Fugue

by Vivianedesblanc and Nienor

"CUT!"

Viggo let his sword drop, hardly caring if the tip touched the icy water that lapped around his knees, and turned his attention towards the bank with strained politeness. Peter stood there, all floppy shorts and grungy polartec jacket, holding a megaphone. He didn't bother to slog out into the water to direct, content to stay where he was.

"That doesn't look real," he complained. "You have to picture the tentacles. How would you move if you chopped through solid flesh as thick as your waist? It takes effort." He swung the megaphone in both hands, demonstrating how hard it was to slice through thin air.

Viggo struggled to give the appearance of polite attention, even though he was soaked to the skin and well on his way to hypothermia. He imitated the move and received his nod; next to him, Sean did the same. Viggo didn't look in his direction.

Peter turned away and a splash pattered more water on Viggo's wet clothes; turning, he glowered at Billy and Dom, who were throwing stones and snickering to themselves. Do not disturb the water? He'd give them a disturbance they wouldn't forget any time soon. "If you do that again," he called at them both, trying to keep his voice light and failing, "I'll spit you like a shish-kebab."

"Touchy, aren't we?" Sean was close, close enough to touch, and Viggo didn't know how he'd sneaked up so silently in the sloshing water.

"Let's do a walkthrough, this time picturing the tentacles," Peter returned his attention, and Viggo approximated his mark as well as he could, scrubbing the back of his wrist across his wet face to clear his eyes.

Sean didn't even have the good grace to look cold. He just stood there stoically hacking his way through take after take-- sometimes even flirting amiably with one of the WETA girls who was standing just a bit further out, wielding a ripple-maker. It made Viggo's blood pressure do unfortunate things, and made his knuckles turn white on the hilt of his sword.

He focused on the invisible tentacles again, slashing viciously at air as he tried to ignore Sean doing the same. Not Sean, Boromir, he reminded himself, it was Boromir who was defending the Fellowship, hacking at nothing with grim determination.

Viggo concentrated on his own imagined enemy, twisting as he'd been taught to catch the supposed tentacle underneath the blade and as he did, a rock came loose beneath his foot and sent him staggering backwards. He sat down in the water up to his nose, spitting filthy water as he struggled back to his feet.

"Cut! Viggo, you all right?" A mixture of impatience and concern.

"Yes," he called wearily. "I just slipped on a rock-- and if some people would quit throwing them where I have to walk, maybe we could get through this take!" Viggo turned and gave Dom and Billy a cold glare, to which they raised their hands innocently.

"Steady now, everyone. It looked better this time, anyway. Dunno about the lighting right there though, hold on a minute." Pete hopped up from his chair and walked over to one of the gaffers, gesturing and pointing at one area.

Viggo watched him, his lips curling in annoyance. Yeah, no trouble, we'll just stand in the freezing cold water and you do whatever you need on dry land. This was the most miserable time he'd had on this set, freezing cold, numb hands trying to keep a grip on his sword.

The makeup people were standing anxiously on the shore, apparently torn between fixing up their actors and having to stand in icy water to do it. He'd almost made up his mind to give them a hint of compassion and just walk over, no use everyone getting wet, when movement behind him startled him. He reacted without thought, lashing out with his sword and it was met with a sturdy clang that vibrated up his arm, shaking through the numbness.

"Touchy and jumpy," Sean said calmly, his own sword crossed with Viggo's. "If you take my head off, the scene's going to be that much harder to finish."

"Fuck you," Viggo muttered, refusing to drop his arm or his eyes. The bastard was laughing at him, his eyes shining with cool amusement.

"Already did that, luv," Sean tossed back, very softly.

It was late, and he was exhausted and half-frozen and his head hurt and his ass still hurt from Sean's brutal fucking-- and suddenly the weight of it all together was too much for Viggo to bear; he snapped, and his sword came around again, whistling in a deadly arc.

Sean whipped his blade to the side and caught it again, his eyes turning dark and his smirk taking on a dangerous light.

"The hell?" Elijah's voice from the shore. "Hey!"

Viggo ignored him, recovering from the parry and making a sharp feint and thrust that made Sean dance onto his heels and suck in his stomach. That wasn't real mail and they both knew it, but he got far enough out of the way that it turned the point-- but it sliced the outer layer of his costume.

