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This is the last one for today, and the last of the lotrips. And, yes, it's a fic where Orlando mysteriously turns into a girl. This one does not end in the middle of a sex scene, although one section does start in the middle of a sex scene.

Girl!Orlando )
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I think this one came out of the discussion we had on the original lotrips list about how the age difference between Henry and Orlando is less than the age difference between Viggo and Orlando.

This also has an unfinished sex scene. You can really see where I had problems with fic.

Tattoos. Non-Oedipal conflicts. Sex. )
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I thought I would continue with the theme and post some more lotrips from back in the day. At the top of this fic, I wrote, "This fandom sucks." I do still like what I was trying to do with verb tense. Yes, I am a giant grammar nerd.

I should warn you that this is one that ends in the middle of a not particularly explicit sex scene.

old-school lotrips )
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I've decided to, in preparation for the new year, look through all my unfinished fic and post anything posting-worthy that I either didn't post or hadn't written the last time I posted lots of unfinished and never finished fic. This is up first because I want to refer to it in another entry.

This follows the previously posted parts of this fic: 1, 2, 3

Blessings of the Goddess )
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Generally speaking, I dislike the silly surveys that pass through LJ. But this one held my attention enough that I kept thinking about it on my way to work. I've emulated Dara's approach of eliminating the questions, and I've gone one further by renumbering, or relettering, the questions for my own convenience.

A. 1. A good From Eroica With Love story. Klaus/Dorian, with a plot, true to the spirit of the manga, no scent of roses unless in mockery, no wussification of anyone, and inclusion of all the important supporting characters.

2. A good rendition of the lotrips slave AU with all the missing scenes and a better written examination of the religion. Viggo/Orlando.

3. Fred Durst/Christina Aguilera. Something good, with a plot, realistic. Maybe the half-started thing where she has something of a breakdown and he takes care of her.

4. A really good Harry Potter story. I'm not particular about pairings or genre, but something good. It would have to be a true examination of the characters and involve some detailed magic.

5. Crossing Jordan/Law & Order/Law & Order: Special Victims Unit crossover. Munch/Briscoe. Briscoe freaking out about how much Jordan looks like Claire. Perhaps finding Jordan's mother's killer. Munch/Briscoe snarkiness.

B. Six months ago, more or less, yes. I haven't really done much fandom-wise in the past couple of months, so my interests haven't changed much. The farther back you go, the more my answers would change.

C. 1. A formula sci fi/fantasy novel. Something with one person protecting the other and they fall in love while doing so. If it were a het couple, the female lead would have to be a very strong, capable, intelligent person. Otherwise, I'd like to do it as a lesbian couple.

2. A British teen rock star book. It started life as a Spice Girls AU, but it would be better as an original story. Five girls, best friends, who can all sing. The mother of one of them dies in the opening scene, and they'd have to be on stage in the closing scene. I haven't decided whether two of the girls are going to be just extremely close or lesbians.

3. Something about religion.

D. The review of "The Road to Las Vegas" by Tricia in which I would praise the story and make snarky comments about both Tricia's stupidity and the idiocy of people who think her writing must be bad because she's an idiot.

E. I don't know, exactly. But the top contenders would be "Travail", "Not That Funny", and "Resolve".

F. "Latkes and Memories", the worst thing I've ever written, and written before I was smart enough to let bad fic languish on my hard drive. I leave it on my webpage to keep me humble.

G. 1. "L'Histoire d'Obi" by Lilith Sedai.

2. "Joined at the Soul" by Diana Williams.

3. "Kickoff" by Meredith Lynne.

Three is all I can come up with, and even that was hard to think of. Although, honestly, I wouldn't want to take any fan fic on an airplane; it's far too easy to read over people's shoulders on a plane.

H. Anthony Lane.

I. I don't know. He is a movie reviewer, so he has to have some respect for the enjoyment of a fandom, but I think he might think it's silly. And if I ever met Anthony Lane, I wouldn't want him to think I was silly.

J. Either Robin McKinley or Connie Willis.

K. X-Files.

L. At the moment, I'd be tempted to say Blue Crush. On a more long term basis, I'd probably say Fred Durst/Christina Aguilera or The Fast and the Furious.

M. Eden/Anne Marie for Blue Crush, Fred Durst/Christina Aguilera for Fred Durst/Christina Aguilera, and Mia/Letty or Dom/Letty for The Fast and the Furious.

N. The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell, with the caveat that the sequel ruins the impact of the book.
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Orlando awoke clearly but unsure of how much time had passed. He forced his eyes open and looked around him. He recognized the view. The lord's bedroom, seen from the vantage point of his bed. And the lord, sitting on top of the covers at his side, with what looked to be parchment spread out in stacks all around him.

"Wha--" Orlando tried to speak, but his throat was too dry for sound to come out clearly.

"Here." The lord helped him sit up and held a goblet to his lips. Orlando tried to gulp it. "Slowly, not too much." The lord pulled the wine away from him. "You haven't eaten."

"How long?" Orlando asked.

The lord regarded him solemnly. "You've been asleep for almost a day. You were in a fever for three days before that."

Four days, lost. And a wound across his middle that he could feel as he moved.

The lord drained his goblet and left it on a side table. Orlando watched as he gathered together his stacks of parchment and stood by the bed. "I'll send in someone with food and water." The lord leaned down over him. "You disobeyed my orders," he said in a voice whose mildness was more frightening than a shout. "You'll be punished for that." His hand came out and brushed Orlando's curls away from his forehead. "When you're better," he said with more gentleness.

He left before Orlando could think of what answer to make. Orlando relaxed back against the bed and let his eyes close again. Four days.

A girl came in with a tray. She piled more pillows behind his back to help him sit up and insisted on feeding him. Soup and bread, and blessedly cool water.

"He's barely left your side," the girl told him.

"Who?" he asked between bites of bread soaked in broth.

"The lord. He's been at your side the whole time." She carefully spooned up more soup. "I don't think he slept more than a few hours until your fever broke."

Orlando ate silently, and the girl made no further attempts to engage him in conversation. She left, taking the tray with her, when he'd finished the bowl of soup.

He had nothing to do but think for nearly a week. The lord stayed mostly away, returning only to sleep at night. Slave girls came and went, bringing Orlando food and water, and directing a team of larger, male slaves to bring in a bathtub and heated water for Orlando to bathe in.

He worried about the crops back home, and how they were going to bring in the harvest without his help. He worried about what sort of punishment the lord would mete out. He worried about what he could offer his Goddess in thanks for sparing his life. And he worried about when the lord would demand that he return to his duties as a proper bedslave should.

On the fifth day after he awoke, the slave girl who brought him breakfast informed him that the lord and the healer had decided he could get out of bed and move freely about the castle. He was not, she said, to tire himself out.

