Gift fic for salable_mystic!
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viggorli_xmasTitle: A New Zealand Christmas
Gift fic for:salable_mystic
Author:zee113
Note: Written for the Viggorli Christmas fic exchange. It’s a bit more angsty than it was meant to be, I’m sorry for that. I do hope you still like it, my dearest gift-receiver, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year - or merry and happy whatever you celebrate. xx
Note #2: I don’t know who to ask to beta anymore, so all the checking that went into this was done by me. Blame me for all mistakes, please.
~ ~ ~
Dear Ian,
There is something very calming about sitting down at a desk and writing a letter with an actual pen on real paper, don’t you think? Very fitting for Legolas and Gandalf.
I am back in New Zealand of all places, on the Southern Island near Christchurch, a bit out of town in a small house by the Okuku river, with a threat of snow despite it being summer here. Considering that Christmas is coming, snow is not so out of order for me, I don’t mind it at all.
You are a perceptive old queen -old being said affectionately, not referring to your age, let me assure you- you have probably already noticed that I am writing in the singular. Where is Viggo? No one knows.
I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t worried. He was supposed to meet me in London last Thursday but all I got was a jumbled voice message and an email from a Mr. O’Neill from New Zealand that Viggo won’t be able to see me but I should come here. Not even Peter knows what happened, and he knows everyone in New Zealand. I’m out of my mind with worry, even knowing how Viggo is. All I know is that I was supposed to come here and find him, and that’s exactly my problem. Find him how?
Of course you cannot help me from over L.A., and by the time you get my letter this whole drama will be in the past hopefully, but it helps me to sit and think and pour out my worries. I’m gonna kill that bastard. Or maybe just maim him so that he wouldn’t be able to go on these harebrained missions of his.
I need to find this O’Neill character.
Thanks for listening to me and don’t you worry for us for a second. Email me when you get this letter even though the service here cannot even be called sketchy, it’s so bad. I’ll get it somehow.
See you next year.
Take care,
Orlando
19th of December, 2017, New Zealand
Orlando put the pen down and combed back his hair with his hand. His fingers looked for bald spots automatically, but he couldn’t care less now. He would gladly lose his hair for Viggo. At least while his fate was unknown; after that, he would rather lose Viggo’s hair in an epic fight.
Even though the silver fox look really worked for him.
“Where are you?” He asked no one in particular. As far as he knew, there was no soul around in a five mile radius. The eerie silence blocked his ears but any man-made noise was even worse. He settled for the unassuming symphony of the house: creaks and screeches, sudden groans and the booming crack of a wooden shutter slammed by strong winds. Worry and anxiety rolled off of him in waves and he thought he would go crazy. To fight it off, he started to read the first book he found, The Lord of the Rings. It was the best possible choice, he thought, considering the circumstances.
He must have exhausted himself with helpless anguish because he was woken by a sharp knock on the door. He was there in a second, his sleepy body flying to the door without a conscious decision. He opened the door while trying to rub his anxious dreams from his face.
The man at his door was a short, stocky fellow wrapped in a sheepskin coat, his knitted hat pulled down on his ears. His eyes were deep set and friendly, his cheeks kissed rosy by the persistent winds of the hills.
“G’day,” he offered his hand which Orlando took with a slight hesitation. He was wary of strangers, having encountered too many crazy fans. Although the man did not seem the fanatic type.
“Can I help you?” Orlando asked.
“As a matter of fact I came here to help you,” the man answered. “My name is Steve O’Neill and I own this place.”
“O’Neill?” Orlando was flustered. He didn’t expect to find an O’Neill this easily. He thought he would at least need to read a phone book. Or ask someone.
“Are you the man who left a message for me?” He asked, then remembered his manners. “Would you like to come in? Since this is your place and all.”
Mr. O”Neill nodded and entered with the ease of a man who is at home. He was at home, Orlando realized.
They went to the kitchen, and Orlando turned on the kettle to occupy himself. “Coffee?” He asked.
The man nodded and sat down. Orlando leaned against the fridge with his arms crossed. He felt chilled.
“Excuse my straightforwardness,” the man, Mr. O’Neill, apologized, “This used to be my parents’ home, I grew up here. I don’t think I would ever be able to behave like a guest, I’m sorry.”
“Your parents?” Orlando asked. “Are they…?”
“Oh they are both fine,” the man reassured him. “They just got too old to properly take care of the house so they moved in with us. Now it mostly just stays empty.”