"Fuck!" Orli's voice now. "Peter! HEY, PETER! GET SOMEBODY OUT THERE!"

Viggo lunged again, blood-red rage obscuring his intelligence, and Sean turned the slash with grace, not returning the attack; he stepped back a little and Viggo stalked after him, only to come up short, his collar half-choking him.

"We'll have none of that." Gimli-- no, John, towering absurdly tall in his dwarf costume, held Viggo half-suspended by the scruff, almost like a rag doll.

Viggo dropped the sword, rage and adrenaline draining out of him, leaving him shaking with cold and distress. John turned his head. "Peter, we've had enough of this for tonight," he commented, decisive. "His lips are blue."

Peter fidgeted with his megaphone for only a moment before calling a halt, sounding pretty fucking pissed if you wanted to know the truth, and Viggo didn't blame him-- there'd be another night of filming this now. Worse, there was a costume ruined and a sword lost somewhere in the water; Viggo wrestled away from John and went to his hands and knees in the water, groping for it till his numb fingers found the blade and then the hilt.

"Lost your sword?" Again, Sean's tone insinuated. "What will you do without it?"

"Shut the fuck up." Viggo stood, sword firmly in his fist, but his anger was cold now, and he stalked toward the bank and out, where one of the girls from makeup held a blanket. It didn't do much, given his streaming costume, but he let her settle it around his shoulders anyway.

"Viggo?" Lij limped up to him. "You OK?" His blue eyes were concerned and lost.

"Shut the fuck up," Viggo repeated. "And find me some hot coffee." He usually didn't give orders on set, but tonight he was prepared to make an exception.

Thankfully, Lijah didn't bat an eyelash, scampering off with the kind of complete obedience that Viggo could only dream about any other time. Viggo sagged into his chair, closing his eyes and distantly listening to the clatter and talk while the crew started packing up things around him.

He had to get up and strip out of his costume yet, get his wig removed, and probably get a nice talking-to by Pete before he could leave, at least a couple hours work. Just thinking about going to his trailer to change made him feel tired. He and Sean were sharing for this shoot and if talking to Sean on the set was unbearable, he didn't want to consider how he might act in private.

Fucking bastard had him caught between a rock and a hard place, and the fact that he knew it only made it worse. Go to his trailer and deal with the sly remarks and innuendo, the unflappable composure, or sit here and let Sean think he was too cowardly to face him. It was no kind of choice, and John wouldn't be there to stop him from killing Sean the next time, so here he sat.

Pete would probably not be happy if he killed Sean; they were pretty far into shooting for him to recast Boromir.

A cold hand touched the back of his neck, tentatively, and he jumped reflexively, jerking away to look over his shoulder. It was Orlando, looking decidedly uneasy, and it was only when he saw Orli was staring at his sword with a great deal of apprehension that he realized he was gripping the hilt. He relaxed his grip and went a step further to lay the sword down by his chair.

"What's going on?" Even beneath the blue contacts, Orli's eyes were dark with concern. "You and Sean--"

Viggo felt his lips draw back, baring his teeth in a silent snarl, and Orli ran out of words in a hurry. Ian was watching over Orli's shoulder, leaning on Gandalf's staff. Billy and Dom were sneaking glances, too, as they packed up their things to leave. The whole Fellowship knew, now.

Viggo hissed. "Mind your own. Fucking. BUSINESS!" He noticed dimly that he had come up out of his chair, hands knotted in fists, and the only graceful way to recover was to unclench them, retrieve his sword, and head for his trailer, the tail of his blanket flapping as he navigated around the flooded parking lot, passed the lighting array, and threaded through a few parked cars, listening to the rumble of an oncoming freight train that would have stopped the shoot again.

Elijah materialized briefly, pressing a thermos of hot coffee into Viggo's hands without speaking-- probably his own private stash, Viggo might have realized had he been any less exhausted-- and vanished again, still limping from being dangled by one leg for an hour and swung about while being filmed from every possible angle.

He was vaguely aware of Orlando following at an uneasy distance; it was, after all, his trailer too, and he had a right to feel welcome inside, plus makeup would be expecting him there. Viggo sighed and sheathed his sword, only fumbling it twice. He started peeling off his gloves and his cloak, dropping them into waiting hands after climbing the steps-- it was warm inside, and he was so cold the warmth felt alien and strange.