Orlando accepted the girl's help in dressing and left the lord's bedroom for the first time in over a week. The castle seemed unchanged, but as he worked his way out of the keep and towards the walls, he noticed the tense and subdued air. There weren't as many people around, and those who were there looked grim.

One of the guards stopped him when he reached the gates. "I'm sorry, but you can't go out."

"I won't go far," Orlando promised.

The guard shook his head. "No one goes out without the lord's permission."

Orlando sighed and turned to walk along the inside of the walls. One of the other guards let him climb up one of the towers to pace on the top of the walls.

"You're looking better."

The voice startled Orlando out of his contemplation of the forest that lay beyond the plain outside the castle walls. He turned from the view to regard the man who had interrupted his solitude.

"I must say I'm glad to see you up and about. I thought Viggo was going to make himself sick with the way he worried about you." The man shook his head, his attitude and his casual use of the lord's given name marking him as a close friend as well as an employee. Then he seemed to remember that Orlando didn't know him. "Captain Sean Bean," he said, extending a hand.

Orlando took it gingerly without giving his own name.

The Captain snorted. "A quiet one then." He jerked his head toward the keep. "You'd better get down from here before Viggo finds you. He won't like you up here."

Orlando inclined his head in acknowledgement and made his way to one of the towers. When he got to the ground, he continued his circuit of the walls. There wasn't much else for him to do. When he made it back to the guard who'd told him he couldn't go out, he turned and made his way back to the keep.

With nothing better to do, he went down to the kitchens and let the kitchen slaves feed him hearty soup and wine. The warmth settling in his stomach, combined with his walk after over a week in bed, made him sleepy, and he dragged himself back up the stairs to the lord's bedroom.

He awoke to find the lord sipping wine in a chair drawn up to the edge of the bed. "Sean says you were out on the wall," the lord said casually when Orlando's eyes settled on him. The lord's fingers carded through Orlando's hair, the curls looping around them, holding them in place. He twisted his hand, tugging Orlando's hair just enough to hurt. "Stay off the walls."

"I would ask a favor, my lord," Orlando said with proper humility, proper submission.

The lord inclined his head. "You may ask. I may not grant it."

Orlando bowed his head in acknowledgement. "I wish to go into the forest to offer thanks to the Goddess."

The lord's eyes narrowed. "The forest is dangerous."

Orlando's lips thinned. "She saved my life. I must give Her thanks."

"You can do it within the walls."

"I cannot!" Orlando shrank back from the possible consequences of his outburst.

The lord tightened his grip on Orlando's hair. "The forest is too dangerous. I will not have you taken by raiders because you cannot bring yourself to pray within the walls."

"I must be out there, in the forest," Orlando insisted, disregarding the hand in his hair. "It doesn't have to be very far, just in among the trees. I have to give my thanks." Orlando hated the begging tone in his voice.

The lord stroked his thumb across Orlando's forehead. "You will have to go out with a team of guards." He sounded resigned. "I won't be able to arrange it until tomorrow. You may not leave their sight."

Orlando bowed his head. "Thank you, my lord."

The lord's hand cupped his chin and tipped his head back up. "You are a challenge," he murmured. He leaned down and brushed his lips over Orlando's. "Come," he said, taking Orlando's hand. "You will dine in the hall tonight."

"Yes, my lord." Orlando let the lord lead him down the stairs and seat him at his side. The lord's careful solicitousness made something in his stomach quiver, and it continued throughout supper, and even afterwards as the lord took him back to his room.

"I believe I promised you a punishment," the lord said when they were safely locked in his bedroom.

Orlando was unable to still the shudder that went through him.

The lord stroked his cheek. "You disobeyed me," he said. He knelt and lifted each of Orlando's feet in turn to remove his boots. This too made Orlando shiver. The lord pushed down Orlando's pants and drew his shirt over his head. "I told you not to tangle with the invaders and yet you did." The lord brushed his fingers over the healing scar on Orlando's stomach. "And you were injured." The lord bent and let his lips follow the path his fingers had taken, causing Orlando to shiver yet again. "I would not lose you," the lord admitted against his skin.

He straightened and touched Orlando's cheek. "You will not disobey me again," he said, the steel in his voice at odds with the gentleness of his touch. "Do not move."

Orlando stayed where the lord left him as the lord moved around the room and finally returned to his side. "I will not damage you, my little one." He looped soft cords around Orlando's wrists and tied them tightly. "The raiders have done enough of that." He pressed kisses against the inside of Orlando's wrists, just above the knots.

Orlando passively let the lord push him back onto the bed. His heart beat faster with fear when the lord secured his already bound wrists to the bedposts. "My lord--"

The lord stopped him with a hand against his mouth. "Hush, my little one." He slid the hand down Orlando's neck and over his chest. The hand came to rest over Orlando's heart, pressing down. "Do not speak. And do not move." The lord bent down and sealed his lips over Orlando's, stealing his breath and leaving them both gasping when he pulled away.

The lord made him sit up enough to run more of the soft cords under his body. The lord pushed him back down on top of them and began to tie knots in them, creating a web of cords that spread out over his chest. The lord used other cords to tie the harness to the cords holding his wrists to the bed.

Orlando nearly panicked when the lord looped cords around his ankles and pushed his legs up. The lord noticed his distress and stroked his large, warm hands up Orlando's legs and onto his stomach, again brushing them over the scar there.

"Do not struggle," he said. His lips lingered over Orlando's navel, the point that had once connected his body to his mother's. "Do not be afraid. I will do you no harm." His hands stroked back down Orlando's body to his ankles. He pushed Orlando's legs back until his thighs lay flush with his chest.

Orlando trembled with the effort of not fighting his imprisonment. The lord bound his legs bent double on themselves. He didn't have the balance to move. Most of his body was constrained, while the most vulnerable part of his body was on display for the lord. It was uncomfortable, and more than uncomfortable.

The expression on the lord's face was hard to read, or maybe it was just that Orlando didn't want to read it. Anger, regret, tenderness. Fear? The lord couldn't be afraid, could he? And something else he couldn't read. He'd never seen it on the lord's face before.

The lord disappeared from his view and reappeared to bend over him for a deep, slow kiss. The lord's fingers, coated in oil, stroked Orlando's cock into hardness. Orlando hated how easily the lord could tease such a reaction from him.

The fingers trailed down his most sensitive skin, and one slipped into him. The cords kept him from moving either into or away from the touch. The lord's other hand cupped his cheek and stroked it gently even as another finger found its way into Orlando's body.

"Oh, my little one," the lord said, his voice nearly too low to be heard. He pressed his thumb between Orlando's lips, and Orlando had no choice but to let it in, just as he had no choice about the third finger pressing into him.