There was a beat of silence, interrupted by the sudden whistle of the kettle. Orlando moved as if underwater, sounds of the wind, the house, the kettle creating a white noise like waves in his ears.
He prepared the coffee and put some milk and sugar on the table.
“Listen, man,” he started, “I don’t mean to be rude but what brought you here? Are you just visiting your old house?”
The man who was stirring sugar in his coffee looked up apologetically. He shifted in his seat and put down the spoon.
“I’m sorry, I’m not the best messenger,” he said. “Viggo...”
“Viggo?” Orlando was so relieved he had to sit down. His knees turned to mush, his blood clotted in his heart, and his brain was only capable to repeat one name, Viggo’s. He was a bit dramatic, he knew. He was an actor, after all.
“Yes, Viggo. He’s in the shack up towards Mount Thomas.”
The name didn’t mean anything to Orlando but he nodded anyway.
“He wants you to join him.” The man continued and Orlando didn’t know whether he wanted to cry or laugh. He did want to scream though.
~ ~ ~
Dear Ian,
Turned out I didn’t have to find Mr. O’Neill, he found me. He didn’t have a difficult job, the house I rented belongs to his parents. He’s sleeping in the next room which is quite awkward, but he grew up in this house so he never thought of staying anywhere else even though he rented the place out.
He’s not the company I wanted.
He was asked by Viggo to come and pick me up and take me to him. How does he do it? Why do people do his bidding? If I can answer that, maybe I won’t follow him all over the world like a lovesick idiot.
Who am I kidding? I would follow him anywhere.
The house feels cold and dark. I have a nice tea sitting on my desk and a warm bed waiting for me, and still I sit here writing. It’s therapeutic. I can hear the ghost of your voice giving me advice.
I am to leave tomorrow and join Viggo in a “shack.” Even the name is so Viggo. He better have a good explanation for what we would be doing in the middle of this New Zealand nowhere so close to Christmas. But yes, i am relieved. This man knows Viggo and he is chill. I am a lot less worried that something bad happened to him.
Of course it’s entirely possible that this is an elaborate plan to kidnap two Hollywood actors -see how I didn’t write stars? Viggo should be proud of me- so if you don’t hear from me after this, please call Peter. He will know what to do. I’ll go out before I go to bed and leave the letters in the mailbox.
Remember those charming mailboxes at the farms that were both for mail coming and going? This here is shaped like a bird. Of course there are no guarantees that you will ever get my letters because I suck at this thing, but I have hope for them. I’ll have to leave some money for the mailman with them, don’t you think? I will.
I cannot postpone it anymore, I need to go to bed. I’ll keep you posted.
Orlando
19th of December, 2017, New Zealand
~ ~ ~
The day was grey and foggy like Orlando’s brain. The Toyota 4x4 slowly ate up the miles, and the sights brought back long-forgotten memories. Christchurch for him was all about Edoras and Laketown, two very different experiences. And while Laketown was more recent, it already started to fade -unlike Edoras. It was probably because of Viggo. Orlando didn’t think many things were worth remembering that had nothing to do with Viggo. Nothing had as much effect on him as the shooting of The Rings and Aragorn. Viggo.
He might have fallen asleep because he suddenly woke up to the car having stopped. The white noise of the engines was replaced by the wind.
“Here we are,” Mr. O’Neill said. “I’m supposed to leave you here.”
“What?” Orlando squeaked. He wasn’t too proud of the sound but then he just woke up, and he had other things to worry about than what he sounded like.
“Viggo asked me to bring you over and just leave.” Mr. O’Neill replied calmly.
“Listen, I don’t want to sound rude but how do I know I can trust you.”
The man thought for a bit. He opened his mouth, but changed his mind and thought some more. Orlando was really anxious because he wanted to see Viggo but did not want to get kidnapped. Or worse.
“I guess you can’t,” Mr. O'Neill replied finally. “There is no one here to ask about me. Does it help if I tell you I was a hobbit in the movies?”
That made sense, looking at him. Orlando was used to the thought that all of New Zealand was in the Rings and/or the Hobbit movies in some capacity, and Mr. O’Neill did look like a hobbit. It didn’t mean a thing. Even hobbits could be mean. He didn’t know how to ask the man if he was a Took or a Sackville-Baggins..
“If it helps, your phone does work here,” Mr. O’Neill continued.
Orlando didn’t even have to look at his iphone to see he was right, he heard the tell-tale pings of emails and messages. That made his choice easier. Then again, he came all the way here for Viggo, he wasn’t going to stop now.
