I found you crying outside on the wall of Devil's Well
A hangman's knot around your feet
And praying for the spell
To be shattered.
May I be the one to rip those shackles clean away
And lead you to a place where loneliness is tackled with a kiss?
A kiss that has no ropes, no strings,
No obligations.
I don't owe you, be quite sure
You don't owe me.

No string, no ropes, no obligations
I don't owe you, you don't owe me.
— In Search Of My Rose, The Tear Garden



As if it were not enough that the set was doused with the artificial rainfall that was meant to enhance the dark and oppressive atmosphere of the Helms' Deep, the skies themselves had opened up. A torrential downpour had started on this, the fortieth night of filming in never ending darkness.

Viggo sighed to himself, and looked out from the canopy that he was sitting under. He wrapped his hand around the coffee cup he was holding, letting the warmth penetrate through the styrofoam and into his hand. He drank some of the bitter liquid, and it coursed its way down his throat, warming the core of him. It wasn't much, and it did little to beat back the weariness that was threatening to take over his being.

The scene in front of him was a familiar one – no different than last night, and certainly no different than one that he would be witness to time and again during the weeks to come: workers setting up a shot; gaffers fiddling with the lighting; stuntmen and women sitting around in costume, waiting to begin shooting the next sequence. The darkness saturated the set, and as this night shoot wore on, it seemed to infiltrate the personality of each person working on it. They were, each of them, becoming creatures of darkness: pale, drawn, wan, and wraithlike.

Ordinarily, Viggo did his best to keep up the spirit and enthusiasm of the crew – but there was only so much he could give before there was nothing left for himself. Every now and then, the darkness threatened to overwhelm him.

Sometimes he felt as though this shoot was going to break him.

Other times, he thought that it may already have done so. This was one of those times. He was soaked to the bone, cold and in desperate need of sunlight. The grim prospect of another few weeks on this night shoot was an unfathomably depressing one. Looking out into the night, seeing the sharp whiteness of the set lights reflecting off the slick wet surfaces around him, he wondered when he would ever see the sun again.

He drew a shaky breath, and it was exhaled as an uneven stream of warm mist.

Not for the first time, he felt the unwelcome tears welling up inside him. Viggo didn't cry easily, at least not in front of other people. The very fact that this environment could reduce him to tears so easily only compounded the misery that he was feeling.

Not wanting to let the tears fall in front of the cast and crew, he got up, and went looking for a quiet place where he could collect himself. Not the trailer, or the men's room. There was always somebody there. Not the cafeteria, which was busy at all hours of the day. No, he would go to an out of the way spot that he had found on one of his downtime explorations of the set.

Trudging through the mud and the darkness, he acknowledged the smiles and greetings of the few coworkers he encountered with a nod, a downcast head, and averted eyes. The company and comfort of his fellow human beings would have been warmly welcomed at any other time. Right at the moment, however, he just needed to find someplace quiet and alone.

He reached his destination – a small, quiet alcove, hidden from view by darkness and the grey artificial stone walls of the set. Thankful for the roof in this far off corner, he leaned against the wall, and slowly sank down against it. When he reached the floor, he pulled his knees close to his chest.

Finally alone, he allowed the floodgates to open. The tears that had been threatening to spill over his eye lashes finally slid down his cheeks, as his body shook with silent sobs. The tears coursed in meandering tracks down his face, seeping into his open mouth and filling it with the taste of salt. He raised his damaged hands to his face, fingers splayed out between high cheekbones and corners of his eyes, palms pressed to his cheeks. He closed his eyes and let the sadness come, allowing it to wash over him and work its way out of his system.

"Viggo."

Startled, Viggo opened his eyes and suddenly brought his hands down to the rough, pebbly ground beneath him, skinning the palms so that they matched his torn knuckles. He raised his eyes to meet those of a very concerned looking elf.

Orlando stood framed in the doorway, backlit by the lights of the set behind him. His face was cast in shadow, yet he was surrounded by the golden halo of the silken hair that fell around him.