A fourth finger teased at the entrance to his body, but did not follow its brethren in. Orlando breathed a sigh of relief. He did not think his body would accept that.

The lord's hand stayed on his face, but the other left his body, and he felt empty, then angry that the lord had mastered his body so easily.

The lord let him lie there feeling empty, his hand on Orlando's face making him focus on the lord despite the emptiness. Eventually the lord tired of watching him, and Orlando was filled again, by the lord's cock this time.

He was made to wait again, full and achingly hard, as the lord merely rested his weight on Orlando's body. The pressure made his legs hurt. The cords cut into his skin, and he was sure he would have faint marks when the lord untied him. But the lord's cock in him, and the lord's hand, slick with oil, sliding down his body to grasp his cock, sent pulses of pleasure singing through his body.

He struggled to move, to make the lord move against him faster, but the cords and the lord's weight held him still. "My lord," he heard himself beg in a low moan.

The lord stilled. "You disobeyed my orders," he growled. He thrust hard into Orlando. "They would have killed you." He thrust again. "They would have *killed* you," he said angrily, his thrusts punctuating his words.

Orlando resisted the urge to apologize, to beg for forgiveness. He had done nothing wrong. The lord may command his body, but he could not rule his mind.

The lord's mouth settled onto his neck. Orlando couldn't keep in his moan when the lord's teeth and tongue worked at marking him.

"My lord--" The words escaped before Orlando could stop them.

The lord groaned. "My precious little one." His grip on Orlando's cock tightened, the oil making the friction pleasurable instead of uncomfortable.

Orlando's orgasm rushed through him suddenly enough that it surprised a loud, wordless shout out of him. He trembled in reaction as the lord reached his own orgasm accompanied by a loud groan.

The lord collapsed onto Orlando, stretching his legs even more. The lord pushed the sweat-soaked curls away from Orlando's forehead and placed a soft kiss against his lips.

The lord pulled back, leaving Orlando empty again. He untied the cords holding Orlando's legs back on themselves, letting Orlando stretch them back out. The lord's hands rubbed down his legs, working out the stiffness. He retied the cords around Orlando's ankles, not holding them to anything but keeping him enclosed.

The lord's hand traveled up Orlando's arms to rest around his wrists. "I'm going to leave you tied tonight." He reached out and found a cloth to wipe the stickiness off of Orlando's skin. He settled himself half on Orlando with his hand looped around Orlando's wrists. "Do not disobey me again."

The lord shifted closer to him and fell into his usual heavy sleep. Orlando worked to calm his nearly panicked breathing. The lord's warmth and weight helped calm him enough to fall into a deep, exhausted sleep.

He awoke later than he would have under normal circumstances and thought, with bitter humor, that he could hardly expect anything else after the beating his body had taken. The lord waited until his eyes opened before kissing him. The lord then silently untied the cords still binding Orlando's body.

Orlando hissed with relief and slowly stretched out his limbs. The lord helped to massage out the tension in his body. The warmth of his hands eased the cramps out of his arms, and the lord followed his touch with soft brushes of his lips against Orlando's skin. It was the closest Orlando had ever come to feeling worshipped.

The lord pressed his lips against Orlando's neck, the pressure causing a twinge of pain in the already bruised skin. "Captain Bean will take you out to the forest after breakfast," he said. He opened the door to the room and sent one of the waiting slaves to fetch breakfast. "You won't be allowed to go far, and you'll be under Captain Bean's eye the whole time." The lord looked down at Orlando, stern despite his nakedness. "Do not try to escape. Do not disobey me."

"No, my lord." Orlando hesitated. "Thank you, my lord."

The lord's hand cupped his cheek. "If your Goddess did indeed save your life, then She deserves both our thanks." The lord gathered his own clothes and tossed Orlando his. They dressed in silence and sat together at the table for breakfast. Their breakfast was equally silent, punctuated only by the sounds of their eating.

Captain Bean arrived just as they were finishing. "Viggo." He greeted the lord with a strong handclasp. "We're ready whenever the boy is."

"How many men are you taking with you?"

"Seven of my best men and myself. He'll be safe." Captain Bean nodded at Orlando. "Are you ready?"

Orlando flicked a glance at the lord. "Yes."

"Orlando." The lord's use of his name stopped him. "Come here."

Orlando willed his feet not to drag as he moved across the room. "Yes, my lord?"

The lord stepped forward and, placing his hands on either side of Orlando's face, kissed him deeply. "Return safe to me, my little one."

Orlando stepped back and attempted to school his features into impassivity. "Yes, my lord."

Captain Bean laid a hand on the lord's shoulder. "I'll bring him back safe, Viggo."

The lord put his hand over Captain Bean's. "I trust you, Sean."

Captain Bean bowed his head. "Your trust will not be misplaced." He led Orlando through the door and out of the keep. His men surrounded Orlando, and Captain Bean moved to the outside of the group.

"There's a glade not very far into the forest." Captain Bean glanced back at Orlando. "Will that do?"

"Yes, thank you."

Captain Bean led the small party out of the castle walls and across the plain around the walls into the forest. He led Orlando into a small clearing. The grass was soft under their feet, and light filtered through the trees to make a bright, sunny circle surrounded by leaf-cast shadows.

"Will this suit you?" Captain Bean asked.

"Yes." Orlando smiled at him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Captain Bean directed his men to spread out around the edges of the clearing.

Orlando waited for the guards to move out of the way before he calmed his breathing in preparation to pray.

He knelt first to the East. "Maiden, I give thanks for your hand in my healing and ask for your blessing upon this union." He hadn't meant to ask for that, but the words slipped out, and it was too late to take it back now. He bent his forehead to the ground to seal his prayer. He stood and bowed once more to the East.

He turned to the South and knelt again. "Mother, I give thanks for your hand in my healing and ask that you keep and preserve my family." He touched his forehead to the ground, then stood and bowed before turning to the West.

He knelt a third time. "Warrior, I give thanks for your hand in my healing and ask that you give me strength." He pressed his forehead to the ground. He stood and faced the North.

He knelt a fourth time. "Crone, I give thanks for your hand in my healing and ask that you grant me wisdom." He bent his forehead to the ground.

He stood and stared into a gap between the guards. Strength, he decided, and wisdom. He knelt to the North-West and settled himself comfortably. He sank into a prayer trance, reaching deep inside himself for his sense of connection to the Goddess. It took longer than it ever had before.

When he finally found it, he reached out toward the Goddess. Strength and wisdom, he thought.

When he came out of his trance, the sun had moved halfway across the sky. He remained on his knees for a few moments more, letting his eyes readjust to the light. He stood slowly, carefully stretching out his legs.