He got out of the car and grabbed his bag. He stood in the cold winds and stared after Mr. O’Neill as he drove away.
He finally had the mind to look around. The “shack” was sitting in an opening surrounded by scarce woods with the majestic mountains of the southern island around them. It was a small house, built from stone and wood, with another building to the back that looked like a barn. It made sense, Orlando figured Viggo probably borrowed a horse as well.
There was smoke coming out of the chimney.
Orlando shivered in the cold wind and started towards the house. The door opened easily when he pressed the handle, and he found himself in a tiny mudroom. He took off his coat and left it on a hanger, and then went inside to discover the house.
It wasn’t big but managed to have an open area for a kitchen and a living room. There were another two doors opening from it. Orlando was sure one was a bathroom and the other probably a bedroom since he saw no beds in the living room.
He went to the kitchen area and sat down at the table. He took out his phone and wrote a quick email.
Dear Ian and Peter,
I am here in a “shack” at what feels the end of the world but it’s actually near Christchurch. The man who brought me here drove away and left me to meet with Viggo. I have no idea where Viggo is.
Good signs are plenty. There is fire in the fireplace, the house is warm, and there is internet and phone service. I haven’t checked the fridge yet but I think it’s stocked. This looks more and more like one of those Viggo things where he goes to the end of the world to think. Thank goodness I taught him to provide about necessities like food before hiding himself. I think this Christmas is not entirely hopeless.
This of course means that we probably won’t attend any of your parties. I cannot pretend I would rather be there than here with Viggo, just the two of us. I feel a bit bad for missing you this Christmas, but not too much, we will meet soon in the new year.
Take care,
Orlando
PS. The man who brought me here is called Steve O’Neill. He said he was a hobbit in the movies. Just in case we disappear.
PPS. Ian, I wrote you some actual letters. I wonder when you get them, let me know.They will sound silly though, fair warning.
Now that he felt even safer because others knew where he was, Orlando put away his phone and took another look around the little house. The thing most out of place was a bouquet of three tulips on the kitchen table. They were pink, a bright spot of light in the gloomy day. It drew Orlando’s eyes and he realized there was a paper leaning to the vase. A letter.
“Dear Orlando,” it read, “if you want me come and find me.”
Orlando groaned. Oh please not this. Why did he have to come all the way to New Zealand for this?
There was more writing on the bottom of the paper.
“One does not simply walk into Mordor.”
Orlando laughed out loud despite his previous groans. This was a quote from Boromir that turned into a very funny meme back when memes didn’t even exist, and Sean was quite proud of it. Orlando had his fair share of memes too. His favorite was the “They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard” video. Viggo had it saved on every device he owned.
But what was he supposed to do with the quote? There was something, he was sure of it, he knew how Viggo’s mind worked, There was something here he was supposed to know or find. The sooner he would start, the sooner he would find Viggo and end this stupidity. Of course he could just walk around and look everywhere but there was no guarantee that that would be faster. Besides, where was the fun in that?
So he stood up and walked around in the small house a bit more. He found nothing in the kitchen, nothing taped to the fridge or the door, so he went to the mudroom. The figured he better be methodical about it.
The mudroom was just like he left it: two pairs of shoes, a couple of coats of different thickness, a small bench to sit on while one’s putting on wellies.
The living room came next. It contained a sofa, an armchair next to a small table, a sitting corner at one of the windows, and a fireplace adorned by a few photos. Nothing out of order, everything very ordinary, but Orlando wanted to check everything out before moving on. He walked around; then, having no other idea, he looked at the photos. He immediately recognized Steve O’Neill, and saw a few people who were obviously his family. And then he saw Sean Bean.
He was so out of place, in full Boromir costume, that Orlando was sure this was what he was looking for. Now the quote made sense too, it was a clue. He took the photo from the mantel and looked at it from every side. On the back there was faint writing.
“He that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of wisdom.”
This was Gandalf, Orlando was sure of it. No clue about Vigo’s whereabouts, just a quote from Gandalf. So this was supposed to be a treasure hunt -but why? They were both long past the age of treasure hunts.
Then again, he already decided that he would find Viggo this way.
So Gandalf it was. It would not be another photo, Orlando knew that, that’s not how Viggo’s brain worked. Maybe it had to do with something of Gandalf’s? That was breakable? Well, Gandalf only had three things: his hat, his staff, and his horse. His hat and his horse wouldn’t really break, so his staff was what Orlando needed to find. Quick look around showed it wasn’t in the house, so Orlando put on his coat and went outside. Where would Viggo hide a piece of wood?