Hands took the thermos from him and poured him a lid of coffee; he accepted it blearily and sipped, the bitter heat spreading over his tongue. Not very good coffee; it was Elijah's. But it was hot, and he cradled the cup, noticing that he'd bloodied yet another fingernail; it would be black underneath by morning.

Other hands started plucking at the rest of his soaking-wet clothes, and he shook them off irritably, setting the coffee down long enough to strip. He was long past caring who might be in there looking, except for Sean, but he wasn't there yet, and hadn't arrived by the time Viggo snuggled into a thick, warm terry robe and slouched in his chair to let the wig crew work.

Orli had the rare good sense not to chatter as his own crew peeled his costume and his wig; he too had found coffee to sip and he stared over the lip of his cup into his mirror, watching them reveal the mohawk that Viggo knew made him self-conscious.

Slippers for his feet, sponges gently cleaning his face though the rest of him was filthy, a second cup of the coffee back in his hands and the first warming his belly, Viggo had just felt himself begin to unwind when Sean's heavy tread shook the steps. His hands were crushing the cup, so he set it down, resisting the urge to check his lap and make sure he was decently covered-- he wouldn't have cared, before.

Sean was humming a recognizably ribald song as he slouched in, the costumers immediately clustering around him, clucking with dismay at the slice in his tunic, some of them glowering at Viggo. Viggo avoided all eyes in his mirror, combing his hair. A hot shower would feel heavenly-- almost too good to endure. He still couldn't feel his toes.

"...said BAR-nacle Bill the SAI-lor..." Sean sounded immensely pleased with himself, nearly as self-satisfied as he was off-key.

Viggo was too cold to even feel his cheeks reddening, but he could see it in the mirror, his cheeks turning ruddy. It was a small consolation that the people around him would only think he was finally warming up. Sean had launched a new verse, mostly under his breath while he struggled out of his wet clothes, and it was on the tip of Viggo's tongue to tell Sean to just shut the fuck up again.

He bit the soft inside of his cheek and tasted metal, not allowing himself to speak because he was afraid of what he might say. There was going to be enough gossip about their little battle in the water without adding a verbal sparring match to fan the flames.

Sean was down to his trousers, unselfconsciously handing over each piece of his costume as he pulled it off. His skin was fish-white with cold and Viggo looked away as he dropped his pants, standing naked for nearly half a minute before shrugging regally into a robe. He did not appear to have been affected by the frigid water, though Viggo's own genitals were shriveled tight against his body.

"Ah, the cold makes for a long night, doesn't it, mates?" Sean sighed, and Viggo saw through the corner of his eye that someone had handed him some coffee as well. Soft coils of steam rose from the cup and Viggo's stomach clenched as Sean sipped it, wanting to knock the cup from his hands before he could taste it. Elijah's coffee, that he had made and probably didn't add enough water like he usually did, and Viggo didn't want Sean to touch anything of Elijah's.

He stood abruptly, making his way carefully through the people crowding around Sean and Orli, gathering his own clothes and skinning quickly into them. He needed to just get the hell out of here before he did something else stupid, and fuck Sean and whatever he thought of it. Fuck Orli, too, who was watching him in the mirror, his eyes darker without the contacts but no less concerned.

Another slice of humiliation there, having Orlando, of all people, trying to act like a fucking babysitter. Viggo pushed his way through to the door, shoving his feet into a pair of shoes hard enough that even through the numbness he felt skin scraping.

"Thought I might get a whiskey when I leave," Sean called to him, "You two like to come with me?"

Viggo froze. The challenge was as sharp as blade, Sean goading him as subtly as he had all day. Just a sly word here and there to grate over Viggo nerves, nothing that anyone else would even notice. Except maybe Orlando, who was watching them with fox-bright eyes, waiting keenly to hear what he would say.

"No," Viggo said, and he met Sean's eyes evenly, seething silently at the arrogance in his smile.

"Eh, no fun 'tall is he," Sean complained, giving the young woman who was removing his wig a flirtatious smile. "What about you, Or-lan-do," he asked, dragging out the name like it tasted sweet. "You going to let the stick in the mud spoil your evening, or would you like to come?"