"Thank you, Goddess," he said softly, dipping his body in a bow. Choosing one of the guards at random, he said, "I'm done."

That guard signaled to the others and they circled in around him again. Captain Bean threw him a small smile, which he tried to return. At Captain Bean's signal, they left the glade behind and returned to the castle.

The lord was waiting for them. "Thank you," he said to Captain Bean.

Captain Bean bowed to him. "At your service, my lord."

The lord dismissed the guards, leaving Orlando to face him alone. "I trust you have made your thanks to your Goddess."

"Yes, my lord."

The lord ran his fingers along Orlando's jaw. "You will attend me at supper."

"Yes, my lord."
rsadelle: (Default)
My stream of consciousness thoughts on this slave AU thing, typed up at work and put here for your considertion:

I think I've gone about this all wrong. Sean should be the lord and Viggo the captain of the guard. Then Sean is callous toward Orlando, but he assigns Viggo to take care of him, and Viggo and Orlando fall in love. Cheesy! But I'm having trouble with Viggo as a lord. He is the king, though. Hmm.

Also, I'm truly surprised that I've managed to make it this far without once typing Obi-Wan instead of Orlando. Qui-Gon instead of Viggo is a bit less likely due to difference of letters (although using the normal keyboard at work instead of the ergonomic one at home means I have a tendency to type Biggo in place of Viggo), but Orlando has certainly become Obi-Wan in my mind. This doesn't trouble me. The fact that I'm not bothered by it troubles me. Shouldn't I care more about correct characterization? After all, I'm the one who said that Telanu's Snape/Harry series is good but for the fact that she lifted the characterization straight from the Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan dynamic. And I've also critiqued Helen's Phantom Menace fic for having the same rhythm and structure as the rest of her work, which wouldn't be so much of a problem if it weren't for the fact that said rhythm and structure are far more appropriate to Sports Night than to Phantom Menace. I notice these kinds of things, when people write one set of characters as if they were another. And yet I can't seem to care that I'm doing the same thing myself. I'm even consciously drawing on various TPM slave AUs I've read for some of the plot points. Shouldn't all of this bother me?
rsadelle: (Default)
Unrelated 1: What happend to the Master_Apprentice archive? Is there a mirror of it somewhere that's still up?

Unrelated 2: Chicken gyros, good. Don't use their sauce recipe, though. Pick a different tzatziki recipe.

Unrelated 3: Strawberries with ice cream, even better than chicken gyros.

"My lord!" The guard burst through the door. "My lord, the castle is under attack."

Viggo leapt out of bed, reaching for his clothes. "Wake everyone. Bring all the slaves into the keep. I want every guard at the walls," he ordered.

While the guard went to do as he'd been told, Viggo strapped on his armor and grabbed his sword. "Get dressed, and stay put," he ordered Orlando. He leaned down and kissed him hard. "I don't want you in the fighting. You're a bedslave, not a warrior."

Orlando glared at him and started to protest, but Viggo's hand over his mouth quickly silenced him.

"I mean it," he growled. "Stay out of the fighting. This is the center of the keep. You should be safe here." On his way to join the fighting at the walls, Viggo threw a quick prayer up to the Father Warrior asking him to protect the boy.

The invading force wore neither livery nor insignia. "Raiders," he yelled to Captain Bean.

"Trying to take us by surprise," the Captain yelled back at him.

"Not in my castle," Viggo muttered.

Captain Bean fought his way to Viggo's side. They grinned at each other and turned back to back to fight off the raiders who slipped through the walls.

Somewhere in the second hour, a sword nicked Viggo's arm, tearing through the leather and cloth on his forearms and slicing through skin. He cursed and ran the man through.

By the third hour, there were only a few small fights still going on, and Captain Bean reorganized his men to capture as many of the standing raiders as possible.

"Report!" Viggo barked at a soldier exiting the keep.

"Two raiders made it in," the man told him. "We got one before he could get too far. Your bedslave went up against the other one."

Viggo swore heartily. "Sean," he called, "I'm going back into the keep."

Captain Bean nodded his acknowledgement. "We'll put them in the dungeons," he said, gesturing to the captured raiders.

Convinced that they would be taken care of, Viggo followed the guard into the keep and up to his own bedroom. He swore again at the scene he found there. There were bruises already starting to show on the boy's body, and a shallow gash across his stomach spilled blood onto the carpet. One of the slave girls had a cloth pressed against the wound to stop the bleeding. Viggo sheathed his sword and dropped to one knee next to the boy. He took the cloth from the girl and examined the wound.

"Fetch me a healer," he ordered.

"My lord, you're bleeding." The girl tried to take his wounded arm.

Viggo jerked away from her. "I will tend to myself. Fetch me a healer for the boy. Now!" His voice rose until the last word was a shout. The girl scampered away, her face pale and afraid.

The boy's eyes flickered open. "Goddess protect me," he murmured.

Viggo glared down at him. "I hope for your sake that your Goddess cares more for you than my God does."

The boy's eyes drifted shut again. "Her will be done."

"Where's that healer?" Viggo roared.

"Right here." The woman slipped into the room and knelt by the boy's side. "It won't kill him," she said after examining the wound. "But it needs cleaning and stitching."

Viggo sat back and let one of the slave girls, not the same one who'd gone for the healer, bandage his arm while the healer stitched Orlando's wound.
rsadelle: (Default)
In my mind, Orlando has permanently become Slave AU Obi-Wan. Somehow, I can't seem to be bothered by this.

Go read Tales of Two. At 90 parts it's unfinished, and it's not exactly a slave AU, but it's better than any AU I'll ever write.

I don't want to be Lilith Sedai when I grow up. I want other people to be Lilith Sedai when they grow up so I'll have more things to read.

"Well?" Viggo asked, striding impatiently into the room.

"Oh, I have a fine specimen for you today, my lord." The trader reminded him of a toad, even looked like one sometimes, but he could always find the best merchandise, and he knew exactly what Viggo liked. "I think you'll enjoy this one, my lord." He swept the cloak off the figure in the middle of the room.

A boy, just barely a man. Olive cast to his sun-browned skin. Deep brown eyes that met Viggo's defiantly.

"He was captured in the Western Territories," the trader informed him. "You would be his first owner."

Viggo walked around the boy, noting the clean lines of his body and the design inked on his skin just below his navel. He traced his fingers around the edges of the sun. The boy jerked back before he could control his reaction.

"Pretty," Viggo commented, watching the boy's jaw clench.

"I am not a slave," the boy said.

Viggo casually backhanded him. The boy's head flew back and he stumbled, but he caught himself quickly. He met Viggo's eyes again, anger blazing out as an almost tangible force. Viggo's lips curved into a smile.

"I'll take him," he told the trader. He turned his back on the boy. "I'll send my steward to take care of payment."