He walked around the property looking for some suspicious pieces of wood. He started out towards the barn when he saw the huge stack of firewood by the side of the shack. The perfect place!
It only took him a few minutes to find a tree branch that was crudely shaped like a wizard’s staff. The shape wasn’t the biggest clue though, the paper attached to it was. It read, “There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for.”
Oh dear Sam! He was a true hero, one of Orlando’s favorites. He was absolutely certain that the next clue could only be hidden in one place.
Orlando went back to the house, into the kitchen, and opened all the cupboard doors until he found the one with pans and pots. There it was, taped on the inside.
“One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.”
A ring? Where in the hell was Orlando supposed to find one small ring in such a huge area? He knew how Gollum felt although for a completely different reason.
The only thing he could think of was where he and Viggo kept their few rings that they had. Viggo kept his on the nightstand, but Orlando never took his down. Except sometimes in the bathroom…
He ran to the bathroom and there it was. A giant ring, drawn probably with soap, on the mirror. Where was his clue then?
It took him a few minutes to find it even in the tiny bathroom, but there was a poster of The Lord of the Rings on the back of the bathroom door, half hidden by bathrobes and towels. Orlando couldn’t believe his eyes. Who still had Lord of the Rings posters on their walls? This was beautiful though, with a design he had not seen yet. In front of a dark background, the White Tree of Gondor stood proudly. The writing on the poster said:
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes, a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
The whole poster was beautiful, Orlando wanted to steal it. However, even though it was about Aragorn, it didn’t give a clue about where Orlando could find him. Or, you know, Viggo. There was no note taped to it or the door. Orlando was back to square one.
That wasn’t right though. Viggo wouldn’t send him on a wild-goose chase this close to the goal. There had to be something. In a desperate act, he started to look into the pockets of the bathrobes. Now that he looked at them more closely, he could see that one of them was green with a golden leaf embroidered on the breast pocket. The other one was midnight blue, with the white tree of Gondor. How did he not notice before?
The note was in the pocket of the blue bathrobe. It was simple, just two words: back porch.
It took Orlando 1.7 second to get to the back porch and find Viggo there in all his rugged New Zealand glory. He was just as breathtaking as when Orlando first saw him, almost twenty years ago on the set of a movie that turned both their lives upside down. He didn’t care about the stupid treasure hunt anymore that Viggo sent him on, all he cared about was his home, love of his life, and soulmate in one person.
~ ~ ~
Later when they were in bed, whispering sweet nothings to each other, Orlando asked about the treasure hunt.
“I had two reasons,” Viggo replied. “Your life is so full of adventures, I don’t want you to think about me as an old, boring fart.”
Orlando giggled. Viggo boring? Never.
He said so, and added, “Your are my place of calm. Your mind I can hardly follow, your body gives me comfort and pleasure, and I am full of adrenaline when I see you on your horse, old man.”
“Careful there, you’re not so far behind anymore,” Viggo said calmly but Orlando could see happiness in his eyes. Viggo was worried about their so called age gap from the beginning. Orlando had no problem reassuring him with words and actions of love.
“What’s the other reason then?” Orlando asked in the quiet of their bedroom.
“I just wanted to spend Christmas with you and no one else. Life in L.A. is too loud, I wanted to slow down and enjoy your company.”
Orlando was almost crying. He had the sweetest man in his arms, and all the worries and annoyances were worth it. Tomorrow they would go into the village to buy a Christmas tree and some decorations, and spend the next week together at the end of the world, just the two of them. He wouldn’t exchange it for all the treasures in the world.
~ ~ ~
Dear Orlando,
I hope you found him safe and sound. Merry Christmas!
Ian
Dear Ian,
You knew about it all along, yeah? Who else? I’m sure Peter did too. I’m a polite boy and I’m not going to write down what I think but may your Christmas be a little less merry than mine.
Love,
Orlando
PS. Viggo says thank you. I’ll talk to him later about it.
~ end
Gift fic for:
salable_mystic Author:
zee113 Note: Written for the Viggorli Christmas fic exchange. It’s a bit more angsty than it was meant to be, I’m sorry for that. I do hope you still like it, my dearest gift-receiver, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year - or merry and happy whatever you celebrate. xx
Note #2: I don’t know who to ask to beta anymore, so all the checking that went into this was done by me. Blame me for all mistakes, please.