Orlando walked over to him slowly, as if approaching a skittish kitten, his boots crunching on the pavement. He was unsure. They had seen each other at some low points during the course of filming – but Orlando had never seen Viggo as run down as this. Viggo could tell that he was upset at finding him in this state: the worry was etched into his features, forming a crease between his brows.

Orlando gingerly seated himself on the ground beside Viggo, obviously concerned that he would be sent away. He tentatively reached out a hand, and placed it on Viggo's arm.

"Are you okay?" The words were uttered in a voice that was low and soft, a voice that was a soothing touch in and of itself.

Viggo drew a shuddering breath, and looked down, his face wet with the tears that not yet stopped. He wiped at his face with one hand, wanting to erase the evidence.

"I will be."

Orlando sat in silence, his hand warm on Viggo's arm. Reaching a decision, he wrapped a comforting arm around Viggo's shoulders and drew him close. Viggo sighed, and let himself be held, settling into his friend's warm embrace. It helped – this contact with a person who cared about him. It eased some of the sadness that was in his heart.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"Oh, you know." He tried to stifle a sniffle and failed miserably. "It's this shoot. Sometimes it gets to be too much. Night after night – this darkness, the cold, the rain. I don't know when I'm going to see the sun again." Viggo almost laughs. "Every now and then it gets to me. And I feel like I've let people down when that happens."

"Sssshhhh." Orlando stroked a comforting hand across Viggo's brow. "It's okay. You don't always have to be the one who is supporting everybody else. You do that so well, you know. People here – there is not a one of them who can't say that you haven't helped them get through this shoot in some way."

Orlando moved to that he could look at Viggo's face. He tilted the other man's head up, so that he could look him in the eye. Orlando's eyes were large and liquid as he studied Viggo's face – the red eyes, the open lips, the tear-stained cheeks. He stroked his thumb against Viggo's chin, feeling the scrape of the beard. "I know you've helped me." The next words were almost a whisper: "Let me help you."

Orlando's eyes closed as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Viggo's. Viggo, in turn, closed his eyes reflexively and let himself be kissed. He didn't spare a thought to wonder about why his friend was kissing him, about where it would lead to, about what it meant. He let himself enjoy the simple human contact.

It was enough to shatter the dark spell that Helm's Deep had cast over his spirit.

Orlando's lips moved softly against his, the movement of the tender skin was a caress. Viggo felt a wet tongue tentatively touching his lips, and he knew that Orlando could taste the saltiness of the tears that still painted his skin. Viggo drew a deep breath, and brought his own hand up to clasp the soft skin of Orlando's face. He opened his mouth beneath Orlando's lips, and the tongue tentatively slid inside, stroking Viggo's own, before becoming shy and retreating back between Orlando's lips. Viggo followed, needing the contact, drawing strength from it.

Lips glided softly against each other, tongues met and became familiar, and breath intermingled. Soft sighs and moans issued from the throat of each man: what started out as soft and comforting became more passionate and intense. Tears no longer ran down Viggo's face and the sadness had left his heart. What he knew then was warmth and passion. They remained wrapped in each others' embrace until a far off call was heard, summoning them back to the set.

They broke the embrace, both breathing a little bit more harshly than they were minutes before. Orlando regarded his friend with a soft smile on his face. His hand brushed again against Viggo's cheek, wiping away the remnants of the tears. Viggo leaned into the embrace, closed his eyes, and turned his face to kiss the palm of the man who had comforted him.

"Do you feel better now?"

Viggo reached to wipe away the small trace of blood that his damaged palms had left on the smooth alabaster skin of Orlando's cheek.

"Yeah, I do. I feel like I should thank you... but I'm not sure if 'thank you' is the right thing to say."

"No worries, mate. You don't owe me." Orlando stood and extended a hand. "We had better get back."

"Yeah." Viggo took the hand, and Orlando pulled him to his feet. Viggo found himself standing very close to Orlando, and found himself wanting to taste those lips one more time. He leaned in, and captured Orlando's lips in a short and very sweet kiss.

"Yeah, we'd better get back."

Together, they walked back to the set. The darkness and rain of world around Viggo was no longer a mirror for his soul – the sadness had left his heart once and for all.


END