The trader beamed at him. "I'm sure you won't regret it, my lord."

"I should hope not." Viggo glanced over at the slave, nearly his slave, who had bunched his hands into fists. "Next time bring me a girl, someone soft and more easily bent to my will."

The trader bowed. "Yes, my lord."

Viggo strode out of the room without looking back at his new acquisition. He summoned his steward and sent him to fetch the coin needed to complete the sale, arrange for quarters for the trader, and turn the boy over to another slave to be bathed. This one would be a challenge, he thought, and he began to plan his strategy.
rsadelle: (Default)
Title: Not That Funny
Author: Ruth Sadelle Alderson
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: FRAO
Disclaimer: Not mine, not real, no money being made by me.
Summary: Dom isn't the only one who gets phone messages from Viggo.
Author's Note: Another thing written at work and between classes.

Not That Funny )
rsadelle: (Default)
Title: Helm's Deep
Author: Ruth Sadelle Alderson
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando
Rating: FRM
Disclaimer: Not mine, not real, no money being made by me.
Summary: Orlando breaks.
Author's Note: This was written almost entirely on small pieces of paper at work. Thanks to Amy for title consultation.

Helm's Deep )
rsadelle: (Default)
Self-promotion. I'm in complete denial about this. I'm not in denial that I wrote it. I'm in denial that it is what it is. I keep thinking to myself, "It's not really NSync slash," but that's not really true. I need to find some way to deal with the fact that it is simultaneously NSync slash and something I wrote. More than that, I have to deal with the fact that I actually like it. It's not quite as "See JC. See JC suck cock. Suck, JC, suck" as I wanted it to be, but I'm still rather pleased with it.

I think part of what's helping my denial along is that it feels very "any two guys" to me. The only character in it who feels real to me is Christina. Britney's sort of real, although that's probably just because I like the idea of a drugged-out Britney. JC and Justin are just the guys who are friends that the story hinges around, but since I don't really know anything about JC and Justin, they could be any two guys who've been friends since childhood.

A river in Egypt. Speaking of Egypt and things that are on crack, Herodotus had a strange idea of what the Nile looked like.

Advice. Save a sheep, shag Russell.

Lo-trips 1. Viggo doesn't need to be so serious all the time. What does this have to do with you, me, and our time together? I need some cheesy, gay porn, hand job lines for a scene I keep thinking about. Leave your suggestions here.

Lo-trips 2. I thought I was done with the Jedi lo-trips, but my brain keeps telling me I have some loose ends. And it's trying to suggest Henry/Liv. I agree that there are loose ends, but I'm not so sure about the Henry/Liv.

Lo-trips 3. Henry's getting married, both in my head and on the small piece of paper I wrote on at work today. Unbeknownst to Viggo, Henry and Orlando have kept in touch over the years. Viggo and Orlando have not.

Where is Viggo's house? Is it really on the beach? Would he have a beach house by the time Henry's old enough to get married? Would the wedding be close enough to Viggo's house but far enough away from Orlando's that it would make sense for Viggo to invite Orlando to stay with him?
rsadelle: (Default)
"You're hiding," Liv accused him.

Orlando sighed and threw back the cowl of his robe. "It isn't working very well."

Liv gracefully sank down to sit down in front of him. "I just know where you like to hide." She reached out and touched his knee. "I heard about you and Henry's dad. Are you okay?"

Orlando shook his head. "No. I'm afraid."

"Fear leads to anger."

"I've heard Yoda's lecture too." Orlando sighed. "I'm trying to let it go, but every time I try to meditate, my shields start to slip. I know it was the will of the Force and I'm supposed to accept it, but I'm not ready for it."

Liv rested her hands on his shoulders and squeezed them gently. "Do you want me to shield you while you meditate?"

"Do you have time?"

Liv nodded. "Sean's in a Council meeting. He'll be there all day." She squeezed his shoulders again. "Do you want me to shield you?"

"Yes, please."

Liv let her mind just brush around edge of his, finding the shape of it. She extended her shields out and around him, bringing him within them.

"Oh. Oh, Force, Liv. Thank you." He could still feel Viggo--he didn't think anything short of death would stop that--but everything else was muted. He relaxed into a meditative trance and let the currents of the Force flow through and around him.

He eased himself out of it some time later and breathed a sigh of relief.

Liv brushed a hand over his hair. "You're welcome." She let her hands fall back into her own lap. "Henry was right. You're just glowing with it."


"You're here to talk about Orlando, aren't you?"

Viggo nodded. "You already know?"

Henry grinned. "Yeah. It's all over the Temple." He shrugged. "Besides, Orlando came to see me."

Viggo winced. "I should have told you."

"It's okay." Henry reached out and touched his arm. "He's one of my friends and you're my dad." He considered for a moment. "He's scared, but he's just glowing with your bond. You're holding it in a little better, but I can see it from you too."

Viggo smiled faintly. "I can feel him all the time."

Henry hugged his father. "He'll come around once he knows how great you are."

Viggo kissed the top of Henry's head. "Thank you, Henry."


Viggo stopped listening and looked up. After trying unsuccessfully to recapture his attention, Sean turned and followed his gaze across the dining hall. Orlando was just coming through the door. Sean watched his eyes flick toward their table, toward Viggo, and then quickly away.

He managed to avoid looking back over at Viggo while he got his food, but once he had a tray in his hands, something drew him to Viggo's table. He sat next to Viggo, close, pressed together from hip to knee. He greeted Henry and Liv, and nodded to Sean.

They tried to carry on a conversation, but neither Viggo nor Orlando paid much attention to it. Henry eventually snapped at them.

"Would you two just go fuck or meditate together or whatever it is you need to do?"

Orlando blushed, and he and Viggo said, "Henry!" in the same shocked tone of voice.

"Look," Henry said, "you have a Force-bond. You never have to be alone again. You have someone who will always love you. You're so lucky. And you don't even care!" He stood and yanked his tray off the table. He swept out of the dining hall, returning his tray on the way.

Viggo sighed heavily. "I'd better--"

Liv reached out and put a hand on his forearm. "I'll go."

Orlando muttered a feeble excuse about needing to be somewhere else and fled.

"He's right," Sean said when the padawans were gone.

"I know that," Viggo growled, frustrated. "I know he's right." He raked his hands through his hair. "I've tried, and he just shuts me out."

Sean snorted. "So make him listen to you." He reached across and touched the back of Viggo's hand. "The Force thinks you belong together. You won't hurt him." He removed his hand. "Go on. Make him listen to you."

Viggo dropped his head. "I don't know how."

Sean's lips quirked. "Listen to the Force."