~ ~ ~
Dear Ian,
There is something very calming about sitting down at a desk and writing a letter with an actual pen on real paper, don’t you think? Very fitting for Legolas and Gandalf.
I am back in New Zealand of all places, on the Southern Island near Christchurch, a bit out of town in a small house by the Okuku river, with a threat of snow despite it being summer here. Considering that Christmas is coming, snow is not so out of order for me, I don’t mind it at all.
You are a perceptive old queen -old being said affectionately, not referring to your age, let me assure you- you have probably already noticed that I am writing in the singular. Where is Viggo? No one knows.
I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t worried. He was supposed to meet me in London last Thursday but all I got was a jumbled voice message and an email from a Mr. O’Neill from New Zealand that Viggo won’t be able to see me but I should come here. Not even Peter knows what happened, and he knows everyone in New Zealand. I’m out of my mind with worry, even knowing how Viggo is. All I know is that I was supposed to come here and find him, and that’s exactly my problem. Find him how?
Of course you cannot help me from over L.A., and by the time you get my letter this whole drama will be in the past hopefully, but it helps me to sit and think and pour out my worries. I’m gonna kill that bastard. Or maybe just maim him so that he wouldn’t be able to go on these harebrained missions of his.
I need to find this O’Neill character.
Thanks for listening to me and don’t you worry for us for a second. Email me when you get this letter even though the service here cannot even be called sketchy, it’s so bad. I’ll get it somehow.
See you next year.
Take care,
Orlando
19th of December, 2017, New Zealand
Orlando put the pen down and combed back his hair with his hand. His fingers looked for bald spots automatically, but he couldn’t care less now. He would gladly lose his hair for Viggo. At least while his fate was unknown; after that, he would rather lose Viggo’s hair in an epic fight.
Even though the silver fox look really worked for him.
“Where are you?” He asked no one in particular. As far as he knew, there was no soul around in a five mile radius. The eerie silence blocked his ears but any man-made noise was even worse. He settled for the unassuming symphony of the house: creaks and screeches, sudden groans and the booming crack of a wooden shutter slammed by strong winds. Worry and anxiety rolled off of him in waves and he thought he would go crazy. To fight it off, he started to read the first book he found, The Lord of the Rings. It was the best possible choice, he thought, considering the circumstances.
He must have exhausted himself with helpless anguish because he was woken by a sharp knock on the door. He was there in a second, his sleepy body flying to the door without a conscious decision. He opened the door while trying to rub his anxious dreams from his face.
The man at his door was a short, stocky fellow wrapped in a sheepskin coat, his knitted hat pulled down on his ears. His eyes were deep set and friendly, his cheeks kissed rosy by the persistent winds of the hills.
“G’day,” he offered his hand which Orlando took with a slight hesitation. He was wary of strangers, having encountered too many crazy fans. Although the man did not seem the fanatic type.
“Can I help you?” Orlando asked.
“As a matter of fact I came here to help you,” the man answered. “My name is Steve O’Neill and I own this place.”
“O’Neill?” Orlando was flustered. He didn’t expect to find an O’Neill this easily. He thought he would at least need to read a phone book. Or ask someone.
“Are you the man who left a message for me?” He asked, then remembered his manners. “Would you like to come in? Since this is your place and all.”
Mr. O”Neill nodded and entered with the ease of a man who is at home. He was at home, Orlando realized.
They went to the kitchen, and Orlando turned on the kettle to occupy himself. “Coffee?” He asked.
The man nodded and sat down. Orlando leaned against the fridge with his arms crossed. He felt chilled.
“Excuse my straightforwardness,” the man, Mr. O’Neill, apologized, “This used to be my parents’ home, I grew up here. I don’t think I would ever be able to behave like a guest, I’m sorry.”
“Your parents?” Orlando asked. “Are they…?”
“Oh they are both fine,” the man reassured him. “They just got too old to properly take care of the house so they moved in with us. Now it mostly just stays empty.”
There was a beat of silence, interrupted by the sudden whistle of the kettle. Orlando moved as if underwater, sounds of the wind, the house, the kettle creating a white noise like waves in his ears.
He prepared the coffee and put some milk and sugar on the table.
“Listen, man,” he started, “I don’t mean to be rude but what brought you here? Are you just visiting your old house?”
The man who was stirring sugar in his coffee looked up apologetically. He shifted in his seat and put down the spoon.