Orli blinked, his mouth working silently for a moment. "Er...I..." Only a tiny hesitation, but long enough for Viggo's vision to become saturated in red. He turned on heel and stepped out of the trailer without waiting for Orlando's reply, shutting the door very carefully behind him.

He turned around and very nearly ran headlong into Elijah, who looked like a very small boy huddled in his too-large coat under the lamplight, still in Frodo's makeup and wig, his expression making Viggo think absurdly that someone had stolen his favorite toy and broken it.

Perhaps someone had.

"You." Viggo halted the stream of fury deep in his chest. It wasn't truly Elijah's fault that he had broken under Sean's testing; it was Viggo's own for letting his emotions get the better of him-- and Elijah might have been the only person who could draw him up short and make him face that in this moment, even as the trailer door behind them opened and Orli poked his head out.

"Viggo? Viggo, I'm not going." Panic in his voice. God, the WETA crew were getting a grand fucking show.

Lijah's mouth worked, crumpling with hurt and fear underneath his huge blue eyes.

"Don't go to makeup." Viggo told him, and turned back to Orli. "And you? You can go wherever you want. Including Hell."

Orli's face crumpled, making a matched set. Viggo glared at him, torn but unable to relent and still save face-- what little he had left was too precious to him now.

"Don't do this," Lijah's voice was so low Viggo barely heard it. "Please, Viggo. Orli didn't do anything."

The red haze was back; Viggo felt himself dissolve into it. "Do you think you own me?" Perhaps this was how madness felt. "Do you think you order me around?" Lij's nickname was on the tip of his tongue, but there were ears pricked.

"No," Elijah sounded sincere, but unafraid, his voice so low only Viggo might have heard it. "I think you're in control of whatever you want. Including yourself."

Abruptly the universe clicked into focus, though even as it did, Viggo knew he had been manipulated-- deftly and skillfully, down the one path that left him his self-respect. "I'll punish you for this," he promised Elijah under his breath. "But not now."

Elijah fell silent, his jaw firming-- Frodo's courage, his determination-- and he lifted his chin, looking past Viggo to Orli, who stood wavering, feet bare on the chilly wooden steps, toes curled. Sean appeared behind him, openly amused, standing out amidst a sea of curious faces.

"Fuck you. All of you." Viggo took a deep breath and blew it out, including the WETA crew in his glance. "The goddamned whiskey is on me, and you can come too if you want, you fucking asshole," he glared at Sean with no real heat behind it, gathering his pride and squaring his shoulders.

"Go get your makeup off and meet us at the bar," he revised his order to Elijah; he'd have Frodo another time. "Orli, would you bring my coat?"

Orli vanished, and Viggo felt Elijah's fingertips touch lightly at the small of his back before he slipped away to his own trailer.

"Whiskey's on you? How can I resist?" Sean purred, leaning against the doorframe.

"I'm sure you can't," Viggo tossed back, catching his tongue lightly between his teeth.

Sean's eyes darkened, his smile turning just a touch wry, but before he could reply, a voice was heard from behind Viggo. "Good, because I hope whatever the FUCK your trouble is, you're over it. If I EVER see the two of you go off like that again, I'll have both your butts back on a plane!"

Peter stalked towards them both, and the threat might have been an empty one but the anger in it certainly wasn't. Viggo composed his expression into something a bit more apologetic. "I'm sorry, Pete, it's my fault," he said contritely, if not precisely honestly. "The past few days have been very... stressful. It won't happen again."

Looking slightly mollified, Pete nodded, blustering, "Well, it had better not. And I mean both of you," he added, giving Sean a fierce look. Understandable; people didn't general try to cut other people's heads off for no reason. Sean smiled at him charmingly and nodded, and with a last suspicious look, Pete wandered off towards his car. "You better not forget your wallet, Mortensen, I'm holding you to that whiskey."

Sean cocked an eyebrow at Viggo, something like a question in his eyes, but it went unspoken as Orlando reappeared and managed to inch past Sean without so much as brushing his sleeve. With a silent eye roll, Sean disappeared back into the trailer and let the door shut behind him.

"Here's your coat," he said, handing it to Viggo, a soft shadow of hurt still obvious in his face. Viggo took it silently and shrugged into it, Orli squirming next to him. "Viggo," he started, hesitantly. "I really didn't..."

"Orlando," Viggo interrupted him, as tenderly as he dared and Orli swallowed hard.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

-finis-

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