socialise off-set, he would just have to adjust to their ways, however strange or difficult they may be. Naturally, it's easier when the Fellowship are together; he spends his free time with Sir Ian. He really can't help but append the 'Sir', even in the most informal setting of Ian's lounge room, because the dignity and stateliness of Sir Ian's behaviour shines through even the wickedest of statements. The way Sir Ian's eyes seem to twinkle and dance as he laughs intrigues him, too, in some purely aesthetic way he'd never considered possible prior to now. It's not just professional appreciation or an idle remarking on some physical trait, either; he looks for it and when he sees it, he feels warm inside. When it's directed at him, or caused by something he said, it's somehow more; like a glow inside that only fades slowly when the lights go out and he's alone, falling asleep.
But Sir Ian spends less time with him once filming progresses and the cast splits up again; then the weekly nights in one of the more distinguished establishments turns into a fortnightly affair, then monthly, once Sir Ian meets Nicholas. He doesn't begrudge his friend that kind of happiness at all, even when seeing it makes that glow turn cold inside him, but he's left feeling, even more acutely, the loneliness which drove him to seek out a friend in the first place.
It only takes days to get from that initial realisation to finding a possible cause; entirely by accident, he finds Sean Bean and Billy Boyd engaging in some not-so-publicly-acceptable activities. The final piece falls into place for him; it's not his character that isolates him from the other cast members, but his sexual proclivities. The groupings within each section of the cast, and the reasons for them, are quite apparent upon closer examination. He's surprised by how discreet everyone has been; after all, he didn't notice anything untoward (except accidentally, of course, because there were things he never wanted to see again and even thinking of them made his throat dry and his eyes burn even more than they were). Then again, he wasn't looking for it, nor did he know what to look for.
Now that he does, he sees it everywhere, even without effort. He can see the small touches and discreet exits in breaks. He smells sex in the portable toilets. He stops Peter walking in on two of the stuntmen on the Helm's Deep set.
It's a logical conclusion to come to, when he puzzles it out. He's sitting on one of the lower stairs, and the light of early dawn is just starting to hit his face. He can't feel it, of course, though he wishes he could, and not just because that would mean he wasn't wearing the awful prosthetics. It would suit the moment, and make it as poetic a revelation as it deserves.
To fit in with this cast; to make the movies what they should be and have Gimli come to life on the screen, he has to act when the cameras are off and the set is closed. It shouldn't be hard; he only works every few days, when he can wear the prosthetics, and the rest of the time he's left to himself, so it really won't be all the time.
He has to pretend to be, as the young ones put it, 'gay', or as Sir Ian puts it, 'fashionably homosexual'. At the very least, it would mean that people would not feel the need to hide from him as they do now.
So, when he leaves the set, he offers Craig a ride. It's a start, and Craig does live on his way home.
***