“I’m sorry, I’m not the best messenger,” he said. “Viggo...”
“Viggo?” Orlando was so relieved he had to sit down. His knees turned to mush, his blood clotted in his heart, and his brain was only capable to repeat one name, Viggo’s. He was a bit dramatic, he knew. He was an actor, after all.
“Yes, Viggo. He’s in the shack up towards Mount Thomas.”
The name didn’t mean anything to Orlando but he nodded anyway.
“He wants you to join him.” The man continued and Orlando didn’t know whether he wanted to cry or laugh. He did want to scream though.
~ ~ ~
Dear Ian,
Turned out I didn’t have to find Mr. O’Neill, he found me. He didn’t have a difficult job, the house I rented belongs to his parents. He’s sleeping in the next room which is quite awkward, but he grew up in this house so he never thought of staying anywhere else even though he rented the place out.
He’s not the company I wanted.
He was asked by Viggo to come and pick me up and take me to him. How does he do it? Why do people do his bidding? If I can answer that, maybe I won’t follow him all over the world like a lovesick idiot.
Who am I kidding? I would follow him anywhere.
The house feels cold and dark. I have a nice tea sitting on my desk and a warm bed waiting for me, and still I sit here writing. It’s therapeutic. I can hear the ghost of your voice giving me advice.
I am to leave tomorrow and join Viggo in a “shack.” Even the name is so Viggo. He better have a good explanation for what we would be doing in the middle of this New Zealand nowhere so close to Christmas. But yes, i am relieved. This man knows Viggo and he is chill. I am a lot less worried that something bad happened to him.
Of course it’s entirely possible that this is an elaborate plan to kidnap two Hollywood actors -see how I didn’t write stars? Viggo should be proud of me- so if you don’t hear from me after this, please call Peter. He will know what to do. I’ll go out before I go to bed and leave the letters in the mailbox.
Remember those charming mailboxes at the farms that were both for mail coming and going? This here is shaped like a bird. Of course there are no guarantees that you will ever get my letters because I suck at this thing, but I have hope for them. I’ll have to leave some money for the mailman with them, don’t you think? I will.
I cannot postpone it anymore, I need to go to bed. I’ll keep you posted.
Orlando
19th of December, 2017, New Zealand
~ ~ ~
The day was grey and foggy like Orlando’s brain. The Toyota 4x4 slowly ate up the miles, and the sights brought back long-forgotten memories. Christchurch for him was all about Edoras and Laketown, two very different experiences. And while Laketown was more recent, it already started to fade -unlike Edoras. It was probably because of Viggo. Orlando didn’t think many things were worth remembering that had nothing to do with Viggo. Nothing had as much effect on him as the shooting of The Rings and Aragorn. Viggo.
He might have fallen asleep because he suddenly woke up to the car having stopped. The white noise of the engines was replaced by the wind.
“Here we are,” Mr. O’Neill said. “I’m supposed to leave you here.”
“What?” Orlando squeaked. He wasn’t too proud of the sound but then he just woke up, and he had other things to worry about than what he sounded like.
“Viggo asked me to bring you over and just leave.” Mr. O’Neill replied calmly.
“Listen, I don’t want to sound rude but how do I know I can trust you.”
The man thought for a bit. He opened his mouth, but changed his mind and thought some more. Orlando was really anxious because he wanted to see Viggo but did not want to get kidnapped. Or worse.
“I guess you can’t,” Mr. O'Neill replied finally. “There is no one here to ask about me. Does it help if I tell you I was a hobbit in the movies?”
That made sense, looking at him. Orlando was used to the thought that all of New Zealand was in the Rings and/or the Hobbit movies in some capacity, and Mr. O’Neill did look like a hobbit. It didn’t mean a thing. Even hobbits could be mean. He didn’t know how to ask the man if he was a Took or a Sackville-Baggins..
“If it helps, your phone does work here,” Mr. O’Neill continued.
Orlando didn’t even have to look at his iphone to see he was right, he heard the tell-tale pings of emails and messages. That made his choice easier. Then again, he came all the way here for Viggo, he wasn’t going to stop now.
He got out of the car and grabbed his bag. He stood in the cold winds and stared after Mr. O’Neill as he drove away.
He finally had the mind to look around. The “shack” was sitting in an opening surrounded by scarce woods with the majestic mountains of the southern island around them. It was a small house, built from stone and wood, with another building to the back that looked like a barn. It made sense, Orlando figured Viggo probably borrowed a horse as well.