Viggo opened himself up to the bond and let it lead him to Orlando. He knocked on the door he found himself in front of. He knocked again and stretched his awareness out to reach Orlando.

Orlando opened the door only enough to see Viggo. "Viggo," he said softly.

"Can I come in?"

Orlando reluctantly opened the door the rest of the way and let him in.

Viggo couldn't keep himself from cupping Orlando's cheek in his hand any more than Orlando could stop from leaning into the same touch.

"We have to talk." Viggo's words echoed loudly in the empty room.

Orlando nodded. "Sit down," he offered. Viggo sat at one end of the couch. After a short moment of indecision, Orlando took the other end.

"Henry's right," Viggo said. "We have to resolve this." He reached across the seemingly endless expanse of couch separating them and touched Orlando's knee. "Can't you feel how much this hurts?" His thumb stroked small circles on Orlando's leg.

Orlando closed his eyes and reached into himself. It did hurt. He'd managed to avoid thinking about it so much that he hadn't even realized how much it hurt to willingly cut himself off from Viggo. He hadn't realized how much it hurt Viggo to be cut off from him.

"Yes," he whispered. He bowed his head. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

Viggo opened his arms, and Orlando hesitantly came across the couch to settle into them. They let out a combined sigh of relief.

"You have to let me in," Viggo said, his lips brushing against Orlando's hair.

It was an effort to make his breathing slow with Viggo so close, but Orlando managed it. He reached down inside himself and started to dismantle the shields blocking his awareness of Viggo. He reached out along the bond toward Viggo and gasped as it flared to life in his mind.

Viggo was there, everywhere. Viggo knew everything about him and he knew everything about Viggo. He knew how much Viggo had wanted him from that very first moment in the dining hall. He knew how much he had hurt Viggo by denying him. He knew how Viggo worried about what this would do to his relationship with Henry, and he knew that Viggo worried Orlando would never want an old man like him.

"I do want you," he said out loud even though he knew Viggo could read the thought in his mind. "I do." He brought his lips to Viggo's and sighed into the depth of such a simple kiss.

"I love you," he said.

Viggo's arms tightened around him. "I know."
rsadelle: (Default)
"Orlando!" Henry's face split into a wide grin. "I didn't know you were on Coruscant."

Orlando hugged his friend tightly and followed him into the common room. "We've only been here three days. I'm sorry I haven't had time to come visit.

Henry waved away his concern and found a second teacup. He poured tea for Orlando and sat beside him on the couch. "You're glowing," he said after a long moment of scrutiny.

Orlando gripped his teacup tightly, then, realizing it might be in danger, he set it down on the table. "I'm bonded," he said heavily.

Henry snorted. "Of course you're bonded. You're a padawan."

Orlando shook his head miserably. "Not that. Newly bonded. It was the will of the Force." His last words were hardly more than a whisper.

Henry's eyes widened. "A Force-bond," he breathed. "No wonder you're glowing."

"Yes." Orlando shivered. "It's not as great as they say. I can't-- Right now, I just want to be with him. I don't even know him." Even now he could feel it. Viggo was responding to his distress, sending waves of comfort and reassurance through their bond.

Orlando raised his shields as high and as thick as he could against it. Any more and it would hurt him. More importantly, any more and it would hurt Viggo. The bond wouldn't let him do that.

"Henry, it's your father."

"Oh." Henry set his own teacup down. "Mom isn't going to like this," he predicted.

"I'm sorry," Orlando said miserably. "I didn't mean for it to happen." The waves of comfort coming from Viggo were tinged with the thread of a question.

Henry came across the couch and wrapped his arms around Orlando. "I know. It'll be alright. You'll see."

"I--" Orlando didn't know what he wanted to say, and fell silent.

"You'll never be alone again," Henry offered. "Oh," he said when Orlando stiffened. "Is that the problem?"


Viggo found him in one of the gardens trying to meditate.

"Master Mortensen," he began, starting to stand.

Viggo waved him back down. "Under the circumstances, I think you can call me Viggo."

Orlando flushed. "Yes, Ma-- Viggo."

Viggo knelt down before Orlando, mirroring his posture. "You're afraid," he said softly.

"Yes, Ma-- Yes."

Viggo reached out and brushed his fingers over Orlando's cheek. Orlando sighed and leaned into the touch despite himself.

"What are you afraid of?"

Orlando frowned and concentrated. "I'm not sure."

Viggo's thumb stroked Orlando's cheek. "I would not have saddled you with an old man."

Orlando could feel the bond tugging at him, insisting that he do something, say something. "You are not that old."

Viggo smiled softly at him. "You had no choice."

"Neither did you."

"No," Viggo agreed. "But I am an old man, and used to following the will of the Force. You are young, and should have choices."

"As Jedi, we must all follow the will of the Force."

"What do you fear?" Viggo asked again.

Orlando relaxed into the Force and let it bring him the answer. "This," he said, waving between them to indicate the bond. "Never being able to leave you." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Your death."

"The thought of leaving you terrifies me," Viggo admitted. Orlando could feel Viggo letting his shields thin and drift away. He started to let his own shields thin, and Viggo leaned in to kiss him. The bond shivered with their shared desire and need.

"No!" Orlando jumped up. "I'm sorry. I can't. I'm not ready." He hurried out of the gardens, feeling Viggo's hurt, feeling the bond try to pull him back to comfort him. He tightened his shields as much as possible and kept going.
rsadelle: (Default)
Yesterday I read Phantom Menace fic, Part 7 of bec's "Innocence Stolen" in which Atti calls Orlando "OB," and Part 6a of Julie's "Reflections in Blood" in which Ian reveals to Viggo that he's a wizard. There's a Phantom Menace AU out there somewhere where, if I remember it correctly, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon meet while Qui-Gon is eating with Mace Windu and Obi-Wan comes in with his Master. Ian McKellen used the Force in my dream last night. All of this got jumbled up in my mind and coalesced into the following snippet.

An eddy in the Force made Viggo look up. A tall, older man he recognized as Master McKellen came in with a younger man he was sure he'd never seen before.

"Who is that with Master McKellen?" he asked his dinner companion.

Sean glanced at the door. "His padawan. You've never met him?"

Viggo shook his head, his eyes never leaving the man at Master McKellen's side.

Sean snorted. "He is your type isn't he?" He waved at Master McKellen, who made his way over to them with his padawan following close at his heels. "Ian, good to see you." Sean gestured to Viggo. "Master Viggo Mortensen. Viggo, this is Master Ian McKellen and his padawan, Orlando Bloom."

Viggo stood and sketched a bow. "I don't believe I've had the honor of meeting you."

Master McKellen's eyes twinkled. "I don't believe you have." He gestured to his padawan. "Sit, Orlando."

Orlando did as he was told. "I am honored to meet you, Master Mortensen. You are Henry's father, aren't you?"

Viggo shivered as the boy's voice washed over him. "Yes, I am. Do you know Henry?"

Orlando nodded. "We've done some training together. He's a good kid."

"He is," Viggo agreed. He watched Orlando eat and tried to catch the patterns of the Force flowing around them. He let the rhythm of the conversation Sean and Ian were having lull him into a light meditative state. He could feel the Force currents flowing around him, and around Orlando. Tendrils of the Force twined around them, between them, tightening around them. The realization of what was happening jerked Viggo out of his meditation, and he gasped for air.

Ian frowned at him and tested the currents of the Force. His eyes widened. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything," Viggo protested. "The Force--"

"The Force does not have a will of its own."

"Of course it does."

Sean narrowed his eyes. "Viggo. What have you done?"

"I haven't done anything," he insisted.

"He's attempted to bond with my padawan," Ian contradicted him.

"He did not," Orlando said, meeting Viggo's eyes across the table. He glanced at his master and shrugged. "It was the will of the Force."

Sean shot Viggo a disapproving glance, which quickly dissolved into a grin. "You cause more trouble than any Jedi I've ever known."

Viggo snorted. "I'm not the one with three children in the créche making the créche masters old before their time."

Sean frowned and focussed his attention on Orlando. "Not you too."

Orlando started guiltily. "Master Bean?"

"You're reaching out to him just as much as he's reaching out to you." Sean sighed deeply. "Ian, my old friend, I think it's best if we guide this into being before it just happens."

Ian's lips twitched as he tried to contain a smile. "I do believe you're right." He turned to his apprentice. "Can you and Master Mortensen refrain from forming a bond until we are finished with dinner?"

Orlando flushed. "Yes, Master."

"And you, Master Mortensen? Do you think you can keep your mind separate from my apprentice's until we have had time to eat?"

Viggo bowed his head. "Of course, Master McKellen."

Ian snorted. "I knew you were going to be trouble," he said to Orlando. The affection ringing clearly in his voice took the sting from his words.
rsadelle: (Default)
I'm trying to get this out of my system because while I think it's a nice image, it's not particularly realistic. I'm suffering something of a crisis of disbelief. I'm having trouble seeing Viggo/Orlando as believable at all.


I can't breathe. I wonder if this is what a panic attack feels like. I head out of my trailer and toward the set. Someone, Elijah, maybe, speaks to me, but I keep walking.

Sean's running his usual chess game on the side. Viggo's there too today, and that's where I go. I stop before them and silently hold out the box I never put down.

Viggo takes it from my now shaking hands and looks inside. He reaches out and blindly sets it down. It lands in the middle of the chessboard and knocks over a bishop and two pawns. Things must be really bad if Sean's not protesting such a casual destruction of his game.

Viggo's still dressed in his Aragorn costume, still muddy and sweaty. He pulls me down onto his lap and presses my face down onto his shoulder.

I can't stop shaking. He's saying something, trying to make me feel better, but I can't listen to him. His hands are warm on my back, and that's something I can feel. Peter talks to Sean somewhere behind me. As long as I get to stay where I am, I don't care what they're saying.


The three of us are the only ones left on the moon dark beach. Everyone else is in the water, or gone home to sleep.

Orlando's half-asleep himself, his legs twined with Viggo's, Viggo's chest to his back, Viggo's hands resting on his stomach. I tease Viggo sometimes about robbing the cradle, about Orlando wanting a surrogate father and not a lover. Viggo just smiles serenely. When they're like this, I understand why. Silent and perfect together, with no need for anything else in the world.


I want him. It's a want so deep it burns. 1 Corinthians 7:9. "It is better to marry than to burn." I want to marry him.

He teased me once, "Too young to even drink in your own country." He didn't mean to be cruel.

He doesn't mean to be cruel now, teasingly sitting on Viggo's lap. Viggo makes protesting noises, but he doesn't try too hard to get rid of him. It's not fair. Not fair that I'm too young even though I'm not. Not fair that Viggo's not too old even though he is.


I catch him on an interview, Liv at his side, feet tucked under him on the chair. He likes to sit like that. I teased him about it once, all of us watching a movie at the Hobbits' house, Orlando cross-legged on the couch next to me. I told him he was taking up too much space and pulled him over onto my lap. He laughed half a protest and then settled down. His legs over mine, one side of his body pressed all along my chest, my hands at his waist. It reminded me, just for a moment, of holding Henry on my lap when he was younger. But then Orlando grinned at me and kissed my cheek and the memory was lost.


"The boy has a crush on you," Sean said to him one night in bed.

He laughed. "He does not."

"He does," Sean said, pressing his lips down on Viggo's shoulder.

He thinks about that conversation now with Orli laughingly draped across his lap. They'd had sex then, wild, explosive sex, with Sean insisting and Viggo denying until they were too far gone to speak coherently.

Orli's breathing is a little too fast, even with the laughter, and Viggo looks up and catches the sadness in Sean's eyes. I want this, he thinks, and he can see that Sean knows the instant he thinks it. I'm sorry, he wants to say. I didn't know. But he doesn't say anything, and his arms hold Orli close instead of pushing him away.


Sean's thrusts push him up and drop him back down onto Viggo's lap. He has the wild thought that, despite the unnaturally high bed, this must be murder on Sean's knees. But then Sean does it again, and he decides it's too good for him to care.


A dark, secluded corner of some club they'd found. Elijah wanted to "broaden his horizons." Their combined weight tipping the chair the last inch against the wall. Orlando's legs are spread, straddling the chair, straddling Viggo. Orlando's cock against Viggo's, Viggo's hands on his ass.

One of Viggo's hands, big, rough, Man hands, comes up and cups the back of Orlando's head, thrown back in a wordless moan.

Viggo leans forward and scrapes his teeth against Orlando's neck. "You're beautiful when you come." Orlando flushes, still dazed, still rocking slightly against Viggo's hardness. Viggo chuckles. "You need to learn to accept a compliment gracefully." He presses his lips against the slight abrasions left by his teeth. "Say, 'Thank you, Viggo.'"

"Thank you, Viggo," Orlando dutifully repeats. Viggo rewards him with a kiss deep enough to take his breath away.
rsadelle: (Default)
1. I am not really an OTP (One True Pairing) sort of person. Or rather, if I am, my OTP is a het couple in a fandom in which I've never read a good story. Jarod/Miss Parker and Chakotay/B'Elanna Torres being the OTPs that come to mind. Having said that, there are limits to what I will read. I'm a TTC, or sometimes FTC, type of person. If the acronyms seem odd to you, they should. I'm making them up as I go along. I'm a Three True Characters, or sometimes Four True Characters, person when it comes to lo-trips. More specifically, I'll only read things in which Orlando, Viggo, Sean B, or sometimes Ian is one half of the pairing. Unlike nearly everyone else in this fandom, I don't like the Hobbits. They look like trolls. Elijah's eyes are freaky and disturbing. I didn't see The Goonies until I was about 16 and it was too late for me to form an 80s emotional attachment to it. Although you just may be able to persuade me that Orlando/Sean A is not an entirely bad idea.