There was smoke coming out of the chimney.
Orlando shivered in the cold wind and started towards the house. The door opened easily when he pressed the handle, and he found himself in a tiny mudroom. He took off his coat and left it on a hanger, and then went inside to discover the house.
It wasn’t big but managed to have an open area for a kitchen and a living room. There were another two doors opening from it. Orlando was sure one was a bathroom and the other probably a bedroom since he saw no beds in the living room.
He went to the kitchen area and sat down at the table. He took out his phone and wrote a quick email.
Dear Ian and Peter,
I am here in a “shack” at what feels the end of the world but it’s actually near Christchurch. The man who brought me here drove away and left me to meet with Viggo. I have no idea where Viggo is.
Good signs are plenty. There is fire in the fireplace, the house is warm, and there is internet and phone service. I haven’t checked the fridge yet but I think it’s stocked. This looks more and more like one of those Viggo things where he goes to the end of the world to think. Thank goodness I taught him to provide about necessities like food before hiding himself. I think this Christmas is not entirely hopeless.
This of course means that we probably won’t attend any of your parties. I cannot pretend I would rather be there than here with Viggo, just the two of us. I feel a bit bad for missing you this Christmas, but not too much, we will meet soon in the new year.
Take care,
Orlando
PS. The man who brought me here is called Steve O’Neill. He said he was a hobbit in the movies. Just in case we disappear.
PPS. Ian, I wrote you some actual letters. I wonder when you get them, let me know.They will sound silly though, fair warning.
Now that he felt even safer because others knew where he was, Orlando put away his phone and took another look around the little house. The thing most out of place was a bouquet of three tulips on the kitchen table. They were pink, a bright spot of light in the gloomy day. It drew Orlando’s eyes and he realized there was a paper leaning to the vase. A letter.
“Dear Orlando,” it read, “if you want me come and find me.”
Orlando groaned. Oh please not this. Why did he have to come all the way to New Zealand for this?
There was more writing on the bottom of the paper.
“One does not simply walk into Mordor.”
Orlando laughed out loud despite his previous groans. This was a quote from Boromir that turned into a very funny meme back when memes didn’t even exist, and Sean was quite proud of it. Orlando had his fair share of memes too. His favorite was the “They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard” video. Viggo had it saved on every device he owned.
But what was he supposed to do with the quote? There was something, he was sure of it, he knew how Viggo’s mind worked, There was something here he was supposed to know or find. The sooner he would start, the sooner he would find Viggo and end this stupidity. Of course he could just walk around and look everywhere but there was no guarantee that that would be faster. Besides, where was the fun in that?
So he stood up and walked around in the small house a bit more. He found nothing in the kitchen, nothing taped to the fridge or the door, so he went to the mudroom. The figured he better be methodical about it.
The mudroom was just like he left it: two pairs of shoes, a couple of coats of different thickness, a small bench to sit on while one’s putting on wellies.
The living room came next. It contained a sofa, an armchair next to a small table, a sitting corner at one of the windows, and a fireplace adorned by a few photos. Nothing out of order, everything very ordinary, but Orlando wanted to check everything out before moving on. He walked around; then, having no other idea, he looked at the photos. He immediately recognized Steve O’Neill, and saw a few people who were obviously his family. And then he saw Sean Bean.
He was so out of place, in full Boromir costume, that Orlando was sure this was what he was looking for. Now the quote made sense too, it was a clue. He took the photo from the mantel and looked at it from every side. On the back there was faint writing.
“He that breaks a thing to find out what it is has left the path of wisdom.”
This was Gandalf, Orlando was sure of it. No clue about Vigo’s whereabouts, just a quote from Gandalf. So this was supposed to be a treasure hunt -but why? They were both long past the age of treasure hunts.
Then again, he already decided that he would find Viggo this way.
So Gandalf it was. It would not be another photo, Orlando knew that, that’s not how Viggo’s brain worked. Maybe it had to do with something of Gandalf’s? That was breakable? Well, Gandalf only had three things: his hat, his staff, and his horse. His hat and his horse wouldn’t really break, so his staff was what Orlando needed to find. Quick look around showed it wasn’t in the house, so Orlando put on his coat and went outside. Where would Viggo hide a piece of wood?
He walked around the property looking for some suspicious pieces of wood. He started out towards the barn when he saw the huge stack of firewood by the side of the shack. The perfect place!