2. I like it when Orlando gets to be funny:
Had he bungee jumped into an alternate universe?
--Tricia's "The Fling"
Well, he'd show them. He was Orlando fucking Bloom, for fuck's sake. Women loved him. Men loved him. And Sean and Viggo were going to damn well love him if he had anything at all to say about it.
--Brenda's "Willing"
"Now get me the *fuck* up off the floor. My legs seem to be made of octopus tentacles."
--Nancy's "The Jealousy Waltz"
3. I just like Orlando, period. He's adorable and sexy and all of that. He says things like, "If you were short you were cast as a Hobbit, and if you were tall you were cast as a human. And if you were kind of weird and mousy looking, you were cast as an elf." And he's hot with women. Not only are there the pictures to which I've already linked, but there are also screencaps of him and Liv Tyler looking married, an adorable picture of him with Kate Winslet, and a wonderful, plot bunny-inducing picture of him with Nicole Kidman.

Was this post merely an excuse for pictures and a play on the fact that it's my one hundred first entry? Only you can determine that. But before I go, let me leave you with one last link: a picture in which Orlando looks like my brother at age six.
rsadelle: (Default)
Tricia is an idiot. I'm not going to dispute that. Whether she's telling the truth or lying to get attention, she's done a stupid thing. It's not stupid because she brought RPS to the attention of Ian McKellan, assuming that what she says is true. It's stupid because one of the strongest anti-RPS arguments is that RPS is just short of stalking. The counter to this argument is that it's just fantasy and we're not stalking anyone. Unfortunately, in lo-trips, this is not true. Lo-trips is an incredibly stalker-ish fandom. Sure, I've known a few stalker types in past fandoms who made me want to warn Kirk and Lani Hammett to watch out if the stalker types ever make it to the Bay Area, but I've never seen this kind of widespread obsession with meeting the subjects of the RPS in any other fandom.

As I've said, I don't dispute that Tricia is an idiot. However, I'm horrified by some of the people who are speaking out against her. Far too many people simply assume that because she's an idiot, her fic must be terrible. I admit, I nearly succumbed to the same kind of thinking, despite the fact that I know that neither is an author entirely defined by her writing nor is a body of work entirely defined by the author's personality. Tricia's author's notes nearly made me delete her fic on sight. However, I'm desperate enough for good lo-trips that I'll read at least the first few sentences of any Orlando/Viggo story. I found that, to my surprise, I actually liked Tricia's fic. Despite her idiocy, I still like Tricia's fic.

We, as fandom in general, need to remember that authors are not synonymous with their fics. Idiots can write good fic. Seemingly intelligent and perfectly nice people can write horrible stories. Criticism of a person's actions does not equal criticism of her fic. Criticism of a fic does not equal criticism of an author as a person. As Melle's shirt says, "I am not my stories."
rsadelle: (Default)
For some reason, probably precipitated by Joanne's insistence upon keeping in mind the fact that Viggo is, indeed, a father, I seem to have decided that Viggo should not be Orlando's lover, but rather his father. I suspect that part of this is simply because I see that as a plausible way to Orlando to sit on Viggo's lap. However, there are other reasons, even if they do feel like excuses. Orlando's father died when he was very young. From all accounts, he was raised by his mother and grandmother. He may be looking, consciously or not, for a surrogate father. From the other side of things, Viggo seems to be a good father, and there's no reason why he wouldn't want to be someone else's father.


Viggo got introduced around to everyone on his second day. Orlando was somewhere in the middle, not the first, not the last.

"Orlando Bloom, our resident Elf," the assistant who'd been assigned to him said.

"Orlando, hello," Viggo said.

"You're our Aragorn," Orlando said unnecessarily. He was confused when Viggo took his hands and looked at them.

"Looks like you're overdue for your manicure, Elf," Viggo said with a straight and serious face topped by smiling eyes.

A broad grin spread across Orlando's face. "Plenty of time for that. I'm scheduled to live forever." Viggo laughed, and somewhere deep inside, Orlando began to hope.


Orlando wandered onto the set, jeans, t-shirt, and mohawk ungelled. Peter called a break a few minutes later. Viggo put down the pipe, but didn't leave his chair in the corner of the Inn. Strider, today.

As soon as the cameras stopped, Orlando came across the room and curled himself as much as possible into Viggo's lap. Strider's cloak was softer than it looked.

Viggo waited for him to speak.

"It's over. She sent the ring back." Orlando shook with a single sob.

Viggo stayed silent and let Orlando take what comfort he could from his presence.


"Yes, Dad," Orlando said, in perfect imitation of Henry.

Viggo, who had been half-laughing, fell silent. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Orlando. Orlando hugged back just as tightly.

"I love you, old man," Orlando whispered. He stepped back quickly and rejoined the Hobbits in their play.

"He's looking for a father," Sean warned from over Viggo's shoulder.

Viggo shrugged. "I always wanted more kids."


"And Exene didn't."

"Think you can handle him and Henry?"

Viggo turned to smile at Sean. "Sure." He nodded out at the Hobbits and Orli. "You could adopt one of them yourself."

"No thanks, mate. Three girls is enough for me."


"You're lucky," Viggo heard Orlando tell Henry one day.


"You're lucky to have Viggo for your dad."

"Oh, yeah, I guess." Henry had been mad at him that day.

"I wish he was my dad."


And mostly unrelated: yum.
rsadelle: (Default)
"Elijah," Sean said one day, and Elijah flinched.

"Don't call me that."

"Okay," Sean said slowly, soothingly, treading lightly. "What do you want me to call you?"

"Not Elijah. Do you know who Elijah was?" Elijah didn't wait for an answer. "He was a prophet, sent by God to speak his word. He was taken undying up into Heaven." Elijah shook his head. "I'm not a prophet," he said, as if begging Sean to understand.

Sean didn't understand. "No one's asking you to be," he said, carefully.

"They are. They are." Elijah's hands moved restlessly. "This whole thing depends on me. It all depends on me being the right ring bearer. I'm not a prophet. I can't be a prophet. I can't do it."

Sean drew Elijah down into his arms. He stroked his back and murmured softly to him, "Okay, sweetheart. It's all right," comforting him the way he would Alexandra after a nightmare or a scraped knee.


rsadelle: (Default)
Ruth Sadelle Alderson


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