It only took him a few minutes to find a tree branch that was crudely shaped like a wizard’s staff. The shape wasn’t the biggest clue though, the paper attached to it was. It read, “There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for.”
Oh dear Sam! He was a true hero, one of Orlando’s favorites. He was absolutely certain that the next clue could only be hidden in one place.
Orlando went back to the house, into the kitchen, and opened all the cupboard doors until he found the one with pans and pots. There it was, taped on the inside.
“One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.”
A ring? Where in the hell was Orlando supposed to find one small ring in such a huge area? He knew how Gollum felt although for a completely different reason.
The only thing he could think of was where he and Viggo kept their few rings that they had. Viggo kept his on the nightstand, but Orlando never took his down. Except sometimes in the bathroom…
He ran to the bathroom and there it was. A giant ring, drawn probably with soap, on the mirror. Where was his clue then?
It took him a few minutes to find it even in the tiny bathroom, but there was a poster of The Lord of the Rings on the back of the bathroom door, half hidden by bathrobes and towels. Orlando couldn’t believe his eyes. Who still had Lord of the Rings posters on their walls? This was beautiful though, with a design he had not seen yet. In front of a dark background, the White Tree of Gondor stood proudly. The writing on the poster said:
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes, a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
The whole poster was beautiful, Orlando wanted to steal it. However, even though it was about Aragorn, it didn’t give a clue about where Orlando could find him. Or, you know, Viggo. There was no note taped to it or the door. Orlando was back to square one.
That wasn’t right though. Viggo wouldn’t send him on a wild-goose chase this close to the goal. There had to be something. In a desperate act, he started to look into the pockets of the bathrobes. Now that he looked at them more closely, he could see that one of them was green with a golden leaf embroidered on the breast pocket. The other one was midnight blue, with the white tree of Gondor. How did he not notice before?
The note was in the pocket of the blue bathrobe. It was simple, just two words: back porch.
It took Orlando 1.7 second to get to the back porch and find Viggo there in all his rugged New Zealand glory. He was just as breathtaking as when Orlando first saw him, almost twenty years ago on the set of a movie that turned both their lives upside down. He didn’t care about the stupid treasure hunt anymore that Viggo sent him on, all he cared about was his home, love of his life, and soulmate in one person.
~ ~ ~
Later when they were in bed, whispering sweet nothings to each other, Orlando asked about the treasure hunt.
“I had two reasons,” Viggo replied. “Your life is so full of adventures, I don’t want you to think about me as an old, boring fart.”
Orlando giggled. Viggo boring? Never.
He said so, and added, “Your are my place of calm. Your mind I can hardly follow, your body gives me comfort and pleasure, and I am full of adrenaline when I see you on your horse, old man.”
“Careful there, you’re not so far behind anymore,” Viggo said calmly but Orlando could see happiness in his eyes. Viggo was worried about their so called age gap from the beginning. Orlando had no problem reassuring him with words and actions of love.
“What’s the other reason then?” Orlando asked in the quiet of their bedroom.
“I just wanted to spend Christmas with you and no one else. Life in L.A. is too loud, I wanted to slow down and enjoy your company.”
Orlando was almost crying. He had the sweetest man in his arms, and all the worries and annoyances were worth it. Tomorrow they would go into the village to buy a Christmas tree and some decorations, and spend the next week together at the end of the world, just the two of them. He wouldn’t exchange it for all the treasures in the world.
~ ~ ~
Dear Orlando,
I hope you found him safe and sound. Merry Christmas!
Ian
Dear Ian,
You knew about it all along, yeah? Who else? I’m sure Peter did too. I’m a polite boy and I’m not going to write down what I think but may your Christmas be a little less merry than mine.
Love,
Orlando
PS. Viggo says thank you. I’ll talk to him later about it.
~ end
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Date: 2017-12-29 04:59 pm (UTC)thank you so much for this story! I had to run away right after posting them, so that is why I only get to comment now, sorry! I loved this! The letters to Ian, and the treasure hunt, and the sheer crazy idea behind it all, that yet leads to something so nice and sweet and perfect - and also Orlando's reactions to Viggo's craziness were great! - he seems so sure and settled in their relationship that he's not doubting that at all (just maybe his sanity :-)).
Thank you!!
no subject
Date: 2018-01-02 08:51 pm (UTC)Their relationship is so sure in my mind! Plus it's a Christmas fic and the angst is already too strong for it in the first part, so I wanted to make the second part a lot more lighthearted. I'm just happy you liked. (Yeah, again.) *hugs*